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Jamming in stadium with choir and KISS was a kick
By Jennifer Toomer-Cook
Deseret News staff writer
I never thought I'd say this. But the Mo-Tab rocks. Maybe even as much as KISS.
A year ago, if you told me I'd dance live with these musical groups of such varied styles I would have laughed.
Now, I've jammed with both.
I tied on a bonnet in the opening ceremonies for the 2002 Winter Games, surrounded by handcarts, downstage left of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
Seventeen days later, I thrashed in the closing ceremonies with the face-painted legends KISS — one of my husband Timmy's all-time favorite bands.
For me, the kicker was cheering strangers — a prize for a dancer who usually performs in the shadows of the Utah Jazz or a band.
Imagine. People putting their hands together instead of around their date or their dinner.
The night before I auditioned, back in July, I remember calling other dancers to whine about the sheer volume of paperwork.
Should I lie about weight? Ignore the "bra size" question? What if an oxen stomped me?
I decided to fib only on pounds and signed my life away.
Twelve hours later, I filed a news story for the Deseret News and dashed from the Capitol, slipped into dance clothes while rocketing down I-15 and skidded into Alta High's parking lot for auditions. I was No. 3,630. No joke.
The magnitude of the event sank in at orientation Thanksgiving weekend, where more than 1,000 of us took the oath of secrecy. We learned every detail of the show.
Having to keep something like that quiet does not come naturally to a journalist. It almost killed me.
We rehearsed about 140 hours for both ceremonies. We learned the steps inside, but practiced them in the freezing cold. Remember that night temperatures plunged to 5 below zero? We braved it. Still, things seemed a lot colder during rehearsals for the opening ceremonies, which were at least twice as frequent. For closing ceremonies, the steps were reworked and staging set with only a week before the show, so few felt confident about performing before billions of people and we didn't want to leave rehearsals even when dismissed.
But we felt great Saturday when KISS walked into rehearsal. The band visited with us, mugged for photos and lifted our spirits. That's when we knew we were good to go.
We spent more time preparing for the opening ceremonies, so it wasn't as stressful. The first public dress rehearsal, before a modest crowd of 15,000, was perhaps the biggest rush.
I nearly shook out of my skirt when the audience cheered with our first step. That night I received my first standing ovation.
By the day of the show, we felt like seasoned performers. A Ute Indian tribe leader blessed us. We watched on TV monitors as the ground zero flag made its solemn entrance, our tears flowing freely.
It struck me then: At that moment, the world — an unimaginable 3.5 billion people — is watching a group of Utah dancers tell the story of the American West.
We posed for snapshots, threw on our coats and headed to the stadium, where we caught glimpses of our 55,000-person crowd, cheering as if at the Super Bowl.
Fireworks shot into the air 30 feet away, the thump of the explosion patting our backs as if for good luck. We filed down the south side of the stadium wall and stretched our muscles.
The night was sub-freezing, just after a fresh snowfall. Even without my coat, I was warm. Focused. Energized. Once my foot hit the stage, I was on autopilot.
I never actually think when I'm dancing. So I really wasn't afraid of screwing up. I don't see the audience, only flickers of energy: a person waving, athletes decked in orange jumping about to our country-boy tunes. If I were to focus on faces, I'd lose my step and probably throw up.
But I can hear all of them. Their cheers lift me. Make me want to work harder, jump higher, stand taller.
Maybe that's how an Olympic athlete feels. Years of training reduced to mere moments — but, truly, the most unbelievable moments of your life.
E-MAIL: jtcook@desnews.com
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February 25, 2002
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