O.C. Writers

By Charmaine Cecile Wakefield // 

Orange groves and strawberry fields as far as I could see from the middle seat of my mom’s Oldsmobile station wagon. We’d been traveling south on the I-5 for about an hour on this day in June 1972.

I was less than a week out of high school. I’d lived nowhere but Burbank and my mom, ballet teacher Fredericka Mohr, had closed her studio there to start a new life in Orange County, a place I’d barely heard of.

It was exciting, like something out of a movie. My brother, Henry, had researched and decided this unincorporated area was ready to explode with young, high-income families bringing children who would dance. We’d purchased a property to make into a studio, and possibly a place to live.

But where exactly were we? So far we’d only seen cattle and maybe some cowboys.

My friend Heidi had tagged along to see where I was moving to. She pointed to a road sign: GAS FOOD LODGING NEXT EXIT. “Cee Cee, you know you’re in the boonies when you see that.” Then she hummed the theme from Green Acres.

Leave it to Heidi to make me laugh. “It’s an adventure,” I said. “Henry says they’re coming.”

We pulled off the freeway onto a two-lane country road called El Toro. Heidi whispered, “Isn’t ‘El Toro’ Spanish for ‘bull’? Shoot! I forgot my passport!”

My mom read the directions. “Right at Jeronimo…then Orange…and there it is. Front Street. We’re here!”

Heidi let out a sound that was half laugh, half something else. She looked around, eyes wide. “This is it?”

The road, bumpy with broken asphalt, separated a thick grove of orange trees and a dirt lot with temporary buildings, one sporting a YMCA sign. 

My mouth hung open. Heidi’s face showed pity—or was it horror? We stopped at the next driveway. A massive willow tree dripped broad branches, shading the large ragged yard. We got out and just stood there, staring.

“Holy crap,” Heidi said, pointing to an old shed or maybe it was a barn.

“Let’s go see inside,” I said, turning toward the early 1900s farmhouse. But not before I’d noticed that across Front Street, just a stone’s throw from our new front yard, were railroad tracks.

“Do I hear banjos?” Heidi whispered. Her hands went up. “Kidding.”

“They’re coming,” I said again, reminding us both.

I glanced around. On our left, a narrow dirt road separated another orchard from the tracks, and to the right, the tracks passed under El Toro Road.

We stepped into the house. “But why buy this place instead of one of those new homes and then open the studio in a shopping center?” Heidi asked.

“Owning property is best,” Mom explained. “This is still privately owned and zoned for recreation. The Y is on one side and the other side is a preschool. Perfect for a dance studio.” My mom peeled a piece of carpet up and proudly pointed at the raised hardwood floor.

And then I saw it. In my mind’s eye, the dingy white walls and worn shag carpet the color of shriveled plums were replaced by barres along mirrored walls with students standing in fifth position, my mother demonstrating the technique. The stamp-sized kitchen and ancient, lopsided appliances morphed into a refreshment corner. The tiny bedroom changed into a small studio. I could even envision a third, larger studio replacing the dirt lot.

Excitement bubbled through me. “When does construction begin?”

And yes, as Henry had prophesized, they came, and we were ready. What started as a “Green Acres” farmhouse grew into the Saddleback Dance Center, the largest studio in the O.C., with over one thousand students. We won countless performance and technique awards, but I’m most proud to have inspired students to love and appreciate the art and discipline of many forms of dance, and of the confidence they gained through stage performances and physical accomplishments.

Many of our students became professional ballerinas, several even dancing on Broadway. Artists of all kinds trained with our expert instructors; actors, singers, dance teachers, studio owners and much more are products of our more than thirty years in business.

Turned out Henry had been right all along. For generations of dancers in Orange County, our Saddleback Dance Center was the place to be.

 

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CHARMAINE CECILE WAKEFIELD, born in Burbank, CA, and raised in her parents’ dance studio, received her B.A. in Fine Arts/Dance from UC Irvine. She taught in and directed Saddleback Dance Center with her mother until selling it in 2006. Currently semi-retired, she is a contributor to the recently published anthology, The Truth That Can’t Be Told 2. Her upcoming debut women’s fiction-romance novel, Firefly Dancer, embodies a dancer’s passion beyond the tests of fate. Website: www.charmainewakefieldauthor.com.