By Amy Silverman
By Olivia LaVecchia
By Monica Alonzo and Stephen Lemons
By Chris Parker
By Michael Lacey
By Weston Phippen
"As soon as I got there, I knew I was in the right place," she says, and although she was older than most beginning serious students, Eryck assured her that she could learn as much dance as she wanted.
That was the beginning of a ballet dancer's austere and disciplined life.
Passey-Reed was never the victim of a ballet mom, a genre of stage parents who want their daughters to act out their own aspirations. She was self-inspired, and in fact, her parents worried about her obsessions with dance.
"Any sacrifices I made were my choices," she says now of missed proms and football games.
But the sacrifices may have been harder on her parents.
"She loved it so much that at times we worried she had blinders on," says Pamela Passey. "We wanted her to reach out and see other things."
Her parents worried also that she was a 13-year-old in the company of 18-year-old dancers. But by the time she was 15, they threw up their hands. And when they saw her dance her first lead role, they "were somewhat amazed at how good she was."
Young Gail attended class every day, and to help pay for her lessons, she worked in the school office and even cleaned dance studios. And she honed her work ethic.
"I worked hard for what I had to do," she remembers. "Sometimes I had friends who were taller and had better feet and longer legs, and I would think, 'She makes it look so easy and it comes so easily for her.' And maybe it didn't really, but in my eyes I felt like I had to work a little harder."
She worked hard enough that when she graduated from high school, while her schoolmates were packing off to college, she was auditioning for the school of the San Francisco Ballet.
As in a Nintendo video game, each higher level in the dance world has a crueler and more impossible set of challenges to be overcome; and if you make it through that level, the only reward is to be launched into a harder and even crueler level.
It is not enough to dance well. A ballerina who aspires to professionalism has to have a lot of luck, has to be willing to pack up and travel to where the jobs are. And on top of all that, she has to meet a physical aesthetic that demands an impossible shape and litheness.
In her first year in the San Francisco Ballet school, Passey-Reed realized two things. The first was that she was performing even less than when she was in high school, because the school students only participated in the annual Nutcracker and in a school recital. The second was that she was too short to be accepted into the main company and was consequently wasting her time by trying, regardless of her dance abilities.
"It's not something you can improve. That was a big frustration," she says.
And so Gail Passey transferred to the school of the Marin Ballet. She got a summer scholarship with the Boston Ballet. She auditioned in Atlanta and was again told that she was too short. Then, finally, in 1983, at age 21, she landed a job with the Baltimore Ballet.
That first gig was like being in the army. Because it was a fledgling company, the ballet corps did a lot of promotional lecture demonstrations at local schools, hoping to drum up an audience. They'd meet the bus at 5:30 in the morning and travel from school to school. And after each show, her small size notwithstanding, she'd help tear down the portable floor and load it onto the bus.
But the Baltimore Ballet folded after two years, and in 1985, Gail Passey moved to Arizona to dance with Ballet Arizona West. A year after that, Ballet Arizona West fused with two other local ballet companies and became Ballet Arizona.
Passey met her future husband Michael Reed in the company. He had danced for the Boston Ballet, for Les Grands Ballets Canadiens in Montreal and for the Ballet de Monte Carlo in Monaco (where ballet dancers are well taken care of and where male dancers are not assumed to be gay. Gail enjoys recalling a school question-and-answer session when Michael Reed was asked why he wanted to be a ballet dancer. He answered, "Which would you rather do, spend your day lifting up scantily clad women or out on the football field with a bunch of guys, patting each other's butts?").
They dated for two years and then married in 1994. While they were both dancing and earning $18,000 salaries, they managed to sock away enough money for a down payment on a house and a honeymoon in Europe. Reed retired two years ago with his own significant injuries and unable to dance.
"When you're a dancer, you have to give it all to the profession, financially and in lifestyle," says Reed. "It's not a glorious job. I've had five operations: my ankles, my knees. I've had two hernias."