Her support was deep and passionate. You could tell because of the care and attention she paid to those involved in artistic endeavors.

She once came to my home to tell my parents that I was doing well in my artistic pursuits. She emphatically made it clear that they should support me by not telling me what to do, and to leave me alone.

It was extremely unusual for a teacher to visit parents. And it was a vital house call for me because I was being crushed by my parents’ wishes. I thank her, to this day, for her intervention and selfless support.

The first was his investigation of the poem “If” by Rudyard Kipling, because it explored the nature of what it took to be an adult human being. These days, all I can remember of the poem is “If you can keep your head when all about you others are loosing theirs, then you’re a better man than I, Gunga Din.” Which may be a slightly faulty recollection.

The second thing I remember about him was his bring to class a sound recording of the musical “My Fair Lady.” I doubt that this was part of the curricula, however, he recognized the power of this cultural phenomena, and wanted to share it. His enthusiasm was infectious.

The third memory I have of him was his humor. We had a class smarty-pants, let’s call him Gary. In every test and every pop quiz, Gary always got an “A++.” ALWAYS. This was especially irritating because Gary was snobbish about it.

One day, freshly graded tests were returned. I looked at my grade, marked in red at the top of the page. Lets just say that, in spite of my hard work, the grade was modest. I then looked over to Gary, assuming he would be smiling his usual self-confident smile — with a touch of a sneer — aimed at the rest of us.

Instead, I saw that Gary had broken out into a cold sweet. His face then turned red, which was followed by a look of total confusion. He raised his hand. Mr. D nodded to him, and he slowly approached Mr. D’s desk.

Gary stammered, “How could this be?” I could see that there was a large red “F” at the top; written as a big block letter.

Mr. D solemnly looked at the test paper, and then sweetly said, “Oh, I guess I left off a line from the grade letter.” He then drew a straight line on the right-hand side of the “F,” which turn it into an “A.”

Having seen Gary’s monolithic smugness shaken, I beamed Gary my own version of a self-confident smile, with just a touch of a sneer.

William B. Spink
During rehearsal 1961

During one performance, the romantic lead — standing down stage next to the footlights — was sweating so much, one half of his mustache fell off. I was sitting on the floor next to him and laughed along with the audience. After the laughter died down, he decided to remove the other half of the mustache, and the audience roared again. I did too.

Later, the Mr. Spink severely rebuked me for breaking character. I should not have laughed with the audience. I could have laughed within the bounds of my character, however that was not what I had done.

Mr. Spink not only directed the play, he freely taught everyone the techniques and craft of the theater. I have never met a director or theater teacher since who was as skilled, or as knowledgeable as he was.

Because of his generous instruction, I found myself well prepared for performing in plays, films, and speaking engagements of all kinds.

Yvonne Rainer at the Billie Rose Theater
My friend Fred Lehrman in back.
He was a classical guitarist and introduced me to
Chang Man Ch’ing’s classes, my first taste of T’ai Chi.

Yvonne Rainer and company backstage at the
Billie Rose Theater, February 6, 1969

“It hurts,” I responded.

“Now you are standing straight.”

It did hurt to stand straight. I had grown comfortable with bad posture. By this adjustment, and the workshops, she gave me a “body awareness” I had not realized before. It eventually changed my posture and the way I felt about my self.

I was first introduced to Master T.T. Liang at a 1970 Boston class made up of middle-aged and elder woman, not the usual group of boys pursuing martial arts.

Master T.T. Liang (1971)
from my film “T’ai Chi Chuan with Master T.T. Liang”

In 1971, I persuaded Liang to come to Amherst, Massachusetts where I was finishing my doctorate, and teach classes of students that I rounded up for him. He taught one day a week in Amherst until getting tired of the commute from Boston.

On August 28, 1971, I made a short 16mm film of Liang demonstrating five T’ai Chi dances; two with a partner, and two of them with a sword. In the film I also interviewed him briefly. This film is now available on my “Two by Demian” DVD.

T’ai Chi concepts from T.T. Liang: He connected the T’ai Chi movements to dance — segmenting each movement to a beat — because, in his youth, he was a nightclub dancer in Shanghai. He stated that the football players that came to him to learn T’ai Chi would never understand it. They were too hard and aggressive. His constant watchword was “Learn to loose.”

My time with him allowed me to learn the solo dance and further understand my body in space.

I learned that he died on August 19, 2002. I guess the hype around T’ai Chi is true, that it does promote health and longevity. He was 101.