A Retrospective
By Athan Karras

It has been many years now since the doors to The Intersection Folk Arts Center (originally Folk Dance Center) were closed and still to this day, I run into people who desperately miss it and who wistfully recall what a great place it was and how much it meant to them. I heartily agree because I certainly miss it as well. In such a short but concentrated time, The Intersection touched so many--not only those who championed folk dance, but people from other sectors of the greater Los Angeles multicultural community, and frankly even beyond the borders of Los Angeles and Southern California. The Intersection had a life all its own, independent of the founders, Rudy Dannes and me, Athan Karras. We were overwhelmed at times that our simple idea had become so powerful and meaningful to those who craved personal interaction in this metropolis where everyone is so widely dispersed. Los Angeles is a great city, constantly expanding, absorbing newcomers from all over the United States along with a burgeoning immigrant population from abroad that enriches its culture.

The sixties were a time of ferment and cultural rebellion in Los Angeles. People yearning to embrace humanity, suspicious and insecure of the future, were searching for roots and meaning. It was a period of questions before the bombardment of the electronic age. The Intersection was a place where many cultural phenomena could be found, a place that transported each of us into a safe, private, and real world. There, people discovered the essential spirit of a true "folk experience" through expressions of music, song, and dance--no gimmicks, no gestalt psychology or Para psychological fantasies--we aimed at creating a unstructured happening where events and situations would evolve giving the impression that we were not programmed. Even the celebrations we coordinated were prescribed to unfold as an organic experience. Events developed according to who was present. Some referred to our evening functions and the dancing that took place as if they were accidental. They were indeed spur-of-the-moment, always infusing an element of surprise with the mix of the dancing. Any resemblance of looking as if it were organized would have been wrong. Soon we learned to recognize the value of spontaneous activity, how enriching and valuable it was.

True, The Intersection appeared on the scene at a time when the greater Los Angeles community was ripe for it. Though we did not foster a specific structure, we were careful to nurture different cultural experiences, viewing them as fresh and brand new, by revitalizing the folk customs that retained vital expressions and by inviting everyone to share in them regardless of their background. We knew right then and there we needed to safeguard what was unfolding, and take care not to insert any artifice. We wanted to "open the doors" in a way that assured all could turn "native" easily, even for a brief moment.

Our program was simple, the early part of the evening at The Intersection was dedicated to folk-dance instruction as well as other similar folk-oriented workshops in singing, folk arts, costumes, and even ethnic cooking in an atmosphere of an old-time village cafe. In the latter part of the evening the patrons were left to their own devices, and because they were not aficionados, they often would make mistakes, confusing cultural idioms at times, but that was okay. It was important not to curtail the creative impulse. The "folk arts" are a totally creative expression; a collective art revealing composite evocations expressed within a community and encourages a personal artistic expression by everyone sharing a commonality in being "folk artists."

Urban communities lack the ambiance and camaraderie inherent in traditional village life. Individuals are often isolated from interaction with one another. Folk singing and folk dancing connect people creatively by expressing innermost feelings and imagery. The collective creative process creates fellowship through social functions and rituals. The modern meaning of "folk" is the unpretentious sharing of various cultures. Like celebrants in a cathedral, they discover a greater unity with fellow members of their congregation, in a shared ambiance of folk art. They drew from such functions and applied the "intersecting" with a variety of folk forms and with other cultural expressions as well.

The Intersection was put together by two people who loved to dance, who loved folk dancing, who loved seeing people dance, and, above all, who loved dancing with people. We had a core group of friends who shared our passion for folk dance. We called ourselves the Hellenic Dancers; I was the director and Rudy was my excellent right hand. We never sought to create a club, cafe, studio, or business, but simply to create a little "home" where we could dance into the morning. Before The Intersection, we continually searched for places to dance. We conducted sessions in high-school gyms, where custodians promptly turned the lights out and cut our dancing short at ten o'clock. Still burning with desire, we would whirl into cafes for a continuation of our "dance bonding." At times, we would end up at Greek nightclubs where we had to put up with fancy shows and pop singers who belted out the latest songs from Greece. Occasionally, nightclub owners would let us dance between the floorshows and belly dancers' acts whose thirty-minute sets garnered dollar bills from rowdy onlookers and heavy drinkers who tossed money like confetti. Gouged by cover charges and two-drink minimums, we found that our participation soured. Restlessly, we looked for a spot somewhere in the Los Angeles area to call our own. Somewhere where the rent would be manageable for a dozen or so "members." Monthly dues would cover expenses, and all would share in the chores.

We came upon a low rent storefront on Alvarado Street, just off the 101 Freeway, not quite downtown--an obscure location by Los Angeles standards. To safeguard the place, Rudy offered to be the watchdog and made it his temporary living quarters. Rudy and I were the managers, directors, teachers, coffee brewers, and custodians. Mini pizzas, rice pudding, and baklava were our only menu offerings. A cover charge of 35 cents per person went into our first cash register, a "tin can" that we jingled as people appeared at the door. With it came coffee and free refills. Soon however, we discovered that as each evening came to an end, everyone would instantly disappear leaving Rudy and myself with the cleanup. We summoned our members to a meeting, and insisted that this vanishing act stop.

With a place of our own, the word spread and small crowds who were not part of our Hellenic Dancers performing group dropped by to dance with us. Rubi Vučeta--a social worker by day and an avid Balkan dancer by night--was a spitfire who shared our philosophy about folk dance. Rubi held a Balkan Night every Wednesday at the Hollywood Recreation Center. Her periodic visits to Yugoslavia gave her an insight into the vitality of our visitors and she was thrilled to move her group rehearsals to our storefront. Monday nights with the Greeks and Wednesday nights in the Balkans with Rubi attracted curiosity seekers as if they were visiting an underground speakeasy even though all we served was coffee. Rubi's sudden death in an auto accident in Europe startled us. For many years afterwards, her spirit and glow remained within The Intersection and her legacy was well endowed in her many followers.

Our storefront off the Hollywood Freeway instantly became a stomping ground for folk dancers from all over and along with them came new recruits and people discovering folk dancing for the first time. Some people even crossed Doheny, a main thoroughfare dividing Beverly Hills and the Westside from the "common folk" of the Hollywood area. Soon college students, educators, and professionals regularly visited The Intersection. Schoolteachers started bringing their classes to introduce their students to other cultures, and high school students became a new breed of folk dance enthusiasts, while college students found a home away from home. It was a time when travel abroad was cheap and students easily backpacked through Europe and the Middle East. The Intersection was part of that exploration as young people had their first foreign encounter before leaving home so that they felt culturally fortified.

Recent European immigrants became regular habitués, finding a welcome opportunity to share their traditions with new American friends. On one occasion, a young Greek college student wanting to impress some newly acquired friends bragged, "Let me show you some hasapiko steps I've been dancing all my life." After watching closely, another friend quickly pointed out that he had just learned those steps at The Intersection last week! Embarrassed, the young student meekly walked to a corner and waited for another round of dancers to impress. TV producers and film directors would bounce in and try a few sessions often selecting dancers for various shows and big-time movies taking place in North Africa and other exotic locations. A score of Intersectionites danced in the movie What Did You Do In the War, Daddy? And, in the remake of The Postman Always Rings Twice starring Jack Nickolson there was a celebration scene with authentic Greek folk music of the thirties fully cast with Intersection dancers.

The Intersection was crowded every night; cars lined the street. Suddenly this area--which was totally dead before--had now come to life with people popping in from every corner of Los Angeles. One night after seeing the traffic jam outside, police unexpectedly broke in and wanted to know why was everyone so "high." Sure we were high on coffee and folk dancing, which was a high that could make us reach Olympian heights! Age didn't matter. Octogenarians Millie Libaw in her red Hungarian boots and the arid, rough edged Mike Tzavaras--who swore The Intersection added ten years to his aging life--were constant patrons, nightly winning the admiration of young people. They adored Mike's style--his overflowing white mustache that he loved to twirl--and he was always encouraged to solo dance the Greek zeimbekiko. Before making his way onto the dance floor, he'd pull a "George Burns" and playfully pinch a young lady. A retired cafe owner, his daily routine was to hang around the fast-food hamburger stands in Hollywood which newcomer Greeks owned or managed. He regaled them with stories about "the smartest Greek in town" who has a cafe with only a coffeepot on one side and phonograph on the other while he stands in the middle collecting dollar bills. The place is packed; his pockets are bursting!

Some time later while visiting family in New York, I stopped by Michael and Marianne Herman's Folk Dance House in Manhattan to teach a Greek dance workshop. I admired Michael and Marianne and their contribution to folk dance has been invaluable. They were the pioneers of international folk dancing in America, exposing folk dance to the nation. When I first started teaching, I was invited to be one of their instructors for Greek dance workshops. However, they had a required method of presentation that I didn't want to pursue in disseminating Greek dance. I had spent a couple of years as an instructor at Arthur Murray's doing precisely that and I knew I didn't want to be part of any cookie-cutter dance routine instruction. My vision of Greek dance always held a special quality of the improvised moment to it. During this visit, Michael and Marianne were anxious to find out what The Intersection was all about. The word was out; it had reached New York. They asked what were we doing there in California that held everyone so mesmerized? I truly didn't know how to answer them so I just smiled.

I realized one thing we espoused was to create a unique folk dance experience. From my earliest orientation with Greek dance, I was attracted to the inherent qualities fostered in ceremonial rituals--the foundation of earliest forms of theater--and how the sacred dance evolved to secular functions that we find in folk dancing today. Rudy and I spent many hours exchanging our views. We didn't always agree but we were excited by the results we achieved and explored deeper into expanding The Intersection's concept. We aimed to reach the essence and spirit of each culture and to recreate an environment similar to where traditional folk life had thrived.

Dance is an organic art, a living sculpture that releases the spirit and character of individual "folk" artists. Does every pianist play Bach alike? Does every conductor interpret Mozart the same way? It was important to emphasize dancing to live music, as well as introduce a variety of new tunes from the broader selection of recorded music. The tune or melody does not dictate the form or style of the dance--rhythm does--and there are many varied melodies for dance rhythms. The waltz or tango can be danced to many different melodies. I knew this was true for Greek dances, and I was sure it would be true for other cultures as well. It was time to introduce the concept that folk dancing is creative and should not always be restricted to set patterns. For example, I could never accept doing the vari hasapiko as a set routine to the same melody every time, although, I taught routine steps to beginning students in order to initiate their interest and give them something to lean on. Eventually, I encouraged their creative impulses to freelance and experiment.

Other folk dance leaders trying to uncover our secret formula besieged us. They wanted to open similar establishments. We were astounded and in no time, we were involved in meetings, negotiations, working arrangements, and of course--above all--requests for us to hand over our secret ingredient insuring them a successful operation. Encouraged by our success, other entrepreneurs began similar dance places in Pasadena, the Valley, West Los Angeles, and Orange County. It was hard to explain that there was no magic, no secret formula, no technologies, no imbibing blessed Intersection libations, but this lack of planning just added to our mystique.

Once, some heavy-weight attorneys who thought this could be a great franchise idea approached us. They offered to work out arrangements, establish several centers in the area, create and train staff, and eventually go national. They would handle the franchise and stock options and so on. Rudy and I were beside ourselves; we thought we had taken a short hop to the moon and back. We were not sophisticated stock capital franchise moguls, and we could not comprehend their mumbo-jumbo. They were flabbergasted and astonished that we didn't leap at the opportunity and dance deliriously down Wall Street, celebrating and waving beautifully engraved stock certificates like hankies during a kalamatiano. When we forgot to reply to them, we received a bill for a three-hour consultation fee, though they had initiated the meeting!

We never considered expanding or moving from our little hovel on Alvarado until city officials beset us with requests to comply with city ordinances, apply for licenses, carry insurance, etc. We were confronted with such rules as: two men cannot dance together and no dancing with a lit cigarette in your mouth. In the early sixties before smoking became such a health and political issue, no one would ever imagine doing the zeimbekiko dance without a cigarette in his mouth--it was a given prop to the dance and often not lit. More and more inspectors would arrive asking us to apply for more Intersection licenses. We asked why all this flurry and inquiry, what provoked it? They answered that several parties were applying for new business permits and when asked what kind of business, they said they wanted to open a business like The Intersection. Finally, the city ordered us to shut down when we didn't comply with the ordinance of occupancy and lacked a second door as an exit because the Alvarado store butted against a hillside. We requested an extension. It was granted and we immediately went scouting for another location.

It was impossible to find adequate space within the rental price range we could afford. I recalled conversations my father often had with his friends that--unless you strive to own a building--the rent would eat you up alive in business. Rudy and I sought to find a piece of property to build on and after many months, we located a one near downtown on Temple Street close the Hollywood freeway. Rudy, an experienced structural design draftsman, began planning and working with architects to design and build a place we could call our own, with all the appropriate permits so no one could budge us in the future. Of course, there are a multitude of other headaches once you get into construction but it all boils down to money, and our budget was tight, and I mean tight. There are many tales to tell but the dumbest was when--in order to save money--we decided to demolish the dilapidated wood frame house on the property ourselves nearly toppling it on our heads!

We solved the problem of our business location but often solutions breed new problems. After our opening, we were perceived as successful businessmen and were besieged with offers for partnerships and to act as consultants. Our partnership ventures were disasters, total failures. We soon discovered that entrepreneurs like to be their own bosses and don't want others looking over their shoulders, even though they liked having the comfort and assurance that we would help them get started. Afterward, they wanted to be off on their own. Unfortunately being naive, we fell into the trap and suffered some losses.

One example of this came in the early seventies when I was approached about having a place similar to the Intersection in Athens. I thought it might not be a bad idea. I had enjoyed considerable success with Greek dance in the United States and thought this might be one way of continuing my relationship with both countries and also a way of honoring my good fortune. The Intersection in Athens opened in the Plaka area below the Acropolis, a rather Bohemian Latin quarter. I was elated. What could be better than dancing under the stars within view of the Acropolis and Parthenon? Very early I discovered my idealism--like Isadora Duncan's--soon faded. Some seventy years before me, she embarked on a provocative mission to abandon her garments on the ancient marbles and freely dance naked on the Parthenon. She was politely but angrily covered and swept away. My folly required new and expensive permits. Though we paid the official fees to Greek authorities, the police reminded us that we could not play music after 10:00 p.m.--it disturbed the neighbors. So we paid fines and were exhausted by summonses. I also ran into conceptual differences with my Athenian partners. I had thought we were to have a place similar to the Los Angeles Intersection but they only wanted a nightclub. Athens was rampant with nightclubs hawking entertainment to tourists; failure was predestined. Of course my associates in Greece weren't going to listen to me coming from America telling them how to handle Greek dance and music. My only consolation was that I had been firm in that my partner Rudy would not invest his own money or Intersection assets in this expansion effort. I was emotionally attached to Greece and had a right to speculate but I would not be able to explain to Rudy what it was like dealing with the Byzantine intricacies of doing business in Greece. After a couple years, The Intersection in Athens was total flop. I lost all my investment, but was happy I had tried.

With the new building on Temple Street, "business" was going well. No more tin cans, no more relying on congenial friends dropping by. We had to overcome the awkward position of reminding "friends"--especially those who supported us the first three years--that we needed to function as a business. We had mortgages, permits, insurance, operating costs, and more but we were barraged by folk dancers asking for special treatment. "Why can't we come in and just dance?" "Why should we pay admission?" "After all, folk dancing is free; it belongs to everyone!" "Why are we capitalizing on such traditions?" "Why are we such mercenary capitalists?" Our rebuttals were short and unacceptable to our clientele consisting of college students, low-scale income earners, and a handful of questionable leftovers from the hippy culture. We learned to toughen our resolve to survive in business and meet the demands, become taskmasters, promote business, pay off loans, etc. In addition, the city's bureaucratic haranguing continued: more licenses, more permits, insurances, fire codes, and health permits. One inspector would contradict the previous one.

We had to constantly try to reinvent to keep up, yet avoid being commercial and remain true to what we set out to accomplish. Our own personal dance activity and artistic involvement with dance groups was being diminished and redirected. We had business matters to attend to and we were learning as we went. One summer I had gone to Greece to prepare the Athens' Intersection. When I returned to glance over my mail, messages, and bills, there was an official looking man waiting outside our building. As I attempted to put the key in the door, he beamed at me and asked most politely, "Excuse me sir, are you Mr. Karras?" "Yes," I replied. "May I see your hands," he blurted? I promptly opened my hands out for him, whereupon--in a flash--he placed handcuffs on me and started to march me off. "Why," I said, "what's up?" "You haven't paid your payroll taxes, and the IRS is placing you under arrest," he replied. I didn't have the seven hundred plus dollars on me but he was willing to follow me to my office for my checkbook, drove me to our bank, and stayed glued to me as I cashed a check to pay him. Unfortunately, our accountant had not paid any attention to all the mailed IRS requests forwarded to him for the couple of months during my absence.

More and more, Rudy and I found ourselves spending time keeping a forward sail to remain in business and naturally less and less time on our personal quests with folk dancing and what we enjoyed. We were constantly reinventing the wheel. Almost every outstanding folk dance leader and personality was invited to headline an event. We offered recordings, international gifts, expanded the menu with ethnic cuisine, and aimed at becoming an international bazaar or emporium but we lacked the skills of promotion and marketing. The Intersection was becoming a talent pool for newly formed dance troupes, and for anyone trying to find out about ethnic cultures we were the Mecca. So many lives were touched and there are thousands of stories to be told, some great, some terrific, a few sad tales, but it's best that secrets be kept. We were delighted so many patrons found their significant other at the "I." To this day people stop me to tell me, "I don't know if you know it but I met my wife (or husband) at The Intersection, thank you!"

What determines the life span of a business, especially restaurants or clubs? People tend to be fickle and there are so many new activities constantly bombarding the public all vying for the same entertainment dollar. By the early eighties, the lifestyles of people changed dramatically. Discos were enticing with titillating beaming laser lights, circling multi-speaker sound systems, fanciful updated techno sounds, and new pop singers. The "me generation" was being born, and the "beat crowd" and "flower children" were turning in their torn jeans for designer labels. MTV, the sophistication of technology, computers, and the Internet would capture the time and imagination of teenyboppers, making the Beatles and Elvis look like granddaddies.

To keep up with the times yet retain The Intersection's old homey appearance was a challenge. We needed to respect earlier musical renditions, but also give way to lively new recordings that made you want to dance. New ideas are the lifeblood of sustaining any business, and we needed to reach out in ways that did not appear obviously commercial; after all, we were the antidotes to commercialism. We expanded in other ways, catering with ethnic foods and entertainment, promoting performances and concerts. But our core clientele was ageing, getting married, raising families, traveling, and joining the mainstream of American culture. The new crowds were not as imaginative, reaching them required publicity and advertising, but The Intersection was not a place you advertise. Word of mouth had sufficed. We swore that if push came to shove, we would close the doors before failure arrived. And so in time, we did what we needed to do and moved on. After our closing, the Los Angeles Times featured The Intersection in a major cover story. I wrote to thank them and simply remarked that it was a shame that the LA Times is more interested in funerals than life.

Lately, I have been reading a wonderful book, The Lexus and the Olive Tree by Thomas L. Friedman. As a child I always loved olive trees. I loved them for their wonderful shape, and their ability to survive through thick and thin. Often in Greece I would be among trees that were hundreds if not thousand of years old. They are harbingers of deep tradition and strife, adding to that was the luster of their leaves that shine in the sunlight reflecting a flicker of a two-toned silvery yet graceful and peaceful image. It's no surprise that the ancient Greeks chose the olive branch wreath as the venerated symbol bestowed upon victors.

"The olive trees are essential to our being, an attachment to one's olive trees . . . can lead us into forging identities, bonds, and communities based on the exclusion of others. And when these obsessions run amok . . . we find ourselves in conflicts over who owns which olive tree . . . because they are about who will be at home and anchored in a local world and who will not be. Their underlying logic is: I must control this olive tree, or else my whole sense of home will be lost . . . to have their identity or their sense of home stripped, people will die for it, sing for it, write poetry, DANCE for it. Because without a sense of home and belonging, life becomes barren and rootless." --Thomas L. Friedman

So what does the Lexus represent? Friedman goes on to explain, "It represents an equally fundamental, age-old human drive--the drive for sustenance, improvement, prosperity and modernization. The Lexus represents all the burgeoning global markets, financial institutions, and computer technologies with which we pursue higher living standards in America today." In Greece the olive tree is revered and tended for with solemn devotion. Sadly, in the suburban area of Los Angeles, my neighbors were cutting down some beautiful old olive trees--they were too messy to care for.

Copyright @ and all rights reserved by Athan Karras. Reprinted with permission. Please contact Athan Karras before publishing. With a background as an actor, director, and dancer-choreographer, Mr. Karras has found expression in hundreds of theatrical presentations in theater, film, and television. He has established study courses on Greek tragedy at the University of California at Berkley (UCB), has taught throughout the United States, was a founder of the Intersection Folk Arts Center in Los Angeles, California, has been professor of Greek Dance at Loyola Marymount University, has written articles on Greek Dance, and has produced videos and CDs of Greek folk music.