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Forever On His Toes

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Conner was unavailable for comment on this matter, but a ballet spokeswoman says the managing director doesn't have the authority to offer the artistic director's job to anyone. As for the other rumors, Conner dismisses them with a wave of his hand. "There's an old game called Telephone," he says. "Who knows how stories get to where they get." He explains that he has to think about what the ballet is going to do several years out, while the artistic staff is often dealing with who's injured today and who can sub in for them tomorrow. To that end, Conner writes down every ballet that Stevenson mentions he wants to do. When the time comes to plan a season or a tour, he can present the artistic director with a list of works the company has recently done, Stevenson's wish list, and the combinations that he thinks will keep the box office in order.

Dancers say that Conner likes to do the same ballets again and again to get a return on his investment, and next season seems to reflect that strategy with repeats of recent works like Cleopatra, Welch's Indigo and Lila York's The Rules of the Game. New ballets can be incredibly expensive to produce. Though in each case costs were shared with other companies, Stevenson's Dracula, Snow Maiden and Cleopatra each cost $1 million to $1.2 million. By reviving them, the ballet can bring in more ticket revenue and spend nothing on new sets, costumes and choreographers' fees. All three of these ballets were revived within a year to a year and a half of their premiere dates.

It is a fiscally conservative policy, and one that would not seem to leave the artistic director with much room to breathe. But Conner insists that programming decisions are not his, and that he is just helping by presenting lists of suggestions to Stevenson. "Was there a power struggle?" he asks. "I certainly wasn't in any power struggle."

Whether the rumors are true, they were likely heard by Stevenson. In retrospect, Lauren Anderson noticed the warning signs that led up to his resignation. Stevenson told her that he didn't have a place in the company anymore. He asked why he should even go to a particular rehearsal or meeting when they didn't really need him there. Anderson says he felt he was being shoved out.

Members of the board were also not entirely surprised by Stevenson's request to move from artistic director to artist-in- residence. Sources on the board say that Conner spoke to members informally, explaining that the move was really what Stevenson wanted and that they shouldn't protest. That is why, they say, the board approved the change in position.

The official story is that Stevenson wanted to work more in the studio and handle fewer administrative responsibilities, especially the hiring and firing of dancers -- a particularly heart-wrenching task for him. The less official story is that he was tired, frustrated and insecure from years of struggle with Conner and wanted to remove himself from the conflict. The least official story is that Stevenson wanted a dramatic action to separate his friends from his enemies, rally his supporters, and show Conner once and for all where they both stood in terms of company and community support.

Stevenson's support was clearly expressed. Anderson and principal Dominic Walsh organized a meeting with other dancers late the next night after a technical rehearsal. Stevenson is described by dancers as an inspiring teacher and a demanding director, a career-maker and a career-breaker, a magician and a monster, a father figure and a child. But when it looked like his artistic vision might not continue to lead the company, they put any differences they might have had with Stevenson aside. They also had to realize that new directors often bring in their own dancers, and without Stevenson, their jobs were not all secure. The dancers pleaded with the director and the board. Some even threatened not to sign new contracts if they weren't signing with Stevenson.

Community members flooded his voice-mail box with messages. People stopped him in the Kroger near the ballet academy and at Tony Mandola's, where he ate lunch. Before, he says, people would have said, "Oh, there's that fat guy from the ballet." Now they were telling him how much they liked his work, how important he was to the company.

Stevenson went back to the executive committee and agreed to finish out the last two years of his contract. The only problem: Stevenson's assistant Trinidad Vives already had been promoted to acting artistic director. Stevenson, Vives and the executive committee came to an agreement. The two would serve as co-artistic directors. But just before the arrangement was supposed to go into effect, there was another power shift. "The thing is," Stevenson says, "I am artistic director and Trinidad is associate director." She will be his right-hand woman and will handle some of the artistic decisions while he is traveling, but he is still the ultimate authority.

Stevenson rallied his troops. Houston Ballet faced the dance future without Stevenson and flinched. And some say that Conner's position within the company has suffered from the bad publicity. But in a way, the plan backfired. Succession is now on the ballet community's mind, and the fact that Stevenson brought up the idea of his own retirement might provide his detractors with another chance to push him into it.

Transition times offer as much danger as opportunity for ballet companies. From the look of the dancers to the technique taught at the academy, from the eclectic repertory to Stevenson's own classical choreography, Houston Ballet has borne the mark of Ben Stevenson for 25 years. And on balance, his artistic direction has been remarkably successful, taking the company from a regional concern to international recognition. What direction will the company take when he does resign or retire? Will the board choose a successor with his or her own choreographic vision? Or will it choose someone to carry the Stevenson torch? Will the company stagnate, crater or explode into something bigger and better than ever?

Perhaps the most significant succession in American ballet history came with Balanchine's death. Even though Balanchine handpicked disciple Peter Martins to follow him as ballet-master-in-chief, critics seem to think Martins can do no right. When he creates or brings in new works, he is demonized for not doing Balanchine. When he does Balanchine, writers like venerable New Yorker dance critic Arlene Croce lament that "the ballets have had their hearts torn out."

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