Arnold Spohr referred to himself as a self-confessed farm boy. Dance insiders hailed him as one of the greatest ballet directors in the world.
This was the dichotomy of Spohr. He was humble in life, ferocious in pursuit of his art.
When he died on April 12 of chronic kidney failure at 86, he left behind a glittering legacy. Under his watch, the Royal Winnipeg Ballet became known throughout the world for its freshness of repertoire and versatility of dancer.
One of six children, Arnold Theodore Spohr was born in Rhein, Sask., in 1923 and was raised in Winnipeg's North End. His father was a Lutheran minister. Only one of his siblings married, and Spohr is survived by one blood relative, nephew Gregory Spohr. His late niece Barbara Spohr was an acclaimed photographer. Spohr remained close to his family, so much so, that his maiden sisters, Beatrice and Erica, did his laundry each week.
Spohr first fell in love with dance in 1942 when Erica took him to a performance of the Ballet Russe. In 1944, brother Richard encouraged him to take ballroom dancing at the Canadian School of Ballet founded by Gweneth Lloyd and Betty Farrally. The women also had started a company in 1939 later to be called the Winnipeg Ballet. One look at Spohr's lanky, athletic, six-foot-three frame and they drafted him into the company in 1945. He also became a choreographer of note. An accomplished pianist, Spohr gave music lessons to augment his meagre salary and in the ballet's off season, he worked at Winnipeg's Rainbow Stage Theatre.
In 1953, the Queen conferred the title "Royal" on the company, but in 1954, a disastrous fire forced the RWB to shut down. Spohr freelanced as a dancer/choreography in Winnipeg, and later in London, England, returning home in 1957. Because the the RWB was floundering, board member Kathleen Richardson convinced him to take on the artistic director's job. It was midseason, 1958, and Spohr had found his life's work.
He became known for discovering choreographers such Canadians Brian Macdonald and Norbert Vesak, and from abroad, John Neumeier, Oscar Araiz, and Rudi van Dantzig. In 1970, he spearheaded the establishment of a professional division at the RWB school, under principal David Moroni, to produce dancers for the company, among them, prima ballerina assoluta Evelyn Hart.
When he was first appointed artistic director, Spohr cashed in his insurance policy to underwrite a trip around the world so he could study dance - from tribal rituals in Africa to the sophisticated dance centres of Europe. He remained an inveterate globetrotter in pursuit of dance all his life, building an extensive network in the process.
Spohr had an uncanny ability to bring out the best in each dancer, yet his modus operandi was screaming and sarcasm. No detail escaped his eagle eye.
During one infamous Giselle rehearsal, he kept the dancers until 6 p.m. on Christmas Eve. On the other hand, working one on one, he was a superb coach and an island of calm.
Hart was particularly fond of Spohr's "motivational" rehearsals. "Once everyone had learned the steps," she said, "and before we started run-throughs, Arnold would give the company a detailed analysis of the work to understand the choreographer's intentions."
A Prairie populist, he developed the famous Spohr formula as a guideline to guarantee audience enjoyment. In planning mixed programs, he'd include a classical piece, a dramatic work, and something pleasant, or as long-time friend Stephanie Ballard quips: "A fluffy start, a serious middle, and an ending to wake up the husbands." It was only later that Spohr introduced full-length classics like Romeo and Juliet, Giselle and Swan Lake, which he admitted were for Hart, "because she deserved them."
Spohr was eased out of his job in 1988 with the title artistic director emeritus after 30 years at the helm. In his life of dance, many honours were conferred upon him, including Companion of the Order of Canada, Order of Manitoba, Governor General's Performing Arts Award, Dance Magazine Award, and three honorary doctorates.
By all accounts, his arm's-length position with the company left him a ship without a rudder, although he did maintain an office and gave private coaching to dancers. Salvation of sorts came with teaching at the Banff Centre's summer dance program, and being artistic adviser to other ballet companies, including Ballet Jörgen Canada. For the 1990-91 season, Spohr and Rachel Browne (who had founded Winnipeg's Contemporary Dancers), agreed to be co-directors of this modern dance company.
Spohr regarded the RWB as his family and the dancers as his "kids." He established the tradition of the Christmas party where spouses, significant others, and children were invited. Everyone got a present. In turn, the company would take up a collection for Spohr, one year giving him matching luggage, and another, a stereo system.
Without doubt, he had a larger-than-life personality. Everyone who knew him ends up imitating his high pitched, nasal voice and rapid Groucho Marx delivery. He liked to give people nicknames, for example, dancer Joost Pelt was Hosty, Winnipeg composer and dance writer Holly Harris was Hollywood, and both Hart and Spohr were "PKs" (Preacher's Kids).
Browne, the only Jewish member in the company, was Bagel Girl. If someone didn't have a nick name, they were Shnookie or Pal.
Spohr loved stuffed animals, hats, Broadway musicals, Liberace, Tom Cruise, David Cassidy, and holidays (any excuse for a party). He also adored junk food, chocolate and coffee. His empty fridge usually contained only a bowl of take-out condiments. Spohr never allowed candid photos of himself because he always wanted to first make sure he looked good.
He was also a terrible driver. Hart recalls the honking that greeted Spohr coming the wrong way on her one-way street.
Ballard became Spohr's primary caregiver when his health began to fail after two heart attacks and the onset of kidney disease. She is also Spohr's executor, but there is no estate to administer. Over the years, Spohr literally gave everything away. He would buy groceries for impecunious dancers, finance their weddings, and he even adopted the family of a former employee to the point of paying the mortgage. Mercifully, when Spohr retired, the RWB board created a pension for him.
In his last years, wheelchair bound and in a nursing home, he turned to music. Harris created a play list for her iPod of his favourite composers.
When Spohr became bedridden, Ballard could feel him fingering the notes when she held his hand.
It was Harris who was with Spohr at the end, and he passed away with dramatic flair. "He was great man who had a divine passing" she said. "It was magnificent."
The iPod was playing Chopin's nocturnes, which are usually gentle and lyrical. No. 8 in D flat major, however, is a passionate outpouring. At the sweeping crest of the crescendo, Spohr took one long breath and was gone.