As most of you know, I began my professional ballroom career in 1999. One of my very first coaches (and frankly one of my favorite) was Frank Regan. I was fore warned of his quirkiness and his love of dance physics (I've never heard the phrase "rotary dynamics" so much in my life). It didn't prepare me for the man I met. This small older Brittish man that walked onto the hardwood in an ascot, colored glasses and purple dance shoes was not at all what I expected. Nor was I expecting to stand still in frame or in a contracheck for hours on end until every instructor had it right. What slayed me most however was the first time I stepped into his frame. This rather frail looking older fellow nearly ran me over. His power, speed, balance and length of stride were astonishing. This man nearly 50 years my senior was blowing me away. We developed a bond from that day forward. When I'd go to comps that he'd be judging at, he'd always ask me to dance. We could separate from each other and freestyle and come back in perfect sync with one another. Many times he asked me to move to D.C. and dance in his performance group. I loved him like a grandfather, danced with him like a partner and respected and idolized him as a dance legend and icon. When I stepped away from competing we'd kept in touch via Facebook. He'd suffered an illness at the last competition I was competing at, and was in the hospital for months. He was never the same after coming out of the hospital. The last time I put my arms around him and kissed him goodbye, I turned away from him so he wouldn't see me crying. He was so fragile. None of the strength and power that he had remained. The illness had robbed him of that. Today we lost a man paramount to the dance world. Save a Mambo for me, Frank.
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