Alice McCracken-Hurst column He left without saying good-bye - September 20th, 1988
Alice McCracken-Hurst column He left without saying good-bye
Staff Writer
Herald-Journal
Sept. 20, 1988, 12:01 a.m. ET
Walter is gone and won't be back. I still can't believe it.
When I read the local newspaper article again, one of my fond memories rose to the surface, crashed, then left me to pick up the pieces. I had gone to visit neighbors to chat about nothing much and found myself glancing over a story I had already read. Usually my schedule leaves no time for such luxuries, but this time it did, and for a reason. I was pointing out to my friends the local talent recently chosen for parts in a film, "Star Dancer," which is to be a love story about a girl from the South who dances her way into the heart of America. Boasting of the talent in the North Carolina/South Carolina area, I reread the paragraph preceding the information that Walter Fletcher, former vice president of Fletcher's School of Dance in Asheville, who had taught one of the movie role winners jazz lessons for the past six year, had been killed in June in an airplane crash. The winner had said, "It's given me more drive, more ambition to be the best. But he doesn't know ... that I won." This time it struck home. When I had read it earlier, I must have been diverted by a phone call, a child or tea kettle. This time, I really read it. Walter Fletcher had touched this talented young girl's life just as he had mine. The Fletcher family has long been the toast of my hometown: Asheville, N.C. For years, they've operated a successful downtown dance studio. Many Ashevillians knew of Walter Fletcher through dance lessons. Others learned of him through his sister, Maria Beale Fletcher, who was named Miss America in 1964. I remember the night of that pageant. I was proud not only because my hometown was recognized through such a beautiful, talented young woman, but also because I am distantly related to her. My Grandmother Clayton and Walter's Grandfather Fletcher were first cousins. Walter and I joked about our distant cousin-ness that summer I got to know him so well. I had met him through a mutual friend at a performance of "Unto These Hills," an outdoor drama presented each summer in Western North Carolina. We became friends when we discovered a love in common: tap dancing. During that summer, he helped me improve a rusty step that had been in disuse since I was 6 or 7. Meeting at his studio, we would practice. And Walter helped me as though I were a promising talent. It didn't matter to him that I would never be famous, particularly graceful, or beautiful as I danced. What mattered to him was that I danced and learned to love it for the enjoyment it could bring. The Christmas after our dancing summer, Walter gave me an autographed copy of a book his family had written on tap dancing. In his inscription, he summed up his philosophy so well: "May this book be of some help to you. No matter what, Alice, never stop dancing now that I've gotten you started. It can bring you all the joy and happiness you put in it." After I moved to New Jersey, I did keep on dancing. I took tap and, even one week after my wedding, I danced on stage in a recital with all younger counterparts. Now, as a parent, I am reminded of Walter's advice, and I try to take it to heart by trying to see that my children get all the joy and happiness they can out of life by putting their full selves into it. Thanks, Walter, for leaving so much for all of us who miss you and wish you were still around.
Alice McCracken-Hurst of Spartanburg is an early childhood educator and mother of two who writes about family issues.
Walter helped me as though I were a promising talent. WALTER
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