Suzette Mashburn: Belly Dancers Always Get Lucky

June 1975, my first summer in Alaska. Santa Monica, California, and the swirling veils of the big city seem very far away. I’ve always been on the stage dancing, but my stage is about to get much bigger. As one of many new arrivals in Anchorage, I have no extended family. I felt alone and cold with no direction in my life. An ad caught my eye in the Anchorage Times. I landed a job that brought me right into the heart of several neighborhoods.

Community Education is a new program is Anchorage. Neighborhoods gather together for the common good and learn new steps. Those families saved my life by giving me a sense of community and I integrate myself into their community fabric. This was my first lucky break.

Anchorage females from all over the city attend my class. Belly Dancing is very popular these days. Whether it’s for exercise or the novelty of moving your torso like a snake, they love this class. Mothers and daughters, young and old, find joy in moving with the ethnic rhythms. Figure eights are a new experience and we all laugh with amusement. We play peek-a-boo with our chiffon veils. We shift our eyes from side-to-side and feel the goddess (deity) flow through our bodies. They feel lucky, too.

June 1976, the first Pleasure Faire opens at Campbell Creek Park. Marijuana is legal in Anchorage and the hippies have found nirvana. Crafters and artisans sell their wares to the friendly crowds and food vendors fill their bellies. My belly is nervous. It’s my first stage performance as Helena, the exotic dancer from Tudor Community School. My husband, Gary the Klondike Klicker, is selling his photographs in handmade frames that were recently featured in a story in the Anchorage Times. My son runs free with his homemade sword, looking to duel with the finely dressed knights that wander the grounds. Now it’s my turn. The troupe enters the area, covered in brightly colored chiffons, noisy with the jingle of coins that adorn their belts. The crowd bursts into applause. How lucky am I.

October 1976. The most beautiful fabrics surround me. I choose a daring red, embroidered with metal thread weaving complicated patters that swirl your mind. We’re in the bustling city of Hong Kong where Gary will purchase the best camera he will ever own. I am lost in the wonders of the city and the vendors that fulfill your every wish. A vision of a red costume floats through my mind. Wait till the Anchorage crowds see this. My stage now reaches the Orient and will offer me Greece, Istanbul, the Orient Express, and Seward, and Kodiak, Alaska. Gary works for Wien Air Alaska and we had the great opportunity to see the world. Friends collect Alaskan art; we travel the globe.

It’s July 4th in Anchorage. We sleepily board the early departure on the Alaska Railroad, bound for the city of Seward, home of Mount Marathon. We relax among the unsuspecting riders, and then I materialize as Helena. Everyone smiles. I’ll not be racing up the rugged mountain full of climbers with scrapped hands and bleeding knees. I am the entertainment at the finish line. We, the belly dancers, draw attention with the jingling coins and rhythmic finger cymbals as we meander through the crowds watching the parade to the Seward stage. I’ve hit the big time. Back towards Anchorage, the mountainous, winding tracks through the Chugach Mountains are breathtaking. I’m out of breath as the crowds demand my attention in the beer car of the Alaska Railroad. There are enough dollar bills stuck here and there in my costume to buy us dinner back in Anchorage. We head to Tudor Road and my favorite chili dog at Der Wienerschnitzel. Lucky in Anchorage.

September 1983. No one recognizes me as I drive down the Seward Highway towards a paid gig. I wear a long, wavy wig to enhance the facade. At the party the women entertain my husband while I entertain the birthday boy and his friends. Even with all the smiles and encouraging cheers, I’m tired tonight. The zills lack the thrills. Perhaps it’s time for the next stage.

I have a daughter now. She giggles and wraps herself with yards of beautiful woven chiffon. She doesn’t know I’m the exotic Helena. She asks me to come to class on parent day and is disappointed when I show up as the well-respected Community School Coordinator and first woman President of the Alaska State Community Education Association.

July 1990. I wander though the tent city on the banks of Ship Creek as Anchorage celebrates its 75th birthday. Women think they know me, so I ask them if they ever took belly dancing. They say “Oh, yes” with a great smile. I hear the commotion as all eyes turn towards the joyous belly dancers. I’m pretty sure I taught a few of them to move in such provocative ways. As I watch, I know how lucky they are.