Better Late Than Never

by Len Goodman

  The highlight of series five was the discovery of an absolutely brilliant dancer in Alesha Dixon. One of the downsides was Gabby Logan being voted off before Kate Garraway, What is it with GMTV? Do they give them some sort of filleting agent to drink every morning to relax them which makes them come over all floppy on the dancefloor? John Barnes was far from the best dancer but I was glad to be able to give him a ten, much to the annoyance of the other judges, for his salsa. In dance you can make a case, good or bad, for almost anyone. I often say to people, judging is like eating Brussels sprouts; I like Brussels sprouts, maybe you don't. You're not wrong, it's your taste, and taste is what it's all about. I've often thought that before anyone is voted off they should all do both a ballroom and a Latin dance. Take Brian Capron who was the first one kicked out in that series. I didn't know him, he danced once, the waltz, and then he was gone. How do we know he wouldn't have been a brilliant Latin American dancer? Maybe he wouldn't, but they should all be given that opportunity. Look at Darren Gough: I bet anyone could have got 100–1 down the bookies against him winning after his first dance.

  Soon after we finished the second series of Strictly we started to hear rumours that ABC television in America were thinking of taking the series. At first I assumed that it would have little effect on anything we did, as it would be American stars and local judges. In the late winter of 2005 it was finally confirmed that ABC did want to take the format but it was a real will they, won't they kind of deal. Apparently their executives loved it but were less sure about the public's reaction. They decided they would try it out in a period when it could do the least damage; the early summer schedules, and just a six-week run at that. It meant that if it failed it could just be buried and no real harm would be done to anyone's reputation. Besides their uncertainty about the show they also didn't understand the UK title, because they'd never seen Come Dancing on their TV. When it finally did air in June 2005, ABC decided to call it Dancing with the Stars. It does exactly what it says on the tin. I heard a whisper that they were considering Bruno for one of their judges, and then he confirmed it. 'You know what, you know what, Len. I've been asked to be judge on American TV. Have you been asked, Len?'

  'No, I 'aven't.'

  It was like a bloody rerun of getting the Strictly gig in the first place. I also thought, bloody great. Arlene's doing a big West End production, Craig had done Dancing on Ice, Bruno's been asked to go to America and I'm back in Dartford teaching Mr & Mrs Someone to cha-cha-bloody-cha.

  A couple of weeks went by. I was at home getting ready to leave to teach a class when my mobile rang.

  'Hi, Len, just thought I'd phone,' said a chirpy-sounding Bruno. 'I'm at the airport waiting to fly first class to Los Angeles. I'm off to do the American show.'

  'That's great, Bruno, you have a good time. And good luck.'

  'Okay, Len, I see you, bye for now. Ciao.'

  Bugger my old boots; lucky sod, was all I could think.

  The following week I was in Blackpool at their dance festival. I hadn't been asked to judge but I went as a spectator because it's such a wonderful week. The festival started on Friday 27 May and ran until the following Friday 3 June – it is always held over the May Bank holiday weekend. So there was Bruno living it up in LA and I'm having fish and chips in Blackpool. Not that I honestly gave it much thought because I was with friends I'd known for years, having a great time.

  I was staying in the Hilton Hotel on Blackpool's prom and I can tell you the exact time this happened. It was Saturday 28 May, the second night of Blackpool, at ten past six in the evening, when my mobile rang.

  'Hello? Hello? Len?' There was an echo on the phone so I knew it was long distance.

  'Yes, it's Len, who's this?'

  'It's Izzie, Len.'

  ABC had booked Izzie Pick to produce their show; BBC Worldwide own the show but ABC could have used whomever they wanted, but they went with Izzie because she had done two British shows already and she knew the format. She'd written what they call 'the bible' for the production, which sets down every last detail of the show for broadcasters around the world who want to stage their own versions.

  Izzie had called me in the run-up to the American show to tell me that she had really wanted me to be one of the judges, but ABC didn't think I was quite what they wanted, which is why they had gone with Bruno, who they love, along with two Americans. ABC opted to go for three judges rather than four and the two they picked were Nick Kosovitch a Russian– American ballroom teacher, much like me, and Carrie Ann Inaba, an American, of Japanese and Chinese descent, who was raised in Hawaii – a dancer and choreographer.

  After asking me where I was, Izzie said:

  'Len, I know this is short notice, but ABC have done a pilot with Nick Kosovitch and decided he is definitely not who they want for one of the judges. They've decided that they would like you to come over and do it.'

  'Oh, right. When?'

  'That's the problem. Tomorrow morning. Is there any chance you could? We'll arrange it, but could you get a flight and come out to Hollywood?'

  'That's out of the question. I need to drive back from Blackpool, pack and so on, because I assume I'll need to be there a while.'

  'Yes, six weeks.'

  'I'll be able to catch a flight on Monday.'

  So, instead of leaving the hotel to return to the Winter Gardens to watch the remainder of Saturday's competition, I headed up to my room to pack. Sue and I drove home through the night, and being midsummer the sun was well up by the time we reached Kent. Just over 24 hours later I was in a car heading for Heathrow and Hollywood.

  Dancing with the Stars was to premiere on Wednesday 1 June so after arriving at Los Angeles Airport on the Monday evening it gave me little more than a day to get to grips with things. Worst of all I had not heard of virtually any of the celebrities. It had been bad enough in England because I'm not an avid TV watcher; in America I had no chance. The only one I'd heard of was Evander Holyfield, the heavyweight boxer. The American production people clued me in as best they could and off I went.

  On the flight over I had thought to myself, I wonder why they haven't picked an American dance teacher? When the production team sat me down it became clear that I would need to get myself something of a new personality.

  'You see, Len, the problem here is that if we use someone with an American dance background they will never say anything negative. They are so in awe of celebrities that they won't say the bad stuff and so we need you to be the someone who does the telling. I know that in Britain you don't have to be so harsh because you've got Craig, he's harsh enough for everyone.'

  It was a case of no more Mr Nice Guy. Having always had that philosophy of trying to be positive prior to being negative this was going to be a challenge. I found myself becoming slightly harsher in America than I am in the UK; of course, Bruno is usually Mr Nice Guy on both sides of the Atlantic.

  I was glad that Bruno was doing it because it meant that I had a friend in America. Having accepted the job well before me, Bruno was all sorted with an apartment not far from the studio, which has a gym, a pool and is part of a complex of five buildings. I decided that a hotel was a better bet for me as I'm useless at cooking, but I'd didn't realise how quickly I would tire of room service. From the second series onwards I moved into the same complex as Bruno, although I stay in a separate building. Quite often I go over to Bruno's apartment for a meal, because he's a very good cook – in exchange I would take some wine and do Bruno's ironing, which I'm pretty good at, although I draw the line at doing his underpants. After we've eaten we sit there like a cross between 'Grumpy Old Men' and 'The Odd Couple', moaning about this, that and the other.

  Not that I was moaning about the money I was getting for each episode of Dancing with the Stars. When they told me how much it was I thought, bugger me, that's bloody good. I then found that because the show goes out across all the US time zones they have to film a separate results show on the following day, not that this was any
big deal because as often as not the three judges just sit there and say nothing. Well, at the end of the series when my money came through, I thought, blimey they've made a mistake and paid me twice as much as they should have. What I hadn't realised was what they meant by 'episode', was not each week, but each show, so I got paid the same for the results show as the dance show. What they don't know is I'd have done it for half that!

  They do two series of Dancing with the Stars each year, one in the spring and another in their fall, our autumn, when I'm also doing Strictly. It means that in the autumn I have to commute for weeks between London and Los Angeles. During this period it feels like my body is permanently mid-way across the Atlantic. Bruno and I flew back and forth eight times in 2006, which I'm told is the equivalent of flying five times around the world. In 2007 it got even worse because ABC had changed their transmission days to Monday and Tuesday, so we had to catch the first flight on Sunday morning, which meant we couldn't have a night at home as we went straight from the BBC to stay at Heathrow. In the spring I'm there by myself for weeks and time drags by. I amuse myself by playing golf as often as I can or I drive down to Venice Beach and hire a bike and ride along with the ocean on one side and all the crazy shops and buildings on the other. It's like being thrown into the bar scene out of Star Wars because there are so many weird and wacky people on Venice Beach. One day I was there, it must have been close to 100 degrees, and there was a guy walking around in a fur coat and a fur Davy Crockett hat; I'd no idea what he was doing and I didn't like to ask.

  In America most of the sports people came from sports I don't watch so I haven't got my love of it to fall back on, except that boxing is truly international and I've been a fight fan for all my life. On series one we had the gentle giant, Evander Holyfield, the man who had had part of his ear bitten off by Mike Tyson during a fight. He seemed to be a lovely man but I didn't get a chance to speak to him as he only lasted one week doing a cha-cha-cha. He later danced on Strictly Come Dancing on a Christmas special. He went off time and I was tempted to say you haven't got an ear for music, but under the circumstances decided it was safer not to.

  Later on came Floyd Mayweather, who may have been pound for pound the best in the world, but he had a lot of things about him I didn't like; he was always covered in gold chains, diamond watches, and rings on most of his fingers. As a dancer he was a bit of a rough diamond, far from elegant, he lacked style, but he also seemed to lack the correct attitude when he appeared in the autumn 2007 series. Perhaps it was because he had his upcoming fight with Britain's Ricky Hatton on his mind, which was scheduled for two months after he started on the show; the fight would have been two weeks after the final – if he made it. To be honest he had as much chance as I had of beating Tiger Woods at the play-off at the British Open.

  My heart was hoping Ricky Hatton would come out the winner but my head told me it was unlikely. Two weeks into the show I was walking towards the set at CBS Studios when I saw Floyd sitting in a chair surrounded by three enormous minders. As usual he was dripping in diamonds. Not wanting to walk by and ignore him, I said:

  'You should be training, Floyd, if you're not careful Ricky Hatton's going to knock your block off.' Before he could answer I walked on. Later in an interview it seemed Pretty Boy Floyd didn't get the joke. He was convinced I had it in for him, because I was such a fan of Ricky. I thought the following week if I was negative towards him the three massive minders were bound to rearrange my boyish good looks. Floyd danced the foxtrot; it was totally lacking in everything you look for, elegance, good posture, smooth effortless motions – in a word it was terrible. I took the bull by the horns and laid into him verbally, as I hoped Ricky might physically. I gave him a five and the following night in the result show he was voted off. He took it very well and I suppose got on with his boxing training, which was perhaps why Ricky got beat; perhaps I should have tried to keep him on the show longer.

  Another boxer who appeared on Dancing with the Stars was not a man but Muhammad Ali's daughter Laila, who was female world boxing champion. What the other two lacked in dance skills she more than made up for and got to the final of Series Four, to be pipped at the post by Apolo Anton Ohno, an American speed skater. On one of my cycle rides along Venice Beach I went into a shop where I found a great poster of Laila's father. I thought I could get her to sign it so I could give it to my gym as they have lots of sporting stuff on the walls. I asked her the following week at the studio. 'Sure, leave it with me.'

  Three weeks went by with no sign of the poster. I didn't like to ask her for it in case she actually didn't want to, so I just let it go. When the semi-final came around, everyone at the studio was excited because it was rumoured that Muhammad Ali himself was to be in the audience. Sure enough, there he was, frail and only a shadow of the former Cassius Clay. His Parkinson's disease made him that way, yet as the Simon and Garfunkel song 'The Boxer' says, 'I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains.' He came only to see his daughter and as soon as she had danced he left. Next time I saw Laila she said, 'I have that poster.' She had signed it, and in very shaky, tiny, writing so had her dad. I felt this was too special to give to the gym. I am a member of the Variety Club Golf Society and we provide Sunshine Coaches for charity. We have a dinner at the Royal Lancaster Hotel each year, followed by an auction. We always need memorabilia to auction and I felt that Laila and Muhammad would be happy that the poster went to such a great cause. It made £7,500 thanks to the generosity of one of the patrons of the Society.

  Trying to find things to do when I'm in Hollywood in the spring is my biggest challenge, but ABC is great and are always coming up with things. They know how much I like golf and they got me a ticket to La Costa, a golf resort, south of Los Angeles, for the Accenture tournament in which all the best pros were playing. On the first day of the tournament Bruno, Carrie Anne and I had to do a live interview with Good Morning America, which is done from New York. With a three-hour time change it meant that for an eight o'clock slot on the East Coast we had to be in the studio, made up and ready to go for 5 a.m. I'd decided with such an early start I wasn't going to drive to La Costa but by five past five we'd done our thing so I thought, bugger it, I might as well go.

  I went back to my apartment, got an overnight bag with what I needed and headed down the freeway. Halfway there I got on the phone to see if they had a free room, and somewhat to my surprise they had one. I got there by about eight o'clock and they took me to my room, which was away from the main building and, having been up so early, I got my bearings all muddled when I went to try and find somewhere for breakfast. I saw a big double door; I pushed it open and found myself in a huge corridor. As I walked along it a man came walking towards me.

  'Excuse me, I'm lost.'

  Before I could finish asking him how I could find reception he said, 'You're the guy on that dance show, aren't you?'

  'Guilty,' I said.

  'We love that show, my wife and I watch you every week. We think you're great.'

  'Oh right.' Despite having so many people talk to me these days it's sometimes difficult to find the right words. As he talked he started dialling on his mobile.

  'Honey, let me put someone on the phone.' He covered the mouthpiece and handed me the phone. 'It's my wife, Susan.'

  I felt a bit like Tom Cruise at one of those film premieres.

  'Hello, who is this?' asks the lady.

  'Hello, Susan, you may know me.'

  'You're Len Goodman,' she practically shouted.

  After some more chat I handed the man back his phone, and he said, 'Sorry, Len, I should have introduced myself. Gary Beckner, I look after corporate sponsorship for Accenture. Would you come and have breakfast with us in the players' private dining room?'

  As we walked through some more double doors into a large room, full of desks and computers, Gary said, 'Look everyone, it's Len Goodman.'

  At this, everyone looked up and in true American fashion said, very nearly in unison
, whether they knew who I was or not, 'Hi, Len.'

  'Bob, get Len a goody bag. And Bob, make it a big goody bag,' said my new best friend. 'Come on, Len, breakfast.'

  As I walked into an adjoining room, which was full of circular tables set up for eating, the first person I saw was Nick Faldo with the NBC Television commentary team. At the next table, all alone, sat Tiger Woods.

  'Follow me,' said Gary as he headed for Tiger's table. 'Tiger, do you watch Dancing with the Stars?'

  'No, but Elin, my wife, watches it all the time.'

  'Well, this is Len Goodman, the head judge from that show.'

  'Len, won't you sit down?' asked Tiger. 'Wanna join me for breakfast?'

  He didn't need to ask twice and as I chatted with probably the greatest golfer of all time, I keep asking myself: How the hell does this happen to a dance teacher from Dartford?

  Doing the American shows gave me the opportunity to talk to my stepsister for only the second time in 30 years. Adrienne married an RAF guy in the sixties, but soon after they married they emigrated to Canada, which was the last time I saw her until 1974. I'd been asked to judge a weekend ballroom dancing competition in Germany. After judging the first night's competition the organiser said, 'We're taking you to the highest mountain in Germany for breakfast. Be ready at eight o'clock – sharp.'

  It was the last thing I fancied doing but they wouldn't take no for an answer. Next morning we got to the top of the mountain where there was a café, a typical Bavarian-style wooden building. I sat down on a long wooden bench at a table that could seat about 20 people. There were about ten of us sitting there when up came a bunch of people, who were not with our group, and one of them said in English: