by Derek Hough
I really thought he was the biggest spoiled brat, yet there was something about him that I liked. Maybe it was the fact that he was always able to speak to his parents so openly, almost as if he were their equal, even at a young age. Sometimes I was shocked to hear some of the things that came out of his mouth, but I was always in awe of his honesty.
When we first arrived in London, I was so naive. “Wait! They all drive cars here?” I asked Mark. He just rolled his eyes and dragged me along by the elbow. I wasn’t sure what to expect of my new digs in Dulwich Village, a nice neighborhood in South London. I had only been to England once before—the time we competed at Blackpool—and I had barely set foot outside of the ballroom or the airport. I had a pretty romanticized vision of what it would be like. I thought people would be driving around in horse-drawn carriages, wearing monocles and morning coats, and sipping tea all day. Instead it was just a busy city, filled with hustle and bustle and modern conveniences. Mark wanted to know what planet I was from.
He was born in Texas, but had been living in London for several years. This was his home. Shirley and Corky had consulted him before asking me to live with them. They wanted to be perfectly clear: Mark would need to learn to share everything, including his room and his toys, and there would be no kicking me out if we had a fight. It was his decision as much as theirs to invite me in.
As curious as I was about London, people were curious about me. I got a lot of funny looks: “Who is this strange American kid moving in with Corky and Shirley Ballas?” They had never taken in a boarder before; people weren’t sure what to make of it. Their house was old but beautiful. I remember the wood-paneled ceiling in the Asian-themed room, the marble fireplace in the living room, and the elaborate chandelier in the dining room. It was all very posh compared to what I was used to in Utah. We had a large backyard and a beautiful park across the street. But the best part? I had never had a brother before, and now I got to experience what that was like.
When we first arrived, Shirley arranged for three different girls to try out to be my dance partner. One of them was Jade. Yes, that Jade. I was so happy, and I played out the whole romantic storyline once again in my mind. But when she came into the studio, it was all business. Shirley had me dance with each girl and we evaluated the choices. In the end, I actually didn’t want to partner with Jade. I preferred another girl, Leanne Noble, and am not sure Jade ever forgave me for that. It was the end of our romance: the dancing won out over first love.
Besides dance, there was school. Shirley enrolled us in the Italia Conti Academy of Theatre Arts—a co-ed school for kids ages ten and up who were interested in pursuing careers in the arts. It was very prestigious, kind of like the school in Fame but in London. To get there, we had to take three trains, and God help us if we were late (Shirley wouldn’t stand for it). Every morning, Mark and I would get up at seven and race to make the seven forty-five at Herne Hill station. The Thameslink line was always mobbed, and we’d be packed in like sardines, smelling everyone’s underarm deodorant or lack thereof. We rode over the River Thames, past St. Paul’s and the London Eye. The huge Ferris wheel wasn’t even there when I first moved to London; I actually got to see it being built. The train ride was where I daydreamed and did most of my “deep thinking.” I plugged in my minidisc player, listened to my tunes, and stared out the window at the city of London. Then we changed trains to go on the Underground to Barbican. When we got off, we had to walk half a mile to the school. Even in the cold, damp, blustery winter months, I didn’t mind. There was a little breakfast place across from the school, and they made toasted bagels with sausage and brown sauce. I actually looked forward to going to school every day just to get my sausage bagel.
School was from 9 A.M. to 6 P.M. In the wintertime, it would be dark when we arrived and dark when we left—we literally never saw sunlight. Italia Conti was the name of the actress who founded the school in 1911. The huge campus is divided into several buildings. Ours was nine stories tall, and we weren’t allowed to use the elevators, so we were climbing up and down stairs all day. We wore uniforms—blue blazers, gray slacks, light blue shirts, and blue ties with the logo of the school stitched in white. The teachers there were a cast of colorful characters. My headmaster, Mr. Vote, was this Australian guy. He had a gray beard and hair, and he also taught history. Miss Day, my science teacher, was a large woman who wore half her head shaved and the other half of her hair in a bob. Miss Matkins, my English teacher, was about four foot five and had this squeaky, high-pitched voice. She walked around in high heels with bent legs. When I had to go away to a dance competition, she was kind enough to do my homework for me by telling me all the answers. Mr. Duwitt taught me math. He was an older man, and when he leaned over to show me how to work an equation, the smell of smoke and tobacco on his body was so pungent, it made me gag. His famous expression was “The mind boggles,” as in, “Derek, you can learn a complicated dance routine yet not figure out a simple simultaneous equation. The mind boggles!”
Principal Anne Sheward had her office on the ninth floor—so most kids rarely went up there. I, however, was a frequent visitor. I hated ballet class, so I would skip it, and my teacher would angrily march me up the stairs for disciplinary action. But Ms. Sheward was great. She would tell me to take a seat, and we would have a cool chat about life for a few minutes. She never scolded or punished me (though we didn’t let my ballet teacher know that). It was a free-spirited school, for sure, and for the first time in my life, I had lots of friends. There was George Maguire, the cool kid and a very talented actor and singer, and Newton Faulkner (then known as Sam), with his ginger hair done in dreadlocks. Sam would skip class and lock himself in the boys’ changing room so he could practice chords on his guitar. Fast-forward six or seven years later, and he was signed to a major record label. I always knew he would make it. Lucas Rush and Desi Miller were my two best friends, the ones I got into trouble with the most. They would bust on me every time I tried to talk in a British accent. But teasing aside, I felt encouraged, supported, inspired. The academy was all about letting us be creative and follow our dreams.
During lunch or in between classes, I would go to the art room—I even had my own key. Once again, I became a bit of a loner, but this time by choice. My friends were always asking, “Where’s Derek?” and that’s where I was hiding. The art room was my sanctuary. My art teacher, Miss Todd, was very eccentric. Her hair was wild, and she dressed like a hipster. She showed me art books filled with paintings and sculptures of naked women. She would take our classes on field trips to all these crazy installations at the Barbican Art Centre and the Tate Modern. Her classes lit my imagination on fire. I didn’t have to obsess over straight lines or shading or capturing an image of something down to the exact detail. Until I met her, I had never seen modern art before. She showed me that art doesn’t need to be technically perfect; it just needs to mean something. I’d look at some scribbles on a canvas and say, “I can do that.” Miss Todd would shake her head and break it down for me. “It’s not scribbles. There’s a story and an emotion behind it.”
After school, I’d take the train home and we’d have dinner. Shirley’s mom, Audrey (we called her Nanny), lived with us and made us dinner (spaghetti Bolognese and roast chicken and potatoes were my favorites). Then we’d drive to the Semly Practice Hall, where I ran my dances with my partners from nine to nearly midnight. It was in this terrible neighborhood called Norbury, and to reach the studio I had to climb two flights of creaky stairs. The whole place smelled moldy, sweaty, and damp, and the lights flickered. There was a little stage; Shirley sat and watched me practice. She gave us pointers here and there, but it wasn’t about corrections. It was a chance to show off and eye up the competition. Some of the world’s greatest dancers practiced there every day.
On a rare night off, Mark got me to go to a Korn concert at Wembley Arena with him. I put my foot in Mark’s hand during “Freak on a Leash” and he hoisted me up. I crowd-surfed from the back
of Wembley to the front, allowing hundreds of strangers to carry me in their arms. I felt like I was baptized into rock and roll! From there on in, I was hooked on heavy metal music. Shortly after, Mark and I ended up starting a band together—we called it Almost Amy. I drew a cool logo with two A’s in it.
“Say the first A word that comes to mind,” I told Mark.
I said “Almost” and he said, “Amy.” So there we had it!
We eventually turned the beautiful dining room into our jam space. We took out the marble tables, drapes, and chandelier and painted the walls black and the ceiling red. Shirley and Corky let us do it—it was our cave of creation. I played drums and Mark was on electric guitar (my dad bought it for him for Christmas). We wore black eyeliner and nail polish and punked it out. We even got bookings at battles of the bands in local pubs and at the Gilford Rugby Club. It was pretty funny, because our alter egos were competitive Latin dancers—all low-cut shirts and rhinestones. We could slip easily in and out of both personas—whatever the occasion called for.
We lived in a safe, family-friendly area, but parts of London were rough, as you’d expect from any large city. Mark had a knack for attracting muggers. One time, we were in a train station and a little kid—no more than about eight years old—came up to him: “Oi, mate, give me your phone.” We always carried the cool Nokia phones with the Snake game on them, and they were the hot item. It was like inviting trouble carrying one around, but we didn’t care.
Mark thought the mini-mugger was crazy: “Are you kidding me? No way.” Then he looked over his shoulder and realized the kid wasn’t alone; he had a whole gang with him. So Mark handed over his phone and the kid ran off. I never let him live down the fact that an eight-year-old had mugged him.
I had my own incident as well, but I handled it a little differently. I got off the train at Herne Hill station and noticed that two guys were following me. I could hear their footsteps getting closer and closer. “Give us your backpack,” they threatened me.
“Why? All I have is my homework in here,” I tried to reason with them. They had seen me on the train with my minidisc player and they knew I was holding out on them. “Give it,” they threatened.
My bag was covered with key chains and buttons, and as I took it off my shoulder, pretending to give it to them, I swung it hard in their faces. All that hardware knocked one of them to the ground and stunned the other. With my bag in hand, I ran the mile home without ever looking back. Not bad for a skinny kid in a school uniform.
I was proud of the person I was becoming in London. I thought I would miss home, but truthfully I didn’t. Part of the reason was that there was no time. My days and nights were so jam-packed, I simply functioned on autopilot, going from school to practice and catching a few hours of sleep in between. The other thing that kept me from being homesick was that I knew I was on the right path. I was surrounded by people who believed in me and were taking care of me. So no, I wasn’t homesick. In fact, just like the time I ran from those muggers, I never looked back.
LEADING LESSONS
Pounce on an opportunity—even if you think you’re not ready.
Whenever I got a new partner—and I had several over the years—I’d want to rehearse for months before we competed. But Shirley would give us two weeks to get five routines down. She’d throw us out there: “You have to bite the bullet.” Ready or not, we hit the dance floor. Why? Because you’re never ready till you’re doing it. No amount of preparation in the world can prepare you for the actual experience. I tell my Dancing with the Stars partners this all the time. You can rehearse for weeks, months, years, and still never be ready. You have to just go out there and live it—that’s when it will all make sense and come together. You can’t prepare yourself for the actual in-the-moment experience.
Leaders take that leap. You can’t let insecurity hold you back. The walls that protect you are also the walls that imprison you. There’s an old Cherokee story about a grandfather who tells his grandson about the two wolves that live inside us all. There’s a battle raging between them. One is evil—he represents fear, doubt, self-pity, regret. The other is good—he stands for joy, peace, confidence, truth, faith. The grandson asks, “Which wolf wins?” The old Cherokee simply replies: “The one you feed.”
There may never be a right time or a right place to take a risk. The right time is right now. In the past, I used to overanalyze everything, and if something landed in my lap, some great chance to be taken, I’d often talk myself out of it. I know now that you have to have confidence in who you are and what you want. You have to seize the opportunity and feed the good wolf.
Failure can’t live in the company of perseverance.
Failure eventually surrenders. Corky and Shirley taught me this. It took them ten years to win Blackpool. Ten years! Some people would give up and throw in the towel after ten minutes! Every time they lost, all the people around them blamed Corky. But he was relentless. He was going to prove his talent not just to the naysayers but also to himself. There were many times as a competitive dancer when I felt deflated and not good enough, but I never gave up—the Ballases never let me. You always have to keep on moving forward and having faith. Think of the greatest leaders we know. What do they all have in common? They all fought some uphill battle to get where they are. Call it tenacity, persistence, or plain old stubbornness. When someone or something tries to push me off my path, that’s when I dig my heels in even harder. I’ll be honest: in some areas of my life, I have this mastered. In others, I need a little reminder now and then. There’s nothing you can’t do if you see it through.
Don’t jump to conclusions over first impressions.
They’re often dead wrong. When I first met Mark, I thought he was spoiled. When I met Shirley, I assumed she was tough as nails. But getting to know them both as a member of their family, I saw how wrong I was. Shirley is a teddy bear, a caring, loving person who would do anything for me. And Mark? I think of him as a brother, in every sense of the word. I’ve learned to make a special effort to get to know the people who put up walls and seem cold or tough. It’s like an onion; you have to peel back the layers. I’m sure some of my DWTS partners made an assumption about who I was the first time they worked with me. They probably thought I was a tough taskmaster and cursed me out for putting them through this! But anyone who truly knows me will tell you, I’m harder on myself than I am on anyone else. And I’m a softie who loves to goof around. But to see that side of me, you need to move past the first impression. What’s the lesson here? Dig a little deeper. Get to know people and what makes them tick. Don’t make an assumption till you know someone a lot better. Think of all the people you might have dismissed who could have been great friends, mentors, or allies, if you’d only given them the chance.
Perfect example: dancing with Lil’ Kim on DWTS. She had recently spent time in jail and I remember thinking, Oh my gosh, I’m afraid I’m going to get shanked in the middle of the dance! Then I realized I was judging her without knowing her, something that I have hated people doing to me in the past. It took only a few minutes to see the sweet, loving person she truly was. Had I not given us the chance to get to know each other better, I never would have learned that.
* * *
REFLECTING ON DEREK
“Derek’s gratitude is endless. He wants the best for himself but truly understands he has to work for it, and work he does. I could not imagine my life without Derek in it—it would be a boring place! He gives back to me in so many ways: kindness, graciousness, caring, love, honesty. He’s a great man and teacher, and even though I did not give birth to him, I truly feel he is my son.”
—SHIRLEY BALLAS
* * *
7
THE BALLAS BRAT PACK
IT WAS THREE months before I went back home to Utah. That was the original plan: I would go abroad, have this great experience, then go home to Orem and get back to my life. That’s what my mom and dad had agreed to, and that’s what I had promise
d them.
But in those three months abroad, so much happened. I grew up a lot. I developed a strong focus, discipline, and a desire to compete on a much higher level. That overrode everything else. There was no going back to the way things had been—I’d moved past all of that. I had forged a new identity for myself, and I was a part of a new family. It amazed me how quickly it all fell into place. London felt normal; Utah felt strange.
The dust was settling from the divorce, and my dad especially wanted some semblance of normalcy back. He wanted to be a dad to me, and that was impossible to do with five thousand miles separating us. I pleaded with him to send me back.
“Please,” I begged, “I have to go back to London. I’m doing so well there.” I could feel myself moving in a forward trajectory, and I was afraid if I came back to Utah, I’d stop progressing. I was ready to work and ready to achieve all the goals that had been set in front of me. In my mind, there was no other option.
While my parents were mulling it over, a problem cropped up with Mark’s dance partner. The girl outgrew him—literally. All of a sudden, she was a head taller! So he needed someone new, and fast.
“Hey, maybe you should dance with my sister Julianne!” I teased him. She was all of nine years old at the time, still studying at Center Stage. I could see the wheels turning in Shirley’s head as soon as the words came out of my mouth. Julianne was very talented, and she had a maturity to her dancing that was way beyond her years. She had done some competing before, even moved to Florida for a few weeks to work as a couple with a Russian kid.
