There were only eleven students; if they could find a twelfth, they could buy their dancing lessons cheaper. They descended on a pint-sized teen-ager backstage in a Dresden theater who had hopes of becoming a stage designer. How would he like to study under Dancer Mary Wigman, the new rage of Europe? He was willing: Before long, Harald Kreutzberg was the prize of the lot.
Last week, Manhattan's dancers and dance fans—from nightclub whirlers to classic ballerinas—turned out to see the shiny-pated, lithe little fellow whom most of them consider the greatest male dancer since Nijinsky. It had been ten years since...
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