My father, Marvin Sugar, owned a clothing store. He ran the store for nearly 40 years. He was happy to be the only employee in the little store in Langley Park, Maryland. Between customers, he happily spent his time tootling around his shop, hand-addressing little marketing postcards, rearranging the merchandise, and reading the newspaper while waiting for a regular to drop by and be measured for an annual new suit. He launched his store in 1960 with the help of his brother Harold, so it was called Halmar Bros. But really, he was the only one who owned the business. Maybe that is why I have resisted the idea of expanding AURAS by bringing in new partners.
Besides, I do have a partner. Helen Rea and I have been together for almost as long as AURAS has been around, and there is no way it would have been successful without her. Although she was a modern dancer, her “day job” was freelance accounting. When AURAS was audited in 1983 by the District of Columbia for back sales tax, she helped me sort out my disorganized records. The initial penalty was $40,000, but her work reduced it to a more manageable $12,000. In the end, after much angst, they never sent me a bill.
Of course, our relationship became much more than business. We have been married 37 years and raised two fantastic children, now both successful in animation. AURAS grew from a one-person studio to a small business that has lasted through turbulent economic times, renovated and maintained two properties as studios, and took calculated risks to undertake ambitious projects.
When we became a couple, the first thing Helen did was take away my checkbook, which I sloppily balanced and sort-of-knew the balance. I haven’t written a check in 38 years. She has always been the numbers person, and I have always been the dreamer. I have always proposed projects, and she was the voice of reason.
Her cautiousness was an outstanding balance to my headlong confidence. In the early days of AURAS, despite my complete lack of experience, I created the modern dance concert “See This Concert and Keep the Flashlight Free.” It had dance parodies and performance pieces that satirized the modern dance community. Without any training, I choreographed the entire concert. Of course, I had lots of help from the artists performing in the event (mostly because I had helped them with their promotion.) It was an immense effort corralling a dozen dancers—most of whom had their own companies—to learn my untutored works. After a dreadful dress rehearsal (a common thing in the world of performance) Helen and I were lying sleepless in bed, when she quietly asked, “Are you sure it’s—funny?”
Nothing could have been a more crushing thought the night before the live show. Still, someone had to say it, if only to allow for the possibility of disaster. For a second, it made me doubt the show, but then, possibly because there was no Plan B, I grew confident it would work. I had built amateurish choreography into the show, and the dancers were professionals who could make it a feature, not a flaw.
The concert was sold-out—not because of me, but because of all the great dancers—so I was relieved when the first peals of laughter rang out during the opening piece called, ”I’ve Always Wanted to Do That.“ A solemn group of black-clad dancers is pretentiously moving across the stage. A plant from the audience walks up to the lead dancer and hits her in the face with a cream pie. The plant was the dance critic for the Washington Post.
Helen knows when the next big project is coming even before I do. Passing by an old, dilapidated Masonic Hall for sale in downtown Silver Spring, she said to her friend Lise, “Rob is going to want that.” Helen went through all the hoops to get funding from our bank, the county, and the state to afford the building. And when the seller hung us up on a technicality and demanded an extra 70K if the sale didn’t occur within 24 hours, a stressed-out Helen managed to convince the state loan officer to walk the application through the red tape in hours to close the sale on time.
Partners find ways to turn each other’s ambitions into reality. Helen worked for years teaching Gyrotonic sessions in a small space and renting larger rooms for group classes. Finally, we built a beautiful Gyrotonic fitness studio for Helen to see her clients and hold classes. (helenrea.com) During COVID, we conquered technology and set up a Zoom studio. The space also showcases another of her passions—many beautiful quilts she made during the pandemic.
if it weren’t for Helen there is no way we would be where we are, doing what we do today. I’m the one with the ridiculous ideas, but she’s the one that makes them happen.
