Not too many years ago, one of Alicia Alonso’s ballerinas ran a school in the Gables. For decades, right up to the time Martha Mahr died, young girls would swarm out of her studio every weekday afternoon on the hour, their mothers and maids and boyfriends clogging Giralda Avenue to whisk the dancers away. I was in this last category, a species much maligned because of the adverse effect we could have on a dancer’s diet and focus.
