by Len Goodman
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue: Talking the Talk
Chapter One: Carry On Up the East End
Chapter Two: Up in the Morning and Off to School
Chapter Three: Tradesman
Chapter Four: Len the Mod
Chapter Five: Going Up in the World
Chapter Six: A White Tie...and Tales
Chapter Seven: Standing On the Shoulders of Giants
Chapter Eight: Success Comes in Cans
Chapter Nine: Monte Carlo or Bust
Chapter Ten: It's a Family Affair
Chapter Eleven: Nearly a Very Grave End
Chapter Twelve: Strictly Unbelievable
Picture Section 1
Picture Section 2
The Backword
Acknowledgements
Better Late Than Never
For Rene, my link with the past
For Sue, my link with the present
For James, my link with the future
Other Books by Len Goodman
NOTHING!
Better Late Than Never
Len Goodman
with Richard Havers
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Prologue
Talking the Talk
It was early in 2004. I was 59 years old. I wasn't thinking of retiring, but I was thinking more about getting my life in balance – probably not before time. The dance school was doing well, I was judging and giving lectures, not just in Britain, but also all over the world; however, I was allowing a little more time for golf and the other things that were becoming increasingly important to me. With everything going so well, why was something beginning to get to my wick?
The world of ballroom dancing is certainly not a great big one – it's more like a little village. Six months earlier, in the autumn of the previous year, rumours had begun circulating about a new BBC ballroom dancing show that was to feature celebrities and professional dancers performing together. Every time I went to judge a competition or bumped into mates or acquaintances from the dance world almost everyone asked me the same question.
'Have you auditioned for this new BBC dance show?'
I quickly became tired of finding new ways to say no; of course, I pretended that I couldn't really care less. But the truth was it actually got to the point where it hurt that I hadn't been asked. To be a ballroom dancer you have to be a bit of an egotist. You need to be able to perform in front of thousands of people knowing full well that everyone will be judging you. Dancing is a very competitive world and I don't know anyone that likes losing – me especially. So why wasn't the BBC interested in me?
One morning I had a call from a friend who I'm sure was just trying to rub salt into my wounded pride.
'Ah, Len, I've just been up to the BBC and had a long interview with the people doing this new dance show.' He then proceeded to tell me all about what had happened, before asking, 'So how did you find it? You have been haven't you?'
'Of course I've been! But I don't think it's my cup of tea. So I told them there and then I wasn't interested.' From then on it became my stock answer.
In late March I heard from another friend in the dance world that the programme was going to start on the first Saturday in May. By then the show's name had leaked out – Strictly Come Dancing, a lot better than what I later heard they were going to call it – Pro-Celebrity Come Dancing. With time getting along it was obvious that there was no way I was in the running. That evening, unable to control my frustration any longer, I talked to my partner Sue about it.
'I know there's loads of people who've done better as a competitor than me, there are far better coaches that are probably more qualified to do it than me, but I know I'm the best one for the job.'
'And why would that be, Len?' Sue asked, in an as-if-I-don't-know kind of voice.
'Well, they all talk in very technical and boring ways about dancing, their personalities don't come through when they speak. All they will do is baffle people with specialist information.'
I've always known that my biggest asset, my single greatest piece of luck in life and throughout my whole career, has been my personality. There were plenty of others who could dance the dance, but I could talk the talk.
'But Len, you've been saying that you are going to do less teaching and not be so involved in dancing so you can play even more golf. Does it really matter that much?' said Sue, trying to heal my hurt feelings.
'Well, I know I have, but that's not the point! It would still be nice to be asked. Fifty-nine and finished – bloody great!'
'Oh yes, how could I forget it's that birthday next month,' said a by now less than sympathetic-sounding Sue.
Within a matter of days I heard that the show's format had leaked out. Pretty soon the names of the judges began to circulate on the grapevine. The producer was someone named Izzie Pick and she and the other executives at the BBC had apparently decided on the four judges: Bruno Tonioli, Arlene Phillips and Craig Revel-Horwood, along with, so it was rumoured, a really nice woman that I knew well from my world of dancing. They had chosen three choreographers from the world of stage dancing and a former world champion Latin dancer. But rumour also had it that Izzie Pick was still not sure if the balance was right amongst the four judges that had been chosen. On paper it seemed perfect, with two men and two women being the obvious way to go.
Besides the judges, they had by this time also chosen the professional dancers. I heard later that Izzie had been chatting with Erin Boag, who along with Anton du Beke, her partner, had been contracted as two of the professionals for the show. Izzie said she was still not convinced they had the best panel of judges and could Erin think of anyone else who might be right for it. Erin ran through a whole host of names and to each one Izzie replied, yes, she'd tried them all. Then, for God knows what reason, Erin said:
'Have you had a go at Len Goodman?'
'Who's he?' Izzie asked.
'Well, he's a bit of a character,' Erin replied.
I'd judged Erin and Anto
n on numerous occasions. I'd first seen Erin at a little beginners' competition in a small dance school in Southend, although I'd never taught either of them. They had also seen me lecture so I guess all that put together was probably what made Erin mention my name. And so, one evening, the phone rang.
'Hello, is that Len Goodman?'
'Yes.'
'This is Izzie Pick, I'm the producer of a new BBC TV show called Strictly Come Dancing, have you heard of it?'
What I said was, 'Yes I have.' About bloody time, was what I thought.
'Would you be available to come and have an interview?'
'Yes, I would,' said I, trying not to sound too excited or available.
'When can you come for a bit of a chat and a test?'
'When would you like me?'
'Any chance of tomorrow?'
I said yes, sounding very available and a little excited.
'Do you want a car to pick you up?' asked Izzie.
'No.' I thought it might make me sound expensive if I said yes. 'I'll come on the train, that's fine enough, thank you.'
Saying yes was the simple bit. Deciding what I should wear was much more problematic. I assumed by test that she meant a screen test and not an exam; I hoped so, as I'd never been too swift at exams. For some reason I decided that the English eccentric look was the obvious solution – well, at least to me it was. I thought, having been ignored for so long, that I needed to make an impact, an impression: I just hoped it would be a good one. In any case, what had I got to lose? I'd had a tweed suit that had been made in Dubai that made me look every inch the country gent; best of all it only cost me £150! I'd also bought a pair of two-tone shoes from Crockett and Jones in Jermyn Street; these were more expensive than the suit, but together with a nice shirt and tie they completed the ensemble – perfectly.
The following day, dressed as a slightly off-the-wall Englishman, I arrived at the BBC in Wood Lane where I was met by one of the assistant producers on the show called Matilda: today she's the main producer on Dancing with the Stars. She took me to meet Izzie who, when we were introduced, looked at me a little strangely, but covered her apparent shock at my appearance by talking enthusiastically about the show and how glad she was that I could find the time to come in at such short notice. My first impression of her was very positive; I liked her obvious passion for the show and what she thought it would do for ballroom dancing, although I couldn't help thinking she was so young to have such an important role for what could be a huge production. Izzie took me into a tiny room where there was just enough room for a TV monitor, a cameraman and the two of us; we spent the next two hours in there – me talking and the cameraman filming my every twitch.
'So Len, tell me a bit about yourself.' I've never needed any encouragement to talk about myself but tried to keep it as concise as I could, but at the same time I wanted to impress her with what I'd done.
'Well, I've been in dancing since I was 21 so I've been involved in it for close to 40 years. I've taught beginners. I've coached world champions. I've judged every type of competition.' After filling her in with more detail, I said, 'I can teach anyone to dance.'
'What? Even me?' said Izzie, laughing.
'What do you want to learn to do?'
'Salsa,' Izzie replied.
'Stand up and I'll show you.'
So with barely any room to move, I began teaching her to dance.
After this bit of fun we got down to the real business of the interview and Izzie put on a video of a couple doing a waltz and asked me to give a commentary on what they were doing. It was obvious they were not experienced dancers – just beginners' standard.
'Well, his foot work is very good,' said I, before waiting a little while to continue. 'But he just went off time, his left arm is not in the correct position, he lacked rise and fall, there was no sway to the dance, which is one of the characteristics of the waltz.'
'I thought you were really going to enjoy it after your initial reaction,' said Izzie.
'I've always believed that if you're going to criticise someone's dancing then you should always start off with any positives that you can find in what they are doing. I've always done that when I'm teaching.' The truth is I have found that people are more able to accept what's wrong with their dancing if you start by giving them some encouragement. If you accentuate the positive, you tone down the negative.
Izzie next showed me a couple doing the cha-cha-cha.
'His posture is good, with a nice hip action.' Unfortunately it wasn't all good and this time instead of just saying what was wrong I let her have some of my more off-the-wall criticism. 'You know, his arms are a little bit filleted,' followed by another couple of odds and sods.
She showed me two or three other dances on which I commented before we finished.
'Well, Len, thanks very much for all that. It's been lovely to meet you.' She gave me no indication of how it had gone; I left feeling a bit deflated.
I took the Tube back to London Bridge and caught the train home to Dartford.
'So, how did it go?' asked Sue.
'Well, I don't think it could have gone that well because she didn't seem particularly overwhelmed with my personality, knowledge or anything else about me for that matter. I've got a feeling I might be a bit old for them.' Even as I was saying it I was hoping I was wrong. 'She did seem impressed with what I'd done over the years.'
As I talked to Sue it occurred to me that what I could bring to the show was an in-depth knowledge of ballroom dancing that Bruno, Arlene and Craig could not because they shared a background in stage dancing. So maybe, just maybe, I would get the job. However, my realistic side was telling me that my female counterpart had already got it. I also comforted myself with the thought that I'd spent months telling people I didn't want the gig anyway.
Two days later I got another call from Izzie.
'Len, we very much like what we saw of you on the video that we shot when you came in the other day. When I say we, I've shown it to Jane Lush, the Head of Light Entertainment, as well as Alex Rudzinski, the director of the show and we want you to be part of Strictly Come Dancing.'
I practically bashed my head on the ceiling.
'Well, that's marvellous. I'd love to do it.'
'We're shooting a kind of pilot show next week, it's not for broadcast, it's designed for us to be able to get the logistics right for the first show that will air a week later. It will, however, be a full dress run.'
'Oh, right.'
'You don't sound so excited all of sudden, Len, is everything all right?
'Oh, oh, yes. I was just thinking of all the things that I'd need to get organised. I'm really excited by the idea and thanks very much for asking me.' After that we talked a little about details and said we'd talk as the week went along to cover off any final arrangements. I found out later that the woman who was also up for the job had pulled out. Apparently her husband, who had also been her dance partner, was about to celebrate a big birthday and she planned to take him to America as a present to celebrate and wouldn't be back in time to do the pilot. She was told that if she wasn't, then she couldn't be in the show. It must have been an agonising decision for her and I would have hated to be in that position myself.
After my conversation with Izzie my head started fizzing with thoughts. Naturally I was flattered that I'd been asked, but suddenly I was also frightened that the show was going to take the rise out of ballroom dancing, which would mean a consequent fall in my reputation. What I loved, what I'd spent all my life doing and trying to achieve for dancing, could be destroyed overnight. The first season was to last 8 weeks and I couldn't help thinking, supposing I'm on this show and it is an absolute mickey take and the whole thing is terrible. Week after week I'd be stuck there on a terrible bloody show. There would be nowhere to go, nowhere to hide; still, if it was that bad they might even pull it off air.
At the back of my mind was the thought that the BBC at one stage did ballroom dancing a great injusti
ce. It wasn't a deliberate injustice, but because of the BBC the general public's concept of a typical ballroom dance teacher was from the show Hi-De-Hi – mincing men and women with dresses that looked like an open parachute. Most people's idea of learning to ballroom dance was based on what they saw on that show. Even Come Dancing had begun to go downhill the longer it was on air and the worse its slot on the schedules became. I really worried that it could set our little world back and I kept thinking, 'What if Strictly is another load of crap?'
I realised, as soon as my head had come down off the ceiling, that there was another more practical problem. The second Saturday of the show was going to clash with the British Ballroom Dancing Championships, which are held in Blackpool every year at the same time. There are certain things in my little world of dance that are very, very important and this is one of them. I had been asked to be a judge, one of 11; given that there's only a pool of 30 in the whole world it was a real dilemma. To be asked is a great honour and it's the absolute pinnacle of our business. I know people in dance who'd literally cut off their leg to be invited to judge. This wouldn't be my first time, but that in no way diminishes the kudos. Over the next two days I called around to speak to a few people asking their advice as to what I should do, and eventually I began to formulate a plan. I'd been told that the second week of the BBC's show was actually going to come from the Tower Ballroom in Blackpool because a lot of the professionals were dancing there on the Friday and the whole show could not have gone ahead without the pros. However, what I was judging at the British Championships would clash with the live television show; I decided I needed to speak to Izzie.
'I know I've told you that I will do it – and, don't get me wrong, I want to do it – but would it be possible to be allowed not to appear on Strictly Come Dancing on the second week because I've been asked to be a judge in Blackpool at the British Championships. I would imagine in the 80-odd years that they've been going that no one has ever been asked to judge and turned it down.' I remember kind of laughing a little as I said it to make it seem like a trivial request.