The generation of dance schools that sprang to life from converted garages or basements, with monikers like Miss So-and-So’s School of Dance, may be considered too bland for 21stcentury palates. The recipe for success in today’s market includes a website, glossy full-color brochures, dance accounting software, a state of-the-art-digital sound system, sprung floors, a diverse staff, and a big enrollment. Throw into the pot the growing trend for today’s youth to embark on regimented extra-curricular schedules and it’s no surprise that dance studios compete not only with each other, but with karate schools, music coaches, soccer leagues, and cheerleading teams. Add a pinch of a tight economy to the mix and then let it simmer for a presidential term. In times like this, keeping a business bubbling requires creativity.

 

 My school gave its 30^th annual recital this year, and the commercial tagline “You’ve come a long way, baby” speaks volumes about its history.  The founding owner, an enterprising 16-year-old, started the school in her parents’ garage, recruiting students from babysitting gigs. As the business thrived, it upgraded to larger spaces. Skip ahead 20 years and there I am, running Lisa’s Dance Center (which ultimately had to endure a name change to Just Dancin’— either that or I’d have had to change my name to Lisa). Fast forward another 10 years and you will find a 3-classroom studio with a staff of 8, more than 200 students, a bevy of competition trophies and awards prominently displayed within 3,000 square feet, and a “Closed” sign on the front door. Huh? Actually, the sign reads, “We’ve merged with Dance Invasion,” and then it gives their website address, their phone number, and the date when their fall classes resume.

 

My school was in Arlington, a suburb of 360,000 between Dallas and Fort Worth. Jami Byrd owns Dance Invasion, an eight-mile jaunt from my former location, and another facility on the other side of town. When lease renegotiations for Just Dancin’ didn’t pan out the way I had envisioned, the thought of having to relocate to a more affordable facility left a sour taste in my mouth. Then, last spring, when Jami and I were having lunch and ranting about run-of-the-mill studio gripes and trying to figure out how we could once again share a backdrop for our recitals (and split the cost), the proverbial light bulb went off in my head.  “Jami, how would you like roommate?” I asked. “I think I want to shut down my studio and move my brood over to your place.”  “Really?”  “Yeah, let’s do it. Let’s merge.”

 

For us, the most significant reason to merge was to achieve critical mass. That’s the magic number of students it takes to turn a profit and stay in the black, even in the summer months.  We did a comparison of each of our student profiles and learned that I was heavy on tween enrollment and she wasn’t. Conversely, Jami dominated the Pre-K through first-grade market.  Merging could flesh out the gaps, we figured.  Apparently we are part of a worldwide trend. The United States Federal Trade Commission reports that the number of merger filings in 1999 (covering every size and type of business) was almost three times the number received in 1993.

 

History also played a huge part in our decision.  We had collaborated together on three annual workshops, and when my studio flooded one November, Jami handed me the keys to hers and let me hold classes there during repairs.  When a venue dropped her recital booking one year, I shuffled my schedule so that she could do her show immediately after mine. Our growing camaraderie had us labeling each other’s dance facility as sister schools. As studio owners, Jami and I are very yin and yang — we’re complementing opposites. The aspects of studio life that I don’t like, she digs, and vice versa.

 

 “We’ve shared a lot,” laughs Jami, “including students. I’d call her when I knew someone was leaving my studio to take at hers, and she’d do the same when one of her dancers decided to switch to mine. In the classroom I’m modern and Anne’s musical theater. I push team, while she develops individual personalities,” she explains. “However, we both share similar styles, policies, and procedures for our dancers and parents. We like dress codes, we like our parents informed, we don’t do marathon recitals.”

 

 It all sounded good. But in merging two studios and two directors, who was going to be the director? I wasn’t interested in being at the helm, so we agreed that the merged studio would be Jami’s baby and I could be the doting aunt who would rock it from time to time. We drafted a business contract that detailed financial compensation, specific duties, and job descriptions. I would be DI’s newly appointed PR director and an instructor; Jami would focus on the artistic and business matters.

 

We announced the merger at our respective recitals, held back-to-back the same weekend in May. Jami joined me onstage for the grand finale at my recital, where I introduced her and shared the news with our students and their families. Then, during the summer, I started navigating my students over to Dance Invasion to take complimentary classes. Since half my staff was on maternity leave, I had opted for a June and July four-day camp. Dance Invasion, on the other hand, had a full-blown summer session. We set up a one-to-one ratio so that for every class the students took at Just Dancin’, they could take a freebie at Dance Invasion.  Those dancers who didn’t take class during the summer could try out free classes at DI in August. Also, we offered automatic placement for my dance company students on DI’s Elite Team, which has ballooned to 60-plus competitive dancers.

 

At June nationals our students sat together and rooted for each other (a longtime practice—we’re louder and rowdier that way). I sent the local newspaper a press release and photo detailing Dance Invasion’s competition results, which included eight national titles and some winner’s loot. Then, in July, I finished the design of the studio’s full-color fall brochure and printed 1,000 copies. Before mailing them, I sent a letter to my students reiterating the details of the merger. Despite all the communication and correspondence, some of my gang still showed up at Just Dancin’ to register for fall classes.

 

A week before fall registration we had our first official staff meeting. We are a team of 14, including office personnel, so Jami made the necessary introductions, delegated the chain of command, and reviewed job descriptions and expectations. One of her handouts dealt with staff storage cubbies, and everyone laughed at one line: “Reminder: The studio owner puts her stuff everywhere. She is a bad, bad example.  Please do not follow her lead.” I had to laugh, too. My teachers routinely did search-and-rescue for my car keys, music, dance shoes—you name it. First con of the merge: the studio is no longer my personal sanctum.

 

During the first week of classes both staff and students experienced those typical first-day jitters.  Several parents have asked if I am sad about closing up my shop. Admittedly, I had shed a tear or two at the recital, but that was probably more from nerves than anything else.  Registering students has been interesting, especially when I see the bewildered looks from former clients who wonder why I am sitting at the desk. “Don’t you know we’re the Kool-Aid studio?  Everybody wants to dance over here,” I responded to one mother’s wide-eyed hello.

 

 “That’s what we’re hearing,” she said with a grin.

 

Thus far, the merge has been a piece of cake.  Jami and I knew we had the right ingredients for the mix. The toughest part will be cooking up this year’s recital theme—but I think I smell something baking already.

 

 

 

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