Going Toe-to-Toe

Parish says the notion that her dismissal was tied to her union involvement came to her gradually. "It's kind of like putting a puzzle together," she says. "Once during 'Nutcracker,' [Webre] said, 'Everything was fine before you got here. It never seems to be an issue until you say something.' I started thinking, is this honestly about my technique?"

In addition to the sting of being let go, Parish says, she was dismayed at the timing of it. By now it was well past the audition season, when dancers can seek jobs for the coming fall with other companies. Those tryouts are held in the winter months. Come June, she would be out of a job, and now she was out of time to find another one.

Within days of these meetings, AGMA filed its charge on the dancers' behalf.

A Change in Plans

In April, the Washington Ballet abruptly canceled plans for a week-long tour to Italy after negotiations with AGMA broke down over how the dancers would be compensated on the trip. The day Palmquist announced the cancellation, Corman says, he was summoned to a meeting at the studio. There he found Webre, Palmquist and Board of Directors President Kay Kendall, who told him that his contract would be renewed after all.

Corman says they also discussed the union matter, but he declined to be more specific. Now that he has been hired back, he says, he does not want to comment on the matter. "I don't want my personal opinion to fuel any sort of fire that's going on," he says.

Despite the reversal, Corman remains part of the AGMA case. "The labor board is aware that he was rehired, but the fact that they were fired has an intimidating effect on everyone else," says Gail Lopez-Henriquez, the attorney representing AGMA. "We're pursuing it to show the other employees they cannot be subject to that kind of intimidation."

Gordon, the AGMA chief, says the Washington Ballet has done "exactly what I would do if I was trying to beat the union."

"If I were the lawyers for the ballet, I would say hire one of them back," he says. But Gordon says he is confident AGMA will prevail.

And just what is the truth? Was Webre simply doing his job as artistic director, weeding out dancers who did not fit into his vision? Or was an anti-union bias prevailing under the guise of artistic decision-making?

Like Webre, Palmquist declined to elaborate on the case. "Because we respect the privacy of our employees, I'm not able to speak about the specifics of the case, except to say the decision to not reengage those dancers was made specifically for artistic reasons and only for artistic reasons."

Losing Time

"I want to dance; dance is in my heart. I love being onstage," says Parish. But she fears her reputation has already been damaged beyond repair. "Do I want to put myself out there when people think, 'Oh, this is a difficult dancer'? I might not even be considered." She says she has hesitated to contact other companies because she needs to stay in town for her impending hearing date, and she's not sure what will happen to her after that.

People lose jobs all the time, and despite federal laws protecting them, people who engage in union activities sometimes lose jobs too. But losing a job is particularly poignant for dancers because their dancing lives are brief. Ten, 15 years, in rare instances 20 -- that's the window of time for a dance career. Legal proceedings can drag on for years. AGMA officials say any victory before the labor board will almost surely be appealed by the ballet company.

But there is something even larger at issue in unfair labor practice cases such as this one, says Harley Shaiken, a professor at the University of California at Berkeley who specializes in labor issues. The right to join a union "is a core democratic right that we all should cherish. . . . We are a democracy not simply because we hold elections but because we are a strong, open civil society -- you can hold meetings and organize around issues. If you can't organize, you've undermined the very foundation of democracy."

If Parish wins her case, the judge will endeavor to have her "made whole." But, Parish wonders, what will that mean? Her bartending wages will be subtracted from any back pay she may be entitled to. She says she is eager to be rehired if the judge orders Webre to give her her job back, but she is realistic about the possibility of retaliation.

Will anyone compensate her for the ballets she might not get to dance, for the applause she won't hear?

Now her biggest fans are the happy-hour regulars: the suits who come down from their Watergate offices for Heinekens after work, the stagehands who pop over from the Kennedy Center, the elderly couple who come in for a Dewar's and water. As customers begin to drift in, Parish greets them with a wide smile and moves to take their orders quickly -- and gracefully, with regal posture, as if something overhead were pulling up her collarbones.

In a quiet moment, she is asked if she wouldn't be in a better position career-wise if she had meekly accepted being fired.

"Personally I don't think that's something that I could've lived with," she says. "I've been told things: I'd never be a classical dancer, why don't you try Alvin Ailey, that's what you guys are good at. . . . I know I don't suck at it. I know I'm not horrible. I know I'm a better-than-good dancer -- that's part of the reason I've gotten to where I've gotten in my career.

"There are so many things that dancers sacrifice to become a dancer," Parish continues, "but I don't think I should have to sacrifice my respect for myself."