As Matilda Abbe, known as Miss Tilly, closes the curtain on her famous dance studio in the Richmond district, she reflects on teaching ballet to children in San Francisco since 1969.
Abbe presenting young performers with trademark pink carnations on stage at Herbst Theatre, also in the late 1990s.
Abbe with four of her six grandchildren to celebrate her students’ annual spring performance at Herbst Theatre in the late 1990s.
As Matilda Abbe, known as Miss Tilly, closes the curtain on her famous dance studio in the Richmond district, she reflects on teaching ballet to children in San Francisco since 1969.
In a pink jewel box of a studio on the corner of California Street and 17th Avenue, little girls (including mine) in pastel-colored tutus have been twirling and skipping, dancing and prancing under the guidance of Matilda Abbe, better known as Miss Tilly, for decades. With the lease on the space ending September 1, Miss Tilly recently hung up her ballet slippers, removed the hanging tutus from the windows and closed the doors on her beloved ballet school. It marked the end of a 53-year era for a San Francisco institution. Matilda Abbe was born in Sheridan, Wyoming, the daughter of a prominent journalist-photographer father and a schoolteacher mother, who taught for nearly 50 years at Hamlin School in Pacific Heights, which Abbe attended. Abbe danced with San Francisco Ballet, traveling and performing around the world from a very young age. When she married, she stopped performing professionally and began teaching. In 1969, she began Miss Tilly’s Ballet from her Victorian home before moving to her first of two other studio spaces, all on California Street. The school — which, starting in 1988, operated in the Richmond district — became a rite of passage for little girls (and boys) wanting to give ballet a whirl. Over the years, Abbe has taught more than 10,000 children and multiple generations of Bay Area families. Recently, Abbe and I sat down on the stage of the Herbst Theatre — the theater where her students put on a show every May for family and friends, and were regaled with enthusiastic applause and tiny bouquets of flowers. In her early 80s, Abbe is as fit and spry as she was 20 years ago, when she was my daughters’ ballet instructor. Our conversation ran the gamut, from her unconventional childhood to her global dancing adventures to her secret to success. Meet Miss Tilly. You have taught ballet to hundreds and hundreds of little girls over the years. Tell me about your introduction to ballet. My ballet started with San Francisco Ballet when I was 11 years old. I got it for a birthday present. I had been begging to go to ballet class. The very first thing that happened was I was in The Nutcracker as a buffoon under Mother Ginger’s skirt. I even had a photograph in the newspaper of me in my buffoon outfit, waving from under the skirt. So that’s how I started with San Francisco Ballet and I was with them through my whole training. We danced all over the world. Tell me about your childhood and coming to San Francisco. My father [James Abbe] was a famous photographer and journalist. He photographed everyone in Europe, [including] Stalin and Hitler. He ended up in Colorado Springs, where he met my mother, who was a schoolteacher in a little one-room schoolhouse. I was born in Sheridan and we moved from Sheridan to Montana, and then to Portland, Oregon. My father had been in Europe so as we became involved in the war, he was a news commentator in Portland and was assigned to come to San Francisco for the signing of the United Nations Charter. That was in 1945. He was here in the Herbst Theatre witnessing the [the signing] and he fell in love with San Francisco. He thought, “This is the best place for my family to be,” so he came back to Portland and we all moved.
Abbe with four of her six grandchildren to celebrate her students’ annual spring performance at Herbst Theatre in the late 1990s.
That’s wonderful. And the moving was kind of a funny event, too, because he had a pick-up truck, which was left from the ranch he had built in Colorado Springs. My sister and I — I was 5 and she was 3 — sat in the back of the pick-up truck, if you can imagine. We were in the back with our dog. My father drove and my mother was in the front with our cat, and she would tap on the window at us to behave. But that’s how we drove down from Portland. You sat in the back of a pick-up truck from Portland to San Francisco? Yes, we had our little chairs that were attached, safely, somehow. We had on long bathrobes, so we were warm. I have pictures of us. I mean, it’s very cute, but these days, of course, that would be impossible. What were the early days of your professional dance career with San Francisco Ballet like? I was very lucky because in the earlier days, we did The Nutcracker every year, so I was involved, always, with whatever performances. And the other thing I was involved with before we started traveling was the opera. At that point, it was Lew and Harold Christensen, but also their brother Willam “Bill” Christensen, who handled the opera. Bill was the one who taught us when we were performing in an opera. I was thinking the other night that I remember our trips. When we finished an opera in San Francisco, or the last opera of the season, we’d get on the train at midnight — the Starlight Train [that ran] between San Francisco and L.A. And here I was, 12 and 13 years old — and my friends as well, dancer friends — and we had the little sleeper trains. We’d peek through the curtains and the opera stars would be sitting there drinking and playing cards. And then we were in L.A. for two weeks, so it was quite an experience. We’d do that first, and then we had a couple of tours up the coast, bus tours. What wonderful adventures you had at such a young age. Yes! The first time I ever went on an airplane was when I was 15. I was with San Francisco Ballet and we took an airplane to Corning, New York, because we were going to perform there. We took off from the San Francisco airport and after about an hour, the plane started circling, and the pilot announced we had to land in Elko, Nevada, because there had been a bomb scare. Someone had called in and said they had put a bomb on the San Francisco Ballet plane. Oh my goodness. So we landed in Elko, Nevada, and I was so well-trained by my journalist father that instead of worrying about anything, I jumped out of the plane as soon as it landed and went to the telephone [to make] a collect call to my father. As soon as he answered, I said, “Papa, this is what’s happened. We’re on the ground in Elko, Nevada,” and he said, “Hang up right now.” So he got the press and before we knew it, the press was there. And the next day, it was headlines in [the] San Francisco newspaper, “SF Ballet Bomb Scare.” We had to take all of our luggage out of the plane, and they had to go through every single thing all over the ground. Took eight hours. They didn’t find anything. But that was my first experience on an airplane.
Abbe presenting young performers with trademark pink carnations on stage at Herbst Theatre, also in the late 1990s.
What was it like to travel internationally? That started when I was 17 and I was a senior at Hamlin School and we had to talk the principal into agreeing for me to be away for three months of my senior year. I took off with the company and had 50 pounds of books with me, but never took a look at any because what we were doing was so exciting. We were traveling for the government, for the USIS [United States Information Service]. Wherever we went, we were received by the heads of state and they would come to our performances. I have photographs of us with President [Ramon] Magsaysay of the Philippines, who, sadly, died in a plane crash on March 17 [1957], the year that we had just been in his palace. Do you have a favorite memory from those trips? I have so many favorite memories from those trips. I mean, riding a baby elephant in Ceylon in the evening at night. We were staying in the Mount Lavinia Hotel, which is beautiful, right in Colombo. It was called Colombo Ceylon then. I think that’s a great memory that I have of the evening light, the moonlight and riding the baby elephant there. How did you go from dancing to teaching? I always liked teaching. As a matter of fact, Harold Christensen had spotted me and asked me to assist teaching when I was a teenager. So I was assisting at San Francisco Ballet. And then, he asked me to teach after I stopped dancing and [had gotten] married. I didn’t think it would mix to have ballet — a 24-hour-a-day job — and be married. Over the years, what did you want your students to take away from their time with you? Well, I think I learned from my mother because my mother was always tutoring at our home, as well as teaching in a school. She had a way of creating confidence in a child. And so often, when children have trouble learning, it’s because they don’t believe in themselves, they don’t have that confidence. So that’s number one to me as a teacher, right from the time the little child comes into the room. You must have thousands of memories over the years, but can you pinpoint a couple that really touched you or reinforced your philosophy of teaching? I have a sort of natural instinct when a child has problems of some sort, real problems. Even identifying [them] when they’re young. I do certain games in classes that begin to develop certain skills, like listening skills and so on. I do games like “Miss Tilly Says,” things I’ve made up so I can begin to spot these things. I never want them to feel uncomfortable, where they can begin to feel reluctant to cooperate and reluctant to participate if they see that they’re different from the others. I had a child who came into our school. I put her in a class, just automatically, of her age group. And that was not with me, but with another teacher in my school. That teacher came to me, and said, “She won’t even answer when I call her name.” So I said, “All right. Well, let’s put her in my class and then we’ll see.” So I put her in the class that was not quite as advanced as that class, and right away, I could see she had her own problems. She was extremely smart, but she had trouble with vocabulary and with words. But when I teach dancing, I sing the dance to them. I say, “Pointe and fifth and plié straight.” Everything becomes a song. It’s kind of a rhyme and song. So, this little girl began picking up the things I was saying, and it was so amazing because she did everything she was supposed to do, absolutely everything. She learned every step. And then the next year her confidence was really built and she communicated with the children and she loved it. What kept you motivated and engaged all these years? It’s the children. That’s what I’m going to miss. I can walk into a room with children and feel right at home immediately. What did the children teach you? Well, they taught me every single day. What I love about 3-year-olds is that they’re so spontaneous, so nothing is ever the same from year to year to year. When they come in, they comment on whatever, and it’s all very unedited. Teaching is a give and take. I’ve learned every day from the children. Are you able to spot real talent? Oh, yes! That early? I don’t really see it at three. But I mean, when they get to be 6 or 7, then you can begin to see because ballet also not only needs a certain kind of body, but you need to be able to turn out a certain way. Your feet are important. There are all these different ingredients that will help them to be successful.
I’m happiest when … I’m teaching children.
The biggest risk I’ve ever taken was … To quit ballet. To quit teaching.
My biggest regret is … That I haven’t been able to continue to travel to Europe year after year after year after year, which I was doing for a while, and I really do regret that. I would go every summer to Europe and I have, in Italy and France, very close friends, and learning the languages there and all. I don’t think I’ll be able to do that as much as I used to be able to do it.
If I had a magic wand, I would … Make all the children in the world be able to have food, and maybe even study ballet.
Have you had dancers go on to become professional ballerinas? I had one or two. Well, I’ve had more than that who actually graduated to quite a level at San Francisco Ballet, but they usually decided they wanted to go to college instead, or they wanted to make different choices. But yes, I’ve had that kind of talent and sent them on. My school has been important because not only did I accept every kind of child and enjoy it, but at the same time, I also had the best training, because I had the best training from Harold and Lew Christensen. And so whatever training I was giving them as they were developing as dancers was the best. I knew that they could go on and become a dancer if they wanted to. We’re sitting here on the stage at the Herbst Theatre, and any parent whose child has studied with you knows at the end of the year the children perform on this stage to an audience of friends and family. Why is this performance important? One of the best things is when the children get to be on the stage, on this Herbst Theatre stage. It gives them a real sense of accomplishment. They feel the things that I’ve been having them do. There’s a reason for it now. Girls and boys begin to realize when they see an audience out there, that it is important — whether they’re listening, whether they try to do the combination correctly, or whether they slough off or something. … It’s a reward, and it’s something that they will take with them forever. Why did you decide it was time to stop teaching? Well, what happened was my lease came to an end. And, earlier on, I taught every class myself. And then when we grew in size, and had more and more classes, even on Saturday and Sunday, I had other teachers. So what I found out recently was that two of my teachers that I really had to count on ... One of them just got married and I said, “What are you going to do now if your husband is transferred?” because he may be transferred to the East Coast. And she said, “I’ll have to go with him,” so that was kind of the last straw. Because the reality was that I couldn’t really go ahead without her to cover all of her classes, and then also for the shows and everything, so it just was finally time. I would’ve had to negotiate my lease and the rent was going up, and I’ve taught for 52 years. So what’s next for Miss Tilly? Well, I do love to do photography and I’ve done a lot of portraits along the way. In fact, there were parents who were at the show that we had [in May]. The mother came up to talk to me after — the grandmother of the one that was on stage, but the mother of the ones that I had taught years ago. And when I was teaching those girls, it was kind of part of what I did. The parents got used to the fact that I was good at photography, so they wanted me to photograph their children in the tutus, in their ballet outfits. So she gave me some of the photographs that I had taken of her girls out in the woods, in the Presidio, with their tutus on. It reminded me of the pleasure that I got out of that. This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.{&q&a}
As Matilda Abbe, known as Miss Tilly, closes the curtain on her famous dance studio in the Richmond district, she reflects on teaching ballet to children in San Francisco since 1969.
For decades, in a pink jewel box of a studio at California Street and 17th Avenue, little ones (including mine) in tights and tutus twirled and skipped, danced and pranced under the guidance of Matilda Abbe, better known as Miss Tilly. When the lease on the space expired last month, Miss Tilly hung up her ballet slippers, took down the hanging tutus in the windows and closed the doors on her beloved ballet school. The end of an era for a San Francisco institution.
Matilda Abbe was born in Sheridan, Wyoming, the daughter of a prominent journalist-photographer father and a schoolteacher mother, who taught for nearly 50 years at Hamlin School in Pacific Heights, which Abbe attended. From a young age, Abbe danced with San Francisco Ballet, traveling and performing in venues around the world. When she married, she decided to stop performing professionally and, in 1969, opened Miss Tilly’s Ballet in her Victorian home. The school, which moved to the Richmond district in 1988, became a rite of passage for little girls (and boys) wanting to give ballet a whirl. Over the years, Abbe has taught more than 10,000 children and multiple generations of Bay Area families.
Recently, Abbe and I sat down on the stage of the Herbst Theatre, where every May her students danced their hearts out for an adoring audience of family and friends. In her early 80s, Abbe is as fit and spry as she was 20 years ago, when she was teaching my daughters. Our conversation ran the gamut, from her unconventional childhood to her global dancing adventures to her secret to success.
You have taught ballet to thousands of children over the years. Tell me about your introduction to ballet. My ballet started with San Francisco Ballet when I was 11 years old. I got it for a birthday present. I had been begging to go to ballet class. The very first thing that happened was I was in The Nutcracker as a buffoon under Mother Ginger’s skirt. I even had a photograph in the newspaper of me in my buffoon outfit, waving from under the skirt. So that’s how I started with San Francisco Ballet, and I was with them through my whole training. We danced all over the world.
How did you and your family end up in San Francisco? My father [James Abbe] was a famous photographer and journalist. He photographed everyone in Europe, [including] Stalin and Hitler. He ended up in Colorado Springs, where he met my mother, who was a schoolteacher in a little one-room schoolhouse. I was born in Sheridan, and we moved from Sheridan to Montana, and then to Portland, Oregon. My father had been in Europe, so as [the United States] became involved in [World War II], he was a news commentator in Portland and was assigned to come to San Francisco for the signing of the United Nations Charter. That was in 1945. He was here in the Herbst Theatre witnessing [the signing], and he fell in love with San Francisco. So he came back to Portland and we all moved.
Abbe with four of her six grandchildren to celebrate her students’ annual spring performance at Herbst Theatre in the late 1990s.
That’s wonderful. The moving was kind of a funny event, too, because he had a pickup truck, which was left from the ranch he had built in Colorado Springs. My sister and I — I was 5 and she was 3 — sat in the back of the pickup truck, if you can imagine. We were in the back with our dog. My father drove, and my mother was in the front with our cat, and she would tap on the window at us to behave. But that’s how we drove down from Portland.
You sat in the back of a pickup truck from Portland to San Francisco? Yes, we had our little chairs that were attached, safely, somehow. We had on long bathrobes, so we were warm. I have pictures of us. I mean, it’s very cute, but these days, of course, that would be impossible.
What were the early days of your professional dance career with San Francisco Ballet like? I was very lucky because in the earlier days, we did The Nutcracker every year, so I was involved, always, with whatever performances. And the other thing I was involved with before we started traveling was the Opera. At that point, it was Lew and Harold Christensen, but also their brother Willam “Bill” Christensen, who handled the Opera. Bill was the one who taught us when we were performing in an opera. I was thinking the other night that I remember our trips. When we finished an opera in San Francisco, or the last opera of the season, we’d get on the train at midnight — the Starlight Train [that ran] between San Francisco and L.A. And here I was, 12 and 13 years old — and my friends as well, dancer friends — and we had the little sleeper trains. We’d peek through the curtains and the opera stars would be sitting there drinking and playing cards. And then we were in L.A. for two weeks, so it was quite an experience. We’d do that first, and then we had a couple of tours up the coast, bus tours.
What wonderful adventures you had at such a young age. Yes! The first time I ever went on an airplane was when I was 15. I was with San Francisco Ballet, and we took an airplane to Corning, New York, because we were going to perform there. We took off from the San Francisco airport, and after about an hour, the plane started circling, and the pilot announced we had to land in Elko, Nevada, because there had been a bomb scare. Someone had called in and said they had put a bomb on the San Francisco Ballet plane.
Oh my goodness. So we landed in Elko, Nevada, and I was so well-trained by my journalist father that instead of worrying about anything, I jumped out of the plane as soon as it landed and went to the telephone [to make] a collect call to my father. As soon as he answered, I said, “Papa, this is what’s happened. We’re on the ground in Elko, Nevada,” and he said, “Hang up right now.” So he got the press and before we knew it, the press was there. The next day, it was headlines in [the] San Francisco newspaper, “SF Ballet Bomb Scare.” We had to take all of our luggage out of the plane, and they had to go through every single thing all over the ground. Took eight hours. They didn’t find anything. But that was my first experience on an airplane.
Abbe presenting young performers with trademark pink carnations on stage at Herbst Theatre, also in the late 1990s.
What was it like to travel internationally? That started when I was 17 and I was a senior at Hamlin School, and we had to talk the principal into agreeing for me to be away for three months of my senior year. I took off with the company and had 50 pounds of books with me, but never took a look at any because what we were doing was so exciting. We were traveling for the government, for the USIS [United States Information Service]. Wherever we went, we were received by the heads of state and they would come to our performances. I have photographs of us with President [Ramon] Magsaysay of the Philippines, who, sadly, died in a plane crash on March 17 [1957], the year that we had just been in his palace.
Do you have a favorite memory from those trips? I have so many favorite memories from those trips. I mean, riding a baby elephant in Ceylon in the evening at night. We were staying in the Mount Lavinia Hotel, which is beautiful, right in Colombo. It was called Colombo, Ceylon, then. I think that’s a great memory that I have of the evening light, the moonlight and riding the baby elephant there.
How did you go from dancing to teaching? I always liked teaching. As a matter of fact, Harold Christensen had spotted me and asked me to assist teaching when I was a teenager. So I was assisting at San Francisco Ballet. And then he asked me to teach after I stopped dancing and [had gotten] married. I didn’t think it would mix to have ballet — a 24-hour-a-day job — and be married.
Over the years, what did you want your students to take away from their time with you? Well, I think I learned from my mother because my mother was always tutoring at our home, as well as teaching in a school. She had a way of creating confidence in a child. And so often, when children have trouble learning, it’s because they don’t believe in themselves, they don’t have that confidence. So that’s number one to me as a teacher, right from the time the little child comes into the room.
You must have thousands of memories over the years, but can you pinpoint a couple that really touched you or reinforced your philosophy of teaching? I have a sort of natural instinct when a child has problems of some sort, real problems. Even identifying [them] when they’re young. I do certain games in classes that begin to develop certain skills, like listening skills and so on. I do games like “Miss Tilly Says,” things I’ve made up so I can begin to spot these things. I never want them to feel uncomfortable, where they can begin to feel reluctant to cooperate and reluctant to participate if they see that they’re different from the others.
I had a child who came into our school. I put her in a class, just automatically, of her age group. And that was not with me, but with another teacher in my school. That teacher came to me and said, “She won’t even answer when I call her name.” So I said, “All right. Well, let’s put her in my class and then we’ll see.” So I put her in the class that was not quite as advanced as that class, and right away, I could see she had her own problems. She was extremely smart, but she had trouble with vocabulary and with words. But when I teach dancing, I sing the dance to them. I say, “Pointe and fifth and plié straight.” Everything becomes a song. It’s kind of a rhyme and song. So, this little girl began picking up the things I was saying, and it was so amazing because she did everything she was supposed to do, absolutely everything. She learned every step. And then the next year her confidence was really built and she communicated with the children and she loved it.
What kept you motivated and engaged all these years? It’s the children. That’s what I’m going to miss. I can walk into a room with children and feel right at home immediately.
What did the children teach you? Well, they taught me every single day. What I love about 3-year-olds is that they’re so spontaneous, so nothing is ever the same from year to year to year. When they come in, they comment on whatever, and it’s all very unedited. Teaching is a give-and-take. I’ve learned every day from the children.
Are you able to spot real talent? Oh, yes!
That early? I don’t really see it at 3. But I mean, when they get to be 6 or 7, then you can begin to see because ballet also not only needs a certain kind of body, but you need to be able to turn out a certain way. Your feet are important. There are all these different ingredients that will help them to be successful.
I’m happiest when … I’m teaching children.
The biggest risk I’ve ever taken was … To quit ballet. To quit teaching.
My biggest regret is … That I haven’t been able to continue to travel to Europe year after year after year after year, which I was doing for a while, and I really do regret that. I would go every summer to Europe and I have, in Italy and France, very close friends, and learning the languages there and all. I don’t think I’ll be able to do that as much as I used to be able to do it.
If I had a magic wand, I would … Make all the children in the world be able to have food, and maybe even study ballet.
Have you had dancers go on to become professional ballerinas? I had one or two. Well, I’ve had more than that who actually graduated to quite a level at San Francisco Ballet, but they usually decided they wanted to go to college instead, or they wanted to make different choices. But yes, I’ve had that kind of talent and sent them on. My school has been important because not only did I accept every kind of child and enjoy it, but at the same time, I also had the best training, because I had the best training from Harold and Lew Christensen. And so whatever training I was giving them as they were developing as dancers was the best. I knew that they could go on and become a dancer if they wanted to.
We’re sitting here on the stage at the Herbst Theatre, and any parent whose child has studied with you knows that at the end of the year the children perform on this stage to an audience of friends and family. Why is this performance important? One of the best things is when the children get to be on the stage, on this Herbst Theatre stage. It gives them a real sense of accomplishment. They feel the things that I’ve been having them do — there’s a reason for it now. Girls and boys begin to realize, when they see an audience out there, that it is important — whether they’re listening, whether they try to do the combination correctly, or whether they slough off or something. … It’s a reward, and it’s something that they will take with them forever.
Why did you decide it was time to stop teaching? Well, what happened was my lease came to an end. Earlier on, I taught every class myself. And then when we grew in size, and had more and more classes, even on Saturday and Sunday, I had other teachers. So what I found out recently was that two of my teachers that I really had to count on ... one of them just got married, and I said, “What are you going to do now if your husband is transferred?” because he may be transferred to the East Coast. And she said, “I’ll have to go with him,” so that was kind of the last straw. Because the reality was that I couldn’t really go ahead without her to cover all of her classes, and then also for the shows and everything, so it just was finally time. I would’ve had to negotiate my lease and the rent was going up, and I’ve taught for 52 years.
So what’s next for Miss Tilly? Well, I do love to do photography, and I’ve done a lot of portraits along the way. In fact, there were parents who were at the show that we had [in May]. A woman came up to talk to me after — the grandmother of the one that was onstage, and the mother of [students] I had taught years ago. And when I was teaching those girls, it was kind of part of what I did. The parents got used to the fact that I was good at photography, so they wanted me to photograph their children in the tutus, in their ballet outfits. So she gave me some of the photographs that I had taken of her girls out in the woods, in the Presidio, with their tutus on. It reminded me of the pleasure that I got out of that.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
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