Geoffrey Holder was a true Renaissance man.
An iconic actor — the face of 7 Up, a Bond villain, Punjab in Annie.
An award-winning painter, director, designer, poet.
The list goes on.
But at the root of it all… was dance.
It started in Trinidad, imitating his older brother Boscoe, moving to the rhythm of drums and dreams.
He caught the eye of Agnes de Mille, stormed into New York like he belonged there, and built creative partnerships that would last a lifetime — with Carmen de Lavallade, with Alvin Ailey.
It all moved fast.
At one point, The Wiz slipped through his fingers.
But when the call came again — he took the reins and left Broadway changed.
And even when the world saw the icon, the star, the voice…
DANCE stayed at the center of everything.
Right up to the final breath.
This is the dancer behind the icon.
This is Geoffrey Holder’s Rest of the Story.
Check out my Return to Dance docuseries!
Support my Instagram — where I post daily dance inspo, insights and fun! @backtogreat
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:00):
Today's episode of the rest of the story could go a hundred different directions.
(00:07):
That's what happens when someone refuses to fit in a single box.
He was a painter, an actor, a designer, a director, a costume genius, a storyteller, but,
as he'll soon hear, everything he touched even fashion was shaped by dance.
So today, we're following the thread that tied it all together, the movement, the rhythm,
(00:32):
the unmistakable stamp of a man who stood out from the crowd the moment he took his first
step.
And while we focus on his dance journey today, stay with me through the end, because in
the outro, I'll touch on a few of the other dazzling chapters that made him so unforgettable.
I'm Miller Daurey, your host, script writer, researcher, editor, and all the things.
(00:56):
I'm honored to have you here watching or listening to my podcast, Hey, Dancer, and my weekly
series, The Rest of the Story, where I uncover the overlooked, the unexpected, and the untold,
one dancer at a time.
Make sure you're subscribed or following so you never miss a new episode, drop and before
(01:18):
I get into today's story, I just got to thank you.
I recently hit a couple of milestones, 10,000 subscribers on YouTube and 100,000 followers
on Instagram.
The fact that my podcast, my dance brand, if you will, my return to dance journey is resonating.
(01:39):
It just means the world to me.
So thank you so much for helping me spread all the dance love.
Okay, let's get into it.
He was born in 1930 in Port of Spain, Trinidad.
His father, Arthur, was a government official and devout Anglican, a man of order, principle
and tradition.
(02:00):
His mother, Louise, was warm and musical, often playing the piano at home, but the largest
influence came from his older brother, Bosco, a painter, performer, and cultural force in
his own right.
Bosco danced, so he danced, Bosco painted, so he painted.
(02:20):
Bosco had a dance troupe, and by seven years old, this younger brother was performing in it.
Later in life, he'd say, "I copied everything my brother did."
End quote.
Bosco brought home books, including one on Martha Graham by Barbara Morgan, and this little
boy went berserk for those dance images.
(02:40):
He was curious for more.
There was no formal training yet, just rhythm, carnival drums, colipso spirit, African
folk steps, and storytelling through movement.
Trinidad was, as he once described it, "A blend of Africa, India, Europe, all in one person."
That sense of layered identity, of mixed inheritance, would show up in everything he created.
(03:06):
When his brother left for London, he didn't just leave behind a dance company, he left fabric,
rhinestones, and a circle of vibrant performers.
So the younger brother stepped in.
He gathered the dancers, took the reins, and made the company his own.
He was barely in his twenties then, tall, magnetic, almost mythic in presence.
(03:29):
Eventually an audition was arranged for choreographer Agnes Demil, already one of Broadway's
most influential and visionary choreographers.
She came, she watched, she was captivated.
She invited him to come to New York City and audition for Empressario Saul Hurac, determined
to seize the opportunity he sold 20 of his paintings to fund a tour for the company, now
(03:55):
under his leadership, to New York in 1954.
Hurac ultimately declined to sponsor them.
Some of the group returned to Trinidad, but he stayed.
He had been planning for years to make his way in New York, and now that he was there, he
wasn't leaving.
Before he left home, his father told him, "Don't go to New York looking for atmosphere.
(04:20):
You must take it with you."
And he did, to support himself he began teaching at the Catherine Dunham School of Dance, though
Dunham herself was in Europe at the time.
He also trained seriously, learning Dunham technique, studying ballet at the Metropolitan
Opera Ballet School, and modern under Jose Limón.
(04:41):
But instead of letting those forms overwrite his instincts, he blended them with what was
already in his bones, theatricality, grandeur, and Caribbean heat.
It was at in New York recital where he stood six foot six dressed in formal attire that he
caught the eye of Broadway producer Arnold St. Subur.
(05:03):
Subur cast him in House of Flowers, a new musical with music by Harold Arlin and choreography
by Herbert Ross, with a cast that also included Pearl Bailey and Diane Carroll.
He played two roles, Baron of the Cemetery and Lord Jameson.
He also happened to choreograph the Banda Dance, and suggested the use of a steel band,
(05:28):
marking the first time one had been used on Broadway.
It was during House of Flowers that he met two people who would shape his life, Alvin
Ailey and Carmen de Lavalad.
Ailey would become a lifelong collaborator and friend.
Carmen was already a rising star with Lester Horton's company, and also it should be noted
(05:49):
was instrumental in Ailey's own dance trajectory.
She would later be considered one of the pioneers of American modern dance.
He and Carmen would be married within three months of meeting in 1955.
Their bond was more than romantic.
It was artistic, it was creative.
(06:11):
She brought clarity and line.
He brought theatricality and scope together.
They were electric.
Their dance language, fluent.
At same year he joined the Metropolitan Opera Ballet, not by climbing the usual ranks
of the core, but as a featured performer from the start.
It was rare then and still is, with his towering presence, commanding stage craft and movement
(06:37):
style that blended classical line with theatrical flair, he brought a kind of majesty and spectacle
rarely seen on that stage.
He stayed for two seasons, unforgettable in every role.
In 1956 he made his film debut as a dancer in Carabagold with Ethel Waters, where he performs
(06:58):
an Afro-Cuban dance sequence.
In 1957 he starred in an all-black production of Waiting for Gado, which toured internationally
and earned critical acclaim, not for dance but for the sheer presence and gravity he brought
to the role.
In 1958 he appeared as the Genie in the televised musical Aladdin, a rare opportunity at the
(07:23):
time for a black performer to appear in a nationally broadcast fantasy production.
By the late 1950s he reformed his own dance ensemble in New York, touring again with Carmen
and a new cast of dancers, he created sensual, vivid and unapologetically Caribbean works,
(07:43):
choreographing, composing, costuming and lighting them himself.
His pieces weren't just dances, they were their own worlds.
He collaborated with Alvin Ailey on multiple projects, including the celebrated 1967
work The Protocol Prince, which he choreographed for the Ailey Company.
(08:03):
It blended visual storytelling with Caribbean myth and modern technique and helped define
his voice as a choreographer on the national stage.
And then came The Wiz.
He was hired to design the costumes.
His vision was so bold though, so specific that producers asked him to direct the whole show.
(08:25):
Then, just weeks later, he was replaced, tryouts stumbled, the show was faltering and eventually
they brought him back.
So, on his first day, he burned incense on the stage, cleansing the space, resetting the
energy.
He directed the 1975 Broadway production and designed the costumes, earning two Tony Awards
(08:49):
in one night, one for each role.
It was the first all-black retelling of The Wizard of Oz, and it redefined what Broadway could
look and sound like. His visual world, regal, whimsical and unapologetically bold was essential
to its success.
He would be nominated again for a Tony in 1978 for Best Costume Design for the original
(09:15):
Broadway musical Tim Buck II, which he also directed and choreographed.
When he acted, you could feel the dancer in him, in all his roles, something about the way
he told a story, you know, from head to toe.
In one of his early film roles, he played Baron Samadhi in Live and Let Die, a performance
(09:36):
that was both eerie and electric and one for which he also contributed choreography.
That performance has gone down as one of the most menacing and memorable in Bond villain
history.
Other standout roles include William Shakespeare the 10th in Doctor Do Little and The Sorcerer
and everything you always wanted to know about sex.
(09:59):
Now his face, deep voice, trademark laugh and impeccable flair may have become most recognizable
from the iconic Seven Up commercials, which were a permanent TV fixture through the 70s
and 80s, uncolla, as only he could say it.
And children like myself grew up with his portrayal of Punjab in Annie.
(10:23):
We were mesmerized by his voice, his style, his gestures, his movement, his command of the
screen, whether or not he had a lot to do.
You watched him.
He moved with breath, with grace, with rhythm.
He choreographed 25 episodes of The Cosby Show, including the opening credits for Season
(10:45):
5, which has his unique Afro-Caribbean style stamped all over it.
He's a very blending dance into the rhythm of everyday television.
He also appeared in Boomerang alongside Eddie Murphy, stealing every scene with his presence.
In one touching moment later in life, the Alvin Ailey Company held a birthday celebration
(11:08):
for his 80th.
He watched smiling, surrounded by the very artists his legacy helped shape.
No matter how much his other passions expanded, painting, directing, composing, costume design,
acting, he never forgot dance, and dance never forgot him, his name, Jeffrey Holder.
(11:31):
And now you know the rest of the story.
Alright, dance fam, I hope you found Mr. Holder's story entertaining, inspiring and worthy of
your time.
And I'd love to know your thoughts in the comments.
(11:52):
So tell me, what's your favorite Jeffrey Holder performance?
Did you know of his legacy of his work?
And don't forget to support my podcast by engaging, subscribing, commenting, sharing, and
such.
It all tells the platform.
I'm doing something pretty good, and that would mean just a lot to me.
Okay, so a little more on Mr. Holder.
(12:14):
He was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship for painting.
He wrote books, he illustrated children's stories, he exhibited in major galleries, he narrated
documentaries, he broke boundaries on stage, on screen, on canvas, and always on his own
terms.
Maybe, just maybe the most unforgettable moment came at the very end.
(12:39):
He was hospitalized with pneumonia and now no longer on a breathing tube because he had
been on one for some weeks.
He knew the end was near.
And one day a reverence stopped by and dropped off some music, Bill Evans with Symphony Orchestra,
which was one of Mr. Holder's favorites.
(12:59):
And before he had choreographed a piece from the album.
Anyway, his son, Leo sat beside him.
The music of Bill Evans played softly in the hospital room.
And then it happened.
Jeffrey began to move.
This was a shocking sight.
His arms rose, his fingers fluttered through the air.
(13:21):
His shoulders rolled with grace.
His head tilted in rhythm.
He was dancing.
Leo watched.
Then he heard it.
Through the oxygen mask came the faint sound.
Two, three.
Two, three.
Then stronger.
Arms, two, three.
Turn, two, three.
(13:42):
Swing, two, three.
Down, two, three.
He was giving counts, calling steps, performing his final solo, his timing still impeccable,
his artistry still alive.
Still, the very last breath.
When asked how he liked to be remembered, he once said, "I don't care as long as they spell
(14:05):
my name correctly."
End quote.
Well, Mr. Holder, I can say I've at least done that much.
Until next time.
[MUSIC]
(upbeat music)
(14:26):
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Today's episode of the rest of the story could go a hundred different directions.
(00:07):
That's what happens when someone refuses to fit in a single box.
He was a painter, an actor, a designer, a director, a costume genius, a storyteller, but,
as he'll soon hear, everything he touched even fashion was shaped by dance.
So today, we're following the thread that tied it all together, the movement, the rhythm,
(00:32):
the unmistakable stamp of a man who stood out from the crowd the moment he took his first
step.
And while we focus on his dance journey today, stay with me through the end, because in
the outro, I'll touch on a few of the other dazzling chapters that made him so unforgettable.
I'm Miller Daurey, your host, script writer, researcher, editor, and all the things.
(00:56):
I'm honored to have you here watching or listening to my podcast, Hey, Dancer, and my weekly
series, The Rest of the Story, where I uncover the overlooked, the unexpected, and the untold,
one dancer at a time.
Make sure you're subscribed or following so you never miss a new episode, drop and before
(01:18):
I get into today's story, I just got to thank you.
I recently hit a couple of milestones, 10,000 subscribers on YouTube and 100,000 followers
on Instagram.
The fact that my podcast, my dance brand, if you will, my return to dance journey is resonating.
(01:39):
It just means the world to me.
So thank you so much for helping me spread all the dance love.
Okay, let's get into it.
He was born in 1930 in Port of Spain, Trinidad.
His father, Arthur, was a government official and devout Anglican, a man of order, principle
and tradition.
(02:00):
His mother, Louise, was warm and musical, often playing the piano at home, but the largest
influence came from his older brother, Bosco, a painter, performer, and cultural force in
his own right.
Bosco danced, so he danced, Bosco painted, so he painted.
(02:20):
Bosco had a dance troupe, and by seven years old, this younger brother was performing in it.
Later in life, he'd say, "I copied everything my brother did."
End quote.
Bosco brought home books, including one on Martha Graham by Barbara Morgan, and this little
boy went berserk for those dance images.
(02:40):
He was curious for more.
There was no formal training yet, just rhythm, carnival drums, colipso spirit, African
folk steps, and storytelling through movement.
Trinidad was, as he once described it, "A blend of Africa, India, Europe, all in one person."
That sense of layered identity, of mixed inheritance, would show up in everything he created.
(03:06):
When his brother left for London, he didn't just leave behind a dance company, he left fabric,
rhinestones, and a circle of vibrant performers.
So the younger brother stepped in.
He gathered the dancers, took the reins, and made the company his own.
He was barely in his twenties then, tall, magnetic, almost mythic in presence.
(03:29):
Eventually an audition was arranged for choreographer Agnes Demil, already one of Broadway's
most influential and visionary choreographers.
She came, she watched, she was captivated.
She invited him to come to New York City and audition for Empressario Saul Hurac, determined
to seize the opportunity he sold 20 of his paintings to fund a tour for the company, now
(03:55):
under his leadership, to New York in 1954.
Hurac ultimately declined to sponsor them.
Some of the group returned to Trinidad, but he stayed.
He had been planning for years to make his way in New York, and now that he was there, he
wasn't leaving.
Before he left home, his father told him, "Don't go to New York looking for atmosphere.
(04:20):
You must take it with you."
And he did, to support himself he began teaching at the Catherine Dunham School of Dance, though
Dunham herself was in Europe at the time.
He also trained seriously, learning Dunham technique, studying ballet at the Metropolitan
Opera Ballet School, and modern under Jose Limón.
(04:41):
But instead of letting those forms overwrite his instincts, he blended them with what was
already in his bones, theatricality, grandeur, and Caribbean heat.
It was at in New York recital where he stood six foot six dressed in formal attire that he
caught the eye of Broadway producer Arnold St. Subur.
(05:03):
Subur cast him in House of Flowers, a new musical with music by Harold Arlin and choreography
by Herbert Ross, with a cast that also included Pearl Bailey and Diane Carroll.
He played two roles, Baron of the Cemetery and Lord Jameson.
He also happened to choreograph the Banda Dance, and suggested the use of a steel band,
(05:28):
marking the first time one had been used on Broadway.
It was during House of Flowers that he met two people who would shape his life, Alvin
Ailey and Carmen de Lavalad.
Ailey would become a lifelong collaborator and friend.
Carmen was already a rising star with Lester Horton's company, and also it should be noted
(05:49):
was instrumental in Ailey's own dance trajectory.
She would later be considered one of the pioneers of American modern dance.
He and Carmen would be married within three months of meeting in 1955.
Their bond was more than romantic.
It was artistic, it was creative.
(06:11):
She brought clarity and line.
He brought theatricality and scope together.
They were electric.
Their dance language, fluent.
At same year he joined the Metropolitan Opera Ballet, not by climbing the usual ranks
of the core, but as a featured performer from the start.
It was rare then and still is, with his towering presence, commanding stage craft and movement
(06:37):
style that blended classical line with theatrical flair, he brought a kind of majesty and spectacle
rarely seen on that stage.
He stayed for two seasons, unforgettable in every role.
In 1956 he made his film debut as a dancer in Carabagold with Ethel Waters, where he performs
(06:58):
an Afro-Cuban dance sequence.
In 1957 he starred in an all-black production of Waiting for Gado, which toured internationally
and earned critical acclaim, not for dance but for the sheer presence and gravity he brought
to the role.
In 1958 he appeared as the Genie in the televised musical Aladdin, a rare opportunity at the
(07:23):
time for a black performer to appear in a nationally broadcast fantasy production.
By the late 1950s he reformed his own dance ensemble in New York, touring again with Carmen
and a new cast of dancers, he created sensual, vivid and unapologetically Caribbean works,
(07:43):
choreographing, composing, costuming and lighting them himself.
His pieces weren't just dances, they were their own worlds.
He collaborated with Alvin Ailey on multiple projects, including the celebrated 1967
work The Protocol Prince, which he choreographed for the Ailey Company.
(08:03):
It blended visual storytelling with Caribbean myth and modern technique and helped define
his voice as a choreographer on the national stage.
And then came The Wiz.
He was hired to design the costumes.
His vision was so bold though, so specific that producers asked him to direct the whole show.
(08:25):
Then, just weeks later, he was replaced, tryouts stumbled, the show was faltering and eventually
they brought him back.
So, on his first day, he burned incense on the stage, cleansing the space, resetting the
energy.
He directed the 1975 Broadway production and designed the costumes, earning two Tony Awards
(08:49):
in one night, one for each role.
It was the first all-black retelling of The Wizard of Oz, and it redefined what Broadway could
look and sound like. His visual world, regal, whimsical and unapologetically bold was essential
to its success.
He would be nominated again for a Tony in 1978 for Best Costume Design for the original
(09:15):
Broadway musical Tim Buck II, which he also directed and choreographed.
When he acted, you could feel the dancer in him, in all his roles, something about the way
he told a story, you know, from head to toe.
In one of his early film roles, he played Baron Samadhi in Live and Let Die, a performance
(09:36):
that was both eerie and electric and one for which he also contributed choreography.
That performance has gone down as one of the most menacing and memorable in Bond villain
history.
Other standout roles include William Shakespeare the 10th in Doctor Do Little and The Sorcerer
and everything you always wanted to know about sex.
(09:59):
Now his face, deep voice, trademark laugh and impeccable flair may have become most recognizable
from the iconic Seven Up commercials, which were a permanent TV fixture through the 70s
and 80s, uncolla, as only he could say it.
And children like myself grew up with his portrayal of Punjab in Annie.
(10:23):
We were mesmerized by his voice, his style, his gestures, his movement, his command of the
screen, whether or not he had a lot to do.
You watched him.
He moved with breath, with grace, with rhythm.
He choreographed 25 episodes of The Cosby Show, including the opening credits for Season
(10:45):
5, which has his unique Afro-Caribbean style stamped all over it.
He's a very blending dance into the rhythm of everyday television.
He also appeared in Boomerang alongside Eddie Murphy, stealing every scene with his presence.
In one touching moment later in life, the Alvin Ailey Company held a birthday celebration
(11:08):
for his 80th.
He watched smiling, surrounded by the very artists his legacy helped shape.
No matter how much his other passions expanded, painting, directing, composing, costume design,
acting, he never forgot dance, and dance never forgot him, his name, Jeffrey Holder.
(11:31):
And now you know the rest of the story.
Alright, dance fam, I hope you found Mr. Holder's story entertaining, inspiring and worthy of
your time.
And I'd love to know your thoughts in the comments.
(11:52):
So tell me, what's your favorite Jeffrey Holder performance?
Did you know of his legacy of his work?
And don't forget to support my podcast by engaging, subscribing, commenting, sharing, and
such.
It all tells the platform.
I'm doing something pretty good, and that would mean just a lot to me.
Okay, so a little more on Mr. Holder.
(12:14):
He was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship for painting.
He wrote books, he illustrated children's stories, he exhibited in major galleries, he narrated
documentaries, he broke boundaries on stage, on screen, on canvas, and always on his own
terms.
Maybe, just maybe the most unforgettable moment came at the very end.
(12:39):
He was hospitalized with pneumonia and now no longer on a breathing tube because he had
been on one for some weeks.
He knew the end was near.
And one day a reverence stopped by and dropped off some music, Bill Evans with Symphony Orchestra,
which was one of Mr. Holder's favorites.
(12:59):
And before he had choreographed a piece from the album.
Anyway, his son, Leo sat beside him.
The music of Bill Evans played softly in the hospital room.
And then it happened.
Jeffrey began to move.
This was a shocking sight.
His arms rose, his fingers fluttered through the air.
(13:21):
His shoulders rolled with grace.
His head tilted in rhythm.
He was dancing.
Leo watched.
Then he heard it.
Through the oxygen mask came the faint sound.
Two, three.
Two, three.
Then stronger.
Arms, two, three.
Turn, two, three.
(13:42):
Swing, two, three.
Down, two, three.
He was giving counts, calling steps, performing his final solo, his timing still impeccable,
his artistry still alive.
Still, the very last breath.
When asked how he liked to be remembered, he once said, "I don't care as long as they spell
(14:05):
my name correctly."
End quote.
Well, Mr. Holder, I can say I've at least done that much.
Until next time.
[MUSIC]
(upbeat music)
(14:26):
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Popular Podcasts
Stuff You Should Know
If you've ever wanted to know about champagne, satanism, the Stonewall Uprising, chaos theory, LSD, El Nino, true crime and Rosa Parks, then look no further. Josh and Chuck have you covered.
Dateline NBC
Current and classic episodes, featuring compelling true-crime mysteries, powerful documentaries and in-depth investigations. Follow now to get the latest episodes of Dateline NBC completely free, or subscribe to Dateline Premium for ad-free listening and exclusive bonus content: DatelinePremium.com
The Breakfast Club
The World's Most Dangerous Morning Show, The Breakfast Club, With DJ Envy, Jess Hilarious, And Charlamagne Tha God!