Mournfully he watched the eternal antics of childhood phasing backward and forward from times to timelessness, from naive fluency to clumsy estimations of nubility. Then, quickly responding to a warning glare, he pushed himself up and launched into his signature Russian duckwalk.

Intentionally ignoring the music, he began to awkwardly whirl and hop. He dosey’d and doe’d, unsynching his paces and carroting his toes. He cakewalked and contorted, bouncing almost gracefully on one foot. Then, floor shaking, he’d jump into flying pirouettes with stumbling landings extending into dangerous wobbles and abrupt twists, concluding with “A Cha Cha”s in Jimmy Durante rasps and minstrelsy hand flutters.