Cheering For the Cowboys

DALLAS

IT WAS not yet 9 o'clock on a Saturday morning, and the bright spring sunshine had already begtin warm the metroplex; as the twin cities of Dallas and Fort Worth like to call themselves. But inside Texas Stadium, the $25‐million, air‐conditioned, home of the mighty Dallas Cowboys, 150 young women sat shivering on metal folding chairs, their hair and makeup as perfect as could be expected at that hour.

More than just the chilly temperature was behind their goose bumps. The atmosphere inside this swank Stadium Club was as tense as that at an open casting call for Broadway production. The young woman were about leave their seats in groups of four and walk gingerly on their high, high heels to a temporary dance floor. There five people with pencils and note pads in front of them would make what many of girls believed was the most important decision of their young lives.

They may well be right, for the notes that the judges put on their pads will eventually determine which young women will return to their jobs as secretaries and dental assistants and telephone operators in big cities like Houston and Austin and smaller towns like Waco, and which, by some exalted miracle, will join three‐dozen of the most envied, celebrated and sought‐after women in the country: the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders.

“This is definitely not a beauty contest,” Ron Chapman, one of the five judges, said, “although nice looks are part of it. We're going to ask you to project.”

Mr. Chapman, a local radio personality, had looked over nearly 500 cheerleader candidates the weekend before and this past weekend he and the other judges watched another 500 or so perform.

Because their sidelines routines are highly choreographed, the Cowboys cheerleaders (they are not cowgirls) must be able to dance well. And, since an important part of the job is off‐season appearances on television and at public cAremonles; a large measure of bubbly or s charm is a must.

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But despite Mr. Chapman's reassurance about “nice looks,” a Cowboys cheerleader, above all else, is beautiful. Behind every nervous smile in the room worked the hope, however faint, that the tryouts were just the beginning of climb to the rarified heights occupied by that personification of the Texas Woman, Farrah Fawcet‐Majors.

Perhaps a quarter of those present had adopted the Farrah look, or tried to, and one or two appeared to have actually improved upon it. But many had come to seek the dream and there was wide variety: college students and clerks, some barely over 18 and others pushing 30, some married, some divorced, some mothers and housewives, some who were surely too fat and others too thin, a few who were positively stunning and another few who were downright plain.

They were like football players before the big game. Some sat and stared blankly, folding and refolding their hands, waiting for their turns to come. Others, out of sight of the judges, were doing calisthenics or practicing their hustle, staying loose, or hovering in front of the mirrors that lined the walls of the women's bathrooms, checking their hair and lipstick again and again.

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In their cut‐off, satiny jogging shorts (a favorite this year) and tank tops and tube tops and halters and glittery heels, they joked nervously with one another, perfect strangers united by their common fantasies. They talked of starvation diets that had lasted for weeks and of the Mexican lunches they would have when the tryouts were over, and of the impossibility of dancing at 9 o'clock in the morning after not having slept the night before.

One who couldn't sleep was Cathy Mitsven, a 26-year-old Houston secretary who had flown in Friday night after work. She knew that if she were chosen she would have to move to Dallas, team requirement. But that did not deter her. “I'd love it,” she said, sipping a coke and waiting for her number to come up. “I'd love the inconvenience. Just to know you could do it over 932 contestants would be enough.”

Some, like Lauren Newmann, had traveled even farther to dance to 90 seconds of blaring disco music. Miss Newmann, an 18-year-old clothing store manager from Albuquerque, N.M., said she had set her heart on becoming Cowboys cheerleader ever since she watched Dallas demolish the Denver Broncos in last January's Super Bowl.

Her number, 387, was called early, and at 9:45 she was on, a flashier dancer than most, kicking and turning and smiling, projecting with a determination as the judges watched with dispassion. Then, with an “O.K., thanks a lot” from Mr. Chapman, it was over.

When the morning session was over, Mr. Chapman said, “O.K. we'll let you know where you fit into the picture by the end of the week,” Mailboxes from here to Albuquerque will be closely watched for the letter that will contain either “Thanks for having come today” or an invitation to return for the semifinals in May. Those who make it to the finals, also in May, will have to go up against the current Cowboy cheerleaders for the 36 coveted spots.

As the last of the morning candidates filed out, Mr. Chapman placed his records back in their paper sleeves and said he knew what he was looking for but wasn't sure what it was called — “It may be charisma, it may be verve, it may be sparkle.” But whatever it was, he knew from experience that if it was there, it would come out only on the dance floor.

Kimberlee Wilson thought that cheering the Cowboys was better than being Miss America. “You bet it is. For one thing, I don't have the figure to be Miss America, and, besides, I can't sing.” She paused for a moment to catch her breath. “But I can dance.”

Suzanne Mitchell, the cheerleaders’ “house mother” and another of the judges, made the job that so many wanted sound like very little fun: stringent conditioning and diet control, rehearsals four or even five nights a week, five hours a night. Miss two rehearsals and you're off the squad forever.

The cheerleaders get paid next to nothing — $15 a game. They do not travel with the team, except to the playoffs and the Super Bowl. Because of the strong Christian ethic that infuses the Cowboys program (Tom Landry, the coach, and Roger Staubach, the quarterback, are devoutly religious), the cheerleaders cannot appear where alcohol is served, cannot attend parties of any sort, cannot even wear jewelry with their brief costumes.

They do make some money from modeling, promotional and television appearances, though not enough to live on. But even the appearances are carefully screened to protect their cheerleaders’ squeaky‐clean image. And whenever they leave Dallas, Miss Mitchell travels with them.

She presides over perhaps the most exclusive sorority in the world, but she said she did her best during the season to deglamorize the experience. “Most of these girls have never been out of Texas, and this has an effect on their egos,” she said. “We have to keep reminding them that this isn't the most important thing in their lives, but sometimes it works out that way. Then you have to knock them around. I'm awfully tough on them.”

As the afternoon session, dozenS of nervous young women lined up to get their numbers. Patty Hines, a 20-yearold Dallas native who had been here before, stepped forward and announced that she was “heavily Into sports this year.” Hair flying and smile gleaming, she danced like a dervish, shifting her eyes to each judge in turn until the music ended. Her moment over, Miss Hines walked to one of the enormous windows along the far wall and gazed at the playing field below.

“Right now,” she said, “I want to be Cowboys cheerleader more than anything in the world. It's something I've wanted all my life.” Then, almost to herself: “There weren't half as many beautiful girls here last year.”

Since last year's tryouts she had let her hair grow, “because they really seem to like long hair.” She paid a series of expensive visits to an orthodontist, because “a big smile helps, and I didn't have a big smile last year.” She ran two miles a day and did gymnastics “to make my body as perfect as I can” and because “I was really hoping this year they might want to see a little of that.”

She looked back at the field, and remembered the Sunday afternoon many years ago when her mother first pointed the Cowboys cheerleaders out to her. “I'll never forget that day,” she said.

She was quiet for a moment, hearing again the cheers and the clash of armored bodies, watching in her mind as t he 36 young goddesses pranced on the sidelines, their hair streaming behind them. “Do you have anything to do with the judging?” she asked hopefully.