Kickoff.

Dance is a hungry art; it can devour, and it can be devoured. Its needs are so great at times that it becomes utterly vulnerable, prey to con artists selling love potions and snake oil. Possibly that vulnerability is also part of the dance world's attraction for those people who want to help, as well as those who want to advance their own social and political agendas.

Tampa, Florida, knows all about this. Years of a twin-city ballet company arrangement (Tampa part of the season, Denver the rest) ultimately did not work out, although the artistic intentions were excellent. Then some of the same local residents started up the Bay Ballet Theatre of Tampa. The young company, s founding artistic director, Christopher Fleming, who had spent ten years with New York City Ballet, shouldered the tasks of building from scratch a company of dancers, a repertoire, and an audience and of raising money to feed the enterprise. In less than two years it looked as if Fleming might succeed, despite the odds. He was liked by his dancers and the community, and he was doing what he liked doing most, making dances.

Enter John Charles Guggenheim--a man with a magic name that spelled much-needed M-O-N-E-Y--and everybody was scrambling and bowing. The twenty-five-member board of directors was hypnotized by Guggenheim's boasts of years at Choate, Princeton, and Fordham Law; of homes in Newport and Europe, his board positions at the Metropolitan Opera, the New York City Opera, the Guggenheim Museum (of course)--and most of all, his love for dance. He hinted at giving the gawking board members a million dollars for their ballet company, and he produced $50,000 on short notice in time to buy Baryshnikov's old ABT sets and costumes for a new Nutcracker last December. The board not only elected Guggenheim to membership but quickly made him the company's executive director, Chris Fleming's boss. Overworked and understaffed, Fleming welcomed help from any source; yet Guggenheim, a volunteer, soon led an assault against Fleming and succeeded in replacing him with Fernando Bujones, a "name dancer" whom Guggenheim said would enhance the international reputation of the company. The board lockstepped with Guggenheim in this treachery. Bujones, an innocent looking for a better job, acted in good faith and was ready to take over.

A seasoned professional, Fleming reasoned that Guggenheim's push to replace him was entirely a business decision: Bujones is better known than Fleming. But there were odd things, too, many little inconsistencies. And, as one local newspaper reported, Guggenheim "plastered his face with death-white makeup, tinged with rouge. Mascara outlined his penetrating blue eyes." Didn't anybody think this was, well, peculiar?

A founding member of the board explained, "We thought we had a guardian angel. Who wouldn't love to have somebody with known clout, especially if he could bring Guggenheim money with him?"

Hunger everywhere.

And then Mr. Guggenheim's $50,000 "gift" turned out to be a short-term loan, which came due immediately, yesterday. The company coffers were bare, and payroll could not be met. For the first time, somebody telephoned the Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation in New York City and discovered they were dealing with a fraud. A 1988 Miami Herald newspaper article had portrayed a John Guggenheim (his actual name) as a skillful, fast-talking, flamboyant con man who reportedly had bolted from that city with $600,000 borrowed and bilked from artists and arts organizations. No relation to the famous family, Guggenheim was a graduate of a Florida state university, and had run a hair salon in Miami before making himself over as an arts benefactor. He succeeded in part because people needed what he was offering--financial help, clout, a bit of exotic glamor. And he offered them hope; it wasn't hard to do.

In April, Guggenheim was arrested and extradited to Miami, where he faces criminal charges. The local Tampa-St. Pete newspapers smelled a good story, although they were also to blame, never having bothered to check Guggenheim's credentials during the years he held power within the arts community. One local newspaper columnist gloated: "Tractor-pull fans, you were right. Those artsy types are as weird as you thought, and brainless to boot."

Brainless? Artsy? Weird? We,re not talking about the dancers here, or the artistic staff; we,re talking about the board of directors, businesspeople who work as unpaid volunteers and whose gullibility has smeared the entire arts community in Tampa, particularly dance, where dignity and credibility have been won over many years at great cost. Today, the egg-splattered board is trying to blame all of its company woes on Guggenheim, the man who snowed them. Bujones has moved with his family to Florida, leaving a company in Jackson, Mississippi. And artistic director Fleming, the professional, works on, continuing until his contract expires in August.

The whole thing would be of less consequence if it were the only story about a fumbling ballet board; unfortunately, it's not. Turn now to page 16 and read what's going on in Columbus, Ohio, at BalletMet.

There are times when we need to be saved from our volunteers .