Setting a high barre: Marcia Dale Weary celebrates 50 years.

There's definitely something about Marcia. Marcia Dale Weary, that is, founder and artistic director of the Central Pennsylvania Youth Ballet.

Physically petite and soft-spoken, Weary is a determined crafter of young bodies, one of the nation's most respected instructors of ballet. Graduates of her program are known for their ability to step directly from the school's home in Carlisle, PA, into professional ranks. They're also known for their work ethic. Weary does not get dancers to that point by going easy on them.

Her guiding demand is that her students, no matter their age, take themselves and their art as seriously as she does. "I'm not afraid to repeat and repeat," Weary says. "Many teachers today worry they'll bore their students, but repetition is what makes the muscles strong. [The students] have to feel that I want this for them. The challenge is not just to learn the steps. They have to know the basics before they can go onto the bigger combinations."

Weary has embraced those beliefs for half a century and is now overseeing her school's 50th anniversary. Dozens of her former students--members of ballet companies all over the country--plan to return and regale her with gratitude during a special event July 2 at Whitaker Center for Science and the Arts in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.

Among the featured guests will be Ashley Bouder, the bold and striking principal dancer at New York City Ballet, who caught the attention of critics when she stepped in as Firebird on a moment's notice in her first year with the company. Bouder, a DANCE MAGAZINE "25 to Watch" in 2001, started at CPYB at age 5 and left at 15 for the School of American Ballet. At NYCB, she performs alongside CPYB alums Abi and Jonathan Stafford, Adam Hendrickson, and Allen Peiffer.

Weary enforces a strict ban against jewelry, makeup, and legwarmers, but instills in her pupils the fundamentals necessary for advancement. "Marcia took the time to teach us the right way to do everything, in the smallest blocks," Bouder says. "Those things have been programmed into my muscle memory. I'm thankful that I started with someone who knew exactly what she was doing." Bouder admits that such a rigorous ballet program may not be for everyone. "You really have to know that's what you want to do. Otherwise, it would be too much. But if this is really what you want, then there's probably no place better," she says.

Zachary Hench, noted for his ballon and solid partnering, says Weary tricked him into enrolling at CPYB, where his mother taught and Iris older sister had already begun studying. "She said she wouldn't let me swim in her pool anymore unless I took ballet," he says. "I'm sure she was just joking but I took her seriously."

The trick worked for eight years, during which Hench says he never had more than two male classmates at CPYB. Long hair and unkempt clothes were forbidden. If he missed a class, he had to make it up. The discipline paid off. Hench went from CPYB to Boston Ballet (with a year in between at Universal Ballet Academy) and stayed there eight years before joining San Francisco Ballet. Pennsylvania Ballet promoted him to principal after he danced Siegfried in Christopher Wheeldon's Swan Lake last year.

Hench says he didn't get special privileges as one of the few boys training among the girls at CPYB. "I was held to the same standard," he says. "And Marcia was amazing to work with, the perfect mix of discipline and encouragement. I will always have tremendous respect for that school. Anything Marcia asks me to do, I would clear my schedule to be there."

Pacific Northwest Ballet principal Noelani Pantastico, who is a radiant Odette and passionate Juliet, says the demands of training at CPYB were more taxing on her mother than on her. The family came to Carlisle from Hawaii--Pantastico's father was in the military and the family lived many places--and during the six years she studied there, her mother often created obstacles to keep her home. "The thought of me going to ballet for three-and-a-half hours a night scared her," Pantastico says. Rather than quash her interest, the restrictions made dance all the more precious. "I learned to love it because morn wouldn't let me go," Pantastico says. At the studio, Weary made her want to work. "She expects a lot and lets you know she's serious. I wanted to do well for her. We didn't know it was hard. Dancers there don't realize how good they are until they leave."

Weary founded CPYB in 1955 in her hometown of Carlisle. Though not a large city, it's just a day-trip from New York City, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington, D.C. The earliest classes were held in a band hall. Then, two years later, Weary purchased the now famous CPYB barn, where classes were held until 1999, when the school moved many of them into a large, multi-studio warehouse on the campus of Dickinson College.

Weary herself had begun ballet training only a few years previously. Unsuccessful auditions showed her that she had started too late and had received inadequate preparation for a professional career. "I saw how much better the others looked and I thought, 'None of my children are going to go through this,'" Weary says.

Now she has hundreds of children, hundreds of well-trained, talented, adult children, many of whom are professional dancers. "I'm so proud of them, I get choked up," Weary says. "I still see them as little kids in my mind. I have stories about each one of them. I had thought that if I had my life to do over again, I would want to be a dancer. But now I know I'd be a teacher again. There are new children all the time and it's so rewarding. I love to see them come back."

Zachary Lewis is a freelance arts writer in Cleveland.