Even though the government shutdown is officially over, United Way of Northern Utah says that increased demands for services (including access to food) will likely remain high through January, if not February. To help with that, the organization is working with others to collect turkeys and coats to help families in the area that may need it most.

It was a no-brainer.

Kim DelGrosso did not want to fly her daughter, Ashly DelGrosso, to Los Angeles. Money was tight. She could hardly cover the cost of a plane ticket out of Utah. And besides, DelGrosso considered the LA audition a dead-end opportunity.

All six of her daughters had grown into highly skilled dancers, and the older girls were thinking about moving to England. This was in 2005, and Europe was the place to build a successful dance career, not the new celebrity competition show, “Dancing With the Stars.”

DelGrosso had co-opened Center Stage Performing Arts in Orem, Utah, just over a decade earlier.

Any reality dance competition series featuring non-dancers was a foolish idea. DelGrosso was certain it would tank.

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” DelGrosso recalled saying when she heard the concept for the series from a friend who urged her to send Ashly for an audition. “That show will not go anywhere.”

Begrudgingly, she flew Ashly to LA for the audition, where she received a spot on the cast. And then “Dancing With the Stars” erupted.

The series debuted with an audience of 13.5 million viewers. The Season 1 finale attracted more than 22 million viewers, pulling average viewership to 17 million people per episode. It was the most-watched summer debut ever for an American reality series at the time.

“It didn’t just explode. It exploded on the scene in such a way that none of us were ready. … And the rest is history.”

—  Kim Delgrosso, on the “Dancing With the Stars” phenomenon

In spite of DelGrosso’s skepticism, the out-of-the-box dance series, pairing professional dancers with celebrity contestants performing weekly for audience votes and judges’ scores, proved a massive success.

“It didn’t just explode,” DelGrosso said. “It exploded on the scene in such a way that none of us were ready. … And the rest is history. (Ashly) did four seasons.”

A long-standing relationship between DelGrosso’s studio, Center Stage Performing Arts, and ABC’s “DWTS” followed. So did a reputation for Utah dancers’ renowned talent and discipline. Motivated solely by her love of dance, DelGrosso had inadvertently produced the versatile, camera-friendly dancers the series demanded.

Eight of the professional dancers on the current season of “DWTS” trained at her studio. Dozens more DelGrosso-trained dancers — including Derek and Julianne Hough — have starred on the series.

When “DWTS” producers need a new pro, they call her.

But DelGrosso is reluctant to take credit for her studio’s reputation. She insists it’s taken a “village” to build the studio into the Utah stronghold it is today. Trusted coaches shaped the culture. Generations of disciplined dancers set the bar.

As the studio’s artistic director, DelGrosso always carried an optimistic vision for what Center Stage could be, but it has grown into something greater than she could imagine.

Reflecting on that success is an emotional experience for DelGrosso. Sometimes — particularly when she watches “DWTS” live at Television City Studios — she has to catch her breath and dry tears off her cheeks. It’s overwhelming.

It’s 20 years old — and the trendiest show on television

Two decades on, “Dancing With the Stars” has maintained momentum. The 34th season of the series is currently airing with historic numbers — viewership increased for six consecutive weeks, a feat no fall TV show has pulled off since the modern Nielsen-measurement era began in 1991.

It’s also the most talked about broadcast/cable show on social media right now, drawing an average of 2.9 million social interactions for every episode, per ABC.

Like several previous seasons, No. 34 is Utah-heavy.

Every one of the Utah pros featured on Season 34 — Jenna Johnson, Ezra Sosa, Rylee Arnold, Brandon Armstrong, Witney Carson, Carter Williams, Jaxon Willard and Hailey Bills — spent countless hours under DelGrosso’s direction at Center Stage Performing Arts.

The Hough siblings, who previously competed on the series and now serve as judge and co-host, also trained at her studio.

Longtime choreographer and producer for “DWTS” Mandy Moore — who choreographed Taylor Swift’s Era’s Tour — was trained by DelGrosso at a previous studio in Colorado.

Previous “DWTS” pros Alexis Warr, Lindsay Arnold, Chelsie Hightower, Stephanie Sosa, Brittany Cherry and Lacey Schwimmer also trained at Center Stage Performing Arts.

The list goes on. And on.

“The reason that we’re hired, the reason that Utah has this culture … is that these are cross-trained dancers. They put in the work. They are ready for the auditions, and they can do anything.”

—  Center Stage Performing Arts’ Kim Delgrosso

DelGrosso chalks up some of the “DWTS” success to good timing. “We were just positioned beautifully when ‘Dancing With the Stars’ opened,” she said.

But her dancers’ overwhelming presence on “DWTS” has far more to do with training, and a supportive culture that prioritizes hard work.

“The reason that we’re hired, the reason that Utah has this culture … is that these are cross-trained dancers,” DelGrosso said, meaning they are trained in a variety of dance styles. “They put in the work. They are ready for the auditions, and they can do anything.”

Finding home in Utah

DelGrosso walks barefoot through the studio. She is comfortable in her kingdom. “The bottom of my feet are like shoes,” she explained while standing on cold asphalt. “I can’t feel anything.”

Maybe it’s the dancer in her. Maybe it’s a symptom of her personable, gentle nature.

Preschool-aged students race to give DelGrosso hugs when she peeks in on their class. While making her way around the studio, she offers to share her snack-size bag of chips with every student she interacts with. She greets each of them with a warm embrace.

There are hundreds of students, and DelGrosso knows every one of them by name. She knows their stories, their families, their challenges. When she talks about a student, you can sense her pride. In DelGrosso’s eyes, she sees endless potential in every dancer.

“I literally have the best job in the world,” she says. “It’s so much fun.”

DelGrosso opened her first dance studio in the mid-1980s. Her husband had lost his job, and, anxious to help cover the expenses of raising a family, she opened Summit School of Dance in Breckenridge, Colorado, with their $10,000 cash savings.

On opening day, DelGrosso had 500 students. She ran the studio for 11 years before selling it and relocating her family to Utah — where she came with no intentions of opening another studio.

When she got to Utah, DelGrosso shopped around for a dance studio where she could send her daughters, but couldn’t find a good fit. None of the local studios offered ballroom programs for young dancers, so DelGrosso bought a little studio and named it Center Stage Performing Arts.

Rick Robinson, a ballroom instructor from BYU, began training her daughters. Marriann Hough caught wind of the burgeoning ballroom haven and came to the studio with her two youngest children, Derek and Julianne, requesting that DelGrosso train them to dance.

A small group of promising young ballroom dancers formed, and they quickly outgrew what Utah had to offer.

“We had to travel to Europe to train,” DelGrosso said. “I would take my girls to Europe because I wanted them trained correctly.”

“I put everything I had into it,” she added. “It was really hard on our family, because it’s a very expensive sport. We didn’t even have dresses.”

She knew her daughters would eventually return to the studio and train the next generation of dancers. It was an investment.

Center Stage gradually built a reputation for training skilled dancers, particularly in ballroom. It drew dance instructors from around the world to Utah — a place where they could train hungry young dancers in a range of styles.

Sasha Altukhov, who was raised in Ukraine, came to the U.S. in 2007. For a few years, he trained ballroom dancers in New York City and later Boston.

He was asked several times to join “DWTS,” so he flew from the East Coast to California to practice with his partner, who was also offered a spot on the show. While flying back and forth, Altukhov would stop in Utah to teach.

Impressed with the state’s dance scene, Altukhov bought an apartment in Utah and started training ballroom dancers at Center Stage in 2011. All the while, he turned down every offer to be on “DWTS,” because he prefers teaching to performing.

“When I moved (to Utah), there was not a lot of group training in Utah in ballroom. There was a lot of jazz, contemporary ballet, but there was not Latin ballroom. But there was a lot of good dancers,” Altukhov said. “Now Utah has become one of the top states in ballroom, that’s one of the reasons I moved.”

Altukhov’s first group of students included “DWTS” veterans Lindsay Arnold, Jenna Johnson and Witney Carson. He has since trained Brandon Armstrong, Rylee Arnold, Ezra Sosa, Hailey Bills, Carter Williams and Jaxon Willard — all of whom are currently pros on “DWTS.”

“Utah is the best thing for me because I like the work ethic of the kids and their ability,” Altukhov said. “A lot of teachers are getting drawn in to come here and teach now too, because they can see there’s a lot of talent in Utah.”

He added, “Center Stage is one of the best studios in the United States. And they set such a high standard for the rest of the country.”

What it takes to be a ‘DWTS’ pro

It’s hard for DelGrosso to define what it takes to be a professional dancer. But she can take a single look at a dancer and tell you if they have it, and if they want it enough.

For some of the most talented dancers, she says, the skills come too easy. These dancers won’t make it — they will get bored. They never had to fight for it.

The dancers who have what it takes learn to handle criticism, push through the strain on their bodies, endure the emotional toll and get tough. As a professional dancer, you are guaranteed to get beat up, DelGrosso said, so you have to be resilient.

“It takes a lot of discipline. I think a lot of people only see the highlight reels, but these dancers are there because of what they put in. A lot of them spent their whole lives being cross-trained in ballet, jazz, hip-hop, ballroom, contemporary, and that takes a lot of time,” said Stacey Bills, the head coach of the BYU Cougarettes, who previously coached at Center Stage for several years.

Bills’ daughter, Hailey Bills, trained at Center Stage and is currently on “DWTS.” Her sister, Jenna Johnson, also trained at the studio and has been a pro on the series for 10 seasons.

“These aren’t your average humans who just kind of fell into it,” she added. “It was a conscious choice to put in the time and work.”

Bills saw her own daughter, Hailey, make profound sacrifices from a young age so she could dance at the level she does.

“Ever since she was little, she wanted to do it all,” Bills said. “And that comes at a cost.”

Those sacrifices don’t end once dancers are cast on “DWTS.” Performing weekly on a public platform is both mentally and physically exhausting, Bills said. The stress of being in a position of public scrutiny is emotionally taxing.

Training is rigorous, and a lot of the dancers are discreetly suffering from injuries and other ailments they have learned to push through.

Rehearsal hours are grueling. At times, dancers will be called on a whim to show up for a 5 a.m. rehearsal with limited breaks. “You have to be physically ready for those kind of hours,” Altukhov said.

Utah-trained dancers’ ability to handle marathon-length rehearsals is part of what makes them appealing to the show, because “they have trained like this since they were 5, 6 years old,” Altukhov said.

Dancers also need to know how to train a celebrity — some of whom might have zero dance experience or skill. Some of the celebrities are uncooperative. Tolerating these difficulties, and still putting on a good show, is an additional skill that requires “years of experience,” he said.

Getting cast on the show is another hurdle. Earning a spot on “DWTS” is largely influenced by word-of-mouth, a longstanding good reputation and knowing important people, both DelGrosso and Bills shared.

In this process, Utah dancers might have an edge, DelGrosso explained, because Center Stage has a longstanding relationship with the series. Utah dance juggernauts like Derek Hough, Julianne Hough and Jenna Johnson preserved Utah’s dance reputation and are still linked to Center Stage.

So leading choreographers, like the ones who work for “DWTS,” will work with these young dancers at conventions or competitions — opportunities facilitated by Center Stage — and see their talent. And it’s likely their opinions get back to production, Bills said.

“There’s no real audition process,” Bills said. “They track some of these dancers for years. They know who’s competing in ballroom and who’s having success. And they also look to see who’s part of the jazz and contemporary circuit and who’s having success.”

Oftentimes, dancers have no idea if they are on the producers’ radars or not. They just continue competing and performing at high levels, hoping to generate interest.

“Over long periods of time, they’re watching, learning,” she added, and then if your efforts meet the right opportunity, you get the long-awaited call.

A balancing act

Establishing a reputation as a tough, versatile dancer is a process that demands extreme commitment from an elementary school age.

Still, excessive training can trigger burnout and other issues. Through decades of experience, DelGrosso has learned training these young, impressionable dancers requires a delicate balance between the hard-core, competitive nature of dance and the need for a steady, family-focused childhood.

Fostering a healthy, balanced environment in the studio is a “heavy responsibility,” DelGrosso said.

“Dance can go way overboard, and I have a real caution on this,” she said. “Many parents can go way overboard, too many solos, too many privates, and the children’s childhood can be taken away. I’m a big advocate of making sure that these young children have time with their families and are raised by their families and not by the studio.”

Aside from a select few, professional-bound dancers who train at Center Stage typically start as young as 3 years old. By the time they are elementary school age, dancers will take multiple classes every day. Senior-level students train around 30 hours every week.

A bulk of weekends are filled with competitions, most of which require travel.

It’s a big commitment for a young person, and the intensity can make dancers vulnerable to certain pitfalls, particularly identifying too heavily with the sport.

“If you break your leg and dancing was the only thing that you ever prioritized, you’re going to go through a really hard transition. It can’t be your only identity,” warned Bills.

In Bills’ experience, the majority of instructors at Center Stage emphasize the importance of being a good person, family member and friend — an attitude already emphasized by Utah’s family-oriented culture.

Dancers who adopt this mindset have more confidence, which manifests itself on stage.

“Be a good community member and a good citizen, because those are the things that will last,” Bills said she tries to instill in young dancers. “This just happens to be your talent that hopefully you have a lot of opportunities with. But at the end of the day, if that were taken away, you’re a lot of other things to a lot of different people too.”

Utah’s unique dance culture

When asked what distinguishes Utah dancers from the rest, DelGrosso responds simply, “We just love to dance. We love this art, and it’s infectious.”

The contagious love of dance has embedded itself into Utah communities and culture, making it a hub for talented dancers and coaches.

“In Utah alone, there’s a different dance studio every few blocks — and some of them are nationally recognized,” Bills said. She likened Utah’s passion for dance to Texas’ obsession with football.

“A lot of the best dance teachers move here because they want to be teaching the best,” Bills added. “The caliber of training that they’re receiving at some of these studios is just so top notch and and high level.”

Altukhov, who previously trained ballroom students in New York and Boston, noted that Utah parents offer a unique level of support for their young dancers. This support was a major drive in his decision to coach in the Beehive State.

The students he trained on the East Coast viewed dance as a hobby — dance was never considered a potential career path. As these students got older, their schedules would become overrun with tutors, music lessons, school sports and other activities, leaving limited time for dance.

Utah parents, many of whom trained in dance themselves, expect the long training hours and encourage a focus on dance. Young Utah dancers have “no distractions,” Altukhov said.

“The biggest difference is that the (Utah) parents understand why they invest in that time and money to give their kids the opportunity,” he added. “They have the goal (to dance professionally) from a young age … which is very unique for this country.”

Utah school systems provide the infrastructure to sustain rigorous dance training. Dancers who spend long hours in the studio and frequently travel to compete benefit from Utah’s flexible school attendance options, such as the Online Education Program.

“Utah in particular is very open for the dancers to go to online school or (miss) school,” Altukhov explained. “It’s a little bit more open for you to train and become good at dancing.”

Dance studios in Utah, particularly Center Stage, cross-train their students. This means rather than placing a single focus on one dance style, Utah studios produce well-rounded dancers who master a range of styles.

An ability to alternate between tap, jazz, ballet, contemporary, ballroom and hip-hop is “more uncommon than it is common,” Bills said.

“They can pick up choreography so quickly. They’re able to switch performance styles pretty seamlessly. … They’re able to transform into a completely different character every time they enter the stage,” she added. “They produce dancers that are electric to watch.”

How ‘DWTS’ has changed dance careers

Two decades ago, dance was largely overlooked by non-dancers, and opportunities to see dance were mostly confined to concerts or competitions. Television shows like “DWTS” brought dance into people’s living rooms for the first time, sparking widespread interest in the art form.

“(Dance) is so entertaining to watch. It’s beautiful. It’s emotion-provoking. It encompasses a lot of different, beautiful things. People that are completely non-dancers are so invested in some of these shows now.”

—  BYU Cougarettes coach Stacey Bills

“(Dance) is so entertaining to watch. It’s beautiful. It’s emotion-provoking. It encompasses a lot of different, beautiful things,” Bills said. “People that are completely non-dancers are so invested in some of these shows now.”

As audiences come to know the professional dancers, they elevate them to celebrity status, opening doors to social media success.

Dance careers used to have a quick expiration date, but being featured on these shows gives dancers more “control over their careers,” DelGrosso said.

Former Utah “DWTS” pro Lindsay Arnold, who competed on the show for 10 seasons, left the series to focus on raising her two young daughters. But the fanbase Arnold built on the series followed her to social media, where she boasts more than 1.7 million followers on Instagram and 1.3 million on TikTok.

Arnold has since launched her own brand, The Movement Club, and demonstrates how dancers who step away from performing can still earn a good living through social media, leveraging brand deals and sponsored content.

“It’s a phenomenal thing,” DelGrosso said. “They have amazing careers.”

DelGrosso won’t claim the credit she’s earned for her role in building Utah’s “Dancing With the Stars” kingdom, though; she gives that to a universal love of dance.

“The beautiful thing about dance and art is it takes everybody away from their problems for one second,” DelGrosso said. “They are all tied together, in their opinion, their liking, their joy, their music, it brings people together, and that is what ‘Dancing With the Stars’ has done.”

A Utah legislator just introduced a bill that would put a state ban on the controversial — and somewhat obscure — drug kratom. If passed, Utah would join at least seven other states in banning its sale altogether, making the law stricter than federal government regulations.

Kratom derives from a tropical tree in Southeast Asia. Depending on dosage, it can have either sedative or stimulating effects. The kratom leaf contains two major psychoactive ingredients, mitragynine and 7-hydroxymitragynine, the latter better known as 7-OH.

The Food and Drug Administration has not approved the drug for any type of medical use and the Justice Department’s Drug Enforcement Agency has identified it as a “drug and chemical of concern.”

At the heart of the kratom debate is a core disagreement: Is kratom itself the problem, or are look-alike synthetic kratom products being sold in stores to blame?

The Trump administration’s focus is on synthetic products. In a recent press conference, FDA Commissioner Marty Makary said the administration believes “it’s a night and day (difference) in terms of the public health risk” between natural and synthetic kratom.

The sponsor of Utah’s new bill, Sen. Mike McKell, R-Spanish Fork, sees kratom in all forms as a dangerous opioid masquerading as a supplement. He doesn’t differentiate between natural kratom products and what might be synthetic/manipulated compounds.

The American Kratom Association disagrees, insisting to the Deseret News that science supports regulation — not prohibition — and that synthetic kratom-like substances, like 7-OH, are the problem, not natural kratom.

7-OH occurs naturally in the plant, but many products on the shelves that are labeled as kratom have chemically altered 7-OH or are extracted to be far stronger than what the plant produces on its own.

Mac Haddow, senior fellow on public policy for the American Kratom Associationa, said McKell is lumping together natural kratom with synthetic 7-OH, and that Utah already has in place a law that “has become the model around the country.”

He’s referring to the Kratom Consumer Protection Act, which established penalties for not following specific labeling and selling requirements of the drug, etc. McKell said he voted for the protection act in 2019 and now regrets it.

“We’re for banning 7-OH and other synthetically derived compounds from 7-OH called pseudondoxal and MGM 15,” Haddow said. “That’s what his bill should do … and I think that’s what he wants to do, is to protect the public.”

But rather than regulating the drug, McKell said, banning is the only appropriate course of action to protect lives. Haddow said the American Kratom Association is willing to work with McKell on the bill; McKell said that won’t be happening,

“I want to make clear, my goal is to protect the public, not kratom,” he said. “And I think it needs to be clear that there are hundreds of thousands of dollars flowing to the people pedaling kratom in this state and other states.”

“I think the industry is abused,” and “these products are becoming far more dangerous,” McKell said. “Kratom is harming people.”

He shared data gathered from the Utah Department of Health and Human Services that was viewed by the Deseret News, showing kratom was involved in 152 overdose deaths from 2020 to 2025, and increased by 43% from 2021 to 2025. The Mayo Clinic has noted that a kratom drug overdose is possible, but it is rare. And the FDA has said that in these cases, “kratom was usually used in combination with other drugs, and the contribution of kratom in the deaths is unclear.”

The Deseret News recently did a deep dive investigation into the drug, speaking to health care professionals and addiction specialists, lobbyists for the drug and victims of its addictive nature, which gave it its infamous nickname, “gas station heroin.”

Why McKell believes a ban is necessary

During his investigation, McKell said one of his greatest concerns is how easily obtainable kratom and kratom-containing products are. Products can be found in gas stations, convenience stores, smoke shops and even grocery stores.

McKell said he went to 15 different locations and asked for their most popular kratom product and had nine samples tested at the state lab, where the results showed the 7-OH levels were all within the legal limit.

“The reality is they are extracting the plant form of kratom, and they are making the plant form of kratom, the mitragynine, way more potent,” he said. He argues that “the kratom plant itself is harmful, and people are getting addicted to it.

McKell noted that it doesn’t shock him when he hears a story of someone who started taking natural kratom and it solved all their pain problems. “It doesn’t surprise me that somebody who is using opioids is able to replace one opioid with another? What’s happening is, you do have people that have been able to replace the opioid they’re currently using, and replace it with kratom. … because kratom is just like an opioid.”

Though it isn’t classified as one, kratom has been shown in studies to “produce opioid- and stimulant-like effects,” per the National Institute on Drug Abuse. “People report using kratom to manage drug withdrawal symptoms and cravings (especially related to opioid use), pain, fatigue and mental health problems,” but studies have found that users can become addicted to it and experience withdrawals when trying to quit.

McKell said one of his constituents admitted to consuming eight to 10 of the two-pack “heavily extracted” kratom pill options that he said cost around $20 each at the gas station.

On top of the financial hardship the addiction causes, McKell was blown away by the accessibility. The U.S. regulates opioids — “We run it through a pain clinic, we run it through your physician, we run it through a pharmacy, and we’ve got strong drugs sitting there at the gas station. … I don’t think there’s a (valid) argument we should sell opioids in gas stations where it’s readily available to public,” where it is also known to attract more vulnerable populations, he said.