I love fancy places to dance like the Indianapolis Roof. I love dancing at our club events. But there’s a whiff of artificialness to them, because most attendees “know” how to dance.
That isn’t the way it used to be. People grew up dancing; mom taught her son a few steps, girls got together and practiced the latest craze, and couples danced the night away at supper clubs. At a formal dance, some were better than others, but most everyone knew enough to get up and swing or sway.
Thankfully, those hallowed halls of yesterday are not all lost. Gary and I traveled back in time last Saturday evening to Raleigh, Indiana. We attended a dance in their Community Club, a place that has held a Saturday night dance since…1944. The place isn’t fancy from the outside, a long, low warehouse looking building and a simple sign that you’d miss if you didn’t know exactly where it was.
I felt like Dorothy going from black and white to color when I stepped inside: a fat holiday tree sat on one side, a plastic lighted crèche at the front. Vintage records, strings of lights, and old fashioned tinsel criss-crossed the ceiling. A mass of holly hung from the disco ball. And if you think there’s going to be a “but” you’d be wrong…the wood floor was immaculate and the band was good…surprisingly so for such a small town.
Best of all the people were friendly and understandably proud of their club. Dancing ability ran the gambit, but all were having fun. No one judged anyone else. I wish it wasn’t so far away, but we’ll be back.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
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