This Moment

When I mention the foxtrot, you’ll probably think of a certain version of that dance. You’ll think about reverse poise, the man’s arms extended out and the woman draped over them like a garment with her face turned away from her partner. You’ll probably think of ballroom style foxtrot because that’s what most dance studios teach and it’s what the major brands (Fred Astaire and Arthur Murray would have you believe is the only way to dance the foxtrot. After Kelly and I made our Saturday trip to Cincinnati, I can tell you not only isn’t it the only way to foxtrot, it’s not even the original way of doing the dance.


We spent an afternoon with Rosie Lemkin of the Flying Cloud Academy. Flying Cloud is what’s referred to as a ‘vintage’ dance club, meaning they generally focus on the dances of the 1700’s, 1800’s, and early to mid 1900’s. This focus covers ragtime dances like The Grizzly Bear and the Turkey Trot as well as older styles like the Quadrille. Guess where the foxtrot falls into that mix? Well, the ‘fox’ part probably gives it away – the theory (at least Rosie’s) is that the foxtrot is a member of the family of animal dances that came about during the early 1900’s as a rebellion against the stiffness of Victorian social norms. In these dances not only did the dancers act out the aspects of the animals the names of which the dances bore, but they also (gasp) touched one another with more than extended fingers.

Thinking along these lines – that is to say, recognizing the animal dance roots of the foxtrot – it’s possible to start thinking about the dancer’s movements in a different way. In the vintage (20’s) version of the dance the footwork goes slow, quick-quick, slow, slow (as opposed to the ballroom slow, slow, quick-quick) and the motion includes a slight bounce with each quick. This bounce is meant to emulate a…trotting fox. If you’re not privileged enough to have witnessed a fox, think of a cat moving happily along. The bounce is subtle, not a hop or a jump just a slight bob with each step.

Personally, I love this version of the foxtrot. I think there are two reasons, really. Firstly it’s a dance of the twenties – that Wooster and Jeeves era that I love so much. When I tried the first steps of this dance I immediately felt transported to the twenties. I felt like a member of Wodehouse’s infamous Drones Club dressed up in waistcoat and cutaway and out for a night of jazz and champagne in the fashionable part of London. Secondly, there’s the fact that without reverse poise you’re left to look into the eyes of your partner. Yes, you came to dance with someone – there they are, right in front of you, so why not look at them? As Rosie said, “look into the eyes of your partner and get lost in the moment”.

To me that’s what dancing is all about, getting lost in the moment. It’s not about being the best on the floor, it’s not about showing off for the audience, it’s not even about knowing the steps to the dance. It is about enjoying the company of your partner and being totally present. Dance is a kind of Zen. The past is gone, the future not here yet, all you have is this dance – this stanza – this bar – this one note in this one moment. Look into the eyes of the partner you’re sharing the note with and get lost.

Memorial Day Jam

I'm not very good about living up to my promises. I know I said I'd get a report on the Old Coney Island Memorial Day dance aired last weekend but I didn't come through. Sorry about that, it's been one of those weeks!

Old Coney Island is worth a look if you're in the Cincinnati area. You can see the remnants of its old soul through the newly added water slides and wave pools. Deco elements are visible as you drive in through the gates and the pavilion where the dance was held (not the Moonlight Pavilion as promised but still) is the same sort of venue you'll find if you visit High Bridge Kentucky. According to my father-in-law, you used to be able to find an outdoor venue like the one at Old Coney just about any side of Indianapolis - that was the way of the late forties: Friday night you'd drive down to the pavilion and dance. Westlake here on the West Side of Indianapolis had a particularly memorable pavilion where Bob described seeing Louis Armstrong and standing so close to the bandstand he could see the beads of sweat rolling down Louis' forehead on a warm spring night. I'll never gripe about having an air-conditioned ballroom for my dancing but when I hear that story I kind of feel like some the native magic of dancing's been irrevocably lost to the mechanical churning of progress.

The dance felt a little like taking a step back about 65 years. The organizers did a great job by modeling the event after a USO event of the war-time 40's. The band wore military uniforms and the bandleader called out the soloists by rank as well as name. The effect was transcendent - one moment you're in 2009 with all that implies and the next you're in '43 at some army base located in the armpit of god-knows-where taking a brief break from the blood and tears. The band strikes up a hot Glen Miller tune and you go into a jivey swing hoping the physicality of the dance and holding a woman close will exorcise the death and despair of war. For a few hours the mortars are replaced by tom toms and you can almost reclaim the youth you've donated to your country. Well, almost.

There's one interesting thing I've noticed about all these reenactment-like dances. They inevitably miss one fact and that is the collision between the military and zoot-suit communities. The song Zoot Suit Riot wasn't written just because, you know? It was a reaction to actual rioting between Latino youths and Navy sailors and Marines in Los Angeles during the war. It turned out to be yet another sad instance of minorities suffering the lynch mob mentality that would plague the country right up through the 60's.

Still, every one of these dances will have at least one guy in a zoot suit in attendance. Ah, the amnesia that time endows us with - sooner or later people will believe sailors got off the boats in LA, put on their zoot suits, and went to party in some jazz bar.

History aside, the floor at Old Coney is pretty brutal if you're used to dancing on hard wood. It's advertized as 'terrazzo' which you should read as 'linoleum' and it's (of course) right on top of a concrete slab. The end result is a slick surface that will leave your feet tired and your knees sore. Not the best place to display your moves. The crowd at the dance was - well - typical. There were more dancers than floor space (a tribute to the organizers) and they contained the usual percentage of louts and clods. It wasn't as bad as Fountain Square but it definitely wasn't stunningly better on the floor etiquette side of the equation. Still fun was had by all and we're planning a return to the venue in hopes that it will be a little less crowded on a non-holiday weekend.

USO Memorial Day Swing Dance at Coney Island, OH

My dad was in the navy during the Korean War. I knew that, of course. I’d even seen pictures; Dad dressed in his uniform with his buddies, coming out of the surf on same far away beach, and lots of scenery pics from Japan. I’d also petted the silk gown and drooled over the pearls he brought bad for my mom. Oh, and admired that cool anchor tattoo on his upper arm. I think I knew then I’d have a tat someday. Sorry mom.

But I never asked him much about his military service. If I did he’d shrug and say the enemy didn’t have an air force or navy, so his ship would sit off shore and lob shells. Occasionally one would come back from the shoreline, but not often. In general though, I really never thought much about my dad being a vet.

So being at a dance especially to honor veterans was really neat, and more emotional than I thought it would be. The venue was a beautiful outdoor pavilion that had been there forever, in a charming park that looked straight out of the 50’s. The band was great, the singers really good too. The band was dressed in full military garb; they played dance selections from the 40s along with military numbers like Yankee Doodle Dandy.

Mom and dad danced a lot. They were laughing and having a blast. Gary and I did too. Then they had a part where the band played the branch songs of every part of the military. Vets were supposed to stand when they heard their song. When it came to Anchors Away, my mom poked my dad. He frowned. I don’t want to, he said. I said please dad, I want to clap for my dad. So he did. And I did. I almost cried, darn it.

I said later to Gary it’s not often a girl gets to applaud her dad. And no matter what he said, being in a war is dangerous business. I’m so proud of him. And every other man or women who serves this country. No matter what my beliefs about certain wars, who ever served or is serving now deserves our respect and appreciation.

And that wasn’t the only nostalgic heartstring. The band also played a few numbers my mom used to sing to me when I was a baby. I looked over at her and she was softly singing along with my favorite. I started leaking again. Blast.

Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh!

Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny!

How you can love!

Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny!

Heavens above!

You make my sad heart jump with joy,

And when you're near I just

Can't sit still a minute.

I'm so, Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny!

Please tell me dear.

What makes me love you so?

You're not handsome, it's true,

But when I look at you,

I just, Oh, Johnny!Oh, Johnny! Oh!

Into the Lion's Den

After almost two weeks of being sick and about a week of hard-core antibiotics, I'm getting back on the dance floor. Oh, and I'm not gently stepping it up. Tonight Terry Lee is playing Fountain Square and we're braving the tiny dance floor an ill-mannered dancers to get our rockaboogie out.

Terry burns up a mean Jerry Lee Lewis-style show which means some true rockabilly music at a blistering pace. I'd say that Rockabilly isn't an intimate music but I'm not sure that's true. Think about it: you're out there on the floor, snaking around your partner in figures that barely clear one-another, keyed to the beat and synchronized, and under the hot lights both of you are sweating and grooving. I don't know how much more intimate you can get! It's certainly more physical than most ballroom dances and a lot more connected than East or West Coast Swing.

All that philosophy probably will go out the window tonight, though. I'm just hoping I can dance a few sets without my sinuses making me so dizzy I fall on my butt or my cough coming back with such vengeance that I can't catch my breath. The real pain in the ass about getting older is the fact it takes too darn long to recover when life kicks you in the seat of the pants. The twenty-something me never was into exercise but I got to think he would come back from a cold a lot quicker than the forty-something version does.

This weekend promises to be a dance extravaganza too. We're heading off to Cincinnati tomorrow to visit Coney Island. Okay, so you're telling me that Coney Island is in New York, not Ohio. Yeah, you'd be right – partially. Cincinnati is home to Old Coney Island Amusement Park and Moonlight Gardens Pavilion where we'll be joining a group of WWII vets for a Memorial Day dance. What's now called Old Coney Island Amusement Park started back in 1886 and through over a century it has evolved but mostly stayed open to the public. Dancing at Old Coney will be interesting – I checked and they have a terrazzo dance floor. It'll be like swinging in a bathroom!

I promise pictures of all our weekend activities will be added to the blog and flikr stream as soon as possible! Wish me luck with my poor, feeble lungs!

Jim and Jacks, Down by the River...

Last weekend we took a little trip to Cincinnati. It's about a two hour drive from our house to Cincinnati, so the city makes a nice jaunt on a weekend when nothing else is planned or when there's some dance event that warrants our attention. This time around it was a visit to Jack and Jim's on the River, a little bar appropriately located, on the Ohio River.

The evening started inauspiciously. Being from Indianapolis, a city known for its absence of geographic features, I forget that some places actually have hills and rivers and other things that generally make navigation - well - a pain in the butt. We ran into this with Jack and Jim's. As I said before, it's located on the river and that means no straight streets. It's also under about six dozen railroad bridges, which means it looks a little more like a weigh station than a bar with a dance floor. But, after some swearing, insane driving, and putting the GPS feature of my cell phone to the ultimate test, we found the place and all was happy.

There's something about dancing at a bar that you don't get when you go to an actual ballroom. It's called liquor. Ah liquor, that wonderful social lubricant and synaptic anesthetic. A little bit of trivia for those of you who aren't so much into the whole bar scene: people will get drunk and when they do, they think they're even better dancers. Oh, by the way, they're wrong - oh so wrong.

I know I'm no good at things like the foxtrot. Apparently, though, if you poured a few shots of bourbon into me I'd become convinced not only that I'm qualified to foxtrot but I'm probably of the caliber that I could give the dolts on Dancing With The Stars a run for their money. I never saw so many people who were unable to keep their place on the dance floor while doing a slot dance. The swing, regardless of coast, is a stationary dance. You may turn around in a circle, you may move up and back, but you're staying generally in the same spot on the floor.

Not this crowd. Maybe the floor was sloped or maybe there was a wind blowing through the bar that I didn't detect. Whatever the case Kell and I kept moving out of the way until we finally gave up and decided we'd hold our ground regardless of who we had to step on. Hey, part of dancing is defending your turf I guess. At least it is when you're dancing in a bar.

Another thing revolves around my last post. Remember the dance floor map I posted? Take a look, I'll wait. You back? Good. So, you know that center part where you're supposed to do slot dances and line dances? Well, reading through the article and keeping in mind the whole subject of etiquette, what do you think you should do if the floor too small to really allow for social and line dancing? Hmm - well, I'd imagine that you'd refrain from lining up seventeen abreast and hogging the whole floor. It's a novel concept, I know, but one that's apparently far less understood than you might believe. The floor was small and crowded but people still lined up to do the stompy dance.

We wound up leaving around eleven thirty. It was a good time - but I think Kelly would agree we've had better. Is Jim and Jack's worth visiting? Well, if you're in Cincinnati and you don't have plans, yes. If you're looking for a destination to dance - I'd give it a pass.