Save Our Barn...

I'm not a guy for causes. Okay, scratch that, actually I'm not a guy for talking about my causes. I come from the particular branch of Indiana men who believe your opinions should be like your underwear - covered up while in public. This isn't because I have any less faith in what I believe, it's because the world has enough yelling and screaming in it and adding to the din won't do a thing to solve any of the very real problems we have. Now that I've said that, I'm going to violate my own principals and recommend you jump in to support a cause that should be dear to anyone who is an Indiana-based dancer.

This past week in my usual haul of email I got the schedule for upcoming events for Mike's Dance Barn in Nashville, IN. I gave it a look, knowing that one of my personal favorites Terry Lee and his Rockaboogie Band would be playing there in October. I read through the dates, noting events I might like to attend until I reached one particular entry on the calendar that caught my eye.

October 3rd, Save Our Barn Benefit. That got my attention - I read further:

"Mike is having a FUNDRAISER today to help in saving the Dance Barn from impending tax sale.


PLEASE HELP us keep our entertainment venue going for your enjoyment with all the great music and dancing that is done here.


Benefit starts at 2:00pm and a buffet will be served.


There will several bands to entertainment you for the day and a silent auction. Any donations of items for the auction will be greatly appreciated as well as any monetary donations.


Cover charge is $20 and will include the meal if you want to eat.


Thank you for all your patronage and support thru the years. - Billy and Carla"

There it was, another dance venue potentially going under. Personally I think the Dance Barn is one of the best spots to dance in Indiana. The floor's kept in excellent condition, the sound is good, and the bands fill a niche that isn't addressed anywhere else. Where else can you catch a band like Terry Lee, have a good meal on the cheap, and generally have a great time? There are a lot of ballroom spots in central Indiana but nothing that caters to the country-swing element while maintaining a good safe-feeling environment where the dancing is the main focus. Mike's place is one of a kind and I hope you'll read this and flood the building like George Bailey's living room in It's a Wonderful Life. After all, tis getting near the season…

Dancing on Stone

I am an unabashed Andy Griffith fan. Somehow saying so makes me feel a little like it's my first night at the local meeting of some kind of twelve step program. Hello, my name is Gary and I watch The Andy Griffith Show…

Anyway, it was my fondness for the show that initiated the trip we took this past week. We drove nine hours from Indy to Mt. Airy, NC to attend the 50th annual Mayberry Days Festival in Andy Griffith's home town. I'm unashamed and I'm here to tell you I had a hell of a good time. We rolled into Mt. Airy on Wednesday evening just ahead of a thunderstorm and after we'd settled in, we took a late night walk around the town. I think I'll remember that walk for the rest of my life. Not because I saw the birthplace of one of my favorite television personalities (though I did) and not because I got to see the town that inspired much of the show (which I did) - it was something different, something internal that I'm not sure I can put down in words. All I can say is standing there under an umbrella on the deserted Main Street of Mt. Airy, NC felt special somewhere deep inside. Since this isn't a fandom blog, I'll leave it at that.

Thursday, September 23rd we went to a dance at Surry Arts Council's Blackmon Amphitheatre. The Band of Oz provided the music for the evening - disco inspired shag tunes that were passably executed and inspired a lot of enthusiasm from the crowd. The surface, though, was granite blocks - the same kind of blocks you see outside sporting areas emblazoned with purchased dedications (in memory of mama or something like that). Let me tell you, granite makes a great bathroom counter but it's nothing to dance on! Besides being really hard it's not particularly slick and no two blocks seem to be set on the same plane. The result is you can't shuffle your feet for fear of tripping. Add to that a crowd that's been buying bottles (yes bottles) of wine for about an hour and you get a real mosh pit. We didn't stay too long for fear of getting hammered and falling on unforgiving stone.

The up side was, as we were getting ready to depart on Friday we got to see ourselves on the local news channel's morning program. There we were, swinging it. Talk about something that'll make you self conscious! If Kelly or I manage to get a clip from the news station we'll air it here. That should show anyone they can dance!

There Is A Time

There is a Time is my favorite song by The Dillards, the bluegrass band famous in the 60s and 70s (they still play), and also were featured in the Andy Griffith show (The Darlings). The song speaks to wanderlust, and how you need to do your roaming when you are young. To me, the singer is older, wishing he or she had done just that.

Gary and I traveled to Mt. Airy, North Carolina over the last few days, birthplace of Andy Griffith and the mythical Mayberry; it was the show’s fiftieth anniversary. TAGS, as it is known to its fans, is Gary’s favorite show. To him, Mayberry represents all that is good in humanity: caring relatives and neighbors embedded within a simpler life.

We had so much fun. We both agreed the first night was the best, the town, bathed in mist and moonlight, was empty. As we walked down the streets of Mt. Airy, we really could imagine Aunt Bee running out and asking us if we wanted pie. The next day we saw more of the town and visited the museum. We were both pleased that for the most part the town hadn’t been fancied up; it was worn in places, but still scrubbed and proud, and not just because of Andy.

One of the added structures adjacent to the Andy Griffith museum is the Blackmon Amphitheatre, which hosts many a band. It also has a dance floor. The Band of Oz, a beach band from South Carolina, played the night we attended. They did mostly shag numbers, but Gary and I danced our respective swings and a rumba or two. We had so much fun. Yeah, the floor was hard and uneven (granite), but the moon was full, the music great, and Gary and I were together. Happy sigh. The next day as we were eating breakfast in the hotel lobby we saw ourselves on the news, dancing away.

It was fun to get away, dance at a new venue, and to fulfill my husband’s dream of seeing Andy’s home town. But it was nice to get home. Tonight we will be dancing on the home hardwoods of the Starlite with our favorite club, the Brickyard Boogie Dancers.

Band of Oz. Funny. I guess there really is no place like home.

There is a time for love and laughter
The days will pass like summer storms
The winter wind will follow after
But there is love and love is warm

There is a time for us to wander
When time is young and so are we
The woods are greener over yonder
The path is new the world is free

There is a time when leaves are fallin'
The woods are gray the paths are old
The snow will come when geese are callin'
You need a fire against the cold

So do your roaming in the springtime
And you'll find your love in the summer sun
The frost will come and bring the harvest
And you can sleep when day is done.
- The Dillards

Dancing in the Streets

Dancing on concrete floors isn’t much fun because it’s so hard. But if the space is meant for dancing, at least it’s slick. A street isn’t designed for dancing…it’s definitely not slick, and you can add uneven, sticky, and covered with stuff you’d rather not step in, like say, gum. You have to dance differently. You can’t spin, so you have to substitute little steps. It works, although that takes up a lot more energy.

Despite the less than perfect surface, Gary and I decided to attend Lebanon’s Back to the Fifties street dance anyway. We had a blast! The weather was cool and not a cloud in the sky. Good food, good music, friendly people. There were some really fine dancers there. We saw a fabulous example of The Stroll and the Hokey Pokey. People were enjoying themselves and there were bunches of kids hopping up and down. I love to watch kids dance. They are completely uninhibited.

There’s something very authentic about a street dance…block off the main square, grill up some burgers, all while the band warms up. As the moon appears over old buildings, music wafts out over the crowd and dancers take to the street. The town really isn’t that much different than the 1950s, and for awhile it felt like we’d gone back in time.

I’d never want to live in the 50’s for a number of reasons, but a fifties dance seems to crystallize and preserve the best parts of that era. And a street dance is the very essence of dancing in the wild, my favorite kind of venue.

Well they've got a new dance and it goes like this
Bop shoo-op, a bop bop shoo-op
Yeah the name of the dance is Peppermint Twist
Bop shoo-op, a bop bop shoo-op
Well you like it like this, the Peppermint Twist

Lebanon, IN - Back to the Fifties Weekend

The Lebanon, IN Back to the Fifties Festival advertized their Friday night dance as a 'street dance' and there was truth in that advertizing. For the first time ever, Kelly and I did our thing on asphalt…in fact between the painted lines of a parking spot in front of the Boone County Courthouse. There's an art to dancing in the wild. The surface is imperfect and sometimes treacherous - it slopes in odd ways, there are bumps and grooves, there are oil slicks and discarded chewing gum and you're dancing right in the middle of this mess. Some advice: wear sneakers, pick your feet up, don't get too hung up on technicalities, and just have fun. The dance surface is imperfect, you're not going to be perfect, and that's okay! You're not putting on an exhibition - you're having fun!

The band (the Sunsetters) was decent, they kept a good beat going and played some quality fifties tunes. Personally I love the music of the fifties for dancing. It's got a kind of joyful spirit - all the enthusiasm of a youth culture that hadn't faced Nixon or Viet Nam, when all that mattered was a girl and a cool car. Something about even the sad tunes won't let you get too down.

We had a great time. Who knows, we might be remembering the fifties (okay I hadn't been born then and Kelly was too young to remember them) again next year.

Memories of Days Gone By

Once upon a time in America people stepped out of their homes on a Saturday evening and took in the quiet evening air. They donned their hats and strolled by the light of streetlamps and picture windows, gravitating toward some street named after a President. There they'd meet neighbors and coworkers, the ones and twos would become fives and tens, a stream of humanity gravitating toward a common spot.


That spot would be the town square, a small patch of trees and grass surrounded by storefronts, civic buildings, and monuments. Through the patches of night that gathered under the big oaks and maples of the square would drift the sound of music, the pied piper melody to which they all were inexorably drawn. In the shelter of a small pavilion the band would tune up. They might be a travelling band playing the Midwest on a tour of bergs and boroughs, getting a percentage of the gate for gas and food and not much else. Or they might be a collection of moderately talented locals buoyed up by the sentiment of the townsfolk, their ready availability, and the ownership of instruments. Whatever the case, they'd warm up as the people filed in and found their usual seats.

After a little futzing, the music would start. Maybe the tune would be out of key or the tempo would drag at first but steadily building to the full measure of its potential. The usual couples would take the floor, breaking the ice for the shy and beginners. In twenty minutes there wouldn't be enough room for a dime to roll across the floor. Dancers old and young, talented and not, would fill the hardwood and the night air would be perfumed with music and laughter for a few hours.

Afterward weary feet would tread the sidewalks. Dancers would stop to window-shop by the light of the streetlamp, then continue strolling arm in arm and talking happily. Doorstop farewells would be said, maybe with a quick peck by the moonlight. Home would seem warm and still afterward, the ticking of the mantle clock a pale echo of the music that only played on in the dancer's memory. When the lights were turned off and the covers pulled up, the breeze through the bedroom window would bear dreams of strong arms, sure feet, and sweet music under the stars.

Dance Ephemera

Just to round out the dumpster diving...