If it’s Saturday morning in the Moore house it’s a sure bet the radio will be tuned to KTSA, rock and roll is filling up every inch of our den and kitchen and at the very least, one of the prepubescent or full fledged teenager inhabitants is lost in movement. The early and mid sixties were without a doubt The Golden Age of Dance in my family. We were at our peak of uninhibited gyrations and and undulations that rivaled the sheer joy of the bottom wiggles of an 18 month old. Watch any toddler and you will know what I mean. They hear music and they don’t even know what dance is but their body does – it just starts responding. That’s who we were. The whole bunch of us. Five kids, two parents and sometimes cousins and neighbors or friends giving back to the sounds from the radio or record player what we could not control.
Dance was kinda the first language in our family. My dad came from a household that could move with grace the way other families could sing like birds. My mom was our version of Ginger Rogers. She could follow dad backwards and in high heels. It was the glue that held them together. They were that couple on the dance floor that shoulda had a spotlight on them. Very often the other dancers moved out of the way and The June and Raymond Floor Show would be in full swing. I felt very proud when all eyes were on them. Very cool. My dad particularly loved to be out there. I think it was when he was most comfortable and could express himself. Anyone could feel how happy and full he was. He exuded it. I never saw my dad more relaxed – like everything that could possibly harm, hurt or bother him was a million miles away when he was being his dancer self. NATURAL might be a better word. He was in the flow of who he ‘naturally’ was. Lucky him.
106 Epler Dr was not just my home address but it was also our little home to Motown and the rock and roll of the sixties. I grew up with all of my mom and dad’s music as well. Glen Miller, Nat King Cole, The Mills Brothers and the Inkspots and lots of Mexican corridos and songs in Spanish were just as likely to be on our stereo as The Supremes, Temptations, Sunny and the Sunliners, Beach Boys, Dylan, Rolling Stones, and, or course, the Beatles. Dad liked country music too. Without pride or boasting he would simply state that he liked all kinds of music. And he did. So more times than not, it didn’t even have to be Saturday there were some fun tunes floating through my house.
American Bandstand was real live tv, with real teenagers dancing, and real rock and roll bands, lip syncing or for real – it provided a sneak peek long before my teenage years when I would need to know …how to dress – lots of petticoats and poodle skirts, then came the ‘shift dress’ with little bows in our hair, and finally, the mini-skirt! RADICAL, as well as, how to dance – hold your partners hands and let him twirl you around, slow dancing – how close is too close? Too tight? Latest dances – THE TWIST. We didn’t hold hands any more?! New pop music – a fast changing rock and roll scene. These were important, critical queries and AB had the answers. It was a source coming right into my den via television. I soaked it up. We all did. Every city had their own local dance show (gone by the time I came of age) and teen canteens on weekends for the masses that didn’t make it to the small screen. Dancing was every bit as much a part of the 60’s as the music. It would be mighty painful if you were too shy or afraid to expose yourself and get out on that dance floor. Like my dad, I was lucky. I could do it! (not on a stage, of course. That I had fears about).
We were all lucky in my family. Every one of us loved to dance and lacked the self consciousness to hold back. What a gift it was to let loose with our bodies. Arms flying sideways, into the air and all around. Legs were moving this way and that, feet hopping up and down, and hips doing things that felt very good… Without intending to, those spontaneous dance parties made my family closer. We had an unspoken connection and a kind of intimacy. Otherwise we were each in our own little world. Seven people in a small house demands that kind of space and privacy. But dancing brought us together. Singing off key while our human parts were letting go to very loud rock and roll was liberating. And yet, it was also a very special kind of family Communion – a holy act. Almost sacred. I cherish those fun times – best memories ever – 60 years later…
It would be great if I could find a way to bring that ‘dancing’ feeling back into my life on a daily basis. I miss that free and easy way with my body. Letting go. Relaxing like my dad in his happiest moments. Sometimes I put on the 60’s channel (now on a tv, not a radio!?) and dance around solo. It feels good. Therapeutic might be a modern word for it. Old fashioned fun and silly for a gal of my years but it still works. Weddings or birthdays or any family function that demands of the elder aunts to be out on the floor doing the Electric Slide, Cotton Eyed Joe, or Chicken Dance are rare events these days. How we miss it… if only for a moment we have that ‘bond’. We are reconnected. A Holy Moment.
UPDATE: Seems we really do learn something everyday… I thought my solo house dancing was one of my bigger life secrets. Well, even though it wasn’t something I advertised to the public it turns out not to be anything I needed to hide. After posting the above story and my confession as a private house floater quite a few gals and one guy came forward matter-of-factly and sans embarrassment to share their own love of music and solo dancing antics.
One girlfriend of almost thirty years told me that as a young girl her grandmother’s linoleum living room floor became her family’s dance surface whenever the Irish music wailed from the record player. Everyone joined in with Irish jigs and reels! I can picture it, I can hear it, all the noise and fun of those folks whirling around – after years of friendship I learned something about her that surprised me. How wonderful.
My same friend also unleashed another dance memory. Four years in college and she rarely missed a single weekly dorm dance party! I had never even heard of dorm parties and we had both been at Christian Brothers colleges?! I wasn’t so lucky. No dancing in my dorms…
Also, her dancing days brought back memories of her favorite dance tunes. She thought it might be fun if other readers shared the names of songs that got them off their feet and rocking and rolling. Any takers?
My World My Words 