I love to dance! When I was about 13 years old, my sister, Mary Alice, worked and bought lots of clothes. Whenever she left for work, and we didn’t have school, I’d sneak into her bedroom and try on her clothes. Then I’d dance and swirl in front of the floor length mirror in her room.
That was the extent of my dancing until ninth grade. During gym class, we had to practice dancing with the boys. I’m sure both genders were uncomfortable with this strategy of learning “how to dance,” but we got through it.
My husband had the same dancing class in his high school in ninth grade. This is his story: “We were to prepare for a Queen of Hearts dance that was coming up. We had a large gym class. There were about 50 boys and 50 girls. We made a round circle, the boys outside, the girls inside. We then walked in opposite directions until the teacher yelled, ‘Stop!’ Our dance partner was now in front of us. One of my very shy buddies decided to sneak into the locker room, but the teacher caught him in time and yelled, ‘Robert, come back here. JoAnn wants to dance with you.’ He was embarrassed and mad at the same time.”
Eventually, with more dance practices, my girlfriends and I became brave enough to attend the school dances. My friend and I had been jitterbugging quite well, I thought, when she suddenly walked off the floor, telling me, “You can’t dance!” After that hurtful remark, for months I accepted her “truth” believing I couldn’t dance.
Some months after this incident, my sister Gladys begged me to go out with a friend of her boyfriend. It seemed Mom preferred double dates. I relented, even though the dance was at a different high school. Still, not confident in my dancing abilities, I stepped on this guy’s shoes a few times too many. Out of kindness, he asked, “Would you rather go see a movie?” We did just that, but the poor guy paid for both the dance and theatre tickets.
After that incident, I did get to the prom dances held each year at my high school. By then, I felt better about dancing, but mainly we danced slow dances. I still get itchy thinking about my first prom, wearing a white flared tulle strapless (my first) gown, with starched crinolines worn underneath. It was the gown Gladys had worn two years before.
Another place teenagers enjoyed during high school years was the dance hall at Hummel’s (now Hummel’s Bar and Gathering Place), in Lenhartsville. It was a place one could enjoy country dancing, such as hoe downs and square dancing.
Once married and raising children, dancing was completely out of my head until my present marriage. The first night Harry and I met, we danced late into the night. Both of us still enjoy jitterbugging.
We have since attended many of the big band dances held at Dorney Park’s Castle Garden Dance Hall. At some point, the dances were discontinued and fire destroyed the building in 1985. Yet, we still found a few places to dance, like the Elk’s Lodge, in Hazleton, and the Fearless Fire Company, in Allentown.
I can’t forget, upon moving to Allentown, we found “dancing under the stars” with the Royalaires at Cedar Beach Park, for the older crowd. We were enthralled by an 80-year-old couple, who glided from one end of the floor to the other with such ease. And then there was a younger couple, maybe 55 or so, who did a mean jitterbug. We happened to glance at another couple, possibly our age, who were by far the most impressive dance couple. The husband, with a brace on one leg, sat in his wheelchair. The wife sat on a chair next to him. We saw the man pull himself up, a bit shaky, out of the wheelchair. Once he steadied his body, he flung his arms wide. Very gently, his wife snuggled into his bosom. As they stood in one place throughout the song, they swayed side by side, obviously a dance of love.
Even on vacations, my husband and I managed to get a dance in. Often, we’d travel in February, and at whatever motel we stayed, we’d ask, “Is there a Valentine’s dance nearby?” One of these dances was at Lake Havasu, in Arizona. We hadn’t been out late, so on the way back to our motel, we decided to get a pizza and take it to our room. It did take an inordinate length of time to get this pizza, but once in our room, we were pleasantly surprised with a heart-shaped pizza.
Now, in our 70s, we don’t go out dancing any more. Over the years, whenever we did the jitterbug, I’d beg my husband to fling me on his hip, or pull me between his legs. No amount of begging helped. He insisted his back would “go out” or his hip would break. There was always some excuse!
Recently, I came up with an idea that none of his bones would get broken. We could put a humorous dance skit together, and present it at senior citizen groups. He could be the straight man, like George Burns and Gracie Allen, and I’d do all the work. I still want him to pull me through his legs. I can help by pushing myself through with my legs, after all we’re older. I haven’t figured out the hip fling yet to ease his mind. I’ve been working on this idea for five years now. It’s still on my bucket list!
Carole Christman Koch grew up in Berks County and has been published in numerous publications. She has a passion for writing and has many stories from growing up on a farm to everyday stories.
