The word dance had no place in our heroes' never-ending pursuit of bad guys. That's why when our teacher, with a gleeful smile, announced our class would perform The Maypole Dance on stage. We young men objected loudly. The teacher responded by suggesting we pound erasers and clean blackboards after school for a long while. We caved.
The Maypole feat was successful, and it was the last we would hear about dance: that is, until we entered the seventh-grade at Edmond Meany School on 22nd and John. Edmond Meany offered great new classes and friends, a wood shop and a big indoor gym. Everything was going along just fine until one Thursday when the gym teacher, Mr. Leeds, entered the gym with that same gleeful smile reminiscent of our fourth-grade teacher.
Mr. Leeds' grin was intolerable, his posture askew trying to hide something behind his back. He flipped a switch on the wall and announced, "It's Thursday, boys: Dance Day!" Huge panels - floor to ceiling - opened. Mr. Leeds walked to a record player surrounded by giggling girls.
You could hear our protests clear down in Madison Park, to which Mr. Leeds stated, "Boys, boys, you don't have to dance!" Well that's better, we thought. Then from behind his back, Mr. Leeds introduced us to an old worn out size 14EE tennis shoe without laces. "This is Mr. Goodrich," he said with that same gleeful smile.
Nervous laughter prevailed when he announced, "Non-dancers will form a single file line on the stage." We started up: machismo would not let us back out. He added, "The non dancers will receive one swat in order to sit out the dance class."
One by one, we bent over, grabbed our legs below our knees while everyone else watched. Mr. Leeds had perfected just the right amount of swing resulting in a resounding whack. Sitting was no longer an option.
The next Thursday, non-dancers would receive two swats: number of non-dancers - zero! The following Thursday we not only danced the waltz, the Avalon and the swing, we acquired favorite dance partners. We began to know each other's moves, which made for a better grade but meant little difference to us.
We were getting good at this dance thing. We made special friends to share green rivers with after school and met at the Venetian Theater on 15th and Pine on Friday nights to sit with each other. For an extra 25 cents we got loge seats without armrests!
We went to dance parties at our friends' parents' homes with rec-rooms. Out of the blue my dance partner says, "Things are going too fast!" Her parents echoed the same. Where's the posted sign limit? No more loge dates. We did dance during class, though.
One night some schoolmates suggested we go to an open dance at Franklin High School. Once inside I asked a girl to dance. After several spins perfecting our style, I thanked her to which she replied, "You're a good dancer!" Thanks, Mr. Leeds and Mr. Goodrich! That night I danced up a storm.
We were well into high school at Garfield when we tried finding places to dance. It was nearly impossible as we were too young for the clubs. Thursday dance class came to an end so a group of us decided to take our dates to Parker's on Aurora Avenue even though we were just shy of the legal age. We met in the parking lot holding our alcohol in brown paper bags, paid the $2.75 per couple cover charge and made it inside!
We ordered our required setups: 7Up or Tom Collins and a tub of ice for $1.25. With drinks in hand, we toasted to a great evening with live music, good friends and big, gleeful smiles! That evening was one of the best, and the start of a trend: getting a group of friends and finding places to dance to live music.
Dance clubs were popping up all over. There was the Rainbow Ballroom near Eastgate, the Spanish Castle south of Seattle and the Westerner downtown presented Gil Conte singing the likes of Frank Sinatra. Dave's Fifth Avenue off Denny featured top entertainment. The Downbeat on 2nd and Yesler was a favorite where Dave Lewis, Sonny Buxton, George Griffin, Billy Tolles (and the Vibrators) and Quincy Jones played. Between sets various band members would sit with us and we'd all catch up on the latest happenings.
The Silver Dollar south of Seattle had western music and eventually acquired an entertainment license allowing dancing. Small bar and tavern owners turned their heads when people danced by the jukebox.
After-hour clubs like the Wah Mei, Bob Kivo's 605 (corrections invited), the Black and Tan, the Ebony and the Silver Dragon provided dancing on postage stamp size dance floors. There was always a good chance of getting elbowed followed by an exhibit of fist fighting. Bouncers stood by to put an abrupt end to it, and most fights would end with laughter or a handshake and the dance continued.
In the army I danced for free at the N.C.O. clubs, which was great since our military income was only $108 month. I returned to Seattle to a warm homecoming and we hit all the clubs. The dance craze was alive and thriving.
Sadly, after hours clubs closed when bars stayed opened on Sundays, which lessened our dance options. During the Vietnam protest era, the character of dance changed. A warehouse opened on Eastlake, which we called the Forklift, as bands were raised on a platform with a big forklift. The music was loud and really moving but dancing became a solo affair swaying to the vibes. The ringing in our ears afterwards was like we had been sitting in a firing range, but we were bullet proof in those days.
There were places downtown, like the Olympic Hotel, where we sometimes dined and danced. The Town and Country Club offered the same, but was less formal. One evening there everyone watched an unusually talented couple on the dance floor. Afterwards we congratulated them and noted how beautiful the woman was. Turned out she was blind but followed her partner's moves flawlessly.
One thing that stands out above all was being at The Downbeat dancing to the music of Dave Lewis. It was the feeling of the beat transcending dance movements to a new height. It felt like walking on air and everyone was there with you. It's a memory that brings a gleeful smile on a rainy gray day.
Karen and I have not been dancing in years, save for the occasional wedding where we shake a pretty mean leg. Otherwise, watching the occasional "Dancing with the Stars" is about all we can handle. We are certainly with them in spirit. Dance On!
Richard Carl Lehman and his dancing feet may be reached via the addresses listed below.
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