Late Breaking Headline: Congrats to the Cubs! Onward!
Do you remember when and how you learned to dance? Even though I have hazy recollections of teaching myself to jitterbug copying the kids on American Bandstand,***my formal training began at Avoca School in the seventh grade.
(***Remember Kenny and Arlene?)
If memory serves, we seventh graders had to endure a course of square dancing, believe it or not. All that “allemande left” and do-si-doing was decidedly age-appropriate. In seventh grade some of the boys and girls were still actively engaged in the battle of the sexes. As in “Girls? Yuck! Boys? Ick!” Nobody wanted close contact.
But watch how the talented Mouseketeers did it.
But most of our aversion to the opposite sex had radically changed by eighth grade. Then, en masse, like it or not, the class was enrolled in an exercise called “Social Dancing.”
I still clearly remember sitting in a chair in the gym and watching- with my heart in my mouth- as the boys made their way over from the wall to ask us poor sitting ducks to dance.
My thought process went something like this. (Names have been changed to protect everyone. Even fifty years later.)
Twelve year old Me: (All this stream of consciousness happens in about three seconds, btw.) Oh gosh, what if nobody asks me to dance? Oh, lord, here they come. Is that Donald coming this way? Please don’t let Donald ask me to dance. He’s creepy. Please don’t let Donald come over here. Please let Ricky ask me. Is that Timmy? Oh, no! Please don’t let Timmy ask me. He’s fat. Please let it be Ricky. Oh dear lord, here comes Donald. Hurry up, Ricky!
I think Donald won.
The rest of the story…
“Ricky” eventually did ask me to dance and later, to go steady. This meant we held hands at all the boy and girl parties. He broke up with me on the eve of another boy/girl party. I remember thinking,”I can get through this. I’ll go to the party and be brave and put a smile on my face even though my heart is breaking.” A sound philosophy- and one I practice to this day.
But my eighth grade social dancing life took a huge turn upward when I got an engraved invitation in the mail asking me to join Mrs. Theron Mandeville Woolson’s “On To New Trier” Assembly.
Held on five Friday nights in Winnetka’s stately Christ Church’s parish house, these classes were posh and exciting. And they included boys from all the feeder elementary schools that would make up my high school freshman class the very next year.
Barbara, Kim and Kathy were the other Avoca invitees. (I can’t remember the boys who got asked.) And this meant that we “slow”- read socially-backward- Avoca girls would now have negotiate the waltz and the box step and the cha cha with reputedly “fast” Sears boys and Skokie school boys. The prospect was thrilling.
Our illustrious instructress in all things terpsichorean was the magnificent Helen Calhoun Woolson. Mrs. Woolson was a no-nonsense dowager in the Margaret Dumont mode. The genuine article. Born in Glencoe, she died in 1985 at the age of ninety-two. Her husband’s family was DAR distinguished,too.
(That’s Mr. and Mrs. Woolson back in 1963 seated second and fourth from the left. She’s wearing the white hat. Very Winnetka.)
Armed with a cricket to signal gauche behavior, she held us all to a strict standard of conduct- hoping to put some polish on our uncouth youth.
Just to add to the confusion: There was another dancing class held in the Winnetka Community House led by Mrs Wilson. Whenever we met a new kid, the question “Did you Wil or Wool?” was proffered by us inquiring adolescents to figure out what demographic you belonged in.
Back at Mrs. Woolson’s, each set of parents were asked to chaperone one evening per session. I can remember how thrilled my dad was when he met his fellow chaperone-the legendary Jack Brickhouse. (Who is, no doubt, beaming in Heaven right now.)
It wasn’t all a merry dance, though. That’s an anguished time in the life of any young- and in my case, still flat-chested girl.
And I still can remember how humiliated I felt when I overheard a teenaged would be Lochinvar refuse to dance with me. “That board?” he snorted. “Never!”
(My best friend Barbara overheard this indictment and kindly said, “Maybe he thought you looked bored” to cheer me up. But neither of us was fooled.)
Things were probably not too nifty for the boys press-ganged into going to dancing class, either. I picture a lot of whining, threats and bribes to get the boys to show up on those Friday nights. I just can’t imagine what thirteen year old boy went willingly to the slaughter.
To this day, it’s never ben my good luck to meet a guy who actually likes to dance. One perfunctory, desultory whirl around the dance floor was pretty much all I have ever known.
Still, I can do a pretty mean foxtrot.
Hey, is that Eddie Duchin I hear?
And yes, I’d be delighted.
Not to change the subject or anything, Ellen, but congratulations to the Cubs!!!
Thanks, George. It’s very exciting.
Ellen, you brought me right back to those awkward evenings in the Avoca gym! How I hated standing there wondering if anyone would pick me to dance, often ending up with the shortest boy, while I was one of the tallest girls. I recently watched “Marilyn Hotchkiss’ Ballroom Dancing & Charm School,” which reminded me of those days, and what I imagined Mrs. Woolson’s and Mrs. Wilson’s were like.
Thanks for speaking up for tall girls everywhere, Judy. As a short one, the ordeal was awful, too. My terror level was only matched by the feeling I had when we played Red Rover at recess and Bob Lochridge was running straight at me! Oh well. Do you think Clara and Sam will suffer through the same rites and rituals?
I’m sure Clara and Sam’s rituals will be different, but probably no less terrifying and awkward. That’s adolescence.
Aww, I’m sure you’re right. It’s their turn now to negotiate these thorny paths. I wish them all the love and luck in the world. God bless them.
Revived many memories. (Maybe I was one of those guys who the girls hoped didn’t ask them to dance.).
I went to Mrs. Spack’s class at the Women’s Club in Englewood, NJ, starting in fifth grade. I still remember Mrs. Serena playing Stairway to the Stars every week. I was dancing with Ellen S who started pulling away from me during a fox trot. I pulled her back towards me, at which point she puked all over my suit!
Ok, you win, David. This has to be the worst dancing school memory ever! I’m officially traumatized. Do you know a good shrink?
Ellen, I loved to dance and was pretty good. Bonus, got to dance with all the pretty girls.
Oh, you Glencoe boys. You were so sophisticated. You cracked the code, Mitch. And you married a pretty dancer in the bargain. See, boys? These lessons paid off. Thanks, my friend.
Jerry Seinfeld summarized most men’s opinion of dancing in a few short words:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJln8ikWBjg
My last attempt at it occurred recently at the Colorado Animal Rescue fundraiser. A few (well, more than a few) drinks and I’m shakin’ a tail feather to their Neil Diamond tribute band. I pray there are no photos!
VERY nice clip, Big K. And that does it. When you come in, we’re going clubbing. I had no idea.
We Lincoln Park residents were taught by John Rosenheim’s mother at the Surf Hotel in Chicago. Boys wore white gloves and bowed when asking a girl to dance. Not much fun.
Herbie
No, it doesn’t sound like it. No wonder I don’t remember you tearing up the dance floor at the Crystal Ball. But thanks for telling us how the city boys learned. See you soon I hope, Herbie.
Ellen — Perhaps this episode should be called the dance of the raging hormones. I remember when all the boys were lined up on one side of the gym and girls were on the were on the other and the distance across the gym must have been measured in miles.
I cannot remember precisely how “yuck” and “ick” and girls have “cooties” (remember “cooties”) evolved into slow dancing and eventually cheek-to-cheek and “oh, that felt good,” and “she smells nice” but I am amazed that we all survived the experience.
A different dance occurred on Friday and Saturday nights at the local Steak ‘n Shake with cars filled with guys on one side of the parking lot and cars filled with girls on the other. We talked about each other for hours and made up great stories about what we didn’t do but rarely did anyone ever cross the parking lot to speak to the opposite sex.
Thank goodness for Stridex and Clearasil, Chanel No. 5 and Canoe.
It’s amazing how old Mother Nature handles that transition for us, isn’t it Jack. Thanks for the boys’ POV here. I loved Canoe. And Russian Leather. And Aramis. I wore Casaque, Ecusson and never needed the Clearsil, thank goodness.
Ellen. I got very lucky. As an 11 year old I was taken in by an older group, 13 year olds. The girls were great to the young guy and really taught him how to dance. I was really ahead of all the guys my age. Not withstanding this, I can fully understand all the trials and tribulations that we as children go through. It’s called growing up. Love ya. Allan
Thanks, Alan. I always knew you were Mr. Suave. Now I see part of the reason why. And you’ve passed this on to future generations of Klein boys, too. Ah, childhood. Amazing we all survive it. FUn to look back, however.
I attended Mrs. Wilson’s Dance School; I can’t remember whether I started when I was in 6th or 7th Grade. I do remember enjoying it though.
Another memory triggered by this article has to do with Christ Church’s Parish House. My mother accidentally dropped off my sister and me there one of the Sunday’s when children were attending the adult services at the Episcopal Church on Sheridan. Another boy was there too, also by mistake, and we took turns giving sermons from the pulpit. Great fun! Of course, that was well before I saw Alan Bennett’s “Take a Pew” when “Beyond the Fringe” played in Chicago; most likely 1963 or 1964. Please excuse my digression, but…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bq56ZuqY0WM
You are absolved, my son. ANY thing that ends me up in “Beyond in the Fringe” is alright by me! One of my fave things of all time. Thank you.
It was Professor Irwin Corey that said, “Dancing is just like standing still….only faster”!
Thanks, Bernie. Yes, the Professor is exactly right. As usual.
I actually looked forward to Mrs. Woolson’s classes. Got to dance with girls with restraint and amid rules. I wasn’t sure why, but it was exciting. Yes, that clicker and her transparent mules (shoes), but nice flowing gowns. This would have been around 1966-67? I went to Skokie.
Thanks for chiming in here, Richard. Glad this brought back happy memories of that clicker.