Boomers . . . and How They Got That Way
Epistle 9 – Dancing
I’ll bet you children think big time media dancing was created by reality TV, like “Dancing With the Stars” or “So You Think You Can Dance”. Well, it wasn’t. It started with a bunch of teenagers from Philadelphia named Bob and Justine, Kenny and Arlene and Ed and Bunny.
Seems to me there was also a Fran in there somewhere, but I can’t remember who her partner was. Anyway, they wore sport jackets with skinny ties, skirts and dresses, and even two-toned shoes! And as cruel as that sounds, they still had the courage to appear after school on American Bandstand, (yes, another black and white broadcast!) hosted by Dick Clark, who looked younger than the dancers . . . forever.
Long before Dick was America’s biggest deejay, he was Dorian Gray. Of course, his secret to eternal youth was a deal with the Devil, but he sort of let us think it was because he rubbed gallons of Clearasil on his face on his face when he was young. While a nation full of pubescent teenagers were cursed with zits, Dick told us our lives would be perfect if we used Clearasil, maybe even grow up to look like him, which wasn’t a bad idea except for the doofus hairdo.
Anyway, millions of kids—at least those who could tear themselves away from Annette’s blooming hooters—watched the kids from Philly teach the world how to Stroll and Cha Cha. Once a year there was even a dance contest—what a brilliant idea! With numbers on their backs, they danced to Whole Lotta Shakin Goin On and Topsy, Part II. Each week some couples were eliminated, the tension building beyond human endurance.
Because in the 5th grade I had been forced to walk all the way across the gym and humbly ask that my name be listed on some girl’s dance card, I swore off dancing forever and didn’t really care who won the American Bandstand annual contest.
But I did get to enjoy several skinny Italian teen idols lip-synching their way through their current hit. And Connie Francis dumping me because I had lipstick on my collar, which, of course, was never going to be true because of the half inch of Clearasil on my face. Or maybe it was the Wildroot Cream Oil that kept dripping off my head.
Watching kids from Philadelphia dance was greasy work.
We Will Win
Filed under: Boomers . . . and How They Got That Way
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