Her left arm,
draped to the
elbow in the
silvery satin of
her glove, curves
up to meet her
partner's square
tuxedo-black
shoulder. His
right arm slopes
down and
around, and his
hand rests on her
lower back where
her gown
caresses the
contour of her
hips. His left hand
meets her right,
and their bodies hover in silent anticipation. The dance begins.
He delivers her into a spin, her gown catching the air, twirling
in the light and rhythm. They turn toward the mirror. A T-shirt-
and denim-clad couple stare back at them.
"OK, this is a Latin dance," the instructor says through the
microphone. "There's no side-to-side motion in your upper body.
It's all below the waist." The gentle bongos and claves begin to move
the dancers' feet and ease their hips side to side as lyrics of love float
to the rafters. This is the rumba.
But the rhythmic rolling and swaying the teacher has been
demonstrating isn't exactly what these casually clothed students are
achieving. Knees throb from recent collisions; toes endure the weight
of misplaced steps. Beats are lost and palms grow clammy. A litany
of "oops" and "sorry"s punctuates the sultry tones of the music.
Together, these couples are trying to do the rumba.
An average of fifty people attend these Friday night dance classes at
the University of Oregon. The fascination with ballroom dancing has
grown steadily on this campus in the last five years. What was once
a small part of the dance department's repertoire is now a full-scale
community cotillion. Each year since 1990, the department has
added classes for beginners. Despite its efforts, however, demand
continues to exceed supply.
And the University is not
alone. The glamour and grace
of the ballroom is drawing the
attention of would-be
romantics across the nation.
Professional dance
competitions are attracting
record audiences, and national
television networks are sliding
the events into prime-time
slots. But ballroom dancing is
more than a spectator sport.
Dancing cheek to cheek was
all the rage before rock 'n roll
inspired a generation to dance
apart from one another. But
today, after spending years on opposite sides of the discotheque, an
increasing number of men and women are getting in step with each
other on the hardwood floors of the ballroom. Americans have
found a way to connect without overstepping society's boundaries.
With the rules of sexual politics in flux, ballroom dancing provides
participants a safe way to touch.
Elizabeth Wartluft-Murphy, a University dance instructor, has been
dancing for thirteen years. When she started teaching here in 1990,
Friday night ballroom dances didn't exist. Today, they not only
attract many college students but also children and adults from the
community. According to Wartluft-Murphy, part of the attraction of
ballroom dancing comes from its formal structure. Unlike modern
club dancing, she says, rumbas, waltzes and tangos have teachable
steps that make them less intimidating for beginners. But no one is
here because it's easy.
"Good! One more time!" the instructor encourages the dancers. As
music fills the room, her voice counts the steps in the background. A
few beginners mouth the count along with her. They collectively bite
their lips as they try to force the steps through their legs and down to
their feet. These dancers must first learn to communicate with their
own bodies before they can begin to converse with somebody
else's.
Camille, a University student, is sitting this waltz out. Slightly out of
breath after her last tango, she scans the whirl of movement on the
dance floor. She's here every Friday night because it gives her an
opportunity to communicate physically with another person. "When
you get better," she says with a smile, "you can communicate well
enough to dance."
Wartluft-Murphy attributes part of the renewed popularity of
ballroom dancing to the fact that it provides some structure to
courtship. In these days of relatively undefined social roles, the
ballroom is a place where some lead, others follow and everyone
feels good about it. But despite the guidelines, the nervousness that
comes with this type of social activity remains.
"I'll ask someone to dance soon," Kevin says. "As soon as I work
myself up." He has come to the ballroom this Friday in lieu of
heading for a hip-hop club with his friends because mambos and
merengues "have dance steps and take some skill." According to
Wartluft-Murphy, ballroom dancing not only offers steps to guide
people through the music, it equips them with a role that can be
practiced and perfected.
And maybe too, the ballroom is a place where a new role can be
imagined.
"It's a dream," says one dancer, stopping to catch her breath after
floating through the long smooth strides of an American waltz.
Silence fills the room as she and her partner wait for the music. The
violins begin to weave the musical drama of the tango. In the gentle
light cast by strings of tiny bulbs and colored spotlights, the two glide
back onto the floor and take their place in front of the mirror. As the
music winds and clings to the high-ceilinged space, her arm reaches
to his shoulder, his hand finds the small of her back, and they share a
dance.
By Tracy Picha
Photos by Laura Goss
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