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