Where We Find Love

March 7, 2009

Driving down State Street, passing the used car lots on a dark night, you may see (what seems like) thousands of new and used cars waiting for the economic “downturn” to come to an end. It feels like the depression. If you’re going where we’re going, you will drive past Jenkins Soffe Mortuary, a second-hand bookstore and, across the street, The–Desert Star, a B-rated comedy show house. You’ll see a few on-street businesses boarded up, but the sight of these shabby establishments isn’t too bad, yet. The gas station is open, but patrons are few and far between. One of the commercial buildings has been turned into a recruiting center for people desperate enough to hand themselves over to the military.

As we approach Murray Arts Center, my dancing husband and I are hearing the hum of cars lazily dragging State Street. It is still a little dark here, and we see people in the crosswalks with small children bundled up like little hot dogs waiting supper in a coldish room. But our spirits are up because it is our night to dance! Or I should say, it’s one of the three or four nights a week for us to dance.

As we round the corner in our vintage Volvo, taking two sharp turns to the right, I find myself stuffing my purse under the mat. We make our way to the tawdry door of the Murray Arts Center – the largest public dance hall in the state of Utah. As we excitedly approach the dark door, we see a sign that reads, “Don’t leave your valuables in your car.” When we go in, we go in, we see the strings of blinking lights, almost like Christmas, cheerfully dancing around the room in a happy manner. We are warmed by other blinking lights marching around a sign announcing the name of which band will be serenading us tonight. On some nights there are eight to ten musicians all dressed in white jackets playing Glenn Miller favorites. We like to listen to Preston Lloyd and Tony Summerhays, but find rapture when a cowboy named “Kevin,” puts out his soaring, twangy tenor.
During the evening, we find ourselves falling in love even more as we dance close, listening to such favorites as: “String of Pearls,” “ Dancing in the Dark,” “Getting’ Sentimental,” “Lover Come Back to Me,” and “Moon River” Of course, when Glen Miller songs are played, we all have a chance to sing out, “Pennsylvania 6-500. Between dances people perch themselves on the long bench on the south side of the dance hall, waiting hopefully for someone to ask them to dance.

On the walls are hung large black metal motifs of the skyline of New York City, and San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge. Other motifs depict a 50’s Band stand with strings of notes streaming out of the horn of trumpet, and other funky reminiscences of times gone by. Other metal sculptures include silhouettes of sleek men dancing in black tuxedos, whisking buxom girls with slim waists around the dance floor. These images look like they were just peeled from mud flaps of passing trailer trucks. But then you notice the flesh and blood women around the floor in their twirling, swinging skirts. The décor also includes floor-to-ceiling pilasters reminding us of Greek and Roman architecture. Other decorations include a bevy of VERY large satin roses above an overhang, which have never been touched with a feather duster.

But what a deal you get! It costs only seven dollars per person for admission to Murray Arts, and you can get dance lessons for free if you pay your seven dollars up front. To make things really special, there is a little glass candy dish where you can pick out a few baby-sized tootsie rolls to push around in your mouth while you wait to pay.

When you first go in, if it’s winter, Bill Wright turns on the huge heaters which blast hot air so we don’t freeze our hands or feet. After while, as people begin to relinquish their hard-earned bucks to Bill or Susan Wright, (the people who own the dancehall), the heat of all the bodies makes the need for blasted, gas-heated warm air unnecessary. Of course, there is a large revolving ball in the center of the room with little squares of mirrors for a sparkling effect.

When the band is tuning-up to play the first struggling notes of the trumpets and trombones, people have begun to saunter in. Some give a look around and leave. Others float over to the long bench where folks young and old sit between dances or perch themselves hopefully, awaiting someone to invite them to dance. The attire is varied – everything from jeans to formal ball gowns. The older set grabs tables so they can sit comfortably between dance numbers. These seasoned dancers have known each other for years, if not decades, and attend frequently. You may think that people are there to meet others, listen to the music, or to find the love of their lives. But in truth, most people there come simply to dance. The reality is that the big draw is the joy of dancing. The same people come over and over, night in and night out, never tiring of the same setting, the same kind of music, and meeting up with the same friends. Who are these people?

There is Marva – 85 years old. She is short, has rounded shoulders, a stout body with “permed” grey hair. She can jitterbug with gusto. She is such a “regular” that nobody nice would think of not twirling her around the floor a time or two. Irving is in his 70s or 80s and is so short and thin that that dancing with him is like dancing with a rickety, cowboy-boot-wearing stick. I often dance with him, but fear he will break. He does his own unique style, rocking back on his heels at the end of every cadence. Victor is a tall, dark man in his 50’s, 60’s or 70’s. (Who knows?) He is undoubtedly much younger than he appears because he dances by throwing his legs as high as his waist, as he makes his way around the room.

Craig’s story is sad. He is extremely tall and thin. He dodged the Vietnam War by being too thin to fight. His life now is made up of helping the dance teacher (Ed) with all the new dances. But his girlfriend left him because she wanted to be with her daughter in Denver. Craig looks so sad. At Christmas I asked him if he had any plans. He just said, “no.” He spent his working life at Kennecott Copper.

Most amazing is the very, very old, man and his lovely wife. I have it from a good authority that this very small wobbling man has over a hundred years to his credit. He is so bent that he can only see the floor. He is less than five feet by a long shot. His wife is somewhere in her late eighties, but is very proud of her legs. They dance. Well, not quite. He stands there with his fine clothes and coiffed white hair nodding while she holds his arm above his head and dances around him, smiling.

The people we are happiest to see each night are the Farnsworths. This couple creates both envy and admiration with their dancing talents. They Mambo, Rumba, Tango, Waltz, Swing, Jitterbug, and dance the Balboa! We try to copy them, be smooth like them, and make new dances like them. However, we are “poor cousins” indeed. However, they have become excellent friends, so we aren’t able to be jealous or covetous of their extravagant talents.

Refreshments at Murray Arts are nothing more than a little shelf with a small selection of non-alcoholic drinks from fruit juice to Coke. But Bill does put out about twelve butter mints at a time for people to take if they get an appetite for something sweet. On a good night he puts out a small handful of salted pretzels from a nearby grocery store.

To keep things exciting, there is always a drawing on Tuesdays and Wednesdays where dancers can win small (or sometimes large) amounts of cash. As legend has it, the jack pot once got up past $500.00! Friday nights there is a drawing for a small amount of cash – usually 20 dollars and sometimes some tawdry cut flowers from the flower shop across the parking lot. Every night, Bill draws to give away a couple of free passes He also gives some cash if you are lucky enough to be standing near a number painted on the dance floor.

Occasionally, Bill has the sad job of announcing the passing of one of the “regulars. This would be a person who filled his or her life with the joy of moving, shaking, twirling, and gliding across that gorgeous wooden floor in the state..

As time has gone on, we have grown accustomed to this strange and wonderful place. We love to watch the BYU dancers when they show up. They dance like dervishes as the pony tails whip around and slap some saucy girl in the face. We are in awe of Will and Janine - “The beautiful couple,” and have traded little gifts with other couples when they have traveled and wanted to leave us a souvenir. We love rumba, mambo, tango, swing, meringue, disco, fox trot and Cha-Cha. But….the greatest moments are when we waltz. We will interrupt whatever we are doing if the next piece is a waltz.

We usually get tired legs about 10:30 because we are always the first ones to be there when the doors open: Three hours is about enough dancing for us. We don’t actually know how long these other old people dance into the night. I heard that Bill closes it down at 11:30, but we are usually home much earlier. We like to drive home in our old Volvo on the empty streets and end up in front of our fireplace for a while, then sleepily descend to our cold basement bedroom and pile ourselves into the same single bed to get thoroughly warm.

May I Have This Dance for the rest of my Life…..