The First Dance

On a warm July evening the notes floated across Hedges Lake carried by a soft breeze to the ears of a 12-year-old sitting on a dock at one of Bob Craig’s camps, our first local residence. It was a magical time, but I didn’t know it, instead just another dumb kid with his feet dangling in cool water, fishing pole in one hand, the other tapping out the rhythm on a rough pine board. I hoped to catch “The Big One” and did, but it wasn’t a fish I hooked, it was a life-long love of live rock and roll.

“Louie Louie” was hugely popular in the summer of 1965 and even today most people can recognize the first five notes and easily name the song. No one will ever know how many local bands played the enormously popular rock anthem after a cover by the Kingsmen first cracked the pop charts in 1963, and most unusually, once again in 1966. A few years later Joe Vitello sang it at a CCS dance, I’m not sure which one, but it may have been my first, our seventh grade waltz into the dating scene, one marvelously introduced by two great teachers.

Beyond any question, though, the first time I heard Louie Louie done live it was at a great distance, our rented camp almost directly across Hedges Lake from the now long gone pavilion on the opposite shoreline, the site of most “lake dances” as I recall, ones somewhat notorious not so much for what went on inside the pavilion but outside of it, stories for another time. On this humid summer night, my first exposure to lake dances, I wanted to hop into an old leaky rowboat tied up to the dock so that I could stroke across the dark lake to get closer to the music, but did not. Captain Crunch was not allowed to launch his armada after sunset.

As for the closer live Louie Louie, I vaguely recall Joe getting into some trouble over the lyrics, and this is not too surprising as the song was, no kidding, actually investigated by the FBI for 31 months before they concluded the words were completely beyond comprehension. Still existing proof of this revelation and inspired use of law enforcement is finding anyone who can recite Louie Louie’s lyrics from memory, a feat harder to accomplish than a clear picture of Big Foot.

While the lure of forbidden fruit may well have enhanced the song’s popularity, I think its long endurance comes from a killer beat and the very basic song structure. Louie Louie is so simple musically nearly any band can play it, and I know this because we played it ourselves in one of the worst rock bands ever formed in Cambridge. We were called “The Electric Chair” and it was a most appropriate name as anyone unfortunate enough to be exposed to our “music” came out of the experience shocked.

As for dancing to music, I don’t think many had more skillful introduction to a most complex human ritual. I’m not sure whether our class sponsors, Bob Cheney and Jane McAdoo, just recognized they better do something to avert disaster in a group with many prone to all sorts of ridiculous nonsense, or if this was something they did for each junior high group they shepherded. All I can remember with great clarity is my first dance, the other details quite murky.

I don’t clearly recall any specific item of instruction, just the ultimate product of the lesson, a real dance, a preview version of one held in the evening not long after our training flight. I think we were divided first by gender, Ms. McAdoo and Mr. Cheney providing the rules and protocol to each group. I truly wish I could remember more specifics (and hope someone reading this does) as the details would intrigue me today, but do recall with absolute clarity the first dance, right on down to the blue of my partner’s dress.

The truly inspired part of the dance lesson, as far as I’m concerned, was how we were partnered. Again, I’d love to know the details behind the obvious care taken in drawing up the dance card. We were not allowed to choose our own partners and recall some grumbling to that effect. This was brilliant, though, as I’m sure a great deal of care and adolescent psychology went into the assigned pairing to see that everyone had a partner that was not someone already favored, but I would also guess thought unlikely to cause much complaint from any given couple. I’m sure also great care was made to be sure no one was left out, a very painful experience most of us can remember at one given time or another, but not a part of this inspired lesson.

At the time I did not fully appreciate the great gift, an opportunity to dance with American history as well as a very nice person, but this was all part of the charming package. Much wiser minds than mine selected Christine Moses as my dance partner. Chris may well have other opinions if she retains any memory at all of this, but I do know, as we were all instructed by Mr. Cheney, that I tried my best to be “the perfect gentleman,” very contrary to natural character.

Perhaps it was thought Chris was resilient enough to tolerate a nervous turkey like me, and kind enough not to demand a much more worthy partner. I made earlier reference to history here because Chris, and her cousin Rich Moses, each a member of the Class of ‘72, are both decedents of a famous Cambridge-area person of great distinction, the most famous in my memory, and that’s Anna Mary Robertson Moses, more commonly known as Grandma Moses.

Many CCS alumni know that Mrs. Moses made hundreds of artistic contributions depicting Cambridge-area life that today hang in famous galleries all over the country and also appeared on a US postage stamp honoring Mrs. Moses in 1969. Although during her lifetime Mrs. Moses commonly sold paintings for under $5, her painting “Sugaring Off” sold for over a million in 2006 and many others are today appraised for more than the cost of a house, truly American treasures I’ll never be able to afford, but I’ll always have that dance with Chris.

None of this made much, if any, impression on me in 1967, although I was faintly aware of Grandma Moses and why she was important. What do I remember? That’s easy, the touch of a hand, the texture of the dress fabric, the raw terror as I tried not to make a complete fool of myself. I have no idea what music played, the dance steps, or what, if anything, we said to each other. But the dance, oh yes, I’ll always remember that dance.

As to the actual one that followed one evening not long afterwards, I remember almost nothing, and maybe nothing at all if Joe’s band wasn’t playing, an event that could have well been from a later dance. My best guess today is that the real seventh grade event played out much like the one depicted in the movie “Sixteen Candles” with me as one of the geeks glued to a far wall, a rowboat with frozen oars still too frightened to navigate into one of life’s greatest adventures for a second time.

Well, that’s it for this flash into the past. I’d love to hear your dance tunes some time. Why not put a quarter in the jukebox and drop Pauline a line or two? Like Neal Young said, “Rock and roll will never die.” Here’s hoping no one ever gets so old they can’t tap a foot to a golden beat linking people together since the first note crossed between us.