M. Nickell

I don’t recall exactly why we wanted to learn ballroom dancing all those years ago. But my friend Carol and I had spent three unforgettable days in Cuba that summer, and maybe we thought learning Latin dances would bring the color and rhythm of Havana to our drab Midwest city. So in autumn of 1959, we enrolled in a six-lesson course at the famous Arthur Murray Studio.

We began to learn the swing, two-step, waltz. But, wait—where was the cha-cha? the rhumba? the samba? At the very end of the course, we did get a taste of those energetic, sexy moves. Class parties, with more advanced students, gave us a chance to practice all the dances. We had to have the right dresses, of course, and one of mine was a turquoise-brocade sheath. The moment I put on that dress, the spirit of Cyd Charisse1 took over my body. From then on, I was a dancing fool.

Some friends and I would go as a group to rather sedate dine-and-dance restaurants, and we probably seemed like the floor show to other patrons. We went to each other’s employee Christmas parties just so we could dance. We had sock-hops and invited foreign-exchange students from the local university, hoping to learn exotic dances from their countries. And we traveled to Cincinnati for a change of dancing venue.

I moved away a couple of years later and lost touch with most of my dance buddies. The dancing fool had other interests, and the turquoise dress was pushed to the back of the closet. Over the following years, I did an occasional awkward turn on the dance floor with coworkers at office parties, and danced around the living room with my little brother and my baby son. But none of the men I knew were dancers. And the turquoise dress stayed at the back of the closet.

When I moved to Florida in 1988, I got rid of many things, including winter coats and favorite clothes I knew I wouldn’t use in the south. But the turquoise dress came with me. Heaven knows I will never again be the size of that 65-year-old frock. But now and then when I pull something from the closet, my eyes alight on the dancing dress. And those foolish feet begin to move just a little.