OUT & ABOUTOUT & ABOUT At LargeAt LargeAt LargeAt Large by Michael C. Upton

Swing dancing, specifically East Coast Swing, originatedin the 1940s, its basic moves and simple style spinning offfrom Lindy Hop. Lindy Hop itself began in the late ’20s inHarlem and continued in popularity into the 2000s thanksto a little help from Brian Setzer.

In York, swing is still alive due to the volunteer efforts ofThe York Swing Dance Club,headed by Jason Richwine.Heand his 100-member group of boogie-people hold dancesevery Friday night at Studio 324, a name derived from its324 West Market Street location.

“We’ve got a nice little scene going,”Richwine tells me.“Ilearned how to swing dance in college about 11 years ago… been dancing ever since.

“It’s very contagious,”he continues.“East Coast is a muchsimpler dance than Lindy Hop, so you can get someonedancing East Coast Swing in an hour.”

Richwine then tells me to come out and see with myown two feet. I won’t bring my dancing shoes, but I willpack a pen and a pad.

This Friday, Studio 324 is filled with a tapestry ofAmerican society. It is 8:30 p.m. and the beginners’ lessonhas been rolling on for a half hour.The more experienceddancers’ feet are clicking at the edge of the dance floor.A skinny young woman with fair skin flashes an eagersmile as she passes my perch by the entryway. Her white-and red-striped, calf-length dress twirls and fills with air as she turns to skip quickly back to the lounge, havingreviewed the situation sufficiently. Her eyes show a hint of frustration, for there is still a half hour left of thebeginners’ lesson, but also sparkle with anticipation.

She catches the eye, but hardly typifies this group.Standing closest to me is a couple in their late 40s who,I suspect, have had one or two extra pints of liquid courage before sauntering into the building. In a cornerstands a young man in his mid-20s listening intently tothe instructors’ every word. A young woman, barely in her 20s (if at all), takes the hand of an older, bald man whose youthful days may have been filled withswing. There are geeks and jocks. There are old andyoung. There are mothers and daughters, husbands andwives and couples who are obviously on first dates.

I can’t help but smile at all the smiling faces.Dressed in black, the instructors stand together

hand-in-hand inside a circle of onlookers. Thefemale instructor’s other hand rests on the male’sshoulder;his other hand cups the small of her back.She puts her hand further down, stopping near his shoulder blade to demonstrate why this badpositioning could result in a misstep.

“Turn and look right at him. Is he asking me to turn?You want your hand here when you turn,” instructorChris Gold says.

There’s a surprisingly hip and cool vibe runningthrough the place. It feels like New York City at the inception of the beat movement. Not that I was there. But this is East Coast Swing, the bouncingbaby of Harlem dance.

“After the rock-step, you lift your left hand,” Gold says,increasing her volume and pulling me back to present dayYork. “Leads, you are going to encourage her hand to gothat way.”

Leads are the men. Follows are the girls. In most cases,those roles are cemented, but here the numbers don’talways add up, and sometimes both the lead and the fol-low are women.

“Leads, hands like a frosty beverage, frosty grip,” Goldshouts over the clacking of heels and sliding of feet.“Follows, Barbie hands.”

The couples correct themselves and continue swingingand talking,gaining confidence. It takes four calls of “Stop!”from Gold to keep the dancers from rocking the nightaway – and these are just the beginners.

I notice a group of three well-dressed women and anaccompanying man make their way to the cashier andhand over their $6 admission. They are asked if they’veever been here before. “No.” They’re given a voucher that allows them to come again for free.

As the beginners’ lesson comes to a close, the womenmake their way to the edge of the dance floor. A slightlyrowdy couple enters just before 9 p.m. and asks if this is an East or West Coast Swing place. “East Coast.” Theyinquire if they can get something to eat.

“No food. No drink.Just dance,” is the reply they

get. Besides a bowl of wintergreenmints, there is no food in sight.Dancers are permitted to bringtheir own beverages and keep themin the lounge area.

The lounge is a red-trimmedroom sunken back from the dance floor. It’s an island in a sea of dance. This is where the experienced wait, some morepatiently than others.

After a verbal posting of some simple house rules, there’s

nearly a mad rush to the dance floor. In front of the microphone sits a framed liability

statement: The York Swing Dance Club assumes noresponsibility for accidents that might occur as theresult of showboating or just plain bad dancing. Danceat your own risk.

On any given Friday, 40 to 90 people take the floor.Most of the craziness is reserved for the occasionaldance circle – this is when skirts fly and women arewhipped overhead, around backs and under legs.

I mosey over to a bench, dodging rock-steps and follow-spins the entire way until I find a seat near thelarge, street-front window. This bench is meant fordancers who are eventually too exhausted (or stubborn)to make it to the lounge area – but no one else sits therenow. There is no room for wallflowers. If there is a girlor a guy against the wall, he or she is just begging for trouble. It doesn’t take too long until that person is whisked back to the dance f loor by a new,smiling partner.

Outside the window, a car full of scantily clad club-hoppers whistles down Market Street. Without thewindow I’d be close enough to smell the smoke and perfume wafting from the car, yet inside Studio 324,those people truly seem miles away – which is exactlyhow it should be.

jump , jive

&wailjump , jive

&wailAt Studio 324, home to TheYork Swing

Dance Club, the art of swing is sweeping

a whole new generation of happy feet

IN TERMS OF STYLE AND FLAIR, NOT DISTANCE,there is a sect of nightlife far, far away from nightclubsand bars, bowling alleys and movie theaters. Everyweekend on Market Street, dozens of hep cats descendon Studio 324 to dance the night away,to do their thing.That thing is swing, man.

Fly Magazine l York Edition l March 2009 l 7

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