When Chubby suggested the Twist, I did it

ROBERT GARDNER

The other day, I was playing bridge with my friends Cliff and Jill

Roberts.

One of the interesting things about old age is the inconsistency.

Some days, you wake up and can kid yourself that you’re a mere 50.

Other days, you assume you died during your sleep and were sent right

where your Aunt Charlotte predicted you’d go all those years ago. So

sometimes, I play a decent game of bridge, and other times, I play

like the 91-year-old man I am.

I had one of those latter days with the Roberts and finally quit

in disgust. Rather than holding my pique against me, they were most

considerate and even brought me a present to console me -- a portable

CD player so I can listen to music in any room in the house.

Blackie Gadarian, an old Newport Beach resident now living on

Maui, shares a passion for Dixieland with me, and he made me a CD

with all sorts of great music. I have no idea how one makes a CD.

Just putting one in the machine is a challenge for me.

But I put Blackie’s CD in, and it took me back to all those years

I spent working, and later hanging out, at the Rendezvous Ballroom.

There were a lot of great bands that came through there. Some of them

were big names -- Benny Goodman, Glen Miller, the Dorseys -- but

these were one-night stands. Mostly, it was the house bands we danced

to -- groups led by people such as Callie Holden, Everett Hoagland,

Gil Evans and Claude Thornhill.

I use the term dance rather loosely. I was a drummer in high

school, so I have a good sense of rhythm, but somehow that sense of

rhythm never extended to my feet. I could do a passable fox trot,

which is basically walking in time to the music, but anything much

more than that and it was time for me to get a drink.

The big dance at the Rendezvous was the Balboa, a fast dance. Most

people have probably never heard of it. For sure, they’ve never seen

it.

The Balboa was danced in the ballroom position. You held your

partner around the waist, and from the waist up, nothing moved. Below

the waist, the feet flew. You put out one foot and pulled it back,

put out the other foot and pulled it back, and then you did something

in the middle. It was that stuff in the middle that flummoxed me. I

became an ardent spectator when the tempo heated up.

Katie, my wife, was one of the best dancers I ever knew. There was

always a line of men wanting to dance with her, fortunately, because

if she’d had to dance with me all the time, she’d probably never have

married me. It was a frustration to me, too, because I really like

dancing. Fred Astaire is my definition of grace, and I can’t tell you

how many times I have watched “Chorus Line.” Forget the singing, just

let them dance.

After many years of frustration, however, I came into my own in

the 1960s with a dance called the Twist. With the Twist, your feet

pretty much stayed in one place, which solved my problem.

When we went out, I couldn’t wait for the Twist to be played. It

was just the opposite of all those years at the Rendezvous. When I

got on the dance floor, I was the center of attention.

It was gratifying to feel all those admiring glances. At least it

was until I overheard someone say I looked like Ichabod Crane fleeing

the Headless Horseman when I danced. Sour grapes, I’m sure.

Unfortunately for my dance career, the Twist fad was short lived,

and soon, I was back to where I had started, watching others dance.

Now, at least, it’s not a problem. At 91, no one expects you to

dance.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and a former judge.

His column runs Tuesdays.