Elvis made the snapshot image of the second half of The Fifties decade to be crowds of girls screaming at a single guy on-stage who was exercising his "dancin' feet."  But, before him, during most of our high school experience, the iconic vision of Fifties boys and girls was boys and girls dancing in front of a juke box or a live dance band.

 Impromptu dancing in the drug store

Dancing (or learning to dance) in the Youth Center, located in the basement of the Sheffield Municipal Building

Sock Hops after games

Miss Hester's After Lunch Dancing Class in the gym

AND. . . . . . . PROMS!

Proms were the epitome of boy-girl relationships.  Some girls planned for them like each "next one" was the most important social occasion on earth.  The dress, the shoes, the hairdo, even the date were carefully selected to make the best impression.  Some boys, gifted with "dancin' feet," were king of the ball, while others who "didn't dance" looked forward to them with terror. 

We attended the lesser dances in couples or in singles.  It was not uncommon at sock hops to see unpaired boys and unpaired girls lining the walls of the gym--or wherever the dance was held.  But, at Proms, you had to have a date.  Even those of us who "didn't dance" had to make an attempt to learn for these important occasions. 

BUT, I have no doubt that many of you, my Classmates, have fond memories of the dancing you did back then. 

Bob Proctor and June Holmes

Dancin' Feet Stories

Louis Buettner

I've been an inveterate procrastinator as far as dancing is concerned.  I guess I never thought of dancing as fun or exciting or as a way to express yourself.  It was just an expected ritual that was a part of a couple significant events of life--proms in high school and "father of the bride" duty.

Well, the Junior-Senior Prom came up first in the order of things in my life.  After mustering up the courage to actually ask a girl to go with me,  I got to fretting around the house about this impending event and the fact that I had no earthly idea what to do with my date when the band would start playing, everybody would leave the table heading for the dance floor and I wouldn't be able to think of anything wise or witty to discuss with her.  My parents, tiring of my lamentations, packed me off to the nearest dancing studio, which happened to be five blocks away on Jackson Highway next door to the RC Cola Bottling Company between 30th and 31st Streets--Joseph Paul's Studio, 3008½ Jackson Highway. 

It was upstairs in a huge open ballroom-like space with a beautiful, highly polished pale natural wooden floor.  I was welcomed into this brightly-lit space by an angelic figure, the most beautiful young lady I had seen up to that time in my life.  She wanted to know all about my needs and desires (of dance, of course), but, alas, she was an older woman with a focused mission to try to make me not look like a fool on the dance floor.  The next thing I knew, I was trying to transfer the visual image of footprints and arrows that defined the steps of the slow dance, the foxtrot and the waltz to the actual body parts that had to execute the maneuvers.  It just didn't make sense.  The music she played also didn't sound much like the music I heard in the drug store or on the radio, but I was a dutiful student, so I endured, thinking we would eventually get to the rock and roll.

The part that made me most uncomfortable was the body contact.  She directed me to grasp her right hand with my left and put my other hand around her waist.  That put me closer to a member of the opposite sex than I had ever been before.  On dates, the usual close positioning was side to side, me on the driver's side of the front seat and she at my right shoulder.  We might hold hands walking from the car to the front door, but chest-to-chest--NO WAY!  In that second floor dance studio, when assuming the proper dance posture with that tall blonde angel of mercy, I was able to learn another thing about her--she was a smoker!  I had had contact only once before with a heavy smoker when I was taking some music lessons from an instructor who, not only smoked, but also took a nip or two during the day.  Her breath was not quite as bad as the instructor's, but it wasn't a bad second!  That was a definite distraction for the four or five sessions that I had before I decided that ballroom dancing wasn't what would work at a high school prom.

My prom date and I decided that we would learn what we could by observing peer performances at the Youth Center and doing our best to emulate their moves.  As I recall, making the attempt to learn how to dance together (maybe she already knew and was teaching me) and the Prom experience were pleasant for me that spring of our junior year in high school, and, I hope, for Frances also. n

Come and meet those dancing feet
On the avenue I'm taking you to
Forty-Second Street
Hear the beat of dancing feet
It's the song I love the melody of
Forty-Second Street
Little nifties from the fifties, innocent and sweet
Sexy ladies from the eighties, who are indiscreet
They're side by side, they're glorified
Where the underworld can meet the elite
Forty-Second Street

Come and meet those dancing feet
On the avenue I'm taking you to
Forty-Second Street
Hear the beat of dancing feet
It's the song I love the melody of
Forty-Second Street
Little nifties from the fifties, innocent and sweet
Sexy ladies from the eighties, who are indiscreet
They're side by side, they're glorified
Where the underworld can meet the elite
Naughty, bawdy, gawdy, sporty,
Forty-Second Street

 

Forty-Second Street
Don Bestor
- words by Al Dubin, music by Harry Warren

Stand back, and give me room
And listen to that beat
I got the music in my soul
And the rhythm in my feet
When I hear the music,
You won't catch me standing still
And I won't miss a beat
I never have and I never will
And you thought I couldn't dance
And you thought I couldn't dance

I can dance to anything
That any band can play
I've got old-fashioned values
But I'm pretty up to date
And I know all the latest hits
On the radio
You don't have to join me
Stand back and watch my show

And you thought I couldn't dance
And you thought I couldn't dance

Thought I couldn't dance
Hey, watch me prance
Let's make romance
Thought I couldn't dance
You gotta take a chance
If you're gonna learn to dance
And you thought I couldn't dance
And you thought I couldn't dance

There's a lot of closet dancers
Just dyin' to come out
They dance alone inside their rooms
With the music way up loud
And I know you thought I couldn't dance
But I guess I sure fooled you
It just goes to show you never know
Who's wearing dancin' shoes

And you thought I couldn't dance
I'm full of surprises
And you thought I couldn't dance

It's too late now
I can't slow down...can't slow down

Oh, feel the heat
From these dancin' feet... can't slow down

And you thought I couldn't dance
And you thought I couldn't dance

 

Thought I Couldn't Dance, by Dolly Parton

THIS JUST IN. . . . . .MORE DANCERS

Farley's second batch of photos gives us new views of us back then at sock hops, indoors and out.

In this photo, I think we see our two head cheerleaders, Rejetta McNutt in the foreground and John Rodgers 'way back on the left.  The best part is Patsy Bell and her future husband, Jimmy Congleton boppin' on the right.  It looks like this is a sock hop after a football game, and Rejetta is still in her cheerleader uniform.  John has shed his in favor of a white sweatshirt.

Now this is a "SOCK HOP IN THE GYM!"

Click Pic on Left if you've got a broadband Internet connection (or patience), and you will be rewarded with a hi res photo that you can blow up and recognize the kids in the rear of the gym--like this view of Buddy Baker clowning for the camera.

Click thumbnail to enlarge.  Broadbanders Click Here

Here we are out on the street (with shoes on).  I don't recognize the occasion, but I'll bet some of you can tell me where and when and what this street dance is all about.  I want you to appreciate the two guys in the very front.  The one on the left is sporting a real, bonafide, 100% correct Ducktail.  I don't know what that "poof" is called on the guy on the right.