Wednesday Work - Discos, Madonna and Dancing Dreams

For me it was a lucky thing. My college years coincided with peak Disco years: 1975 - 1979.  I was born for the era as one of those white kids who caught the fever during the Chubby Checkers phenomena of 1962 and kept at it- dancing in front of my bedroom mirror on Saturday mornings while Soul Train was on the set. The Bar Mitzvah circuit had me dancing almost every weekend when I was thirteen. My young life was an endless dance party.

Off to St. Louis for College at Washington University – and my campus nick-name was DISCO JON. I was voted number one “white” dancer in St. Louis by a group of black friends from the disco scene. In the summer of ’78 my buddy Paul Bailey and I danced for 6 weeks straight, 7 days a week – never missing a night of furious disco dancing. 

30 plus years later I look back with laughter at those times. While I have some regrets about not taking the books more seriously and becoming cum laude, (nobody told me about it)  – I can with special satisfaction say I didn’t get cheated in Disco heaven. That was my calling. If there was a working future for a white kid as a disco dancer, I was sold.

Back then, without computerized social networking if one really needed constant social fulfillment … the Disco was the place to go. To be a great dancer off campus, when many students lacked the confidence to join in the fun was a blessing. But, when I got back to New York after school – my Disco bubble burst. I went from Major Player in St. Louis to nothing special in New York.

Everyone seemed able to dance in New York. Plus, the Puerto Ricans at the COPA at 10 East 60th street  – were fantastic, dancing twice as fast- they blew everyone else away. 

In early 1981 a year out of college, I found myself at the once famous DANCETERIA. I probably lost half a quick-step from my college days – but, I was grinding hard – looking for approval. But, unlike St. Louis where women who were complete strangers came up to me and said, “You’re the greatest dancer that I’ve ever seen!,” in New York I barely got a second look.

While dancing one night – I noticed a gal who was twirling and making quite the scene just to my immediate right. She had a group of people dancing around her who were whooping it up with screams and chants. One couldn’t help but notice. I tried to compete but it was fruitless. She was getting all the attention – and none of my “moves” could distract her followers or anyone else from looking at her. She was on fire.

I was frustrated.  How could this be?  I could not capture the attention that once came so easily… Losing my Disco MOJO? So soon? 

I learned soon after that the girl soaking up all the light in the room – was Madonna - Pre-Superstar Madonna, but already developing the entourage that would propel her to planetary fame. She was working the floor confidently; knowing she had command. I could see it. I knew the feeling.

I didn’t feel so bad losing out to her at Danceteria- and all the nights thereafter once I found out to whom I had lost. It’s okay to lose the disco boxing match of life to the world champ as long as its not to some no name Palooka.

At one earlier time, I was on the same floor with her, dancing at her pace, with passion, the same dream- but by the time we crossed paths, she was playing with the big boys at the recording studio.  I could not make that crossover. She had a way – I didn’t.  She conquered  the record producer. 

For a brief moment  I was once, like her, near the top of the food chain of young dancers who had lived in the Midwest and who had come back to New York to dream recklessly of John Travolta style stardom.  But, in New York you’ve got to make a very aggressive move.  I was quickly absorbed into the sardine net of thethe Reagan era yuppie boom of coat and tie business wannabes, doing deals.

There was no record producer for me to sleep with, no one who  let me cut a single.  I was locked out – and became a  member of the infamous  “Slaves of New York.”

In New York you better have an angle. New York chews up the young and vulnerable – and spits them out. I was lucky I had support systems and by my chinny chin chin, I made it in New York.  It was hard for me, because I danced like mad for the first 5 years I got back to NYC after college. I wasn’t gonna let the 9 to 5 and the whole marriage routine slow me down. I was one of the “happy people”. But alas, I surrendered to the matrix after a time, got rid of the polyester pants and Italian boots and started to read the New York Times and Forbes magazine like a good boy. My disco days slowly fading in the rear view mirror.