MYSTERY OF THE TEXAS TWOSTEP

CHAPTER NINETY:

THE WINCHESTER CLUB

Written by Rick Archer 

The Winchester Club was a major battlefield in the Collision of Two Worlds.  The Winchester was a horrible place.  It was dirty, run-down and grim.  The music was pure Outlaw and Twang.  The crowd was 99% blue collar.  It was full of hostile rednecks who were decidedly opposed to newcomers.  The management was hostile as well.  When I first visited back in December, the thought of bringing my cheerful Yuppie Puppies along was like sending them into the proverbial Lion's Den. 

Fortunately, Rilla Ryan had stopped me just as I was about to walk out.  Her timely intervention convinced me to stick around a while longer.  As I danced with some of my students on the vast floor, I recognized a potential I had not seen during my initial inspection.  However, what would happen when my young 'Urban' professionals and the hostile Winchester regulars mixed? 

Urban Cowboy had caused a social upheaval in Houston.  By stirring up animosity between the 'Urbans' and the 'Cowboys', Houston's Western dance clubs had divided into two camps.  Some of the clubs appealed to the blue collar "I was Country before Country was cool" crowd.  They played angry Outlaw music and the women still danced backwards most of the time.  Any man caught double-turning a woman was taken out back and beaten within an inch of his life.  I am only half-kidding.

On the other hand, Cowboy and San Antone Rose catered to the yuppie crowd.  They played the new Country Sound pioneered by Irving Azoff and threw in a little Disco music for good measure.  Any man who refused to dance backwards was quickly ostracized.  No girl would dance with him.  For that matter, the new Double Turns caught on fast.  Cowboy was perfect because it was 99% Professionals.  These people were very receptive to anything that made the dancing more fun.  However, over the past year, the dance floor was having trouble accommodating our growing crowd.

San Antone Rose was also good for us.  The ratio was 60% Professionals and 40% blue-collar hotheads.  Here again the floor was getting too small plus the tension was high. 

Another club, Texas, emerged as a third option.  It was 80% Professionals and 20% Blue Collar.  Texas was a popular choice, but it was not large enough to hold a major event. 

For the longest time my usual strategy worked.  However, as the program grew, towards the end of 1980 I was getting a lot of complaints about the lack of room to dance.  My Monday students could barely fit into Cowboy.  My Tuesday students could barely fit into the Rose.  Wednesday could barely fit into Texas and so on.  Making matters worse, many of my experienced students liked to dance more than one night a week.  They figured out where I liked to go on each night and decided to join us.  In other words, some of the Monday students joined the Tuesday students, and so on.  This added to the over-crowding problem.  What would happen if Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Sunday all showed up at the same time?  Total nightmare.  Chaos and gridlock would ensue.  Dancing the way we enjoyed it would become impossible.  

We needed a new place.  For obvious reasons, I preferred to avoid the Winchester Club.  But what choice did I have?  Other than Gilley's, the Winchester was the only place I knew of that was large enough to handle my entire crowd on the same night.  The fact that it was just a stone's throw from the studio was a major point in its favor.  So I gave in and scheduled our first visit on the last Wednesday in January. 

My 'Graduation Night' idea was a take-off on the 'Dance Recital' tradition.  A Recital is a celebratory event held at the end of a dance season.  This is a chance for students to showcase skills learned in dance class.  A Recital is a reward, a chance to enjoy the fruits of hard work.  My 'Graduation Night' idea resonated with the students.  This event would allow them to feel a sense of accomplishment.  In the process of sharing their new-found talent with friends from their own class, it offered the chance to search for love among students from other nights. 

I scheduled my Winchester dance event for the last Wednesday in January.  Throughout January I promoted the event in all my classes.  Based on the reaction, I could tell it was going to be a success.  However, that was before Judy Price spoke up.  Prior to our end of the month Graduation Event, Judy Price and her boyfriend Bill Sampson decided to check out the Winchester for the first time.  Judy was very unhappy with what she saw.

"Rick, you might want to reconsider your decision to take your students to this joint.  Bill and I were repeatedly jostled all night long.  I lost count of the dirty looks I got from the rednecks.  Oh, one more thing.  I've never seen an uglier dance club."

Alarmed by Judy's warning, I visited Winchester for the second time on a scouting mission.  Bob Job, Judy Price, Bill Sampson and a few others came along to practice our new Western Swing patterns and have a look around.  Once the regulars saw us dancing, we were instantly pegged as Fake Cowboys.  Noting their frowns, clearly we were not welcome here.  I suggested we move to the other side of the floor where the tables were sparsely populated.  Or should I say 'empty'? 

The Winchester Club had a giant dance floor that stretched from the stage in front all the way to the bar at the back.  There were long tables placed along both sides of the long dance floor.  The Regulars preferred the side close to the entrance.  That's where the restrooms and the pool tables were located.  Since the weekday crowd was rarely large enough to fill the place, the opposite side of the floor stayed deserted most of the time.

Once we moved to the far side, the regulars left us alone.  However the hostility had me rattled.  Judy was right.  I might be asking for trouble if I brought the entire group to this place at the end of January.  No doubt our horde of Yuppies would upset the Redneck Regulars no end.  These mean-spirited yahoos were sure to be up in arms over the mass invasion of Fake Cowboys.  

So I took a precaution.  I wanted to be sure these far side tables were available.  On the night of our first Graduation Event, I sent over a group of 10 volunteers an hour early at 8 pm.  It was their job to occupy the tables on the far side of the floor and wait for our crowd to show up at 9 pm.  This idea worked to perfection.  It also led to an amazing revelation.

On the night of our inaugural event, I expected a good turnout from my two Wednesday classes.  What I did not anticipate was 50 students from classes that met on other nights would arrive ahead of time.  When they saw my volunteers, the early arrivals instinctively joined them on the far side of the floor.  Together they formed a large Welcoming Committee.

When I arrived at 9:15, I was amazed to see so many people there to greet us.  The announcements from Victoria, Judy, and Bob had generated a lot of interest in my non-Wednesday classes.  The original 50 were now joined by 40 more people from my two Wednesday classes.  A group of 90 people suddenly materialized on the far side.  It was awesome to see 90 students sitting shoulder to shoulder in one spot.  This was my 'sea to shining sea' moment.  It was awesome to see the entire far side of the Winchester dominated by our group.

That was not the end of it.  Throughout the night new faces streamed in.  I estimated a crowd close to 100.  Wow.  I never expected this kind of turn-out.  I was not the only one who was impressed.  As the students looked around, they were shocked to see our group resemble a small army.  Where did all these people come from?  Were they really all part of the same group?

When you only come to the studio once a week, it's tough to see the Big Picture.  This was the first time our students had any idea how large my dance program had grown.  Seeing dance students stretched wall to wall in this vast area, people were bewildered at first.  They could not seem to wrap their minds around how big we were!  Good grief, we dominated the place!

Ordinarily the Winchester was 99% blue collar.  Or should I say it was 99% blue collar until we came along?  Tonight the ratio was close to 55-45 in our favor.  The hostile patrons stared at us like barbarian invaders, but what could they do about it?  There were more of us than there were of them. 

Shocked by how large my program had grown, this awareness created an immediate shift in consciousness.  For the very first time, the students grasped my dance program was more special than they ever realized.   From this point on, the program was seen as more than just a dance studio.  We had transformed into a social organization similar to TGIS, naughty but nice.

The defining moment came when Rilla Ryan and her friend John Cowen came over to me with big smiles on their faces.  Rilla asked, "Hey, Rick, are all these people really with us?"

When I nodded, John asked, "Where did they all come from?"

"Well, half the people are from Wednesday.  But some of these people are from Sunday, some from Tuesday, and so on.  I am overwhelmed by this turnout.  This is the first time I have ever seen all my students in one spot before."

John and Rilla took a long look as they scanned the crowd, then nodded their approval.  "Good grief, Rick, you must be doing something right.  This is a pretty amazing turn-out."

"You want to know something funny?  I am just as shocked as you are.  Our program has grown close to 600 students per week, but I never had the sense to unite the different nights together.  When I stumbled on the idea to have an end of the month Graduation party, I never thought it would turn out like this.  But now that it has happened, it makes perfect sense.  We have something very special taking place at the studio right now."

We had similar crowds during our Pistachio Club Friday Camelot event, but that was way in the past.  We had large crowds at Cowboy as well, but our numbers were disguised because we stayed spread out at different tables and intermingled with the larger crowd.  Since the students did not know each other, they stuck to their own little cluster of friends.  Newcomers went unnoticed unless I took the time to introduce them.  Since we didn't use name tags, there was no real way to identify who was with our group.

Here at the Winchester, anonymity was no longer a problem.  Tonight's Far Side of the Floor seating arrangement solved the who is who problem once and for all.  Seated together for the first time, an amazing 'Group Consciousness' emerged.

I was showered with compliments and besieged with requests to do this again.  For our next visit in February I left nothing to chance.  I reserved the entire far side of the dance floor for our group ahead of time.   The manager was reluctant at first, but remembered us from the January event.  My group had delivered quite a payday.  When I promised him I would release any extra tables, he said okay. 

This arrangement worked to perfection.  Our special seating area used the dance floor as a moat to separate our group from the Regulars.  I hate to say it, but the Rednecks had done us a real favor.  Their nasty stares and enduring meanness had created an unmistakable 'Us versus Them' attitude.  In the process, the act of putting all my students side by side in a compact area created a wonderful sense of camaraderie.  

The far side of the room became the perfect place to meet and mingle.  In no time at all the privacy of the seating area developed into a 'Clubhouse effect'.  Since everyone in our area was assumed to be with the group, people let down their guard in a hurry.  Generous amounts of beer did the rest.  Feeling a little tipsy, all it took to meet an attractive stranger was the invitation to dance.  The moment two strangers suddenly found themselves in each other's arms, the chemistry went to work.  After the one trip around floor, they weren't strangers any more.

Now that the Winchester Era had begun, Romance took center stage.  However, the flurry of the birds and the bees was not the only story here.  Right from that very first night, a sense of 'Community' developed.  Veteran students such as John and Rilla understood they were part of something very unique, very special.  My studio would never be the same.

By all rights, there was no reason why the Winchester Club should have caught on like it did.  It was a dump!  But what can I say?  Everything clicked.  The Winchester Club became so popular that experienced dancers from our program got in the habit of going dancing there whenever they felt like it.  Why wait for Graduation Night? 

However, not everything was perfect at our new playground.  It was impossible to overlook the ongoing hostility my students encountered from the Winchester regulars.  Nor was the Winchester management particularly enlightened.  Hate to say it, but they were racists.  I had two ugly incidents where our Asian students were turned away under flimsy excuses.  The reputation was so bad my black students would not dare to go. 

The manager was not very smart.  It took him six months to discover their Ladies Night policy of 'unescorted women get in free' policy was backfiring in a major way.  Wednesday was Ladies Night.  Men paid $5, but unescorted ladies got in free.  I got a good laugh when one of the ladies complained to anyone who would listen that her boyfriend had made her go in by herself while he stayed behind.  Thanks to her big mouth, this idea caught on quickly.  From that point on, girl friends and even some of the wives were told to go walk in by themselves while the men remained behind.  Groups of three or four women would go in together followed by groups of three or four men a couple minutes later.  I thought it was funny the first time, but changed my mind when I saw how many people abused the policy.  Anything to save five bucks. 

Once the manager finally figured it out, he overreacted.  The manager patrolled the parking lot spotting who was together and who wasn't.  He confronted several students and warned them in a very hostile way to pay the cover charge.  He was very ugly in his approach.  The manager made an extra $50 bucks for his effort, but he angered a lot of our students in the process.  There had to be a more graceful way to handle it.  A policy change perhaps?  How about everyone pays the same price?

The regular customers were just as hostile as the manager.  I was pleased to see the Winchester Club solve my biggest headache, i.e. the need to find a place big enough for my legion of dancers.  However, as expected, we upset many of their customers.  As I pointed out, the Winchester Club was a bastion of Old Style Western music and dancing.  Imagine what went through the minds of their regular customers when an army of chirpy Fake Cowboys and Disco Derelicts began to stream through the door.

We were constantly met with dirty looks and scowls of disgust.  The Winchester was a redneck haven full of customers who considered our inappropriately dressed Yuppies an affront to their eyes.  They were beyond irritated watching all these Fake Cowboys ruin the place.  It was effortless to know who belonged and who didn't.  Was it our clothing?  Yes, to some extent, but most of us learned to wear clothes to blend in.  Was it our youth?  Nah.  We were younger as a rule, but the older TGIS crowd was very well represented.  So what gave us away?  Our dancing.  Many of the people in our group had been dancing the new Western style throughout 1980.  Once we began teaching the Double Turns, it was Showtime out on the dance floor.  Meanwhile the Old Country crowd just plodded along with their ancient Prairie Twostep.  Watching in disgust as our dancers zipped by like sports cars, the regulars bristled at being so badly out-classed.  Not only were they fighting a losing battle, their ceaseless hostility only served to make our students more determined to show them who was boss. 

Our Us against Them attitude helped this place become our second home.  We danced hard, we drank hard, and we made a lot of friends.  Countless romances developed and maybe a few heartbreaks as well.  Chuck tried very hard to date every woman in the crowd, but he got a little frustrated.  So many women, so little time.  The low point came when he complained the presence of so many ex-girlfriends was cramping his style.

Another reason for the Winchester's popularity was the proximity.  The best time for a Beginning-level student to go dancing is immediately after class while the moves are still fresh in his or her mind.  Although Glen's studio was perfect for classes, we could not use it for practice afterwards because the largest room at the studio was reserved for dance company rehearsal starting at 9:15 pm.  If our students wanted to go dancing after class, we had to leave the studio and go somewhere else.  To our delight, we now had a convenient place for students to go dancing and still get home at a reasonable time. 

The Winchester helped my business in so many different ways.  There was strength in numbers.  By going en masse, our beginning dancers felt safe despite the rough crowd. Once the tradition caught on, word of mouth persuaded even the faint of heart to at least take a peek.  Best of all, the beginners had each other from class to practice with.  There was no need to ask some stranger for a dance.  After one or two beers for courage, my timid beginners were out on the floor trying out their dance moves for the first time.  To their relief, this was more fun than they ever imagined.  Furthermore, by going dancing immediately after class, the resulting practice turned them into competent Western dancers much faster than they expected. 

The dance classes created the social event and the social event supported the dance classes.  This reciprocity was pure magic.  Surrounded by so many other dancers on the giant floor, my beginners did not feel conspicuous.  They relaxed and practiced at their own pace.  A few trips around the floor was all it took to get some confidence.  If they got stuck, there was sure to be an advanced dancer at their table to show them what they were doing wrong.  A night of success inspired them to come back and take another class the following month.

In particular, Graduation Night helped the allure of the Double Turns kick in.  Once the Beginner dancers saw my Advanced dancers display the exciting double turns, they were inspired to do the same.  This solved my ancient One and Done problem.  The students were so pumped after a night of dancing at the Winchester, they could not wait for the Intermediate class to begin the following week.  Double Turns, here we come.  

I deserve absolutely no credit for the two most popular features of Graduation Night: Ladies Night and Beer Bust Night.  Throughout this strange saga of how I became Houston's first Western dance teacher, I have stressed my repeated good luck.  I have also pointed out how I continued to get credit for smart moves that in reality were nothing more than dumb luck.  My choice of using Wednesday as Graduation Night was a perfect example.  I chose Wednesday for a wicked reason.  This was the toughest night for Victoria to leave home and join us.  Next thing I know, I am being called a savant for choosing Beer Bust Night.  Hey, that's how it works when this is your Brightest Day.

Wednesday was all the beer you could drink for $5.  Once you paid your money, you could drink as much as you wanted all night long.  I am embarrassed to attribute the enormous success of Graduation Night to mass quantities of beer, but it definitely helped everyone loosen up. 

My friend Chuck was in 7th Heaven.  Throughout the night the waitresses would bring over giant pitchers of beer that disappeared rapidly.  Chuck consumed more beer than an old car guzzles gas.  I would walk by his table and see countless empty plastic cups.  Turned out they were mostly his.  Thanks to an endless supply of beer and single women, Chuck was happier than a sheik in a well-stocked harem.  Fancying himself a ladies man, Chuck aspired to be the life of the party.  His crazy antics and perpetual search for love were legendary.  Poor Chuck could not have every girl he wanted and poor me couldn't have any of them.  Since I was not allowed to date, watching Chuck make a fool of himself became my favorite source of amusement.

The Winchester was ugly, dirty and grim.  It featured hostile rednecks and outlaw music.  Nevertheless, the large floor and easy proximity helped this place become our second home.   Fueled by unlimited amounts of beer, the singles chased each other with wild abandon.  Countless romances developed and more than a few heartbreaks as well.  Yeah, this place was a dump, but it was our dump.  We loved it here.

FEBRUARY 1981

ROMANCE RODEO

 

The two fastest means of communication are tell a phone and tell a woman.  It did not take long for word of mouth to spread the news about Winchester Graduation Night.  One rumor reported our dance group stretched as far as the eye could see.  Another rumor reported our seating area was teeming with rabid singles.  At the next event in February, a lot of curious newcomers came by to check us out.  They were amazed to find the rumors were true.  Graduation Night was the Promised Land when it came to Romance.

In addition to word of mouth, I made sure to make good use of my mail-out Newsletter.  Hoping to lure former students back in the fold, I made sure to advertise this exciting new development.  The good news created a phenomenon I referred to as the Alumni Club.  In the following months, many students who had finished taking classes back in 1980 got in the habit of joining us for Graduation Night.    Consequently the second event in February saw attendance swell past 100. 

My studio had found the perfect playground.  Whenever our dance crowd got together on Graduation Night, Cupid had a field day.  At first I assumed most of the romance took place on the dance floor, but in reality it was the tables that became the dating hotbed.  People gravitated to whichever table promised an attractive romantic partner (or two or three!)  They would sit as close to their target as possible and engage the person in exploratory conversation. 

With vast quantities of beer acting as aphrodisiac, the tables became radioactive with sexual tension.  If one table didn't pay off, there were nine other tables to check out.  The singles rotated from one dance partner to another in a restless, relentless search for love.  More often than not they found what they were looking for. 

'Staying Alive' had been the enduring song of the Disco Era.  The defining song of the Western Era was 'Looking for Love in all the Wrong Places'.  Trust me, Rodeo Romance at the Winchester was the Right Place.  Graduation Night was the closest thing to 'Can't Miss' ever invented.    For starters, easy access to abundant beer caused everyone to drop their guard.  You didn't even have to wait for it.  Without being asked, waitresses brought one pitcher after another and we passed it around.  Two beers later, everyone became much better looking.  More optimistic as well.  Our defenses down and feeling good, the moment a man held a woman in his arms on the floor, Cupid's magic took over. 

Ten tables featuring twelve spots.  Do the math.  That's a lot of potential dance partners.  If someone had the energy, it was possible to dance with 20 different partners in one night.  Who knows what might happen?  "I'm feelin' kinda lucky tonight."  With 20 partners, one would hope so.  Students were free to dance with anyone who interested them.  Let's say they clicked with someone.  After the dance, they could find a table, drink some more beer and get to know each other better.  If they didn't click, go speak to someone new at another table.  Many of these conversations led back to the dance floor.  Some of these conversations led someplace else.  Amidst the frenzy, I could hardly believe what was taking place.  Lust was rampant.  With people falling in love left and right, I would have never guessed this run-down joint would become the unique final piece of the puzzle. 

Guess who decided to join us in February?  Victoria.  Even though I was still technically her boyfriend, that nonsense about Victoria dating other guys had put a real frost in our rapport.  Consequently I was not happy to see her, but it's a free country.  Victoria's divorce was final.  Victoria had heard the rumors and decided I needed supervision just in case things didn't work out with her upcoming dating project.  Selfish?  Yes.  To this day, I am still amazed that I put up with it.  And why did I put up with it?  Be patient.  I will explain shortly.

In addition to her stupid dating idea, I believe Victoria still harbored warm thoughts towards with her former husband.  Oddly enough, my best clue came at the Winchester.  Rather than dance the night away like everyone else, Victoria preferred to draw three or four women around her and talk about Michael.  One would assume a recently-divorced woman would bitch and moan about all the mean things her Ex had done to her.  Not Victoria.  She had nothing but praise for Michael.  This went on all night long.  All I could do was shake my head.  Victoria had to be the most mixed-up woman I had ever met.

Unable to date and fed up with Victoria, I concentrated on my role as Fearless Leader instead.  Moving from table to table, I chatted with the men, danced with the women.  Now that our social program had a venue where it could grow, people could not wait for the next event.  There's a wonderful song, originally a Russian folk song, called 'Those Were the Days'. 

"Those were the days, my friend, we thought they'd never end.  We'd sing and dance forever and a day...

We'd live the life we choose, We'd fight and never lose, For we were young and sure to have our way..."

We did not know it at the time, but that song described the events of the Western Era to perfection.  Looking back, I know we were having the best time of our lives, laughing, playing, striving to succeed in our career, looking for the love of our life. 

I could not believe how much beer we drank, but gosh, who cares?  It was for a good cause!  With ample amounts of beer contributing to the madness, we did a lot of crazy things.  That included me.  I was involved in one truly embarrassing moment.  When I was a young boy, I subscribed to a Boy Scout magazine.  One of my favorite jokes was "What were Tarzan's last words?" 

Answer:  "Who Greased the Grapevine!?"  ha ha ha. 

Thanks to Victoria's presence, I drank way too much free brew on our second visit.  The beer wasn't free, but its ready availability made it seem like it was.  A lot of the men, me included, were determined to get our money's worth.  During Band Break, a very pretty girl named Julie asked me to dance the first song when the band returned.  Meanwhile, I had no idea someone had sprinkled the floor with an overdose of dance wax.  When the Band returned, Isaac Peyton Sweat and his band struck up the familiar chords of 'Orange Blossom Special'.  That was my cue.

I anxiously leapt from my chair to dance with Julie, but she was missing.  Searching the tables in vain, I spotted Julie waiting for me out on the dance floor.  Julie was waving for me to hurry up and join her while the floor was still empty.

Ah, the irresistible call of a beautiful woman.  Smitten, I raced across the floor to embrace fair Julie.  Bad move.  The floor was slick as ice.  Hitting the dance wax, my feet went flying out from under me.  I hit the floor with so much force that I actually skidded on my butt another ten feet and landed at Julie's feet. 

We were the only two people on the floor.  Every person in the building saw me slide across the floor, including the singer.  To complete my shame, Isaac Peyton laughed out loud over the loudspeaker and said, "Hey, buddy, try walking next time.  She'll still be there."  The entire room exploded with laughter. 

I turned crimson at my public mishap.  I hoped the singer's quip would be the end of it, but not so.  At least half our crowd of rowdies had witnessed my humiliating slide across the floor.  Chuck, Mr. Big Mouth, took care of the rest.  Going table to table, he made sure to fill in the people who missed my accident.  Each re-telling was more outrageous than the last. Now that my mistake had been turned into a laugh riot, I was teased whenever I went. 

Not only that, my sore butt was killing me.  Stupid me, I tried to be a good sport about it.  Like an idiot... I was very drunk... I told the wrong people my joke about Tarzan's last words.  Unfortunately, that gave my friend John Cowen an idea.  He decided to immortalize the incident.  Soon after the sliding incident, John showed up at the studio wearing a special T-shirt.  It had the picture of an Archer shooting a bow.  

The caption underneath said, "Who Waxed the Winchester?"  

The artwork was excellent.  It seems John had asked Kathy, a graphics artist, to help.  The shirt was an immediate hit.  John and co-conspirator Kathy sold their allotment of 50 shirts in 10 minutes.  And did I receive royalties?  Of course not.  I received nothing but grief instead.  Each purchaser put the shirt on for the duration of the night.   Not only did John and Kathy make a hefty profit off my misery, I had to look at those stupid tee-shirts during class.  And these were my friends?

The antics did not stop there.  The Winchester held a Talent Contest every Wednesday night.  This Talent Show quickly became a source of infinite humor.  The Winchester paid $100 to whoever won as judged by crowd applause.  More important was the prestige that came with winning the award.

A man who called himself Yogi won twice in a row.  Yogi got his name because he would cross his legs Yoga-style, lay on his back with his crossed legs in the air, and play the fiddle all at the same time.  It was quite a sight.  My friend Tom Easley, a pretty good fiddle player in his own right, entered the contest both times and finished second to Yogi.  Since Yogi was not with our group, Tom felt free to complain.

"Darn it, Rick, I am sick and tired of losing to a Freak Show!"

I got his drift loud and clear.  When Tom entered the show for the third time, I lobbied everyone in the group to applaud wildly.  Our group was so large it represented 50% of the vote.  Thanks to my suggestion, our united vote made the difference.  Yogi was defeated and Tom parlayed his glory into instant popularity.  Tom was so proud of himself he rented two beach houses in April for the weekend just so his admirers could admire him further.  I did not go, but I heard 50 people showed up. 

Rumor has it Tom played the fiddle at his Beach Weekend.  Or maybe I didn't hear it right.  More likely Tom fiddled around all weekend long.  Clever guy.  Tom made sure the beach house weekend became an annual event.  In 1986, Tom met his future wife Margaret at this event.  A just reward indeed.

Tom's banjo victory was the breakthrough we needed.  Someone from our group won the Talent Contest four straight times due to our Get-Out-the-Vote Coalition.  A lady named Caron won a couple times.  She deserved it.  Caron was a very good singer.

Unfortunately, our string of victories led to a near-fiasco.  One night, Tom came up to me and asked who was the designated winner for that night.  

"Beats me," I replied. "I don't know if anyone entered."  

Tom laughed and said, "Gee, Rick, you could get up there and yell out 'Slow Slow Quick Quick' for the entire song and win."

Chuck overheard Tom and thought this was a great idea.  Chuck begged me enter the Talent Show.  Chuck said, "C'mon, Rick, this your big chance.  You've got to enter!  You're sure to win!"

"Are you out of your mind, Chuck?  I can't sing!"

Chuck exclaimed, "You don't have to sing.  Tom's right.  Just get up there and tell the band to play a Twostep, then yell out 'Slow Slow Quick Quick'.  I swear you will win.  In fact, I guarantee it!  I will get my girlfriends to scream for you the same way they scream for me!"

I said no, adding that this was a very bad idea.  Chuck was not to be denied.  He enlisted the help of two nearby girls.  Both girls were almost as drunk Chuck and I were.  They quickly agreed this was the was the best thing they had heard in ages.  They made quite a commotion.  Next thing I know I was being pestered by 30 people to enter.  They all promised to cheer wildly for me.  Sensing a set-up, I was skeptical.  More likely they intended to boo and cat-call. 

"Get that loser off the stage!  Where's the broomstick!"

I was out of control.  With Beer Bust Night having its usual effect, peer pressure can be very powerful.  Drunk out of my mind, I finally gave in.  Despite serious misgivings, I walked up to the stage to register.  Fortunately, when Isaac Peyton Sweat saw me, he was suspicious.  He looked me straight in the eye and asked what my 'Talent' was.  I immediately panicked.  Intimidated by his no-nonsense look, I sobered up just enough to have the sense to chicken out.

I am eternally grateful Isaac Peyton gave me the dirty look.  Without his skepticism, I would have made quite a fool of myself.  The sad thing is that Tom and Chuck were right.  Our group was so drunk, the thought of voting en masse for a stupid stunt like this was right up our alley.  That said, it was not right to mock the Talent Show.  It might have been funny to our group to see me win, but what if someone with real talent had lost?

Afterwards, I gave this incident more thought.  The fact that someone from our group won every week held deeper meaning.  To me, the unity of applause was a sign that a group identity had emerged.  The same people attended every event.  Hanging out together, former strangers were now best friends.  This of course was Dawn of the 'Dance Community'.  Each Winchester event helped build a social network that would continue to grow... and grow... and grow.  

We had such a blast every time we got together, deep friendships developed among the participants.  A core group of roughly 50 dance students emerged, the Nifty Fifty as I referred to them.  Unwilling to wait for our once-a-month Graduation event, these people made sure to schedule at least one weekly dance event, usually two, just among themselves.  A group of ten might meet at Winchester or Texas for a night of dancing. In other words, sometimes the larger group subdivided into sub-groups with leaders like Tom Easley.  Sometimes I was invited, sometimes not.  I did not mind.  The program had grown far too large for me to keep track of everything.  As long as everyone was happy, that was all I cared about. 

The Nifty Fifty added other activities.  The group would go to the movies, play Sunday volleyball at a city park, meet at someone's house on Saturday for Charades.  Leaders began to emerge.  For example, once Rilla and her sister Valerie taught us how to use a set of memorized signals, we spent countless wonderful hours together in fiercely competitive Charades.  Tom Easley stepped up and invited the gang to his Weekend Beach Bash.  Chuck and Doug were leaders as well.  They made sure to keep the pipeline of TGIS members to my studio intact. 

No one in Nifty Fifty was married.  They all had their eye on someone.  However, they didn't immediately start dating.  One of the problems of having so many attractive choices is that people get 'choosy'.  Most people in the group preferred the cautious approach, so it was all platonic, very buddy-buddy at first.  Enjoying their time with the gang, why hurry to make a move?  This way they could scout and evaluate the field.  Each person weighed their potential choices carefully.

Everyone behaved like brothers and sisters in the early stages.  It was all very chaste.  Then I noticed that some members in the group were showing up for events holding hands.  Uh oh!  We knew what that meant.  Now that people had started to pair up, we were onto the next stage... Romance!

Like a fire that smolders for a while, then bursts into flame, one day a magic spark was lit.  Enough of this Brother and Sister nonsense.  Someone flipped a switch and overnight everyone's status flipped from 'just friends' to 'dating'. 

This was a confusing stage.  Maybe the better word would be 'awkward'.  Were they officially dating or still just friends?  How were they going to bridge the unspoken barrier of 'Friends' and move on to the kissing stage?  What would the other members of the group say?  Would anyone get jealous if they became exclusive?  And, scariest of all, what if it didn't work out?  If things ended badly, who would get custody of the group and which one would be forced to leave? 

It was sort of like dating in high school where the whole world is watching.  At first a couple would date on the sly.  Then they would accompany each other in public but deny it was a date to anyone who asked.  Then we would catch them holding hands.  At this point they would be forced to admit they were dating, but just as 'friends'.  Oh sure.  As couples got serious, they had to establish ground rules like whether to remain 'platonic', 'should we still see other people?' and all that complicated love stuff. 

I found the whole thing rather entertaining.  Due to my neverending Limbo status, I was forced to remained above the fray.  This put me me in the catbird's seat to watch the nightly soap opera unfold.  It was tricky to take things from 'friends' to 'lovers', but it was inevitable.  The birds and the bees were not going to stay locked up forever.  However, I wasn't ready for the next twist.  Just when it seemed like everyone was happily paired up, this led to a new phenomenon... Change partners!  

Talk about awkward!!  Unsatisfied with their first choice, every couple months two or three pairs split up and rotated to someone new in the group.  This 'Change Partners' stage seemed vaguely incestuous.  Not just that, Jealousy was off the charts as former lovers were forced to watch new pairs in action.  Some of the Left Behinds coped as best they could.  The ones who couldn't take it were forced to leave. 

One particular Lothario left behind a trail of broken hearts.  Thanks to this jerk, the Sisterhood began keeping dossiers on every guy in the group.  The women cleverly swapped secrets and made sure each man's Reputation became an open book.  Lothario suddenly found himself an outcast.  Facing closed ranks, he was forced to leave the group and look for his next victim elsewhere.

The size of the group fluctuated.  When two people paired up, they often dropped out.   However, when something went wrong, at least one, sometimes both one would return.  Or someone in the group would meet someone new, then introduce their new paramour into the group.  One week the Nifty Fifty would be the Nifty Sixty.  Next week it would be the Nifty Forty. 

Thanks to the dynamics of all this social interaction, the Winchester became the stuff of legends.  They say don't judge a book by its cover.  I definitely made that mistake with the Winchester.  Never in a million years could I have foreseen this beat-up club would provide the finishing touch in the creation of my amazing dance program.  But that is exactly what happened.  The Winchester Club gave the people in my dance program our first real sense of group identity. 

Amidst the flurry of swapping, over time ten couples within the Nifty Fifty chose not to rotate.  Indeed, they seemed quite committed to each other.   Although we somehow made it through 1981 without a marriage, it was only a matter of time.  I could not help but wonder who in our Dance Community would be the first to marry.

"Those were the days, my friend.  We thought they'd never end.  We'd sing and dance forever and a day."