SALL WE DANCE?

This yarn may leave you in a whirl. It describes my college Junior Prom.

SHALL WE DANCE?

In May 1944, I experienced great anxiety while attending my high school prom. Now, five years later, I suffered through another spasm of angst while helping to organize my college junior prom. It had a happy ending, somewhat spiritual in a sense.

A fraternity brother and I were co-chairmen of our Junior Prom or Spring Formal. We divided the responsibilities. I handled ticket sales while he arranged to contract for our dinner-dance at a fashionable nightspot called The Four Towers, located some twenty miles from Hoboken, near The Meadowbrook, a well-known spot where many famous dance bands once appeared. Beginning in 1936, the radio networks began broadcasting from this venue, bringing big band swing music to national audiences.

Unfortunately, the co-chairman left Stevens before the spring semester began. He assured me that he had made all the arrangements with the restaurant, except for the final deposit. I proceeded to sell the tickets.

A week before the dance, he and I drove out to the venue to make the final down payment. Much to our surprise, we learned the establishment planned to remain open to the public on the night of our formal prom. He thought he had rented it for our exclusive use. As it was too late to make any other arrangements, we had no recourse but to accept joint tenancy. This situation left me feeling mortified and embarrassed.

   In late afternoon on the day of the dance, following a home lacrosse game, fraternity parties sprang up. Growing more paranoid by the minute, wondering how our formally dressed college crowd would fit in with the informally dressed public patrons, I took refuge by downing more than a few beers, far in excess of my norm.

   Frances Flynn, a Hoboken girl I had known for years, was my date for this affair. She lived near the fraternity house and came there to change into her gown. Don’t ask me to describe it, but accept the fact that I thought she looked fabulous in it, a bit like Elizabeth Taylor. Not only could she dazzle the eye, she could dance beautifully. I didn’t own a car, and had to rely on another fraternity brother to drive us to The Four Towers. We arrived late, perhaps a half-hour or more. As we entered the establishment, another concern arose in my head. Had dinner already been served? 

No. The restaurant manager had waited until my arrival before starting the food service. My classmates took advantage of the delay by drinking everything in sight. By the time food hit the tables, none seemed to care or be aware that they shared the facility with some patrons who were not invited to our dance and who were wearing regular street clothing.

Our Spring Formal continued until the late hours. My worries vanished. Just before the evening ended, Frances and I began dancing the Peabody. As we whirled around the floor, everyone else stopped to watch us. When the music ended, we were applauded, rightly so. We rivaled Fred and Ginger for those few minutes.

Our chauffer drank to excess. When the dance ended, he slowly drove his car out of the parking lot onto the highway where it hit and became stuck atop a high concrete lane divider.  It sat there, engine turning, but with all four wheels off the ground. We pushed the car off the median onto the highway, and he drove us back to Hoboken without further incident, although in a zigzag manner.

The Spring Formal had raised my spirits in many ways.

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