Stompin' At the Savoy

Music for your morning!

One of the things that amazes me when I get talking about dance history, is that people don't already know it. Don't we all have those interests in our life? I mean, how could people NOT know?

On Saturday, I gave a workshop on Foxtrot and Swing, and this came home to me once again. I know I promised you more on Frankie Manning and Norma Miller, but I first I just need to reflect on the Savoy Ballroom. Built in 1926, the Savoy was called "The Heart of Harlem" by American poet Langston Hughes. It took up an entire city block between 140th and 141st Streets on Lenox Ave. It was luxurious, enormous, popular, and one of the first integrated social spaces to be constructed SPECIFICALLY to serve black and white patrons (as well as any other comers).

I'm always a little skeptical that dance has the power to bring people together in some magical way that allows us to transcend racial differences. This point of view is popular, or at least has been in the past. But recent discussions about cultural appropriation and the erasing of black contributions to music and dance make me believe that this viewpoint is, in itself, a product of privilege. However, the history of the Savoy gives us an opportunity to see an instance where a quite complex version of interracial dance played out, where sharing and teaching happened in a minimally exploitative and appropriative way. Those who experienced the early days of Lindy at the Savoy, those who (in fact) built the Lindy at the Savoy, claim that dance was the most important identifier and trumped race, origin, or even fame outside the ballroom. There's a story Frankie Manning told, which is widely quoted... “One night somebody cameover and said, 'Hey man, Clark Gable just walked in the house.' Somebody else said, 'Oh, yeah, can he dance?' All they wanted to know when you came into the Savoy was, do you dance?" And Norma Miller once stated, "We were the first people in the world who were integrated. We didn't have segregation at the Savoy."

On the other hand, interviews with Miller in particular show that this attitude was not all hearts and flowers. In talking about white dancers, she stresses that it was a point of honor that black dancers out-danced them, plus her sense of ownership is clear. "We sweated for that. We busted our butts to get that the way it was. That's ours. We created it," she says to the camera in the documentary Dancing. What I see in all this is not so much a model for dance as the magical cure for racial tension, but a model for how we might negotiate that tension.

At the Savoy, anybody could dance, but nobody could fail to understand that they were participating in black culture, on black turf, learning from black teachers. "They came to OUR ballroom," says Miller. And speaking of the disputes over tempo, she says, "It was always a battle, cause we didn't want them taking our dance. They had everything else, so we couldn't allow them to take the Lindy Hop." As long as the dance remained in Harlem, at the Savoy, it could be both shared and kept. Lindy Hop was a black dance that whites could enjoy, even master.

But, as with so much black culture, the tension eventually resolved in a familiar pattern. White ballroom instructors such as Arthur Murray tamed the patterns into a teachable format, and what is now known as "East Coast Swing" was born. This is the dance I learned in the 1980s and the dance I taught at the studio on Saturday night. But what else should I do? This is a dance that gives me such joy, and when I see my students connecting to one another and sharing that joy, I can't imagine that Frankie Manning and Norma Miller would call halt.

In the 1980s, Miller and Manning became master teachers and ambassadors of Lindy Hop. They taught classes and gave interviews, they wrote books, and on Manning's birthday in 2002 together they unveiled the commemorative plaque on the site of the old Savoy, demolished in 1959. Even after all those years of obscurity, they were still willing to share. "I love the fact that the kids today want to do it. They want to know about it. They want to be part of our history." That's Norma Miller again, by the way, only seconds before she stakes her creative ownership to this amazing dance.

In a clip from the era of revival, you can watch Miller and Manning teach a large group of dancers a tap-based break for swing dancing. Then as they partner up, the students step aside, ceding the floor to these two amazing individuals for a few minutes before joining the dance. Maybe that's what we could all do, as teachers and students. Cede the floor for a few minutes, honor those creators by knowing their names, listening to their words, and watching them dance, before stepping in to their history.

Quotes taken from "New Worlds of Dance," from Dancing: The Power Pleasure and Art of Movement, ArtHaus Musik, 1993. Available on Alexander Street/Pro Quest.