The Dance

The Dance

“Most things worth doing come with their fair share of risks.”
Kristen Beyer

Way back when, my cousins and I all owned Model A Fords and in the summer we would drive them somewhere wonderful in the west. The summer of the photo above we drove to Yellowstone National Park.

The distance to Yellowstone Lodge from Jackson Hole is just a few hours so we had a beautiful ride to the cottages where we stayed near Old Faithful and The Yellowstone Lodge.

We heard there was a “fifties” dance in the gym that night, but that you had to dress up to get in. So, like a bunch of sailors on leave we greased up our hair and did our best to look like we belonged to that era.

The big guy in the middle of the photo above is my cousin Johnny, who wanted to be taller than me a couple of posts ago. I drew the tattoo on his arm for the occasion. Everyone to the right of him is me or related to me. The ones on the left are two of my best friends, Todd and Scott.

So off we headed to the dance where there was a great “fifties” band on stage and a crowd of a couple hundred people just sitting in the bleachers. No one was dancing and no one was dressed from the fifties except for us and the band.

The crowd noticed us immediately, as we were the only ones standing, and we could see they thought we were for real.

Well, ya gotta’ play the cards you’re dealt so staying in character I walked directly over to the prettiest girl I could find and said, “Ya wanna dance?” She looked nervously at her friends and then back at me and said, “Not right now.”

I don’t know what possessed me, likely the sun glasses, grease, and the music, but I looked side to side and then at her and gently said, “C’mon,” and the next thing I knew we were on the dance floor. And within a minute the whole crowd was on their feet having a great time.

The band played an hour past expected and the place filled to capacity with many of the kids in attendance racing back to their rooms to dress “fifties” and return.

All it took was for someone to break the ice, and for whatever reason, that night it was me.

After midnight I walked the girl I had asked to dance gentlemanly back to her cottage. Perhaps I had removed my sunglasses by that time as I don’t recall falling down along the way. I walked back to my cottage in the dark passing “Old Faithful” many hours after the last legion of tourists had moved on.

As I stood there alone, the geyser suddenly erupted in all its glory. And I realized that I would never have witnessed that spectacular site, alone in the moonlight, had I not taken the chance at the dance. Got a story to tell or a comment to make? Please email me at hank@hankfrazee.com