Emblems

Swing at the St. John's/Navy Croquet Match

Yesterday was hot. Really, really hot. It almost massages you, which I actually like; you can't stand in the open sun, however. If you did, you'd actually feel yourself burning. I love this, because it reminds me of the sun in Greece. The water here is as good as Greece, in my opinion.

Because of the heat, the Campion Summer Camp was very quiet in the afternoon. TJ is a Social King, though, making friends in quiet and heat, noise and cool, alike. Sophie and I walked over to the campus to find him and rescue whoever he was asking to wrestle. We found him with Liam, a Third-Year who is helping organize the camp. Liam looks very Irish, a delightful smile to go along with his delightful accent and delightful sense of humor. I decided he was our analogous Tony Bonse, but with blonde hair.

He was welcoming to all of us, and patient with the Social King, giving him tasks and including him in sprinkler football (soccer). Along with Liam, some of the students are having fun with The American Boy, as they call him. Sophie and I followed a TJ trail to find him; this consisted of remarks from students strolling by: "Did you hear what The American Boy said? 'Haak-aye' instead of Hawk-Eye."

We found TJ with candy.

Liam invited us back to the dance for the summer camp, so we all came back over at 7:20 pm, in the cool, to see what it was like here. The students were learning ballroom dances like the cha-cha, samba, and the waltz, some in lovely skirts, others in shorts. Some couples were taking tentative, off-beat steps, running into each other and laughing, and others were really waltzing with that beauty of waves rolling past the prow of a ship. Liam asked, "When's the dancing going to start?" meaning, I knew, that the swing dancing was about to commence.

The summer students were being initiated into what seems to be a Great Books college tradition: classic forms of dancing, but especially swing dancing. I'd never seen this until I walked into the Governer's Mansion at the top of the green hill of well-kept grass that swept down like a woman's silken lap, down to the Severn River. This was 1996, St. John's College. I knew there was to be a dance, and my last experience was at the Graduate at UCSB, when I vowed I'd never enter another dance club like that, the feeling of being unmentionably grabbed by drunks as I made my way through the animal crowd still a raw memory.

The Governer's Mansion, or the Great Hall, at St. John's had a real ballroom, all wood floors and white balustrades, with a real viewing walk above the floor at the level of the great brass chandelier. Like students for near fifty years before them, the Johnnies wore swing dresses (even some of the guys had period suits), and the Hall was a fireworks of color and movement, but unlike the Horrible Graduate, it was ordered and fun at the same time, an expression in dance of that integration that we studied during the week.

Every Great Books college I've been around since has this same tradition of swing. My educated guess has always been that it started at St. John's, when the original Johnnies were actually living, as young people, as Great Bookies, in the forties. For some reason, rather than giving way to Disgusting Disco (all you have to do is think of John Travolta Revolta in that white suit), or the sad excuse for dancing that was the eighties (all you have to do is think of the imbecility of Van Halen's Jump, because that's about all we did, jump around without form), the Johnnies held onto the mixture of fun, beauty, and sport that is swing-dancing. TAC took it on in the seventies, and WCC has the same tradition now. The Campion students also dance swing, and what they call "The Peeled Bahnahnah" which is, really, the Virginia Reel. Peeled Reel.

Dancing. It delights us, even us older people who have fun dancing with their daughters leading. Ana and I got quite a waltz going, and tried our old swing steps. Thaddeus and I used to try and dance at St. John's, but because his arms are really long and strong, and he doesn't have much sense of it, my arms nearly got ripped off...so we rarely dance.

Dancing. I always think of Austen's Northanger Abbey, and the wonderful discussion of Henry Tilney and Catharine as they dance. She is distracted by an aggressive suitor when dancing with Henry, and tries to be polite and pay attention to both men. Henry protests, and I paraphrase (because I don't have my book here):

"I have engaged you for this dance, Miss Morland. Dancing is, I believe, an emblem of courtship: the man has the power to ask the woman, she has the power to accept or refuse. Once we are engaged, the man deserves the attention of his partner and might see attention paid to another as an affront. We are in an ordered relationship here that requires rules, as does courtship and marriage."

Indeed, Austen cleverly shows deep characteristics and vices in the ballroom scenes (she herself hated the parade of it, but saw it's real meaning). Catherine's chaperone is lazy about helping her get partners, and this laziness shows up more deeply later, as Catherine tries to navigate more serious waters; Isabella, her shallow friend, has a protesting, moral front about her choice of partner, but gives in all too easily to any handsome, rich man who asks her, just as she protests too loudly her deep affection for both Catharine and James Morland, both of whom she betrays.

The intricacies of a dance does show character; those young men who see a young woman who looks timid, like Jim who asked Sophie, and gently invite her into the group; those young women who pay close attention to the lead of the dance and create a flowing, swirling skirt beauty (what would a dance be without beautiful swirling dresses); the way a young woman refuses a dance, with courtesy or callousness. Yes, a dance does show to a certain extent the characters of those involved. It is an emblem for many things, not just courtship: community, rejoicing, learning to work together.

We left the Campion Hall as the stars shone out fully: I keep looking for the Southern Cross, but I am a star dunce and the city lights do indeed mask many of them. We walked back to our house (I am still on the lookout for terribly large poisonous whatevers, so it is 'stars?' 'snakes?' 'stars?') and I listened to the kids share their youthful impressions--"Don't you think she looked like--?" "This made me miss home." "Do you think they know how old I am?"