If you've turned on a TV or a radio in the last eighteen months you know something is going on. It started quietly, the way these things do. A few years back the movie Swingers came out with a big band playing in a club scene and a whole lot of people said "wait, what is THAT?" Then the Cherry Poppin' Daddies were on the radio, then the Squirrel Nut Zippers, then Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, then Royal Crown Revue. And then in the spring of 1998 the Gap put a khakis commercial on the air with a bunch of kids in pleated pants doing aerials to a Louis Prima tune, and that was it. Every ballroom in America that still had a wood floor suddenly had a line out the door.

This year the Brian Setzer Orchestra took home a Grammy for their big-band cover of that same Louis Prima number, and if you had told us in 1995 that a guy from the Stray Cats would be up there with a seventeen-piece horn section, we would have laughed. We're not laughing. We're dancing. So is everybody we know.

Here is the thing the newspapers keep missing: this isn't new. The Lindy Hop was born in Harlem at the end of the 1920s, at the Savoy Ballroom, danced to the greatest bands that ever lived. It was the national dance of this country for twenty years. Some of the original Savoy dancers are still alive and still teaching. Frankie Manning, who was there in the '30s, is in his eighties and travels the world giving workshops. When you learn this dance, you are learning something with a real history, from real people, and we think that's the best part.

The pants are optional. The dancing is the point.

This is where everybody starts, and it's where we start you on Tuesday nights. Six-count swing is the simpler, bouncier little brother of the Lindy Hop. You can learn the basic in ten minutes and dance all night on it. Here it is in words. (Leaders start on the left foot, followers on the right. Followers do the mirror image.)

Then you do it again. And again. That's the whole basic. The music is in four, and your step is in six, so you'll notice the pattern doesn't line up with the phrase of the song every time. That's fine. Nobody is checking.

Jenna's tips for beginners: Keep the steps SMALL. Beginners take huge steps and end up in the next county. Bend your knees a little. Stay bouncy but keep your feet close to the floor; this is not a jumping dance. And don't look at your feet. Your feet know where they are. Look at your partner.

Rob's tips for leaders: Lead with your body, not your arm. If you're yanking her around, you're doing it wrong and she'll tell you (Jenna certainly told me). The rock step on 1-2 is where the lead starts; get that right and the rest follows.

Some teachers count it "step, step, rock step" with the triples first and the rock step at the end. Same dance, different place to start counting. Don't let it worry you.

Once you've got six-count in your body, this is the real thing. The Lindy Hop is danced in eight counts, which lines up with the music, and its signature move is the swingout: the leader brings the follower in from open position, they pass around each other, and she swings back out to the end of his arm. It's the move you see in every old newsreel. Here is the leader's footwork in words:

Written down it looks like nothing. On the floor, the first time it works, you will feel like you've been let in on a secret. The Lindy has a stretchier, more grounded feel than six-count. Where East Coast swing bounces, Lindy swings: there's a pulse down into the floor, and the connection between the partners stretches and comes back like a rubber band. Jenna says it took her about six months of Tuesdays before her swingout felt like anything but falling down. Rob says it took him longer and he's still not sure.

We also teach the Charleston (kicks in eight counts, the 1920s dance that got folded into the Lindy) and, for those who ask, a few Balboa basics for when the band plays fast and the floor is packed. We do not teach aerials at the Tuesday dance, and we'll explain why in the etiquette section.

Shoes first, because shoes matter most. You want a smooth sole, leather or hard rubber, that slides a little on a wood floor. Sneakers with grippy soles will stop your feet while the rest of you keeps going, and that's how knees get hurt. Lots of the fellas wear two-tone spectator shoes because they look sharp, but an old pair of dress shoes works fine. Ladies: low heels or flats with a strap. You will be doing a lot of turning.

Clothes: something you can move in and sweat in. It gets hot in there. You'll see vintage rayon dresses, bowling shirts, suspenders, wide ties, wingtips, snoods, victory rolls, the whole 1940s catalog, and it's a lot of fun. But you'll also see plenty of people in jeans and a t-shirt, and nobody thinks less of them. Jenna hunts the thrift stores for the real stuff; there's a good page about that over in Fashion Avenue if you want to try. Ladies, a skirt that flares when you spin is more fun than you can imagine. Fellas: bring a second shirt. Trust us. Bring a second shirt.

Leave the big jewelry and the watch at home. Rings and watches catch on hands and hair in a turn.

The Starlite Ballroom is on the second floor over the old shoe store on Broad Street, up a long flight of stairs with a brass rail. It was built in the '30s, it has a sprung maple floor that's been danced on for sixty years, a mirrored ball that still works, and a stage with a curved shell behind it. For a long time it was nothing but wedding receptions and the occasional polka night. Then in the summer of 1998 we talked the owner into letting us try a swing night on Tuesdays, the deadest night of his week. The first Tuesday we had 31 people. Last Tuesday we had 240.

Here's how the night goes:

• 7:30 — Beginner lesson (Jenna teaches, Rob demonstrates and makes mistakes on purpose, or so he claims). Six-count basic, a turn, and a couple of ways to get into and out of each. We rotate partners every few minutes, so come alone, come with friends, it doesn't matter.
• 8:15 — Intermediate corner at the far end of the floor: swingouts and Charleston for people who've done the beginner lesson a few times.
• 8:30 to 11:30 — Open dancing. Records mostly; every other week a live band. This fall we've got the Broad Street Jump (nine pieces, our local guys) on the second and fourth Tuesdays. In November a rockabilly trio wants to try a night; we'll see.
• 10:00 — The Jam. Everybody makes a circle and couples take turns in the middle for a chorus each. Nobody has to. Everybody eventually does.

$6 at the door covers the lesson and the dance. The Starlite sells soda, coffee and some pretty good pretzels. There's no bar and we like it that way. All ages. Our youngest regular is 14 and comes with her mom, who also dances now. Our oldest regular is 81 and learned this dance the first time around.

Fall 1999 specials: October 26 is the Halloween dance (costumes, prizes, we're not kidding around). November 23 is the night before Thanksgiving, which is always huge, so get there early. And on December 31 we are going to dance right through midnight. If the computers all go haywire at 12:00:01 the way the news keeps saying they might, the Starlite has a record player that runs on electricity and a piano that doesn't, and we'll be fine.

1. Anybody can ask anybody. Ladies ask fellas, fellas ask ladies, beginners ask the good dancers. The good dancers say yes; that is how they got good.
2. It's okay to say no. Politely. Then don't turn around and dance the same song with somebody else. Sit that one out.
3. One song, then thank your partner. Say thank you and mean it. If it was great, ask for another one later, not right away, so both of you can dance with other people.
4. No aerials, no air steps on a social floor. Flips and throws look great in the Gap commercial. On a crowded floor they put people in the hospital. Save them for a jam circle with room, with a partner you've practiced with, and only if both of you are sure.
5. Don't teach on the dance floor. Nobody asked. If your partner wants a tip they'll ask, and the lesson is at 7:30 anyway.
6. Watch where you're going. Leaders, you're driving. Followers, you have eyes too; a squeeze on the shoulder means "stop, somebody's behind you."
7. Dance to your partner's level, not yours. The best dancer in the room is the one who can make a beginner feel like they're flying.
8. Deodorant, breath mints, spare shirt. We said it before. We'll say it again.
9. Nobody sits out because nobody asked. If you see somebody on the sidelines for three songs, go ask them. That's how we got 240 people.

We love the new bands. They got all of us into this. But once you're hooked you'll want the stuff the dance was built on, and here's who to look for. Most of this is on CD now, reissued, cheap, and a lot of it is at the public library. There's a fellow with a wonderful record collecting page here on GeoCities if you want to go hunting for the original 78s.

Jenna's desert island pick: anything with Ella singing in front of the Chick Webb band. Rob's: Basie, any year, any record. We argue about this in the car every Tuesday and we've been married nine years.

We're not professionals. Rob sells insurance. Jenna is a dental hygienist. We took a ballroom class at the community college in 1996 because Jenna wanted to and Rob lost a bet, and the one dance in the class that neither of us could stop doing was the swing. We drove two hours each way to workshops. We rented every old musical the video store had and rewound the dance numbers until the tape wore out. We bought a floor mat for the garage. Then we found the Starlite and the rest is on this page.

We are not the only swing dancers around here anymore, thank goodness, and if you know of a dance in another town we'd love to hear about it so we can come. Our friends Carlos and Yvette run a salsa night and we trade students back and forth; if you like one you'll like the other.

Questions about the lesson, the Tuesday dance, the shoes, the records, or where to find a good vintage suit? Drop us a line. Jenna answers the e-mail. Rob answers the door.