Everybody Plays the Fool

 

“Eveeryboody plaays the foooool…” Singing Woman belts out into the locker room,  rocking to the beat, her half-dressed body swaying back and forth, ass leading the way.

            Two other women, besides me, are still in the locker room here at the Kennedy High Pool. They’re both sitting on the benches chatting away while slowly putting their belongings in various bags and purses. They’re African American too, like Singing woman, and a knowing smile comes over their faces as Singing Woman continues to croon.

            One of them nods, then a loud sigh of agreement, “Ummmmmmm.” Her friend nods too, and then they both start in on the song too. The locker room fills with their sweet harmonies: “Everybooody plaaayss the fool!” they chorus.

            No one glances at me. I want to join in, but wonder if I’d be intruding. I know the song. Not all the words of course, but the opening refrain and melody. I used to spend Saturday mornings watching Soul Train as a teenager in Irvine. I loved the dancing. The music. The exuberance. It was so far from the classical music I studied. Chopin. Debussy. Rachmaninoff.

            Yet, whenever I watched Soul Train, I was swept away. I would dance along to the music. The Temptations. Sly and the Family Stone. Tina Turner.

            All black artists.

            I didn’t know any black people growing up in Irvine. All of my friends were white, middle class, suburban kids of the 70’s. I didn’t know anything different. Was my enchantment with Soul Train a longing for a culture I didn’t know? How could that be?

            Today, I live in the Bay Area, specifically, Richmond, where diversity is taken for granted. My neighborhood has people of all races: Latino, Black, Asian, and of course, White.

            I like the variety of people. I’m learning Spanish so that I can talk to my neighbors. Sometimes I get an opportunity to do this, but it’s elementary, like a five-year-old.  “Hola, Como esta? ¿Muy bien, y tú? ¿Como esta su perro? Él es viejo. ¡Yo también!”

            But that’s about it.

            Yet, with these women today, I feel like I’m part of their group because of the pool. We are all here swimming together, showering together, dressing together.

            So, why don’t I join in with their song?

            I’m not sure. Maybe it was cuz I felt shy. Or didn’t want to intrude on their shared cultural experience. Yet, I imagine, they would have been fine with my joining in.

            I guess I’ll never know.

            Unless Singing Woman takes up another Soul Train Greatest Hit. Then, I’ll join in. Maybe next time, she’ll sing another R&B classic, like Gladys Knight and the Pips, “Midnight Train to Georgia,” or “Dancing Machine” by the Jackson 5.

            Yet, I hope Everybody Plays a Fool comes up again. Lord knows, I’ve played the fool enough times to sing about it. But that’s a story for another day.

In the meantime, enjoy The Main Ingredient:

Everybody Plays the Fool

Tap Dancing

 

“She’s taking tap dancing lessons with a retired former Rockette! Can you believe that?”
I can’t. I’m on the other side of the locker room in my usual panic to get out before the lifeguards start yelling at us that the pool is closed. But this snippet of conversation floats over to me, and, undeniably, needs to be documented. The speaker goes on. She’s holding court. The other women, maybe 5 or 6 of them, are all sitting on benches in various stages of trying to get dressed. Some tugging at their leggings. Others bending over,  stretching damp socks on wet feet. Some still in the beginning stages, just sitting there on the bench, staring into space.

            “She has so much energy! And not only does she take tap dancing, but she also works a full-time job!” The speaker exclaims. “I feel like a slug next to her!”

            I laugh to myself. A slug! Exactly how I feel many days. Today, I was a little less slug-like, but only in the water. Once I’m on land, forget it. I’m slugging along.

            “25 minutes is better than nothing!” L exclaims into the air as she emerges from the shower.

            I holler back, “Totally! It’s great!”

            “I just feel so much better than I did before the pool.”

            And, here is this theme again. Water and euphoria. Does a tap dancing Rockett student feel euphoria I wonder. It’s hard to imagine.

            I remember when I tried to take tap dancing in college from the fabulous Audrey Flint. She had a small group of us, some who had a little experience dancing, and some, like me with none. Every time she said, “And to the right,” I’d go left. And every time she said, “And left….” I’d go right.

            I was directionally challenged. Like my father. A very smart man. But the right/ left mix- up is a family trait. I’ve learned to adapt to this challenge. Mr. Ian came up with the idea that the left can be identified as the ‘bass’ and the right as the ‘treble’, thinking that since I’m a pianist, I’d get this.

            Sometimes I do. But more often than not, I still have to think about it. I’ll be driving us to the pool and Ian will say, “Turn bass.” I immediately think of a Brahms piece I’m working on, one of the intermezzos in Op 118 and how it actually has the lowest A on the keyboard in the piece!

            Not really helpful to be thinking about Brahms while driving down Barrett Avenue in Richmond.

            Needless to say, I was a complete disaster as a tap dancer. I remember doggedly trying to keep up with the routine, but only for a short amount of time. Audrey was a complete professional, cheerful and patient. But I just didn’t have what it took to tap dance.

            “Carol, slow down!” L hollers at me.

            I laugh. “I am! So slow!”

            “No, I think you pick up speed as you go along,” Alice observes.

            “Maybe,” I agree, throwing on my big swim parka to prepare for the breezy rain showers.

            “Where did you get that sweater? It’s so cute!”

            The women continue their chatter. No one seems that worried about getting out by the 15-minute cut-off time.

            They just keep on tap dancing. One question at a time. One laugh at a time. One step at a time….