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Rick
Archer's Note:
"Does anyone
know the reason why Houston's Discos are turning into C&W clubs?"
"Does anyone
know why John Travolta is appearing in a movie that he is
wrong for?"
"Does anyone
know why they are calling Urban Cowboy a sequel?"
No one had the answers, but everyone agreed there was something
very fishy about Urban Cowboy. As it
turned out, my suspicion that a mastermind was involved was
correct. However, I never learned his identity until
40 years later when I began to research the background in
preparation for my book. I was stunned to learn the
story behind the making of this movie was more bizarre than
I could ever imagine. I will share the details in due
time,
The important
thing to know is that I spent the entire Urban Cowboy Era
totally in the dark. My complete ignorance on the
issue would lead to follies worthy of Alice in Wonderland.
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FLASHBACK: FEBRUARY 1976, the
lost years
CAITLIN AND THE
TEXAS TWOSTEP
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Okay, so John
Travolta is coming to town to make a movie about
Country-Western dancing. However, I was certain there had to be more to this
story than was being reported in the news. The main reason
I remained baffled was the total lack of interest in Western
dancing. My business was teaching dance. If there was any
interest in Western dancing here in Houston, wouldn't I know
about it? Just to be sure, I put my ear to the ground.
Nope. No sounds of a C&W stampede headed this way.
At this point in
my life, I had only two brief experiences with Western dancing.
Neither experience inspired a bit of confidence.
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My first
experience came on a 1976 date with a girl named Caitlin.
She was a
graduate of Texas A&M. We met at
a Disco dance lesson, but Caitlin later admitted she
cared little for Disco music. Caitlin had been
raised in the country and preferred C&W music.
When we returned to her apartment after a movie,
Caitlin insisted I let her teach me
the Texas Twostep. We danced apart with Caitlin
holding my hands to guide me.
"Okay, Rick,
I am going to do my footwork and I want you to mirror me."
Caitlin proceeded to
step sideways to her right, then did a tap with her left
foot. She repeated sideways to her left with a tap
using her right foot. For the
grand finale, she took two steps backwards.
Side-tap, Side-tap, walk walk. Six beats of music.
Just to be clear, the only forward movement were
those two walking steps.
"Good
for you, Rick, you picked it up perfectly. Now put your right arm
around my waist, hold my right hand with your left, then
do that footwork with me close to you. Don't
forget to start with your left foot or you will step on
me."
This wasn't very
difficult. I was not a great dancer, but I did know my
left from my right. I succeeded on my first try. "All right,
Caitlin,
I'm ready for the next step."
Caitlin gave me
a confused look. "What do you mean? There is no
next step. That's all there is."
"Do you mean
we both do
the same thing all night long? All you do is walk
backwards?"
"That's
right. All night long. But I like it!
It's fun."
"You think
walking backwards all night long is fun?"
Caitlin gave me
a blank look as if my skepticism was the
silliest thing in the world. She obviously liked
things just the way they were. Just then Caitlin's sister
Bonnie returned home. Seeing her
walk in the door, Caitlin said, "Hey, Bonnie, play us a
Twostep song so I can show Rick how it works!"
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On cue, Bonnie
went to the record player to start some twangy C&W song. To be polite, I
decided to cooperate. With
Caitlin going backwards the entire time, we danced a
counter-clockwise circle around the kitchen
table and looped back to our start point in the living room.
Caitlin was
beaming. "What do you think, Rick? Wasn't that
fun?"
Needless to say,
I found the Twostep to be excruciatingly boring.
Nevertheless, no reason to hurt her feelings. I smiled and
lied through my teeth. "Yeah, that was great,
Caitlin, thank you!"
Many times I
have claimed to be a slow learner when came to learning
dance moves. This experience with Caitlin was the lone exception. I
learned the Texas Twostep in less than a minute.
My second
experience with the Texas Twostep took place in July 1978.
This was the day I watched Lance Stevens teach Country
dancing to a group of 16 students. Readers may recall
this was the day I met Deborah Gordon from Class Factory. I rolled my eyes
when I heard Stevens call out "Step-touch, step-touch,
walk-walk" over and over again. This was exactly what
Caitlin had taught me two years earlier. I wondered if
Stevens would add anything to make it more interesting.
Nope. That's all there was to the Texas Twostep.
Now that Lance Stevens had confirmed Caitlin taught me the
Twostep correctly, I decided this had to be the most
pathetic form of partner dancing ever invented.
Each time a Disco closed, it signaled the
likely beginning of the
end. At the thought of Western replacing Disco, I felt
a disgust so searing it left an indelible impression on me. I viewed this Western Transformation with the
same sort of helpless dread one must feel when told of an
incurable, but slow-moving cancer. The worst part was
knowing there was nothing I could do to stop this.
Step-touch, Step-touch, walk walk.
All night long!
How
was it possible for exciting, fast-paced Disco dancing to be
replaced by this abomination of unimaginable monotony!?
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JUNE 1979, the disco years
MY
DESPAIR INCREASES
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John Travolta
has come to town. He begins filming in June.
Rumor has it that his movie will debut in June next year.
As far as I'm concerned, Disco has been sentenced to Death
Row with one year to live. In reality, Disco has less
time than that. Once the Discos are gone, I predict
the love of my life will vanish at the end of the year. One night in despair I turned to my Disco class and
asked, "Does anyone
know the real reason why the Discos are turning into C&W clubs?"
I was greeted
with blank looks and aimless shrugs.
No
one had any idea what was going on. However several students
commented they
were also curious. Now I asked another
question. "Are any of you interested in learning how to Western dance?"
They all looked
at each other to see if anyone raised their hand. If
anyone was interested, they were not willing to reveal it.
I got the message. They had just confirmed my theory
that there was little if
any demand for Western lessons. Just then someone
asked me a question.
"Rick, have
you gotten any phone calls asking if you teach a Country
dance class?"
After shaking my
head no, I asked
another question. "Have any of you ever gone to a
Western dance club?"
Again everyone
looked around to see if anyone would raise their hand.
Nope. No one said yes. As far as I knew, Joanne
was the only person from my Disco crowd who had ever
been Western dancing.
Based on the lack
of interest I saw in this room, I imagined it would stay
that way.
I was relieved to see my assumptions validated, but
frustrated that everyone else was just
as much in the dark as me.
A student
named Walt
raised his hand. "Rick, what exactly does Country dancing
look like?"
I gave a quick shudder at
the memory of Caitlin's Texas Twostep. "You don't
want to know, Walt. It is more boring than you can ever
imagine."
Walt gave a
rueful laugh,
then said, "I believe you, Rick, but go ahead and humor
us.
Show us what you know."
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A ripple of fear
and loathing shot down my spine. I should have kept my
mouth shut. However, there was no avoiding this so I
asked a lady named Sylvia to help me demonstrate.
Recalling Caitlin's instructions, I wrapped my right arm
around Sylvia's waist, then showed her the simple footwork.
Step-touch,
Step-touch, walk-walk.
Sylvia and I
danced the same footwork for a full circle around the room.
Sylvia went backwards the entire time. One by one, the mouth of every student dropped open in
shock. When I finished, I looked at Walt. "Well,
what do you think?"
Walt was speechless. Finally he spoke up. "Are you
serious or did you just do that to irritate us?"
There was
nervous laughter in the room.
"Walt, I am
absolutely serious. A girlfriend taught that to me
three years ago and then I watched Lance Stevens teach the
same thing in a country-western dance lesson last summer. What you just saw is real-life Kicker Dancing."
A lady named
Kitty raised her hand. "I don't believe you,
Rick. There has to be more to it than that.
I mean, after all, what
is all this fuss about? If that is all there is, then why
are all these Western clubs appearing out of nowhere?
What do they do, just sit around and drink beer all night?"
The room went
silent. After the demonstration, everyone was just as confused about the Western Transformation
as me. I looked at
Kitty and shrugged. "I have never been Western
dancing, so there may be more to it than what I
showed you. However, based on two
experiences, this is all I've seen so far.
I am just as confused as you. I have no idea what is going on."
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Walt spoke up.
"If that is what Kicker dancing looks like, I hope Disco doesn't go anywhere. What
you just showed us is depressing."
Everyone nodded
in agreement. Most of these people had grown up in the city.
They call it Country Dancing because it exists out in the
Country, not in the Big City. These city
slickers had never seen Western dancing in their life.
The thought
of trading Disco dancing... something they liked... for what I
had just shown them was far beyond
their
wildest comprehension. Like Walt, Kitty, and the rest of us, we would
all be
perfectly happy with leaving things just the way they
were.
Sylvia chimed
in, "If that is all there is, what will you teach when Disco
is gone?"
That comment
made me sick in my stomach. I asked myself the same
question all the time. I smiled wanly.
"I don't even want to think about it."
And with that, I put on a Disco song and told everyone to
warm up.
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SUNDAY, JUNE 10, 1979, the disco years
THE CACTUS CLUB
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Guess who was
excited about John Travolta? Joanne. The girl
was ecstatic. Now that she had traded her slinky Disco dress for denim
jeans, her beautiful long legs were no longer visible to the
public eye. To her credit, Joanne was
Country long before Country became Cool here in Houston.
I estimate Joanne had gone country six months ahead of the curve.
Something I
never understood was why Joanne had
such a good time at Gilley's. I was so
wrapped up in my own Disco World that I felt
betrayed by Joanne's decision to visit Gilley's
back in March. It never occurred to me that Joanne had
been raised in the country. Yes, I knew Joanne was
from rural Pennsylvania, but I missed the connection.
Joanne was a Country Girl at heart. That was the main
reason she had trouble fitting into my Disco crowd.
Joanne had tried
to adjust to my Disco friends, but she was mistreated at every
turn. I was still bitter at the lengths Patricia and Victoria
had gone to chase off Joanne. Joanne's only mistake was to care for
me. My heartless girlfriend and my
vindictive business partner agreed Joanne was too
dangerous to keep around. Perhaps beautiful women are
genetically programmed to destroy any threat in their path. After Patricia's Backgammon
temper tantrum in mid-April,
Joanne
threw in the towel.
Joanne couldn't take the abuse any longer.
Joanne
had learned her lesson. No more Disco! Thus she turned to the world of Country Dancing.
From what Joanne told me, she was much happier.
These were her kind of people... down to earth, genuine,
friendly. No airs, no games, no exclusive private memberships.
Joanne had been my friend
from the moment I met her. In stark contrast to the Beauty
Queens, not once did Joanne try to hurt me. Joanne was always a marvelous
source of support. She helped me teach classes, she
risked her neck to help me figure
out new acrobatic patterns, and helped me show off
at Camelot. Joanne was a major reason I had
become something of a star in my small corner of the Universe.
And what did Joanne get in return? Not
much. Joanne got her heart
broken following our January fling, but forgave me.
Then the Disco Divas shut her down just when she was on the
verge of her own stardom. Despite her disappointment,
Joanne remained my
friend. God bless her. Joanne had
far more dignity than Victoria or Patricia could ever dream
of matching.
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Out of loyalty, Joanne
continued as
my Disco assistant on Sunday
evenings at the Meyerland Club. On
Sunday, June 10, I asked Joanne to go Disco Dancing with me after
our Sunday class. She refused politely, then turned
around
and made a counter-offer. Joanne suggested I go
dancing with her at some obscure country-western
dive called the Cactus Club on the outskirts of Houston.
"C'mon,
Rick, you've never been kicker dancing in your life.
Why don't you come with me and see what it looks like?
Who knows, maybe you will teach this stuff someday.
Hey, I will pay the cover charge. That way you can
visit my personal
Country Club for free. I'll buy you a
beer and show you around. If you like the place, maybe
you can purchase a membership!"
I
smiled.
Joanne's 'Country Club'
was her own little joke.
For one thing, there was no cover charge. In
addition, she was eternally amused that I had
paid a king's ransom to belong to élan,
the private membership club. Furthermore, Joanne
knew about Patricia's Country Club
obsession. Poking fun at her
nemesis, Joanne quipped, "Hey, Rick, at my Country
Club there is no cover charge, no private
membership, no dress code. You will definitely get
your money's worth." Very funny, ha
ha.
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Joanne loved to
make fun of my expensive membership
at
élan. Behind Victoria's back, I had taken Joanne to dance
at élan twice during
the early days of Camelot. Joanne gasped at
the stunning gathering place of Houston's wealthy businessmen and
social elite. Notoriously poor, Joanne had
been greatly impressed by this swanky private
membership club.
When she asked, I explained that I paid a heavy fee to be a
member. Now Joanne
was amused herself by teasing me.
"See,
Rick, I am living proof that even poor people can join a Country
Club!"
Joanne
was quiet by nature, but I liked her sarcasm
when she did speak. Sunday evening
was one of Joanne's favorite nights to go Kicker Dancing. After each Meyerland
Disco class ended, Joanne had bugged me
to visit this club with her. She insisted Country Dancing
was a lot more fun than I thought it was. When I
objected, Joanne said
don't knock it till you've tried it. I didn't
believe her. However, I didn't get this far in life by
being totally closed-minded. So I decided I should at least go take a look,
especially given the growing Urban Cowboy threat.
Besides, I missed Joanne, so I finally relented.
"Okay, Joanne,
I'll go. What
part of Westheimer is your
'Country Club'
located at?"
Joanne did a
double take. "How did you know the Cactus
Club was on Westheimer?"
I smiled.
"Lucky guess."
Joanne blushed.
"I forgot you knew my secret. I
found it by accident. I must have been daydreaming,
but one day I drove right past my apartment. I guess I
wasn't paying attention. The next thing I knew I
spotted the Cactus Club and wondered why I had
never noticed it before. That is when I realized I had
driven over a mile past my apartment. I compare my
discovery to Christopher Columbus. He found the
Indians and I found the Cowboys."
I laughed at her
story. The boundaries of
Joanne's world were still small. But at least
they had grown a mile wider. I
followed
Joanne's car on a scouting mission
to check out her
'Country Club'.
The
joint was located at the city limit on the far western edge. As
I pulled up in the parking lot, I had a bad feeling about
this place. As I prepared to enter the first authentic honky-tonk of my life,
there wasn't even a sign out front. Instead someone
had spray-painted 'Cactus Club' on the side of
the metal building in giant letters. Classy.
Noting the corrugated metal roof, my guess was this beat-up
building had
previously been a large auto repair shop. From the outside,
this club was as dreary a place as I had
ever seen. There were pickup trucks
with gun racks everywhere. The parking lot was dirt. I
wondered what they did for parking when it rained. From the
outside, this giant barn looked just like Gilley's.
I gasped
the moment I walked in.
What have I gotten myself into? I had never visited a honky-tonk before, so I had no idea what
to expect. This place was much worse than I imagined.
Without a doubt, this was the ugliest dance hall I had ever seen in my life.
The place was
a total dump. It reeked of spilled beer and cigarette
smoke. The
concrete dance floor
was covered with sawdust being used as some sort of inexpensive dance
wax. The place was drab and colorless.
For
decoration, they had cattle skulls mounted on the walls.
There was a large pole right in
the middle of the dance floor which supported the metal roof.
And don't let me forget to mention the giant cactus. To my
surprise, the cactus was not plastic. This authentic
rotting cactus was attached to
the pole by wires. Not only was this
the ugliest decoration I had ever seen, it also had an odor.
There were bails of
hay surrounding the dance floor to sit on. Someone obviously had a real
flair for interior design.
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The Cactus
Club was crowded considering it was a Sunday night.
During the Western Transformation, I often wondered how on earth
all these new Kicker Clubs stayed in business.
It is embarrassing to
admit I was so immersed in my own Disco subculture that I
could not imagine where all the customers
were coming from to inhabit the Western clubs. Outer space
maybe?
Joanne revealed that there were two groups... Cowboy and Disco...
that existed side by side but never crossed paths. Until
tonight I had been unaware this other group existed. I never realized there were
countless country
music fans who lived a parallel existence to mine. I knew there were
plenty of kickers in Pasadena, but it took this visit to open my
eyes to the large segment of cowboys who lived inside Houston's city
limits.
As it turned out, there were plenty of Houstonians who drank
beer and enjoyed Western music. I imagined the
patrons of places like the Cactus Club who kept the
new Western clubs in
business until
Urban Cowboy made its expected impact a year
from now.
As I
expected, the dancing
was beyond pathetic.
I saw ten unattractive, unsmiling people
shuffling around. They were all doing the same boring Texas
Twostep
Caitlin had taught me.
The
women danced backwards at a very slow pace while the men draped sweaty arms around
their necks. If this was country dancing, then I was doomed.
No one needed lessons for this.
Joanne read my mind and admitted the dancing was lame.
Then she added, "You don't need to be able to dance to drink beer and listen to
music."
Listen to
music? They call this Music? Blaring over the loudspeakers was the most
depressing
song I had ever heard in my life. Joanne said it sung by Hank
Williams.
"Your
cheatin' heart will make you weep
You'll cry and cry and try to sleep
But sleep won't come the whole night through
Yer Cheatin' Heart
will tell on yeeew!"
Oh my God. Where do people go to puke?
From the smell, probably right where I was standing.
Or was that the smell of spilled beer? Maybe it was
the cactus.
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I could not
take much more of this.
I could not stand
the decor, the people were dreary, the dancing was
awful and the pervasive odor reprehensible. However, of
all the things that upset me, the music
had to be the worst.
Was it possible
that listening to this music could kill me? I had
heard of death by hanging, but never death by twanging. Filled
with gloom and
doom, I asked Joanne
how the Cactus Club compared to Gilley's.
"Gilley's is a lot bigger, but the
music's the same, the beer's the same and so is the dancing."
That was what I was afraid of. Then I asked
if smiling
was forbidden.
Joanne half-smiled, half-frowned.
"You may have a point there.
Most country people are friendly, but the ones who move
to the city are a rougher crowd. They don't
appreciate being treated like lower class citizens. If you rub
them the wrong way, they can turn mean."
"I
have a joke for you. What's the most popular pickup
line in a redneck bar?"
"I don't know. What?"
"'Gosh,
lady, you still got most of your teeth!'"
Joanne grinned, but for all the wrong reasons. Joanne
saw the perfect
opening to stick it to me.
"Hey,
Rick, that gives me an idea. Didn't you used to be a social
worker? Why not use your training to go meet some of the people?
Do you see that frowny-Faced construction worker at the bar?
Let's start with him. Why don't you go up and ask
him if smiling is forbidden. Or
what about that big biker guy? Go tell
Biker Guy that you like his tattoos, then ask him if he ever smiles.
Better yet,
tell him your redneck joke about the
teeth and see if he laughs. Maybe a good redneck joke will
cheer him up a little. Get out there and spread some cheer!"
After
I politely declined,
Joanne grinned some more. Joanne had me right where she wanted me.
Now that I was on her turf now, revenge can be so sweet. So sweet, in fact, that
Joanne was not done yet.
"You know, Rick, I've been
thinking. That nasty Disco crowd of yours gave me
a really hard time. Maybe it's your turn to suffer
a little. It just dawned on me that I could
get you messed up pretty good. With you wearing that cute
baby blue polo shirt, it wouldn't take much for me to get you in
a heap of trouble. I wonder what
I could say. Hey, I have an idea!
'Hey Mister, yeah, you at the
bar wearing the Bandidos jacket. This guy is bothering me.
He says he doesn't like the music. Claims he's
suffering from country music overdose. He's
wondering if we could play a Disco song instead, maybe
do a couple Disco line dances. Mister, will you
help me teach him to appreciate
country
music better? Will you come over here and kick his
ass? I think his ears are attached to his ass, so a good ass-kicking
should improve his hearing.'"
While Joanne was
talking I noticed we were being scrutinized by more than one
patron. I hoped Joanne was
kidding, but when I saw she wasn't smiling, I got the message.
Maybe I should watch my mouth a little bit. Someone might
object to my
witty comments and kill me before the
music did.
My June visit to the
Cactus Club took place
near the tail end of the Western Transformation. 80% of the
Discos had finished changing their stripes to reopen as Western clubs.
However, I could tell the Cactus Club had been
here long before the transition took place. This was an blue-collar country bar
complete with farmers, truckers, and construction workers.
The Cactus Club was as Country as it gets.
If Disco was
about glamour, this place was the opposite. The women at
the
Cactus Club were not
definitely not making
fashion statements. I can say with assurance the chic Urban Cowboy
outfits that had begun to pop up around town were not on display
here. Some of
these women were so large I understood why the entrance was
double-door. Nor were these gals what one might refer
to as 'babes'. Joanne
was literally the only good-looking woman in here. No
wonder she liked this place.
I was serious
about those frowns. These people did not look
friendly. Joanne was right about
my polo shirt. My button-down polo shirt screamed
Disco. It marked me as
a suitable target
for any half-cocked drunk itchin' to pick
a fight. All I could think of was how fortunate I was to
be wearing jeans.
I
grew more
depressed
as I watched the
dancing. One man's forearm was locked around the girl's neck
while her left hand grabbed the
man's belt loop.
The man was so rough it looked
like his partner was hanging on for dear life. The
poor girl did nothing but dance backwards the entire song. This was the most pathetic style of dancing I had
ever seen. There was nothing to it. All they did was shuffle. Yee haw! Head 'em up, move 'em out, Rawhide. I told Joanne that
this dancing was awful. Joanne replied this was the 'Old-Style
Country Dancing'. She promised I would like the
'New Country
Dancing' better.
Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Joanne. I
didn't believe her.
This was the same dancing I saw Lance Stevens teach
in the Class Factory crash course one year earlier.
Right about then, the famous Jerry Jeff
Walker song came on. A bolt of lightning
ripped through the crowd and brought the zombies to
life.
"Up against the wall, redneck mutha!!!
He's
thirty-four and drinking in a honky tonk
Just kicking hippies'
asses and raising hell!"
This song had
roughly the same effect on cowboys as the muezzin call to prayer in
Cairo.
People flooded the floor.
Some of them were even smiling. Seeing
the crowd form, Joanne begged me to dance. I turned her
down cold and saw the hurt on her face. "I'm sorry,
Joanne, but not yet. Just let me watch a little longer."
The men wrapped their right arm around
the women's necks, the women grabbed the men's belts and off
they went on their merry way. Side-Touch, Side-Touch, walk walk.
The women danced backwards the entire song. Since they didn't seem
to mind, I concluded these women did not complain because they assumed God meant for women to
dance backward.
Now the
Cotton-Eyed Joe came on. I knew this song because I
heard Lance Stevens play it in his Crash Course the
previous summer.
When Joanne looked at me again, I blanched and
crossed my arms. There was no way in Hell I was
getting out on that floor. That is when Joanne reminded me she
could have me killed. A swift nod towards the biker guy
emphasized her point succinctly.
"Okay, fine, Joanne,
have it your way. But I don't know how to do this
dance."
Against my will,
I meekly followed Joanne out on the floor. Joanne taught me
the Cotton-Eyed Joe as we went along.
We had made two laps around the
floor when mercifully the song ended. Good grief,
walking my two dogs on a leash required more skill than this
dance.
Joanne looked at
me expectantly.
I realized Joanne ached for me to show
any sort of approval I could muster for her new world, but I
didn't have it in me. I was far too threatened by what
I saw. The profound dreariness messed with my mind.
So help me, this place was far worse than I ever imagined.
I was full of contempt. I had yet to see a single
Disco-style turn. Why was Western dancing devoid
of turns? Did anybody in here even know how to turn a
girl? Maybe the women's arms were so heavy that no man
had the strength to lift her hands above her head. I
would have turned Joanne, but decided it would invite
too much trouble.
Disco involved sexy women,
skimpy dresses, fast footwork, acrobatics, shake your booty,
multiple turns, flashing lights, energetic music. Country Western was hard-looking women in ugly clothes, sweaty men and really awful music.
The Pistachio Club was a palace while the
Cactus Club was a smelly, run-down metal shack
full of beefy, beer-bellied men wearing boots and
giant cowboy hats.
This place was
unbelievable.
What did Joanne like about this place? Every person in the room had been born with a beer bottle in
their hand and a tattoo on their arm. Why would Joanne, the finest Disco Dancer I had ever met,
dream of trading her superstar status for this?
A woman who could spin faster than a speeding
bullet had been reduced to dancing backwards at a snail's pace.
What was she thinking?
Over the past
few years, I had visited some pretty strange places
including a gay bar, a biker bar, the Jet Set Club, and the
Gangster
Dance Party. But the Cactus Club
took the cake.
This was the worst culture shock I had
ever experienced. After the longest twenty
minutes of my life, I apologized to Joanne
and said I had
to leave. I felt guilty when I saw the disappointment on Joanne's pretty face.
However I
couldn't take it any more. My bad attitude towards Western
dancing had just grown worse.
As I drove home, I
was consumed with bitterness. My
beloved World of Disco was getting
ditched for this? How was this even possible? Angry and incredulous,
this
bizarre turn of events made no sense
at all. Coming here tonight had been a giant mistake.
In retrospect, a
trip to the Gates of Hell could not have shaken me worse than
the Cactus Club. Right now, I felt just
as
depressed as the day they threw me out of Graduate
School. Quite frankly, if the Cactus Club was the face of
Country-Western, then the Final Countdown to my career had begun.
So much for my Magic Carpet Ride. The
end was in sight.
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