The Good Ship Wowwypop

When most people think of tap dancing, they think of that adorable moppet Shirley Temple dancing to the tune of the "Good Ship Lollypop". As a child I had a speech impediment where I pronounced the L's as W's.  Lollypop in my world was Wowwypop, until I graduated from the speech therapy class at Starbuck elementary. I was in that class much longer than I needed to be because I enjoyed it and thought the teacher was nice, so I feigned having the problem as long as I could.

Becoming a tap dancer was not my idea.  It was my mother's.  This was a solution to a problem.  I had become a voracious eater around the age of 8.  While I was proud of myself as I kept increasing in size, thinking it made me a big girl, I was actually becoming a BIG girl.  I was soon going to go beyond the size 16 Pretty Plus Toughskins from the Sears children's department and go into adult sizes.  My pediatrician told her no more pizza and chocolate cake. I cried.  My mom didn't have the heart to enforce this so she thought physical activity might be a more workable solution.

I started at the Dee's Dancing Academy in Watertown, NY just before entering the fourth grade.  It was in an old church, next to the old Sears building where my grandma worked to get me the discount on the clothes that I kept outgrowing.  I still remember the scuffed wooden floors, the musty tumbling mats piled on one another, and my dark haired dance teacher Joan Koster.  In my mind she was Watertown's own Liza Minelli, who was always patient and kind with her young charges.

Around the same time, I became infatuated with the Bay City Rollers. My very first 45 rpm record was "Saturday Night", which I played until it wore out. While this may seem unrelated, it was the beginning of the end of my dance career.  

I was torn between two loves...the dreamy Les McKeown (second from the right) and the mysterious Eric Faulkner (far right).  Even early on, I had a thing for the lead singers and the guitar players of a band.  I was incensed when my classmates would call them the Gay City Rollers, even though this was more accurate than I could have ever imagined.  I had no idea what the word "gay" meant or why it might be that none of them seemed to have any girlfriends.  In my mind they had just not found "the one", and that person could be me.  I finally settled on Eric because for some reason he seemed more attainable and had a je ne sais quoi.

I was a member of the Bay City Roller fan club, based in their hometown of Edinburgh, Scotland.  This is where I sent my soppy love letters to Eric, telling him why I should be Mrs. Faulkner. 

In my unsophisticated and childish mind, I schemed for a way to meet Eric.  I had the fan club address, what if I somehow was able to mail myself to that address in Scotland?  There were several problems with this plan. I could ask my sister to help me get into a large enough crate to mail, but surely she would tattle, she always did.  I asked my parents if a person could mail themselves (just asking for a friend) and they explained how the cargo hold would drop to sub-zero temperatures and the person would die.  I had to find another way.

If I became a famous dancer, then I would be able to run in the same circles that the Bay City Rollers did.  I had a dance recital coming up at the Holy Family school, perhaps there would be a talent scout in the audience, who would notice me above all the other Yankee Doodle Dancers.

The evening of the recital, I was to perform to the song "What Have They Done To My Song, Ma" by Melanie, along with Cindy Kendrew and Lori Parsons.  Due to unforseen circumstances, neither girl could dance that night.  My dance instructor offered me an out, but I believed in the old adage that the show must go on.  Secretly, I was thrilled.  Some may have believed me to be a shrinking violet, but I was more like the egomaniacal Mary Katherine Gallagher.  "Superstar!"  This would be my ticket to the life that I always wanted.  I did go out and dance that night, and was given hearty applause by the supportive local audience that mistook my bravado for courage.  This was going to be my ticket to Scotland and becoming Eric's bride.  I couldn't wait to wear a tartan wedding gown and walk down the aisle.  I understood from Tiger Beat that he lived in a converted windmill with Woody Wood, who of course would have to be evicted upon our bethrothal.

As you may have predicted, the agents never came calling.  Dance was not to be my ticket out of the north country.  At least I would be able to see the Bay City Rollers on TV until I could find another way to meet them. Television appearances were rare, but imagine my excitement when it was announced that they would have their own show, The Krofft Superstar Hour in 1978, where the Rollers would perform comedy skits and musical numbers.  Only one snag.  It was scheduled for the exact same time as my dance lessons.

In the beginning I feigned illness, I didn't feel well enough to go to dance class.  I knew that I could not use the excuse that I would miss the Bay City Rollers show as it wouldn't be accepted.  Remember, no one had a VCR at this point, if you missed a show, you missed it forever.  I pretended that I hated dancing and didn't want to do it any longer.  Perhaps if I had just been honest, I could have had another time slot but at that time, the Rollers were more important to me than dancing.

It really was not a loss to the entertainment world for me to quit dancing, I don't think I was a very good dancer.  And eventually my love for the Bay City Rollers faded. They would next be replaced by the Bee Gees. Once again, I had dual interests.  There was Barry with the lion like mane and lead singer, but then there was the introspective Robin.  While Robin was not the most attractive by any means, he certainly seemed to be the most sensitive and his voice sent chills down my spine.  I don't know if my love for the Bee Gees made me change any possible career paths, but it wouldn't be my last infatuation.  After the Bee Gees, I discovered The Who.  The same pattern repeating, I had competing loves.  Sexy rock god Roger Daltrey with his blond curly mane and bare chest was an obvious choice, and I was clearly drawn to him.  But as usual, there was a guitarist, Pete Townshend, who was the more introspective and intellectual, and his songs spoke directly to my soul.  

I am still obsessed with the Who, it never went away.  Yet I am pleased to report I am a somewhat functional human being and my love for the Who has never made me miss out on life.  In fact, I met some of my besties because of my interest in the band.  The kid turned out to be alright.