Senior Dance Junkies

Melanie Chartoff on her community of veteran performers in L.A. who once studied with Eugene “Luigi” Facciuto—and who, in their later years, keep showing up for class.

Melanie Chartoff (center) with fellow “senior dance junkies.” Photo ©Rusty Frank.

The two flights of stairs are the big disqualifier. If you can’t do the stairs, you can’t do the class. The first landing, thirteen steps up, is where the decision gets made.

“Pass me by,” a former Martha Graham dancer says. “I don’t want to slow you down, and don’t rush me. After all, I’m 91.”

A chorus of organ recitals—complaints about hips, hearts, guts, and other body parts—fills the air as we drag on our dance shoes. “My ass has passed away,” says one woman, patting her flanks. “I’m a SAG member now for sure,” puns another, gesturing to her chest.

New arrivals with interesting histories get pointed out. Not “Who is she?” but “Who was she?” we whisper. There’s a certain confident carriage that comes with artistic accomplishments and years of dance. Several were in A Chorus Line, some in Sweet Charity on stage and film, and there’s a Bob Fosse dancer who starred in the film All That Jazz. (Bob Fosse was also a Luigi student.) One was the original Curley McDimple off-Broadway, another the original Ginger on Gilligan’s Island. One teacher, Walter Painter, choreographed the Tonys, the Emmys, the Oscars, and Ann Miller. His wife, Charlene Painter, coached Ann Margaret and many more.

Melanie Chartoff as a go-go girl for the Crystals, age 16. Photo ©Joseph Perrone.

I was a go-go girl with the Ronettes and the Crystals as a teen, then “a singer who moved well” on and off-Broadway, later starring in West Coast Premieres of New York hits, (Big River, Beyond Therapy, March of the Falsettos, Sunday in the Park with George, The Vagina Monologues in Chicago) and several hit TV series.

We all have in common that we studied with Eugene “Luigi” Facciuto, who codified the jazz moves still fresh in our muscle memories decades later. Luigi, who would have been 101 this year, was a dancer and choreographer in movies and stage shows of the 40’s, who rehabilitated himself from a paralyzing auto accident with moves he created for coordination, strength, and soulful sensuality. They’re still the basis for American jazz dancing today, and they’re still taught at Luigi’s Jazz Centre, now on West 72^nd Street in Manhattan.

Going to dance classes in Los Angeles still feels like a necessity in my late 70’s, but, like many of my fellow students, I started in the early 1970’s in New York City by studying with Luigi, mimicking his amazing body, adoring his mangled, funny face.

We favor our best parts, protect our infirmities, and always strive to stretch farther, to move our souls to the music. We know it’s good for our brains, our balance, our coordination, our connection to others. We may walk in white-haired, wrinkled, and inches shorter than in our primes, but when we dance together we are hot stuff.

I lived on the Upper West Side where I could walk to his classes and to ballet lessons near Lincoln Center twice a week, a way to stay on my toes for auditions. I could walk to singing lessons ten blocks north, where I’d work my once four-octave range weekly. I took the bus down to acting classes with Stella Adler, feeling fortunate to study with the greats of my day. Being a triple threat was key to working in theater in New York City. You had to be a skilled singer-dancer-actor so that you didn’t have to be a waiter.

Wednesday Class, Hollywood Dance Center. Photo ©Rusty Frank.

These days I’m grateful to be able to drop in on Luigi’s Los Angeles acolytes, who continue to spread his jazz gospel with his sayings and their bodies: Jeni Jones, Hama, Jilly Strauss, Kate Wright, Michael Rooney, son of Mickey, and Carrie Madson who quotes Luigi often:

“Never stop moving. Even when you’re standing still, feel the movement inside.”

Luigi’s spoken instructions on a jazz track get us onto the studio floor. We know this warmup music so well that we sing along as we move in sweet synch with the stretches. We favor our best parts, protect our infirmities, and always strive to stretch farther, to move our souls to the music. We know it’s good for our brains, our balance, our coordination, our connection to others. We may walk in white-haired, wrinkled, and inches shorter than in our primes, but when we dance together we are hot stuff.

“Whooo! Yeah, baby. You go, girl,” we cheer each other on when we separate into groups to perform the day’s combination.

The late Eugene “Luigi” Facciuto.

Another Luigi-ism:

“Dance what you feel. Then you’ll be original and have something to say.”

Although my twinkle-toed pirouettes have danced out of the picture and my hip doesn’t hop as fast or high, I adore these classes when I can get to them, and not just for the dance part—for the talk part. There’s an inspiring group I call The Merry Widows of the West. Collectively, they’ve lost a child, a grandchild, many a dog and cat. A few have lost a husband. Some have lost two. One has lost three. Still, they dance. They have to.

I listen to snatches of their conversations “His kids are still loyal to the first wife, the saint, the beauty,” chortles one elder. “Lucky for her she died before she got decrepit.” Another grouses, “I was his caretaker twenty-years, the kids never lifted a finger. ‘Oh, she’ll handle it,’ they figured. But now that he’s gone, they’re all over the house, putting stickers with their names on the furniture, contesting the will. I didn’t write the will for Chrissakes. He did!”

More from Luigi:

“To dance, put your hand on your heart and listen to the rhythm of your soul.”

Melanie Chartoff & Walter Painter. Photo ©Melanie Chartoff.

We lost Charlene Painter last year, too soon after she recovered from hip surgery. She was still leading us at 82, and we left a phantom space at the front of the memorial class for her. We took a moment of silence. We wept, then we leapt into the routine which she led so well, and we stopped between sequences to hug her husband, Walter Painter, whenever he needed it. He plans to retire soon and “Curley McDimple” (Robbie Morgan) will keep us moving. As Walter reminds us:

“It doesn’t matter if it looks good or not; it’s that your spirit is engaged; we’re going to emphasize spirit more than technique.” And, “It’s important that when you make your exit, you look like you’re going someplace you really like.”

Words to live by. We all intend to be bodies in motion with emotion, as long as we can, with Luigi’s words for the ages reassuring us:

“Learn to listen to your body. Never force it to do more than it wants to do.”

So, time to update Jane Fonda’s indelible advice from 1982, “No pain, no gain.” At this stage no pain is the gain. And simply moving to music together is the life-affirming joy.

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Previously Melanie Chartoff wrote “Know Your Nonagenarians,” “Putting My Outdated Underthings Out to Pasture,” “For Better and For Worse #4: My Love, My Executioner,” “Growth Spurts in Reverse,” and “Raising Mom,” for Oldster.