PASSIONATE RATIONS

I remember what I had for dessert on May 14, 2006.

That day is indelibly etched into my memory because it was the weekend we brought Frankie to town.

Frankie Manning—one of the pioneers of the swing dance known as Lindy Hop. A legend who arose from the Savoy ballroom of 1930s/1940s Harlem and who danced his way across the decades into the hearts, minds and feet of swing lovers worldwide.

He almost made it to his 95th birthday, which would be on May 26, but his own feet gave out this past Monday and he left this dance floor for others more ethereal.

Which makes me cherish my memories of him all the more.

I first met Frankie in the late 1990s. A swing revival was filling dance halls and the Stevens sisters of Pasadena, California, were offering lessons to the eager masses. Tammy Stevens was a friend of Frankie’s, one of those responsible for bringing him out of long retirement and back to the swing limelight. It was there I learned from him the solo jazz routine known as “Shim Sham” and danced with him as he gave pointers during one of the lindy hop classes. I’ve seen and interacted with him many times since.

Always gracious and kind, he was old school—treat your dance partner like they’re the most important thing in the world—because they are, at least for a song. The love and respect he gave came back to him in spades.

When we moved east, we became involved in the local dance scene and grew strong enough to support bringing Frankie to our own dance floor, which we did three years ago for an afternoon of workshops (lindy hop, shim sham, and Frankie’s favorite moves), followed by that memorable dinner during which I not only got to sit next to the man I so admired, but actually talk to him for more than a moment in a dance rotation.

In honor of his birthday, we requested the restaurant—Easthampton, Massachusetts’ own Apollo Grill—to make his favorite dessert, sweet potato pie. I remember his eyes lit up when he saw the burning candle atop the spicy-sweet Southern pastry, which he proceeded to share with the entire table. It was even better for the company.

That would have been enough to cherish, but dinner was topped off with story time—during which Frankie shared the moments of his life that made him into the dancer and man we knew and loved. A dessert for the soul.

Thank you, Frankie. My life, and so many lives (and meals), would be less without you, as these other stories make clear.