SQUARE
TO THE
DANCE
LGBTQ AND STRAIGHT DANCERS
AT SPIN CYCLE SQUARES
PHOTO BY JESLYN LEMKE
Do-si-do in the gay community
BY JESLYN LEMKE
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A
m I allowed to fall in love with a 60-plus gay man on the
dance floor? Can I do that?
I, a person who identifies as a girl, went to a gay square
dancing club on July 16 in Springfield with my own partner,
who identifies as a boy. I have the dance skills of a large
hyena. This soon became apparent as the caller paired us off with
separate partners.
Patrick Finn, my aging square dance partner with a grey walrus
mustache, had the kindest, gentlest blue eyes I ever done seen. His
trembling hands took mine and slowly led me through the steps. I
was a gay square dance virgin. Old Finn got me through that first
10 minutes of do-si-do, encouraging me at every blunder. I sighed
a little when we had to stop holding hands.
My partner I came with, meanwhile, was fending for himself
between two aggressively sweet old ladies, one who had a big red
pin on her shirt that read: “BOY.”
Spin Cycle Squares is a gay square dancing group that meets
every Sunday evening in Springfield at Emerald Square and Round
Dance Center, a worn-down structure off Yolanda Street. A tiny
plaque above one of the best parking spots read, “caller,” the
traditional leader in square dance who calls out dance moves. This
dedicated group of 50- and 60-somethings meets to chit chat, eat
some snacks and dance for 10 minutes at a time, once a week.
Gay square dancing came about in the 1980s as an emergent
space for the LGBTQ community to feel at ease while square
dancing.
“Two men dancing together is still uncomfortable for a lot
of straight clubs, but that’s been slowly changing,” says Tim
Matteson, the dance caller for Spin Cycle. “If someone wants to
come with their boyfriend or their girlfriend as a couple, they can
do that with the gay square dance club.
“Our club is about half straight and half gay,” Matteson
continues. “Right now we are low on women. We’ve had more
lesbians in the past. We’ve had transgender people. So it’s a place
where people can do a fun social activity with other people as
themselves and not feel threatened.”
Somehow I was expecting more flirting, skin and alcohol.
However, the group feels more like a laid back church social than
the Wayward Lamb at 1 am. Someone brought two cartons of
strawberries from the farmer’s market and set it next to the muffin
squares and open jar of Twizzlers.
“I’m gay and I like dancing with gay people,” Finn says with
a laugh when we sit down for an interview. “It’s a lot more fun.”
Finn, single, drives down from his tiny farm in Lebanon every
Sunday to dance and socialize with some of his good buddies. He
sits across from his friend Kurt Jensen, a greying older man with an
earring in his left ear. “He’s the biggest troublemaker you’ll ever
find,” he says loudly of Jensen.
Jensen doesn’t look up. “He’s also a little hard of hearing,” Finn
finishes with a giggle.
Matteson attended dancing that evening in a yellow Hawaiian
button-up and a tidy mustache. Matteson, a gay man, has been a
square dance caller in Oregon for the past 10 years.
“Gay clubs have their own particular language as part of the
stuff we do,” he says. “In most gay clubs, do-si-do is done as a
highland fling,” a gesture where one curves the arm above one’s
head, much like in highland dancing.
He calmly calls out each dance move from the stage, crooning a
little Dean Martin to his dancers.
“I don’t know why I like you like I do. I don’t know why, I just
do,” he sings low into the microphone.
Later, I ask Matteson if he has met anyone through square
dancing in Eugene.
“I have not,” he says. “I actually know people who met their
partners through square dancing. In a smaller community like this,
it’s just like anything else. It’s hard to meet people that you haven’t
already met before.”
Each weekend the group president decides if the dance group
has enough attendees (you need eight) to pull off a square dance
session for Sunday night. It’s free to attend, and one can simply
walk in without signing up.
When we go to leave, someone asks, “You aren’t going to
stay for the whole thing?” Several people warmly invite us to
“come back anytime.” I’m touched and make promises to return.
Everyone is so goddamn nice here, you’d think I was at church.
Old Finn gives me a warm hug goodbye.
Finn, if you are reading this, I will come back so we can dance
together again. ■
eugeneweekly.com • A ugust 10, 2017
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