Around And Around Again

By Nancy R. Gibbs

Way up high in Manhattan's Rainbow Room, where troubles melt like lemon drops and everyone looks more handsome than they really are, Lee Iacocca is doing a passable fox-trot with his daughter. "It's great," he says of the chance to retrieve the old dances. "To me they never went away. We've just had a hiatus for 15 years." This ultimate nightclub reopened last year after a $20 million renovation, and now receives 1,000 calls a day for reservations. "It's what you wanted to have money to spend on," says Joe Baum, mastermind of the dazzling art-deco aerie. Says psychologist Penny Binn, who dances at the Rainbow Room every week with her husband of 27 years: "I don't know of a place where there are so many unattainable things in one spot."

Well, not so unattainable as they used to be. After near extinction in the 1960s and '70s, ballroom dancing has waltzed back into fashion. "Almost every romantic comedy movie I've seen lately has a ballroom-dance scene," observes Hilary Ginsberg, co-owner of New York City's Roseland, with one of the largest dance floors in the world. Across the land, nightclubs are revising their programs to meet the demand for a place to swing, mambo, tango or waltz. Business at private dance studios is booming, with an estimated 600,000 students signing up for lessons this year. "We have had to increase our staff this past year by almost 50% to accommodate the growing demand," says Richard Mundt, co-owner of Fred Astaire Dance World in Phoenix.

Everyone has an explanation: ballroom dancing is more challenging than aerobics, safer than singles bars, gentler than jogging and more stimulating than Friday-night television. "The return of ballroom," says New York City bandleader Stan Rubin, "is a search for the best of what was."

Young people in particular are finding more occasions that require some expertise on the dance floor; at the least, they want to be able to waltz at their weddings. Rubin's swing group plays at about 100 such receptions a year. "I ask 22- to 27-year-olds how much rock 'n' roll they want, and often they say, 'None.' They want to do the fox-trot and the lindy." For some it may turn out to be a professional necessity; young executives bring their husbands or wives to business dinners and find that they are both out of step.

The dynamic of the dance floor can be intergenerational and noncommittal. "It's a great way to get to know someone without having to date them," suggests Marge Gabbert, owner of Fascinating Rhythm, a dance studio in San Francisco. Says Marsha Dubrow, a Washington free-lance writer: "This is sensual without being sexual. Certainly fear of AIDS is a concern, but I also think that the complexity of the times and the epidemic fear of commitment have sparked the resurgence of ballroom."

A fitness cult may even be growing around ballroom dancing as a contact sport. Some athletes find it a welcome break from grueling training regimens. Former Los Angeles Rams offensive tackle Doug France discovered that "dancing helped my concentration in football." Paul von Beroldingen, a public relations consultant in San Francisco, maintains that "dancing helps my running because it improves my posture, and running helps my dancing because I build stamina -- it takes a lot to get through a cha-cha." Other converts appreciate the discipline and challenge of an activity that cannot be faked. "Ballroom dancing cannot be learned by watching American Bandstand," says David Allmuth, a Sacramento construction worker. "The moves are articulate, not haphazard like rock-'n'-roll dancing."

But for most people the pleasure lies in the atmospherics, the dressing up and stepping out. After a few years of deafening disco, couples appreciate chandeliers that do not revolve, single-sex bathrooms, peachy lighting, a buttery floor, music they can talk over or sing to. Some people take care to dress the part, the men in black tie, the women in suede-bottom shoes and vintage gowns, or handmade black taffeta Gay Nineties skirts set off with antique purses and peacock feathers in their hair.

"I was living in slacks," says Joanne West, 42, a suburban housewife. "I was in desperate need of dressing up." Now every weekend she and her husband head downtown to Chicago's new club, Karl's Satin Doll, for an elegant evening. "We were falling into the couch-potato thing," she says, "but this has helped us get up and out." So even a sofa spud can be a sentimentalist at heart . . .

With reporting by Patricia Ferry/Los Angeles and Sue Raffety/New York