The Way We Were: University of Maryland, 1976-1980

Special Guest Correspondence by Anne Rajagopalan
College life is always evolving. The 1960’s had gentle acoustic, deeply meaningful music; flowing homemade peasant dresses; a Oneness with Nature. Disco burst through that hippy-dippy folk scene in a whirlwind multimedia extravaganza of pounding, electronic music; ultraviolet strobes; fog machines; and colored lasers splintering off a spinning mirror ball.

These lyrics bear witness to the seismic change that was Disco.

1960’s:  “How many ears must one man have before he can hear people cry?  How many deaths will it take till he knows that too many people have died? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind.” (Bob Dylan)

Disco:  “You can ring my bell, ring my bell. Ring my bell. Ding-dong-ding.”  (Anita Ward)

1960’s:  “Where have all the soldiers gone? Gone to graveyards, every one. Oh, when will they ever learn?” (Peter, Paul, & Mary)

Disco: “Try your luck, don’t be a cluck. Disco, Disco, Disco, Disco, Disco, Disco, Disco Duck.”  (Rick Dees & his Cast of Idiots)

1960’s:  “In the naked light I saw ten thousand people, maybe more.  People talking without speaking; People hearing without listening; People writing songs that voices never shared. No one dared disturb the sound of silence.” (Simon & Garfunkel)

Disco:  “Shake shake shake.  Shake shake shake.  Shake your booty!  Aaah! Do your duty. Shake shake shake.  Shake shake shake.”  (KC & the Sunshine Band.)

Our University of Maryland disco, The Pub, opened every weekend in one of the campus dining halls after dining hours.  My friend’s brother, the manager, gave us free pitchers. For us insiders, the black light made for a lot of fun. We could easily spot anyone with a fake tooth or crown. We could watch Awkward Disco Moments unfold. Say, for instance, a girl realized her white bra had lit up like a beacon for toasted guys to ogle her boobs.  We’d watch her self-consciously adopt various ad hoc, goofy arms-across-chest dance moves. The disappointed guys were even funnier. Usually they were dumfounded that she’d sussed them out and the show was over.

The Pub featured a raised, under-lit plastic dance floor. After only one month, the plastic was all scratched up, but still.  That floor was pretty cool.  Dancing on it was not. After a few hours, condensed sweat dripping off the dining hall ceiling made the plastic slick.  Disaster awaited the unwary — or wasted. A line dance called The Bus Stop had a sequence of steps which ended with a clap, kick out, and quick quarter-turn to face a new wall.  Sometimes people on the end of the line would clap, kick out, & tumble right off the dance floor. Other trouble resulted from The Bump, a dance where fanciful arm movements accompany a light hip tap, or “bump,” against your partner on alternate beats of music. As the evening’s drinking progressed, The Bump often became physically intimate. If a couple became too involved with themselves, their vigorous bumps could knock over entire groups of dancers like bowling pins. More dangerous still was the “waist wrap” in a dance called The Hustle. In that move, the guy wraps his arm around the girl’s waist, tightly spirals her in against him, then sends her spinning out like a top before he catches her hand at the last second to pull her back for the next step sequence. Occasionally a drunk guy couldn’t quite catch his partner so she’d be flung full-speed off the floor — Splat!  Right into the stored tables and chairs. Once the whole pile came crashing down and brought a halt to all the fun.

Other hazards awaited as well. While the flowing, nature-inspired, fringed clothing of the ‘60s reminded one of spritely wood nymphs, disco clothing was synthetic, fluorescent, frenetic, and totally copacetic. Most girls wore the latest polyester fabrics in a slinky wrap-around Qiana dress, or a blouse with metallic threads. No amount of sparkle, sequins, and glitter was overkill. Scarves, carefully knotted in a careless manner, hung loosely from our collars. When we reached for our partners, sparks would fly!  Aching for love?  No, not so much.  In wintertime, dancing on that thick acrylic floor in our synthetic clothing could build up enough static to taser a horse.

Guys might wear an Italian Horn on a thick gold chain under a polyester shirt unbuttoned to show chest hair. (Or in an attempt to show hair, anyway.)  Their shirts featured an allover print of either a themed photo montage or an airbrushed design. A few other college guys could not resist ads promoting Leisure Suit polyester gabardine as “inexpensive & EZ Care.”  A Leisure Suit might feature gaudy fruit-rollup-y colors, oversized cuffs or collars, large flapped pockets, contrast stitching, or every one of these treats at once.  Oh Yeah.

Times were simpler in the years of disco flash. Our drunken mishaps and clueless clothing occurred long before cable TV, personal computers, or expensive coffee. I just thank John Travolta, the Bee Gees, and all other disco gods that our craziness ended before it was possible to preserve everything for posterity in the cloud.

Images via and via.