Emil’s thumping the Wurlitzer and the vibrating bases drive the rhythm through your body. A boy at the roller rink’s edge skates over and places his arm around your waist. “You want to do the next dance?” Giddy with teenage delight you skate off together. It’s Friday night at the rink and where, if you don’t fit in at high-school, your social life begins.
High-school years for my friend, Grace, and me became bearable because of those evenings. The bus carried us overMilwaukee’sNorthAvenueBridgeto the Riverview Skating Rink. Steep concrete steps led down to the river’s edge where a shabby monster of a building belched out Emil’s beat. Inside, rolling wheels bruising wood planks created a dusty, nostril assaulting odor that clung to your clothes, and yet, beckoned us.
Grace’s strict parents took issue with short skating skirts that scarcely covered one’s hinny, but under persistent pestering allowed her to wear slacks. I sewed my skimpy skirts topped by buttoned-down-the-back sweaters…such hot stuff. I daringly smoked my first and last cigarette at the rink and learned how to flirt and gently say, “No thank you,” to boys much too old for me.
The rink was a ‘50’s melting pot thrusting together the offspring of parents who did not look kindly on their offspring crossing narrow cultural and religious boundaries. My generation ignored those rules and formed friendships based on Rule #1: showing up and Rule #2: keeping one’s butt off the floor.
My first skating partner was Polish/Catholic; I was Lutheran and soon we were going steady at and off the rink. Unfortunately, his father discovered our mismatched religions and banned him from the Riverview (See Rule #1).
However, the roller rink offered up an Italian/Catholic and my mother sniped, “Can’t you find any Lutherans there?” Apparently, religion trumped German ancestry. Two years later his family moved toMichigan, dashing our plans to enterWisconsin’s Roller Skating Championships.
My expectations for another skating partner were foiled when my college boyfriend flunked Rule #2. After several roller rink dates, he still clutched my sleeve while his knees skimmed the floor. Decision time…Skating Partner or Boy Friend?
Mom asked, “Is he Lutheran?”
“I think so.”
“Well, there you are. Who cares if he can’t skate?” Head coyly tilted, she added, “Any chance he would be German?”
A miracle – two out of two!
But, the real miracle for Grace and me was our roller rink gang kept our self-esteem intact during those years when we couldn’t infiltrate the high school “in” group.
P.S. I wed my non-skater, Grace married one, too, and now we circle the rink only in our memories.