. . . While Folk Dance Fans Strut Their Stuff

The four women did a flirtatious, rhythmic walk on their heels, holding their handkerchiefs in front of their faces.

The four men, wearing the traditional Cypriot vraka bloomers and embroidered vests, stomped and clapped, hissing and kicking their black, tasseled boots high in the air. For the finale, they did the candili , cautiously dancing with filled water glasses stacked on their heads.

The 150 or so people gathered at the Folk Dance Cafe cheered and applauded, but when the performance by Toumba, the La Mesa-based dance ensemble of Greek-Americans from around southern California, was finished, the audience eagerly reclaimed the dance floor for themselves.

Enthusiasts say that folk dancing has fallen on hard times. But during a recent weekend at the Folk Dance Cafe, at 2927 Meade Ave. in North Park, it didn’t look that way.

“I’d drive down here every night if I could,” declared Faith Hagadorn of Escondido, who said she has been coming to the Folk Dance Cafe for about a year. “It’s a wonderful release from the tension of my job. I love the people. I love the sweat. It’s wonderful exercise.”

“People spend a lot more money a lot of times, and they don’t have nearly this much fun,” agreed Margot Dukleth, a Vista travel agent.

Hagadorn persuaded 77-year-old Rose Vicilich to take a short break from her exhilarated dancing.

“I say to everybody, I hope I die dancing--just drop on the floor and die happy,” said Vicilich, who wore a flower in her hair, an embroidered blouse and a ribbon-trimmed skirt. A grandmother of six and great-grandmother of two, she came to the United States from Yugoslavia at the age of 20. Vicilich said she had wanted to dance and sing professionally.

“My parents didn’t believe in it. My mother said I’m supposed to cook and bake,” she said. “If they let me be a folk professional dancer, I don’t think I would be alive. My heart would (have) burst.

“I think I can dance every night. If somebody tells me, what do you want, eat or dance, I would dance!”

Bob Aizuss, 32, a vocational rehabilitation counselor, sat with his feet propped up on a chair. He and a partner had been doing vigorous Israeli dance steps and, he said, his feet hurt. “ When I dance, I like to fly. It’s a release. It’s freedom,” he said.

In spite of such enthusiasm, many folk dancers worry about waning interest.

“A lot of areas of folk dancing are falling off all over the country,” said Mike Ryan, a dancer and aficionado of folk dancing for 12 years. He was in the now-disbanded exhibition group called Cygany, which performed dances from 22 countries.

“Many of the places that people used to dance at just aren’t available anymore,” said Tim Whorf, whose specialty is Balkan dancing. “And it seems like there’s a shortage of good teachers.”

Dancers repeatedly mentioned the recent closing of Intersection, a folk dance coffeehouse in Los Angeles that had been in business since the 1960s.

“Folk dancing is not a good business to be in,” said Vicki Maheu. “The numbers are just lower. It’s kind of on a down right now, though some of the specialties, like Hungarian and Scandinavian, are very big now in California.”

Maheu, 36, started the Folk Dance Cafe nearly three years ago, when a Greek restaurant and dance hall moved from the building.

“We decided we wanted to keep this place. It has a nice dance floor, and people were used to coming here,” she said. A graduate of UCLA who is pursuing her master’s degree in dance ethnology, Maheu has been folk dancing since 1958 and teaches many of the classes and workshops at the cafe.

But with a monthly overhead of close to $2,000, keeping the cafe going is often a struggle, even with most staff working on a volunteer basis.

“The cafe only barely breaks even now,” Maheu said. “I’ve been trying to increase the food thing, in hopes of getting more business. But most people here come here to dance, and they dance so hard they don’t want to eat.”

Daytime rental of the cafe for other kinds of dance classes would help, she said.

In spite of its near shoestring existence, the Folk Dance Cafe has its die-hard regulars, many of whom come to dance three and four nights a week.

“It’s fun, if you like crowds that tend to be friendly, crowds where you have no smoke, crowds where people don’t drink a lot,” said Aizuss, who began folk dancing nine years ago. “And you have room. I think this is the best place to come in San Diego, but I’m very biased. Elsewhere, you have to be at least 80 years old to fit in.”

The following evening there were a good many of the same people at the cafe. Earlier in the day Karin Brennesvik, a teacher visiting from Kongsburg, Norway, had presented a workshop on springar and gangar dances from the Telemark valley, so the night was devoted primarily to Scandinavian dancing. Dancers were eager to practice the steps they had learned and to take advantage of the live accompaniment by Hardanger fiddle-player Loretta Kelley.

A member of the Aman Folk Ensemble for 10 years, Kelley spent 1979 in Norway learning to play the Hardanger fiddle, which has four or five sympathetic strings beneath the four strings that are bowed. The instruments are usually topped with a carved dragon’s head.

“Most Norwegians actually don’t like this music,” said Kelley, a computer programmer from Los Angeles. “They consider it be hick or cat-yowling music. . . . It’s less popular than bluegrass is here; it’s more like Appalachian fiddling music, mountain music, but I consider it to be much more interesting than that, and it’s got a much longer tradition.”

Volunteer Bill Boling, an engineer who prefers energetic Israeli, Bulgarian and Rumanian dances, was manning the refreshment counter. He easily identified most people in the cafe, not only by name and occupation but by the kind of dancing they preferred.

“Folk dancing tends to attract scientists, other professionals and weirdos,” Boling said with a laugh. He said he dances at the cafe three or four nights a week, and was in a folk dance performing group before be broke his neck hang-gliding.

In spite of his neck brace, he headed onto the dance floor as often as possible.

Many active dancers say they participate in dance camps, workshops and performing groups.

“I’ve got activity-itis,” said JoAnn Koppany, a Scandinavian dance enthusiast who recently moved to San Diego from the Los Angeles area. “It’s sort of consumed my life. It’s not just dancing. It’s the people I’ve met. We tend to do other things together too.

Special events coming up on the Folk Dance Cafe calendar include a Greek workshop and party on Nov. 16, with teacher Joe Kaloyanides Graziosi, and a Hungarian workshop and party on Dec. 14, with teacher Andor Czompo.

“Andor Czompo is responsible for introducing most of the Hungarian dances to the folk dance crowd,” Maheu said.