The Day The Music Died. Again.
BY Alex McRae

Redemption may be right around the corner for resigned Senator Larry Craig (R-Utah), but he'd better not seek any sympathy from me.

Police reports said he attempted to solicit sex by moving his foot and waving his hand in a Minneapolis airport men's room.

But Craig did far worse than looking for love in all the wrong places. He may have murdered a high school tradition. In fact, if my senior prom had been held at the Minneapolis airport, every one of us would have been busted. What a night. The gym was dank and dark. Air-conditioning was a wistful dream. Not a soul cared. We showed up in our prom night best, a few hundred sweaty kids ready to shed our high school shackles and change the world. Anticipation and hormones were running high, but things got off to a slow start. In those days, dances were death sentences for boys.

The girls actually practiced the intricate steps with each other, so they'd be ready to strut their stuff when the chance arose.

The guys weren't quite so enthusiastic. The only reason we went to high school dances was the chance to do a slow number with Sharon Shaver, who was built like the proverbial brick house.

The band started off with a few fast numbers. The girls jumped up, and the guys stayed planted on the bleachers. The lone exception was Bob Turnipseed, who figured he could earn some bonus points (and maybe an extra squeeze from Sharon Shaver) by being the only guy on the floor. It looked like he'd come down with a chigger infestation and was itching in places he couldn't scratch. After a minute or two, even the most desperate girls backed away in horror.

When the dance floor remained empty for the next few tunes, the band finally gave in and played a slow one. The guys who weren't killed in the rush to grab Sharon Shaver found themselves on the floor looking sheepish. The girls finally took pity, and the slow dances started in earnest.

It was the opportunity the band had been waiting for. Once the dance floor was full, they shifted gears and launched into a set of tunes so irresistible even the guys shook it like there was no tomorrow.

The Twist was just a warmup. When the Mashed Potato started, even Turnipseed found his footing. The hits kept coming, and the excitement grew to fever pitch as we leaped, lurched and loafed our way through the Pony, the Monkey, the Fish the Swim, the Alley Oop, Alligator and the Bristol Stomp.

Just when it seemed like things couldn't get better, they did. The band kicked off the song we'd all been waiting for...the one even the guys could do without coaching. The Hokey Pokey...

"You put your right foot in,

You put your right foot out,

You put you right foot in

And you shake it all about,

You do the Hokey Pokey

And you turn yourself around

That what it's all about."

What a tune. Before the song was over, we'd all put in, put out and shook our right hands, right feet, left hands, left feet, heads, butts and entire bodies.

We thought it was good clean fun. And it's exactly what Senator Craig just pleaded guilty to.

Frankly I'm surprised he didn't go to court and use the American Bandstand defense.

"Sure, I tapped my foot and waved my hand, your honor. But I was only doing the Hokey Pokey. Isn't that what it's all about?"

Not any more.

Once a dance, now cause for criminal charges. Some say the world is getting better. I say if we've reached a point where you can get busted for doing the Hokey Pokey the end can't come soon enough.