In the 80 years since the St. Petersburg Coliseum first opened, some big names have walked through its doors. Count Basie. Frank Sinatra. Duke Ellington. Today, the events calendar has a different tune. Bead shows. Cook-offs. Book fairs. But on Wednesday afternoons — even if the big names aren't up on stage — the historic ballroom's oak dance floor still gets used. Every week, for the 150 or so senior citizens willing to pay the $5 entrance fee, the Coliseum opens its doors for a tea dance, and a glimpse into its own glory days.
But last week's dance wasn't just another slot on the schedule — it was the main event. In honor of Veterans' Day and the Coliseum's 80th anniversary, the tea dance on the 10th was free — and the staff was expecting quite the crowd.
They kept the lights on at first, so that the small group of senor citizens who had paid $1 to take dance lessons could watch their feet step quick-quick … slow. But once all of the seniors had filed in — over 800 of them — someone in the Coliseum finally dimmed the lights.
***
Nov. 20, 1924 was a Thursday, and an historic day for the city of St. Petersburg. The Gandy Bridge opened, finally connecting the city directly to Tampa. And, with a bit less fanfare, The Coliseum opened its doors for its first event — a concert by the Florida Four — to 3,000 eager guests clad in tuxedoes and furs.
The Coliseum was St. Pete's jewel during the '20s, drawing large crowds during a decade that saw the construction of several big hotels and the flourishing of a newfound tourism industry. When the depression hit in the '30s, The Coliseum, which had been dubbed "The Palace of Pleasure," proved even more vital to the community.
For its Friday night "stag or drag" dances, The Coliseum only charged a quarter if you came alone. The charge was 50 cents if you dragged someone along.
"It would be a full dance floor," says Harry Woods, who attended the Friday night dances every week after he moved to St. Pete in 1931. "It was something to do — something you could afford to do."
Amidst plumes of smoke, and between sips from flasks of homemade whiskey (if you were lucky during Prohibition, Woods says, you'd meet a guy from Canada who'd brought down some good stuff), the crowds would do the Foxtrot, the Big Apple and the Finale Flop. The stags would cut in on the drags and, as is predictable when young men, young women and homemade whiskey are thrown together, there was some occasional … friction.
But, Woods says, "You had to be able to dance."
***
If you weren't standing in the shaft of daylight pouring through The Coliseum's front door, it was easy to believe Wednesday afternoon's tea dance was one of the old Friday night "stag and drags." The white and blue light bulbs glowed from the rafters above long hanging strings of white Christmas lights, turning the ceiling into a giant chandelier. Big band music blared from the stage, where Charly Raymond and the Apple Blossoms churned out one 60-year-old hit after another. Men approached women they clearly didn't know and asked, "Do you dance?" And before the lady even had a chance to answer she'd be out on the floor, laughing as she was spun away from her table.
And, just like at Friday night dances at the Coliseum, there were folks up on the balcony, watching from the sidelines.
"There's nobody left to dance with," sighs 88-year-old Betty Johnson, watching the hundreds of couples twirl together on the floor below her. Johnson, who still laughs when she remembers her father catching her dancing at the Moonlight Ballroom as a teenager in Canton, Ohio, comes to The Coliseum for the atmosphere. "You don't find these kinda places anymore," she says. "Except this place. This place is great."
"You get to be a queen for a day," says JoJo Cavanaugh, who wouldn't be caught dead on the sidelines. After being whirled around the floor by her old friend Jerry Craig, Cavanaugh, who has been coming to The Coliseum for 25 years, mops her brow, which sits just below a freshly done beehive of blond hair.
"It's a fascinating thing just being here," she says. "It makes you feel so young."
Just before the lights go up to announce the winners of the raffle, Cavanaugh declines to give her age. "You leave your faults and anger at the door," she says instead, taking off her shoe to fish out her ticket ***
The lights go on again as the winners are announced, and most in the crowd look anxiously at their tickets, trying to somehow will the gift basket into their grasp. A man sips slowly on his Coke, fumbling aimlessly with the half-eaten box of popcorn sitting in front of him.
"Number 434," says the woman standing alone in the middle of the empty dance floor, which sparkles in the glow of the overhead lights.
You can see all of it now — the wrinkles, the pants pulled up too high, the sea of gray hair. With the lights turned on you know it's not 1934, that it's not a Friday night but a Wednesday afternoon and the only people who can be here stopped working a while ago. It's just a link to a now-distant past, floating far below the city's radar.
But then the raffle ends, and the lights dim once more. Charly Raymond and his band start up with "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" and couples hit the floor rolling. And it doesn't matter that it's 2004, or that it's 2 o'clock in the afternoon. The Palace of Pleasure is still the only place to be.
This article appears in Nov 17-23, 2004.