Planet Peschel's Remembrance of Cruises Past: The Footnotes

One night in a disco

I was wandering the ship late at night looking for trouble when I saw the five men outside the club's office. They had volunteered to act as judges for a contest. Disco Dave appeared and handed out their rewards: chains with a small medal attached. He also had something else. Hats: policeman, sailor, Indian chief, hardhat, motorcycle cap.

He led them to a corridor and broke the news to them. They were going to open the show, dancing to "YMCA." The men were a genial bunch, and Disco Dave was very persuasive. He poured on the attention and the energy, and while they went through the maneuvers again and again:

"You guys get to run up on stage behind Scott." He directs them on how to turn and how to move. "Jump and turn, just like that, that's perfect. Remember, Scott is going to be right behind me. If you guys forget something, I'm going to be right there with you. You guys need to shake your butts like crazy and need to go hog wild crazy, because you guys are the stars tonight. What you guys are, are the number one show and what gets the crowd wild will be you guys." He emphasizes each point carefully and tries to pump them up.

Then he shows them where to put their hands, singing the song starting with "young man:" "Left hand, nah nah nah nah. You're gonna put your right hand in the air nah nah nah nah nah and then this is the big part (thrusts hips) nah nah nah nah."

They rehearse again, and emphasizing where the curtain will be and where they will be.

Right up ("Young man")
Nah nah nah nah naaaah
Left up ("I say, young man")
Nah nah nah nah naaaah
Cross cross cross cross
Up up
Cross Cross (in front about belt-height)
Butt butt
YMCA roll it roll it roll it roll it
Dollar dollar dollar dollar (No, I can't tell you what they were doing here. I was around the corner taking all this down).
YMCA roll it roll it roll it roll it

Then they rehearse again.
"Do we get a beer?" One of the men asked.
"Well, if you drink fast you might be able to get one in," Disco Dave says.
"Shooters would be better."
"Shooters would definitely be better."

After a bathroom break, they're led to entrance to the club, where they have a direct shot to the low stage with the red curtain. Disco Dave is visibly nervous by this time, keeping the lane open as guests are walking in and out, giving last-minute instructions ("All right, run up and stick your hand in the air as soon as you start, na-na (beat beat) na-na-na-na-na-na.

Robin passes by, a short staff member in lime green jacket, white bell bottoms and blond wig. He doesn't show up later, so we'll forget him.

The five men's moment of glory actually lasts only a few minutes. After a rousing introduction, the song starts and the five run for the stage. Instead of following them as promised, Disco Dave crouches at the far end of the empty dance floor. He's miming the moves, but the guys are alone on stage.

As Village People, the guys danced like, well, five guys filled with refreshing alcoholic beverages who had rehearsed for five minutes. The cop, an older fellow, broke up laughing as soon as he was up on stage. The cowboy, a tall man with hair as white as his shirt and pants, seems to be moving with the assistance of electric shocks applied at random to his arms and legs. The crew shuffled through the movements, but the crowd is good-natured and encouraging, and after a verse and the chorus, they are rescued by three Disney staff members who show up behind them gyrating in wild disco costumes. The dance floor fills, the men step down, and the celebration continues. I can still see the Indian chief's headdress, bobbing up and down amid the dancers.

Near the end of the song, the curtain on stage opens again, and there stands the live band, staring impassively at the bacchanal before them. When it is over, they're introduced and they immediately launch into a spot-on version of "Celebration." The party rocks on.

And, no, I wasn't startled to see a knowing gay anthem being thoroughly mainstreamed. You haven't lived until you seen several thousand rednecks camp it up at a minor-league baseball game in Charlotte.