It was the early days of January. Cold and unassuming days. That's when the big slow plodding gears that churn at the center of the Cult of the Eye machinery first felt the push of a new force. Tiny, nigh insignificant at first, that first push barely registered. This was when Jason first heard of the Dance-a-thon for life. The Pontifex pondered as pontifux are wont to do.
24 hour dance-a-thon.
Team, lindy hop dance-a-thon.
To support the City of Hope.
To fight cancer.
Weeks slipped by.
January 24th, 2008. A few inquiring thoughts bounced off a few other folks and the decision was made. The force pushing on those gears increased. They are damn big and unwieldy gears. Heavy and awkward, not unlike Penn Gillete dancing the foxtrot. But once those gears get oiled up and rolling, they produce.
A low grade fervor began to vibrate in the ranks of the Eye. Surely this is crazy, but if we can't pull this off, honestly, what is the point of this group? In the next 10 days the Cult of the Eye Lindy Hop for Life 24 hour dance-a-thon team was formed. A goal was set. Ten thousand dollars.
Those big gears got to turning. Donations started coming in. Trickling at first. A few hundred dollars. A few thousand dollars. Scott and Christina. Jason and Maya. Thayer. Joe. Well, they got serious. And when the Cult of the Eye gets serious, the gears turn even faster. 15 days later the team broke through the $10,000 mark. What at first seemed an entirely unlikely goal was shattered.
The organizers of the event started asking questions. Just who is this Cult of the Eye? Is this a real team? This has to be a prank. No sir. Pranksters maybe. Honestly? Who raises ten thousand dollars as a prank?
The goal was increased several more times. Donation Tracker watching could be done, not daily, but hourly. By the time 35 days had rolled by, the team has pegged over $21,000. 6 team members broke $1000. 13 team members raised more that $500. Maya raised over $5000. 5 of the top ten money raisers were Cult of the Eye members. Impressive? Sure was. But this dear reader is not the end of the tale.
March 8th 2008. Orange County California. 24 hour fitness. A place where you'd normally never catch sight of the fez wearing force that is the Cult of the Eye. Particularly at 8am. On a saturday. But on this day, nattily attired in brilliantly embroidered and custom tailored red and black work shirts, the sleepy crew of culties began to load in.
In the first of what would turn out to be a long list of Culties showing support, Eric swept in and slapped the sound system into shape. The first notes of endless hours of swing music flowed forth, and to that tune, the camp was constructed. Jason's custom red and black EZ up covering Thayer's flame edged and Eye-con appliqued floor mat. Couches inflated, the always impressive semi circle booth front assembled, clothes stored in the locker rooms. Dozens of items were registered for the silent auction and raffles. Legs were stretched. We were ready.
Down beat. 10am. Cancer survivors sparked the crowd with their tales of strength, reminding us once again why we were doing this. It is always good to be reminded. One need only look at the hundreds of names carefully attached to the vinyl banner wrapping our booth front to see just how deeply our team has been touched. Or just look at Jason. There would be no Cult of the Eye without cancer survivors.
Serious melts away to swing as the first band strikes up, sending all of the teams out swirling on the dance floor. Every team has a flag that must be in the hands of a dancing team member for the next 24 hours. By the end of the 24 hours, ours would be in the hands of every member signed up. The realization of 24 hours started settling in.
With a coffee, tea and Jamba Juice fueled group willing to take to the dancefloor at the wave of a hand, the concept of scheduling dance time quickly went the way of betamax, and the first 6 hours passed by in relative peace. Folks went on food runs, grabbed a quick nap and generally hung about.
4pm. The Cult of the Eye likes form in our function. Sure we all looked sharp in our red and black, but there is no way this group was going to make it through 24 hours without a few costume changes. Slowly, steadily, the Dickies work shirts transitioned into a troupe of tropically clad toe tappers. The next big band kicked into their hip set of swinging tunes, and those cats must have copped a peak at our clothes rack, cause they came roaring out coordinated in their own Hawaiian finery. Strange? Maybe. But stranger things would be coming.
The stylish swingers on the dancefloor were greeted with a welcome sight. Fresh from a morning of rehearsals afar our faire goers roared in with reinforcements! The newcomers needed a bit of food and a deep breath or two, but soon they were sending off some who'd been dancing all day long for a well needed rest.
8pm. Vividly recalled for the realization that, we'd been at this for well over 12 hours already if you consider the load in time. And it's not even the half way point. Not even close really. To tell the truth, things get a little blurry around this time. The team slowly started slipping away and coming back to the dancefloor dressed in fine looking lounge wear. This team does know how to look good.
One dress was particularly impressive. This form fitting striking ensemble in red was not to be found on the racks of any purveyor of couture. No, this dress was conceived, designed, cut sewn and fitted right there in the middle of the 10 foot by 10 foot team camp. From the rather fortunately color coordinated event t-shirts, with help from a babylock machine and a lot of know how, Ruthie created in two hours a truly inspiring outfit. Thayer affixed beads to the the fishtail hemline and proceeded to work the runway to the timely tune of Tom Jones Sex Bomb. Our very own fezmonger fashioned a fantastic pillbox hat that topped the outfit off. 2.5 hours, 2 tshirts, 3 dedicated craftspeople, 1 drop dead gorgeous gown. Needless to say, first place in the contest.
The celebration of the win sent the team rocketing toward midnight and one more costume change. What right thinking person signs up for a 24 hour dance-a-thon and doesn't bring their party pajamas? Honestly? It was very surprising to find only one team slipping into sleepwear. Stylish. Comfortable. Ready for the final push until the sun comes back up.
From midnight to 6, maybe 7 am a lot of things happened. Some probably seemed a far sight stranger to the sleep addled brains of dancers pushing toward 20 hopping hours. There were boogie step relays, red bull mixers, protein bars and blessed be, the matcha green tea shots. But the moment that will live in the minds of those who were awake somewhere between 4 and 6am: Troy.
Troy, just back from Dubai on a plane trip home that evolved from a routine 9 hour flight into a 36 hour ordeal involving mechanical failure, computer failure and human failure. One can only imagine the thoughts attempting to wind their way through his jet lagged mind. Troy would be up and dancing one moment, completely shut down on the hammock the next. How the switch was able to be turned back on time after time, 2nd wind, 3rd wind, is not something many have the credentials to ponder.
In those wee hours of sunday morning, the switch was thrown once again and Troy made his way to the dancefloor. Time passed and there were precious few people awake to partner up with. Not one to be deterred by such trivialities, Troy proceeded to dance alone. Some kind of charleston kick inspired masterpiece. Whispers quickly passed along to anyone awake to hear it and soon the team was lined up on the dancefloor following Troy's lead in an early morning edition of Troyarobics. And not just Cult of the Eye members. Dancers from other teams joined the one very strange swing inspired line dance. In pajamas.
There were other happenings, but the brain pushed to the brink only lets you keep a few. Not much later it seemed, team members were returning from trips home to check on dogs, rats, babies, sanity. Dancers shook off whatever weariness or funk had gripped them and soon the Cult of the Eye, once again resplendent in their still natty red and black work shirts, were dancing their way to the closing bell. A final dance, a countdown, a rendition of aulde-lange-syne. And the closing words. Lots of heartfelt thanks. Lots of very important people recognized. And one big check presented.
$170,000. Wow.
The task of breaking down and hauling out didn't seem so bad. Pride and accomplishment were the feeling of the morning. That and an overriding need to sleep. And oh yeah. The team will be back next year.
About the
event:
The 24 Hour Cancer Dance-A-Thon is an annual swing dance event that
raises funds for cancer research and treatment at The City of Hope. Its
inaugural event in November 2005 succeeded in raising over $52,000 - an
amazing figure for a first year fundraiser. Last year swing dancers
raised over $100,000 to fight cancer! Participants in the Dance-a-thon
form teams of 15 to 29 people. Throughout the 24 hour period of the
event, each team is responsible for keeping at least one of its members
on the floor and dancing at all times. Participants like us are
responsible for raising funds for the event. The event features a
variety of live swing bands, free dance lessons from world class swing
dance instructors, performances, and social swing dancing!
Help out as much as you can, but a donation of at least $50 gets you
entrance into the event as a spectator. Come enjoy the live bands and
dance performances, participate in the dance lessons, and help save
lives!
Interested in being more than a donor or spectator? Go to http://www.danceathon.org
and register as a participant!
