Living happily ever after

It doesn't take a study to tell the happy feet on this dance floor that people with positive attitudes live longer. (But they do.)

By JOCELYN WIENER, Times Staff Writer
© St. Petersburg Times
published August 6, 2002

[Times photo: Thomas M. Goethe] Joan Martin gets into the line-dance session at the Sun City Center community hall.

SUN CITY CENTER -- From somewhere deep within the notes of Achy Breaky Heart there emanates an intangible sense of saunter and whirl, of swagger and wiggle. Thirty-two women and eight men, most well past 60, several nearer to 80, shuffle and glide over the identical squares of fluorescent light reflecting off the gray tile floor of the Sun City Center community hall. When the song reaches its final crescendo, a balding, gray-haired man lets out a whoop. Several silver-and-gold haired women giggle.

One of them, 69-year-old Dolores Babbits, a petite woman with curly blond hair, can mouth every word to every song. She and her husband, Richard, 71, attend the line dancing class religiously. They also attend the round dance class, the square dance class, the Oldies But Goodies '50s dance class, the Foxy Seniors piano dance class and the ballroom dance class. The couple celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary in May.

A study released last week by Yale University's Department of Epidemiology and Public Health found that older people with positive attitudes toward aging lived an average of 7.5 years longer than those with negative attitudes. Sun City Center senior line dancers like Dolores and Richard greet such information with little surprise.

Dolores' 47-year-old daughter, Debra Keezer, and 16-year-old granddaughter, Melissa, are on their annual summer visit. They try to follow the steps as Jim and Rita Ray call them out. But when Boot Scootin' Boogie comes on, Debra gives up.

"It's too fast," she explains. Dolores nods her head, pretending to agree, then extricates herself from the conversation and hurries back on to the dance floor.

Jim, 70, and Rita Ray, 67, stand in the front of the room calling out instructions, encouragement and the occasional ironic comment. The couple have been married for 42 years and have taught line dancing a long time. Jim wears a green shirt and white shorts, his thinning hair combed over a bald spot. Rita wears a cobalt blue sleeveless top, white shorts and tennis shoes. After 12 years leading courses in Jacksonville, they decided two years ago to come to Sun City, ostensibly to retire. And for a time, they did what they thought retired people were supposed to do. They went out. They ate.

"So how did we decide to do this?" Rita asks.

"She got bored not dancing," Jim suggests.

"We got fat," Rita says.

And then they started the line dance class, which is available for free to the nearly 20,000 seniors who live in Sun City and in neighboring Kingspoint. As if to emphasize the irrelevance of time in this particular rec room, a large octagonal clock hangs from one wall, mischievously proclaiming the hour to be 7:35, 24 hours a day.

Time stands still here, but the dancers don't. Linda Cannarella stares straight ahead. Her knees bend. Her bottom sways. Her feet stomp. Sixty-five years old, with an ample bosom, tinted glasses and a bright purple and teal blouse, Linda wipes a few drops of perspiration from her upper lip. She spins. Repeats. Back clap side side shuffle clap clap.

"Some people complain that they do more now than they did before they retired," Linda confides.

Still, two hours of dancing. Like this. They must have at least one break?

"We're allowed a sip of water every once in a while," Linda whispers. She hurries to rejoin a line.

By 7:35 p.m., when the delinquent clock momentarily displays the truth, everyone in the room is either cha-chaing, trying to cha-cha, or watching.

Watching? Of course, at any dance a few wallflowers will cling to the margins.

"That wall don't dance well," Jim Ray tries says, trying to embarrass the slackers into participation. "I'm a failure," 65-year-old John Arnold explains. "I've got two right hands and two left feet."

This is John's first line-dancing class. He, his wife, Shirley "Shari" Arnold, 59, and their friend, Tony Sorrentino, 75, moved to Sun City Center from Bridgeport, Conn., this past year. For more than 25 years, Shari performed with a small dance troupe called the Tiffany Dancers. John played the cassette tapes.

Now Shari is out on the dance floor, concentrating on instructions from Jim and Rita. Rock, step, cha, cha, cha. Forward on left. Pivot to right.

For a few moments, Tony stands apart from the group, trying to move his feet. Then he puts his index finger perpendicular to his head, makes a shooting sound, grins, and settles down in one of the red metal chairs pushed up against the wall. Next to John.

John suggests that the reporter sitting on the other side of him should write nice stuff.

"That'd mean she wouldn't put you in the paper," Tony explains.

"She's not going to write about the klutzes, anyway," John counters. "I am dancing-handicapped. It's real easy until I try it."

The two continue watching. Their fingers tap. Their hips shake. Their knees move back and forth. Their feet kick.

"You're doing good, Shari," Tony calls out.

Shari flashes a smile at him, then resumes focus.

"They're not dancers," she whispers later, when John and Tony aren't listening. "They come to offer moral support."

At 9:20 p.m., the last diehards make their way home, and Rita and Jim Ray pack up their equipment. So, how do they feel about reports that a positive attitude toward aging can extend life?

Rita pauses. Looks thoughtful.

Well, she says. She has a mother who is 89.

And has broken two hips, Jim adds, and survived colon cancer and a mastectomy.

Twelve years ago, Rita continues, her mother had open-heart surgery to replace an aortic valve. The doctors were amazed. Within a month's time, her mother was out dancing.

She still dances, Jim says, can still teach her dance partners a thing or two.

"If you sit there and dwell on it and say "I'm old, I'm old, I'm old"' Rita begins, looking at Jim.

"You're not old," Jim concludes, "if you don't think you're old."

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