“It’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.”
When the Village People’s chart topper emitted from the transistor radio in the corner of the unfinished basement, a small group of would-be performers took to a makeshift stage and led the rowdy crowd in the popular dance, which was sweeping the nation.
While the biker, construction worker, cowboy, Native American and sailor executed their movements with precision, the girls in the audience were going crazy for the animated lead singer — the policeman — as he gyrated his hips to the sound of the funky music.
For all intents and purposes, you may have thought you were attending a live show for the up-and-coming disco group, known for their colorful costumes, at an underground nightclub on the Las Vegas strip.
However, that was the furthest thing from the truth.
Instead, several of us teenage boys from the Ellwood City Assembly of God youth group were joined by one little irresistible heartthrob — 6-year-old Daniel “Danny” Bubb — while participating in a lip sync contest at the annual Halloween party in the underbelly of Jim and Dee Bubb’s humble abode.
Standing off to the side like a bunch of jealous boyfriends, we watched as the giddy teenyboppers lavished the honorary member of the band with a plethora of hugs and kisses at the end of our righteous tune.
When my big brother and I changed into our one-of-a-kind garb — the cowboy and Indian attire — for the festive occasion earlier that same evening, we took a few minutes to practice the unique dance moves for the impending karaoke-type tournament while looking at our reflections in the mirror, which was attached to the dresser in our upstairs bedroom.
“Now you’ve got the hang of it,” applauded John, while we perfected the choreography for the musical number. “When spelling out the letters with your hands and arms, just remember they are short, quick movements; because they are spoken in rapid succession.”
With a Cheshire cat grin splashed across my face, I imagined our “purported” theatrical presentation in front of the entire youth group would be akin to taking Broadway by storm.
We’re going to blow the roof off that place!
“That’s the spirit, Chief Sitting Bull!” exclaimed the freckle-faced athlete, tipping his cowboy hat to the resident tribal leader, before leading the charge into the wide corridor to descend the enclosed L-shaped staircase with this half naked warrior hot on his trail.
Upon making it to their destination on the outskirts of Ellwood City, these Price brothers followed the other members of the spirited band to James “Jimmy” Bubb Jr. and his little brother Danny’s bedroom on the opposite side of the house for a last-minute dress rehearsal before making their debut at the party on the last Saturday in October.
Before reaching the sleeping quarters in question, I pulled Dirk Arkwright and David “Huck” Allen — Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn — into the bathroom to discuss my skimpy costume.
“Talk about your major wedgies,” I fumed with a disgruntled look, wiggling around to pick the nylon out of my hindquarters. “While these skin tone stockings help to keep my legs warm, they are riding up my hiney; so, I don’t have the slightest idea how women wear these things all day long.”
Hold the phone!
Are you not wearing any underwear?
“Duh!” I expressed with my hands fully extended, looking at the pair of high schoolers as if they were aliens from outer space. “Since the Native Americans didn’t wear tighty-whities, I wanted my costume to be as authentic as possible; so, I’m going commando tonight.”
“Jumping Jehoshaphat!” quipped Dirk, adjusting his biker’s hat after looking under the single piece of cloth draped around my hips. “You better hope that loincloth doesn’t fall off in the middle of our performance, otherwise everyone in attendance is going to get a free show, including your little sisters.
“How did you put on those stockings at our New Year’s Eve party last year?” I queried, glancing over at the only drag queen in our little musical troupe dressed as a U.S. Navy man.
“They were hiked up over top of my unmentionables,” explained Huck, thinking back to his impromptu performance across an imaginary catwalk prior to playing ‘Elephant March.’ “If you remember, the girls were having a total meltdown, because they could see my scantily clad undies underneath the stockings; but you’re buck naked under that warrior paraphernalia.”
“I make no apologies!” I declared, with my hands firmly on these hips, exuding a confidence that bordered on bravado.
But as the words echoed in the cramped bathroom, a flicker of doubt crept into my mind.
The thought of my younger siblings in the audience only intensified my uneasy feeling, but it was too late to do anything about it now.
Shortly after I stepped down from the makeshift stage without any unplanned wardrobe malfunctions, Josie and the Pussycats — Deborah “Debbie” Bubb, on the guitar; Sherry Walker, on the tambourine; and Dawn Arkwright, on the drums — dressed in leopard skin one-piece unitards with matching cat ear headbands and tails, brought down the packed house with their interpretation of “Every Beat of My Heart.”
The singing competition was fierce, with each group bringing their A-game.
Highlights included Billy Hogue as Michael Jackson, thrilling the audience with “Don’t Stop ‘til You Get Enough”; Maria and Aaron Pellicano as Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta, captivating everyone with “You Better Shape Up” from “Grease”; Shari Aiken, Jeanne Mars, Laura Poling, and Vonda Weir as Sister Sledge, uniting the crowd with “We Are Family”; and Saul Pellicano as Kenny Rodgers, delivering a memorable performance of “The Gambler.”
In the end, the top two contenders were the Village People and Josie and the Pussycats, but it was the six-man working crew that took top honors, winning over the audience with their high-spirited performance of “Y.M.C.A.”
As we celebrated our victory with a group hug, I couldn’t resist sharing a close call during our performance.
“You wouldn’t believe it,” I snickered, looking over at my bathroom conversationalist buddies. “My loincloth nearly slipped right off during one of our many dance moves.”
The dynamic duo burst into laughter, with my self-appointed guardian angel chiming in, “Gadzooks! Not only would that have been a stellar showstopper, but you also might have spent a night in the pokey for indecent exposure.”