Laurel Outlook

STAY YOUNG
Dancing Is
His Secret
KANSAS
CITY,
KAS.-In
this town there is a pioneer citizen who
has discovered the secret of youth.
"All you have to do," he says,
"is put on your dancing shoes and
get out among 'em."
He's Frank O. Taylor, a retired
truck gardener, whose full time hob-
by and recreation is dancing. At 89,
he spends a minimum of 16 hours a
week on the dance floor, and for
as long as anybody can remember
he's been the dancingest man in
these parts.
As a result, he says, "I'm as
healthy as a kid of 16." Today, he
has a twinkle in his eye and a zip
in his step and has never been to
a doctor in his life.
Taylor gets out among 'em at
least four nights a week. He's a
permanent guest at most of the
regular "gay nineties" shindigs and
a perennial winner of old-fashioned
dancing contests.
Learns Latest Steps
But he won't be classified as a
yesterday's hoofer. He studies the
latest steps, learns them quickly.
He thinks swing music 'has a good,
solid beat," and says if we'd had
jitterbugging in 1890 everybody
would have loved it.
"That's the kind of dancing that
puts you in shape," he says. "You
have to have bells on your feet and
oil in your joints and keep stompin'
all night long to really get any-
where."
He finds two things wrong with
modern dancing-musicians "who
play more intermissions than mu-
sic" and the tendency of young men
to dance only with their own girls.
He preferred the days when a fid-
dle, guitar and piano pounded out
the rhythm from suppertime 'til
dawn and every young man made it
a point to dance with every girl in
the hall.
His advice to husbands is along
the same line: "Take your wife out
any time she asks, but do most of
your dancing with somebody else's
wife." That's the way they did it
in his day.
Former Homesteader
Taylor arrived in this city from a
homesteading venture in the west
during the gay nineties, but they
weren't quite gay enough for him.
So he built a house that had a
big parlor with a polished hardwood
floor and began to invite residents
out for square dances after the mid-
night curfew closed the halls in the
city.
"We'd push back the furniture
and roll back the rugs and have sets
of squares just a-flyin' all night
long," he remembers.
After the death of his wife in 1930,
Frank stopped dancing for about a
year. Then he got back into the
swing more than ever. "I've been
busy ever since," he says, "and I've
never been happier than I am right
today."
He works in a small garden in the
mornings, then spends most of the
late afternoon getting ready for that
night's party. When most men his
age are taking their last snooze in
the sun before dinner, Frank's al-
ready on the phone lining up a
dancing date with some slick chick
of 65.