Long Live The King
by Robert White
We all knew it would come some day. And, likely someday soon. After all, he is was no longer the spry and lively 87-year-old he once was. But why now? Only a month before his 95th birthday festival? With so many Lindy Hoppers still needing to look at him and remember what it’s all about? When we simply weren’t ready to let him go? (We’d never really be ready, unless he was in pain.)
If you’re reading this today, you’re a very special person. You are a part of the last generation of Lindy Hoppers who will have danced during the time of Frankie Manning. So, hopefully you had the opportunity to take a class where he addressed all the women in the room as “the beautiful ladies,” or stood behind him in a shim-sham, or saw a smile blossom on his face, which all have a similar effect.
If you don’t know who he is, his dance resume is pretty incredible. He introduced air steps, the “bent over look,” and women’s swivels into Lindy Hop, along with countless other moves we still do today. He was known as the biggest thief in the Savoy Ballroom, stealing moves and changing them before anyone would realize he had done it. He choreographed the greatest group Lindy Hop footage we have. And he taught the world to Lindy Hop, even in his eighties and nineties. But the important thing about Frankie Manning is how these accomplishments pale in comparison to the person you met when you shook hands with him.
Here was a man who performed across the world and talked to kings and queens, at a time when only well-off white Americans could afford air travel, and black men from Harlem were hardly ever thought worthy to shake hands with anyone of a different color. Here was a man who worked in a post office for 3 decades when the dance and the music he loved couldn’t support him anymore, and without a complaint. Here was a man who had his own share of personal problems, on top of all the social problems he faced, and yet, when you saw him smile, it was as if he hadn’t a care in the world. When you met Frankie Manning, you didn’t just see a great dancer. You saw a great man.
Before a few days ago, I often joked that Frankie was a benevolent godlike-being who was slowly having his body parts replaced with stronger, longer-lasting robotic ones. It was part of a childlike fantasy that I’ve allowed myself to actually believe—that perhaps Frankie would outlive us all. He already seemed younger than most people I know—he laughed the way an eight-year-old boy would, and giggled about women. He even swung-out young. He would bow to the queen, scrunch his shoulders and send her out with a smile. No pretension. No trying. No worries.
But the past few times I’ve seen him in public, I’d notice his mouth would sag into a frown, and his eyes looked heavy. At his age, even if you’re in the best of health, it seems like the secret is to avoid finding yourself in a hospital bed. But that’s a really hard thing to do. Medications and illness are unavoidable, and trying to fix the smallest things can easily become deadly to a 94-year-old. It had nothing to do with his birthday party, I tell myself, it was nothing we had control over.
I also have to keep reminding myself that death is only sorrowful for those who miss the dead. For the dead, it is probably some form of sweet, deep sleep. Though Frankie smiled like he didn’t have a care in the world, I suspect he had many cares. There is some form of peace in knowing that he does not have those worries anymore. And, if the deaths that are the least painful to us are those who have lived a life full of love, joy, great experiences and great accomplishments, I can’t think of a better candidate than Frankie Manning.
In France and England, the death of a king was heralded with the phrase “Le Roi est Mort. Vive le Roi!” or “The King is Dead. Long Live the King.” What seems like a spiritual contradiction was really simply a political statement: Once one king was dead, the heir to the throne immediately became king, so that no country was never for a moment without it’s rightful ruler. I however, prefer the spiritual contradiction. The King of Lindy Hop died April 27. But his spirit will live forever in those who know how to swing.
Frankie, we miss you already, and we really can’t thank you enough. Hopefully we can repay you by carrying on not just your dance, but your attitude, with us always. Sleep well.
Thank you, Bobby.
This is a lovely tribute. It articulates in a tender but unsentimental way many of my thoughts and feelings regarding Frankie. On Friday, when I heard that he was in hospital and failing, I sent a card (which I guess will have arrived todayish), and hesitated over expressing a wish that, if he feels it’s time, he should fee free to go. I didn’t want my (our) hopes that he recover to be a burden. In the end, I didn’t articulate those thoughts in the card, but you covered them nicely above.
I take great solace in the knowledge that I share my feelings at this time with tens of thousands of dancers all over the world. And in Andrew’s t-shirt. That’s a great shirt.
Thank you.
I’ve posted this a few places online..
Condolences to Judy, Chazz, his family, and one and all whose lives he touched and affected.
Gratitude for the joy and inspiration he has given lindyhoppers worldwide for the last century and the blessing we have all had to have known him.
May it be god’s will that I could, in my own lifetime, bring but a fraction of the joy and love to the world that he did in his…
A recent quote on mortality: “We don’t beat the Reaper by living longer. We beat the Reaper by living well.” -Randy Pausch (1960-2008), The Last Lecture at Carnegie Mellon: Thing is, Frankie managed to do both.
Who starts a new career in their 70s? The thing about Frankie is that he is a guy that we all want to be. He was the role model for how we ALL want to age. Being in his presence was always a joyful experience. While in the last year or so he had to slow things down, I saw him teach dance classes at age 93! There are 30 years of his life that no lindy hopper ever talks about when he stopped dancing and worked at the post office. Thirty years! There were a couple of years during WWII that he refused to speak about as well that must have been traumatic but remain shrouded in mystery. As an artist that struggles with the results of my life’s deicisions and abandoning one path for another, Frankie’s life shows me that you are never too old to be a part of your love, never too old to pick up the guitar from where you left it.
I had the pleasuring of meeting him a number of times in the last er, decade? and got to spend chunks of time with him at various events. He recognized me but it was not like he remembered my name- not unless you count being called “Jack” repeatedly. As a musician, it was great to be able to ask him to wax about the differences between whether he’d prefer dancing to Chuck Webb or to Count Basie, or find out who was a better dancer Ella or Billie? He was a living link to an era that I’ve studied for years and when I last saw him two months ago this past Feb and he was still sharp as a tack. Always happy to answer any of my random random off the wall questions - about shoes, record players, Dizzy Gillespie, guitar players, ballroom architecture… Some of his stories were retreads, some of the wit was boilerplate, but whenever you came up with a question, he was happy to answer it.
It broke my heart this past winter when, during the Saturday night dance at the 2009 “Frankie Manning Weekend” in Oakland, he got up to dance with his girlfriend on the side of the floor in the middle of a particularly swingin’ tune, and he had to sit back down after four bars. I never told anyone about that moment, I just happened to be standing by where he was sitting, but it crushed me.
I’m glad he has gone home and is swinging out in the big ballroom in the sky. We are blessed to have known him, hung out with him, and to be able to continue his legacy. Franke says - Keep Swingin’
Great text. Thank you!
thanks, bobby. this was a great tribute.
That was a lovely tribute Bobby.
I was lucky enough to take a class from Frankie at SwingJam in the UK a few years back and then met him again at Jumpin’ At The Woodside in Gloucester. On this second occasion, I approached him sheepishly and shook his hand and said thank you to him for all he had done for the Lindy. I’m so glad I made the effort.
What a truly great man and what a fabulous life. He danced and entertained till the end and was loved by everyone. God bless you Frankie.