By Nitesh Srivastava
With only three hours to go, the Louis Room was as active as it had ever been. Everyone was standing up with their arms in the air, singing along to "Stacy's Mom." Dressed in black or blue t-shirts, some of them with leis around their neck, few dancers showed any signs that they'd been doing this for more than 24 hours straight.
From the stage, words of encouragement came between every few songs:
"This is your last three hours. Dance like you've never danced before!"
"When you rest your heads on your pillows, you will know that we accomplished something really profound."
Spontaneous applause and cheering broke out frequently. A small beachball moved above the crowd, then trays of cookies and fruit for the weary dancers, and finally a brave crowd-surfer. As Lil' Jon and Nelly and the Black Eyed Peas began playing, the dancing began to get more intense until giant conga lines were snaking through the room.
They were almost there.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
President Bienen Drops By
President Bienen paid the dancers a visit and talked onstage Saturday night at Dance Marathon.
Photo by Beth Lipoff
Feeding the Masses
By Nitesh Srivastava
When it was announced that the Graffiti dancers were going to perform, first a few Marathoners sat down, then a few more around them, and then a few more until the entire crowd was cross-legged on the floor. With everyone watching, the Graffiti dancers performed moves that the Louis Room likely hadn't seen since early this morning.
Then, to provide the exhausted Marathoners with food without giving them too much of a break, numbers flashed on the screen every few minutes, cueing select groups of students to line up for pasta. Earlier, TnA had warned dancers that they couldn't go to the bathroom during their dinner break, creating an exodus of students to the second- and third-floor facilities right before the meal started.
"It's so quiet up here," remarked one girl as she walked toward the third-floor ladies' room.
"It's so nice," agreed another next to her.
As students ate in waves, there was a quirkly selection of music playing, ranging from Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World" to Men at Work's "Land Down Under."
Then a techno remix of the theme to "The Price is Right" began playing. A la the game show, students were selected to walk onto the stage and compete for a place in a showcase-showdown later this evening by "spinning" a computer-generated wheel shown on the big screen.
Even as more students filed to get their dinner, dance songs began playing again, starting with "Come on Eileen." Dancers who were giving a new meaning to the term "a second wind" moved with renewed energy to the song, performing all range of dance styles from hoedown moves to swingdancing.
Photo by Chris Danzig
Stinky Kids Doing the "Take On Me" Falsetto
By Nitesh Srivastava
Stinky kids doing the "Take On Me" falsetto - as Dave Barry would say, that would make a great name for a punk rock band.
Dancers, now wearing more practical outfits such as shorts, t-shirts and headbands, sang along to the A-ha classic. While some energetic souls still danced along, the majority of people just stepped in place, their arms swinging back and forth lifelessly. They looked like extras in a party scene in a movie, trying to create the appearance of dancing without actually putting effort into it.
A sickly sweet musk permeated the Louis Room, while smoke drifted above the crowd. The day outside had turned bright and sunny, but the curtains were now closed, giving the room back its club-like atmosphere.
A lone dancer lay slumped against a corner of the far wall, fast asleep. Nearby, several dancers sat cross-legged on the floor with plates of food in their hands.
But there were still signs of vibrant energy. A girl wearing gaudy sequined pants stood out in the crowd. A single balloon from the sunrise celebration bounced up and down over the dancers' heads, occasionally disappearing for a moment before popping up again a few feet away.
Around 5 p.m., the smell of food took mixed with the funk of the room, as coordinators set up tables of pasta and salad outside the Louis Room.
The music stopped, and dancers watched a taped news segment on the giant screen about suffering African children. Rather than take the opportunity to leave, dancers actually filed back into the room to watch, and after it was over, they applauded. TnA treated the crowd to a demonstration of a shrill cry that served as a greeting in African tribes, and they described a noble social class known in some tribes as "warriors."
"A warrior can dance for 30 hours, right?" they concluded. "Don't stop, live your dream."
Stinky kids doing the "Take On Me" falsetto - as Dave Barry would say, that would make a great name for a punk rock band.
Dancers, now wearing more practical outfits such as shorts, t-shirts and headbands, sang along to the A-ha classic. While some energetic souls still danced along, the majority of people just stepped in place, their arms swinging back and forth lifelessly. They looked like extras in a party scene in a movie, trying to create the appearance of dancing without actually putting effort into it.
A sickly sweet musk permeated the Louis Room, while smoke drifted above the crowd. The day outside had turned bright and sunny, but the curtains were now closed, giving the room back its club-like atmosphere.
A lone dancer lay slumped against a corner of the far wall, fast asleep. Nearby, several dancers sat cross-legged on the floor with plates of food in their hands.
But there were still signs of vibrant energy. A girl wearing gaudy sequined pants stood out in the crowd. A single balloon from the sunrise celebration bounced up and down over the dancers' heads, occasionally disappearing for a moment before popping up again a few feet away.
Around 5 p.m., the smell of food took mixed with the funk of the room, as coordinators set up tables of pasta and salad outside the Louis Room.
The music stopped, and dancers watched a taped news segment on the giant screen about suffering African children. Rather than take the opportunity to leave, dancers actually filed back into the room to watch, and after it was over, they applauded. TnA treated the crowd to a demonstration of a shrill cry that served as a greeting in African tribes, and they described a noble social class known in some tribes as "warriors."
"A warrior can dance for 30 hours, right?" they concluded. "Don't stop, live your dream."
The Music Man
Photo by Chris Danzig
By Marcy Miranda
"I'm the only member of the 300 hour club," he jokes.
For 10 years, Jay Sims has served as the Dance Marathon DJ. A graduate of the McCormick School of Engineering and Applied Science with a degree in chemical engineering, Sims first served as the assistant DJ his sophomore year of college before taking the position as the only DJ his senior year.
With 300 CDs in his music library, Sims says he plays a wide variety of music to try and appeal to the musical tastes of all the dancers.
"I look at the people not dancing and try to figure out what will make them dance," Sims says. "I try to make everyone's experience as enjoyable as possible."
Sims helped create the tradition of playing "Here comes the Sun" by The Beatles as the sun rises over the dancers. He says that his favorite song to play is Madonna's "Like a Prayer" because it's a song that "everyone responds to."
Despite having participated in many Dance Marathons, Sims says his favorite memory is from the Dance Marathon of 1997. The primary beneficiary was the Gus Foundation, named for a boy who passed away from a brain tumor when he was 21 months old.
"His parents were dancing all night and at the end their reaction was so genuine at the amount of money we raised," Sims says.
The causes Dance Marathon raises money for are what have kept Sims coming back year after year.
"My body tells me that I'm tired and wonders why I do this each year, but the vision of people to have such a focus, to change the lives of people (is the driving factor)," he says.
Taking the stage for a second time
Photo by Lauren Pond
By Marcy Miranda
They are the ones constantly onstage, encouraging the dancers to keep moving. They present the speakers, the video advertisements, the introductions to the blocks. For the second consecutive year, they are the face of Dance Marathon.
DM emcees Todd Johnson and Adam Welton, also known to dancers and committee members as "TnA," have the task of keeping the crowd energized. The pair made DM history earlier this year when they became the first pair of emcees to host the event for two years in a row.
As the seventh block began, the duo came onstage and reminded the dancers that they were nearing the end.
"We're done with six whole blocks and you're still breathing," said Welton, a Communications sophomore.
Onstage, the duo is all smiles. They radiate energy, moving to the rhythm of the music, laughing and joking with one another. No one would ever guess that once the two step offstage, they admit to being equally exhausted as the dancers.
"(At this point last year), we were out of it," said Welton.
Johnson, a Medill sophomore, added that last year, most of his voice had been lost by the half-way point. "I was talking in a hard whisper," he said.
Welton admits that keeping the crowd energized can often take a toll on him physically, but it's a task he is willing to undertake.
"It takes a lot out of me," Welton said. "Backstage is my haven, I try to re-energize there."
Blinking away the fatigue, Johnson's eyes glimmer as he thinks of the block he is looking forward to the most: the last one.
"(By that point,) people are in another place," Johnson said. "They've been dancing for 27 hours, they're running on pure adrenaline, the totals (of money raised) are coming in and everything is coming together," Johnson said.
Since when is running considered a break?
Dancers are sent on a run around the building around 10:45 a.m. "You get to see another part of Norris! Woohoo!" the DM volunteers cheer.
Photo by Chris Danzig.
We've got to hold on to what we've got
By Diana Samuels
At 9:50, dancers flood out of the Louis Room, emerging into the hallway and collapsing. Those who were near the doors get out first and claim spots along the wall. They lay with their heads in the aisles and their feet propped up on the cement hallway walls of Norris. Once the prime spots along the wall are taken, dancers just crumple in the middle of the aisles. Walking down the aisle is an obstacle course, a maze of people’s heads and feet. None of those sleeping in the aisles seem to notice as volunteers step over their heads, handing out cups of yellow and orange Gatorade. Volunteers take advantage of the empty Louis Room to sweep and mop the floor.
During the break many head back to the Michigan and Northwestern rooms, where they’ve been keeping the bags they brought with them. You can’t see the floor in those rooms, between the bags and the people lying on top of them.
“Three and a half minutes! Woooo!” yells a committee member as she bounds down the hall between the sleeping dancers. A few moments later, another volunteer walks down the hall, calling out, “One minute left! Let’s get up on those dead feet!”
The dancers groan as they sit up. The volunteers have all the dancers file through a single door. More committee members wait inside, forming a tunnel, and they clap as the dancers head back into the room, “Get Ready for This” pounding.
The dancers seem reenergized after the break. One group huddles around a DM video camera, cheering and making faces. “Ladies and gentlemen, are we here to party?” one of the emcees calls out.
The clock reaches 10:00 a.m., fifteen hours through the thirty-hour marathon. The emcees announced that they’ve reached the halfway point, and dancers cheer and hug each other. Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer” starts playing, and everyone shouts the chorus.
“Whooah, we’re halfway there/Livin’ on a prayer/Take my hand and we’ll make it – I swear/Livin’ on a prayer.”
A group of guys throw their arms around each other’s shoulders and sway as they sing. Dance Marathon executive board members are crowded up on the stage, closing their eyes, lifting their heads up to the ceiling and screaming at the top of their lungs, genuinely thrilled to be there. DM Co-chairs Ben Woo and Cecilia Byrne high-five and hug at the end of the song.
“The hardest part is behind us,” Woo tells the dancers. “Now is the fun part, guys, we’re almost there.”
Photos by Lauren Pond (above) and Chris Danzig (below)
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot (and smelly and stiff) like me?
By Diana Samuels
There’s a distinctive and not really very pleasant smell in the Louis Room, something like B.O. and orange juice. The windows are open, and the colored lights seem strange in the daylight. The tables of food in the back of the room are littered with almost-empty Gatorade bottles.
The dancing has become shuffling, swaying from foot to foot along with the beat.
“Are we still alive y’all?” one of the emcees calls out.
They slide to the left and stomp their right feet along with the lyrics of “Cha Cha Slide,” but their cha chas are definitely stiff and when they go all the way to the floor it’s not exactly graceful. But the dancers still shout enthusiastically to Alanis Morissette’s “You Oughta Know,” pretending to get in each other’s faces as they yell about their boyfriend’s new lover or whatever Alanis is complaining about.
During a break between songs, the projection screen shows a short movie starring the emcees as twins separated at an early age, when they were six-foot-tall babies in makeshift diapers. They reunite later in slow motion, running towards each other and embracing as a melodramatic soundtrack plays. Someone in the audience starts clapping slowly, like something out of “Not Another Teen Movie,” and everyone cheers for a minute before the music starts playing again.
There’s a distinctive and not really very pleasant smell in the Louis Room, something like B.O. and orange juice. The windows are open, and the colored lights seem strange in the daylight. The tables of food in the back of the room are littered with almost-empty Gatorade bottles.
The dancing has become shuffling, swaying from foot to foot along with the beat.
“Are we still alive y’all?” one of the emcees calls out.
They slide to the left and stomp their right feet along with the lyrics of “Cha Cha Slide,” but their cha chas are definitely stiff and when they go all the way to the floor it’s not exactly graceful. But the dancers still shout enthusiastically to Alanis Morissette’s “You Oughta Know,” pretending to get in each other’s faces as they yell about their boyfriend’s new lover or whatever Alanis is complaining about.
During a break between songs, the projection screen shows a short movie starring the emcees as twins separated at an early age, when they were six-foot-tall babies in makeshift diapers. They reunite later in slow motion, running towards each other and embracing as a melodramatic soundtrack plays. Someone in the audience starts clapping slowly, like something out of “Not Another Teen Movie,” and everyone cheers for a minute before the music starts playing again.
Bring Me That Horizon
By Nitesh Srivastava
Shortly after 6 a.m., the atmosphere in the Louis Room began to change as dancers anticipated sunrise. People formed small circles in preparation for the event, but when there was no announcement they dissolved back into the crowd. Some dancers pulled back the curtains on a few windows, but Dance Marathon coordinators closed them again.
Finally, everyone gathered into a giant circle as golden lights washed over the room and orange and yellow balloons dropped down. "Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles began playing, and the curtains were pulled back to reveal...
... a cloudy gray morning, with only a stark red horizon line giving away the dawn.
The lack of a dramatic sunrise did not seem to bother the crowd much. They sang and played with the balloons with child-like fervor. However, fatigue from the night of continuous dancing was visibly beginning to set in.
"Morale is pretty low in the camp," joked Weinberg junior Grace Yeh. "I can tell you it's smelling pretty bad up in the front."
A few songs later, the music stopped and dancers were led in yoga stretches. There was a collective moan from the crowd as they all reached for the sky and then their toes.
Dancers then began to deviate from the routine to do their own stretches or simply sit on the ground. But they were ushered back up quickly, not altogether inappropriately, by the Temptations' "Lean on Me."
Shortly after 6 a.m., the atmosphere in the Louis Room began to change as dancers anticipated sunrise. People formed small circles in preparation for the event, but when there was no announcement they dissolved back into the crowd. Some dancers pulled back the curtains on a few windows, but Dance Marathon coordinators closed them again.
Finally, everyone gathered into a giant circle as golden lights washed over the room and orange and yellow balloons dropped down. "Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles began playing, and the curtains were pulled back to reveal...
... a cloudy gray morning, with only a stark red horizon line giving away the dawn.
The lack of a dramatic sunrise did not seem to bother the crowd much. They sang and played with the balloons with child-like fervor. However, fatigue from the night of continuous dancing was visibly beginning to set in.
"Morale is pretty low in the camp," joked Weinberg junior Grace Yeh. "I can tell you it's smelling pretty bad up in the front."
A few songs later, the music stopped and dancers were led in yoga stretches. There was a collective moan from the crowd as they all reached for the sky and then their toes.
Dancers then began to deviate from the routine to do their own stretches or simply sit on the ground. But they were ushered back up quickly, not altogether inappropriately, by the Temptations' "Lean on Me."
Thank Goodness for Beyonce
By Nitesh Srivastava
The music stopped and the lights were turned on.
As four people got onto the stage, some dancers took the opportunity to steal a quick sit on the heaters near the windows, or they sat on the ground and began to stretch.
Then the four people corralled everyone together to teach them chreographed dance moves to part of Beyonce Knowles' "Check On It." Dancers learn a few new moves during every three-block of Dance Marathon, and by its end they will have a whole routine to perform.
"Believe it or not, you have 12 hours to learn this," they were told as they performed a move called "earmuffs."
The lights brought out some of the zanier costumes in the crowd. Spider-Man and a penguin began looking for a cell phone, while a six-foot tall Boy Scout took a drink near a ladybug along the far wall.
Princess Zelda of video-game fame, alias McCormick senior Bonnie Chang, said her hero Link was somewhere in the crowd.
"Our guilty pleasure was video games," Chang said. "We actually used these (costumes) for another thing and they fit really well. It's really fun."
Once the crash course in dancing to Beyonce was over, the lights promptly dimmed and "Who Let the Dogs Out" began playing, followed by a more contemporary selection of Ludacris and OutKast.
Dancers slowly got back into the rhythm of dancing on their own, but a lone couple at the edge of the crowd held onto each other for support and slow-danced to the hip-hop songs.
The music stopped and the lights were turned on.
As four people got onto the stage, some dancers took the opportunity to steal a quick sit on the heaters near the windows, or they sat on the ground and began to stretch.
Then the four people corralled everyone together to teach them chreographed dance moves to part of Beyonce Knowles' "Check On It." Dancers learn a few new moves during every three-block of Dance Marathon, and by its end they will have a whole routine to perform.
"Believe it or not, you have 12 hours to learn this," they were told as they performed a move called "earmuffs."
The lights brought out some of the zanier costumes in the crowd. Spider-Man and a penguin began looking for a cell phone, while a six-foot tall Boy Scout took a drink near a ladybug along the far wall.
Princess Zelda of video-game fame, alias McCormick senior Bonnie Chang, said her hero Link was somewhere in the crowd.
"Our guilty pleasure was video games," Chang said. "We actually used these (costumes) for another thing and they fit really well. It's really fun."
Once the crash course in dancing to Beyonce was over, the lights promptly dimmed and "Who Let the Dogs Out" began playing, followed by a more contemporary selection of Ludacris and OutKast.
Dancers slowly got back into the rhythm of dancing on their own, but a lone couple at the edge of the crowd held onto each other for support and slow-danced to the hip-hop songs.
The Graveyard Shift
By Nitesh Srivastava
At 4 a.m., a maintenance worker casually vacuumed the carpet outside the Louis Room even as students walked past him, dressed in any and every combination of collared shirts, jeans, sweats, t-shirts, bandanas, lingerie and baseball caps.
At this ungodly hour, Norris was otherwise quiet, except for a heavy bass that penetrated the stone walls and multiple floors of the building.
The students typically passed the janitor on their way to the bathroom. Once their business was through, they shuffled back into the Louis Room, which had all the appearance of a high school dance from the '90s, but with a better budget and more enthusiasm.
One or two dozen Marathoners stayed on the fringe of the dancing crowd inside, where they could stand, talk and take pictures. But the rest of the students stayed together in a tight mass near the stage and the projector screen, their heads bobbing in loose unison and their feet moving in time to the music.
Around 4:20 a.m., "Everybody Dance Now" came on and the tempo of the dancing picked up. Shortly afterward, trays of sandwiches could be seen making their way around above the wave of heads. They quickly disappeared.
The students showed few signs of fatigue from their continuous night of dancing, even though sunrise would be in a few hours.
Songs by the Backstreet Boys followed, along with a mini-marathon of early Britney Spears music around 5 a.m.
At 4 a.m., a maintenance worker casually vacuumed the carpet outside the Louis Room even as students walked past him, dressed in any and every combination of collared shirts, jeans, sweats, t-shirts, bandanas, lingerie and baseball caps.
At this ungodly hour, Norris was otherwise quiet, except for a heavy bass that penetrated the stone walls and multiple floors of the building.
The students typically passed the janitor on their way to the bathroom. Once their business was through, they shuffled back into the Louis Room, which had all the appearance of a high school dance from the '90s, but with a better budget and more enthusiasm.
One or two dozen Marathoners stayed on the fringe of the dancing crowd inside, where they could stand, talk and take pictures. But the rest of the students stayed together in a tight mass near the stage and the projector screen, their heads bobbing in loose unison and their feet moving in time to the music.
Around 4:20 a.m., "Everybody Dance Now" came on and the tempo of the dancing picked up. Shortly afterward, trays of sandwiches could be seen making their way around above the wave of heads. They quickly disappeared.
The students showed few signs of fatigue from their continuous night of dancing, even though sunrise would be in a few hours.
Songs by the Backstreet Boys followed, along with a mini-marathon of early Britney Spears music around 5 a.m.
There's showers in Norris?
Diana Samuels
Dancers clutching towels and toiletry bags gather in small groups at around 3:00 a.m. to take a quick break from dancing and rinse off some of the sweat.
The guys head downstairs to the basement of Norris, the girls dash through the cold to the Theatre and Interpretation Center (more commonly known as TI). The elevator ride down is packed and sweaty, but the dancers seem happy and excited for their showers.
“It feels really good to take a shower,” says DM Executive Outreach Chair Ruby Sheikh, a Weinberg junior. “You get a second wind.”
“All right, we’re going to have to run ‘cause it’s cold,” a volunteer tells a group of girls she is leading over to TI. The girls don’t run though, maybe because the cold felt good after hours in the Louis Room, or because they simply don’t have the energy. Their flip-flops clack as they walked through storage areas in Norris and across the street to TI.
The hallway of TI is humid and smells of shampoo like a woman’s gym locker room. The girls split into groups waiting for showers, and rumors circulate about which showers are cold. In one room girls lie on the hard floor of the locker room, heads on towels and flip-flop clad feet up on benches.
“Why are there showers in Norris?” one girl asks. “It’s kind of sketchy if you ask me.”
Back by the dance floor, DM committee members are giving foot massages. A dozen volunteers sit cross-legged against the wall dancers lying on plastic sheets on the floor in front of them. The sweet smell of the lotion and baby powder permeates the hallway where a couple dozen more dancers wait in line.
Dancers clutching towels and toiletry bags gather in small groups at around 3:00 a.m. to take a quick break from dancing and rinse off some of the sweat.
The guys head downstairs to the basement of Norris, the girls dash through the cold to the Theatre and Interpretation Center (more commonly known as TI). The elevator ride down is packed and sweaty, but the dancers seem happy and excited for their showers.
“It feels really good to take a shower,” says DM Executive Outreach Chair Ruby Sheikh, a Weinberg junior. “You get a second wind.”
“All right, we’re going to have to run ‘cause it’s cold,” a volunteer tells a group of girls she is leading over to TI. The girls don’t run though, maybe because the cold felt good after hours in the Louis Room, or because they simply don’t have the energy. Their flip-flops clack as they walked through storage areas in Norris and across the street to TI.
The hallway of TI is humid and smells of shampoo like a woman’s gym locker room. The girls split into groups waiting for showers, and rumors circulate about which showers are cold. In one room girls lie on the hard floor of the locker room, heads on towels and flip-flop clad feet up on benches.
“Why are there showers in Norris?” one girl asks. “It’s kind of sketchy if you ask me.”
Back by the dance floor, DM committee members are giving foot massages. A dozen volunteers sit cross-legged against the wall dancers lying on plastic sheets on the floor in front of them. The sweet smell of the lotion and baby powder permeates the hallway where a couple dozen more dancers wait in line.
Norris Lockdown
Diana Samuels
While the dancers inside are still bouncing along to 80’s pop songs, a veritable army of DM volunteers in brightly colored shirts fills the halls. Some sit guarding doors and checking wristbands, singing along to the music and swaying in their chairs. Others rush around speaking into headsets, running up and down the stairs between the DM office on Norris’ third floor and the activities on the second floor.
About 400 students volunteer with Dance Marathon, and between 150 and 200 will be working at Norris throughout the weekend, said co-chairwoman and Weinberg senior Cecilia Byrne,
At about 1:45 a.m., organizers were conferring through their headsets, trying to work out how to get everyone but dancers and volunteers out of the building before Norris was locked down at 2:00 a.m. Only one set of stairs can be used to get outside after that hour. Byrne said committee members would try to track down visitors and ask them to leave.
Up on the third floor, DM has taken over the hallways. Clear garbage bags of yellow and orange balloons lay waiting in one area, maybe for an end-of-DM celebration (EDIT: nope, the balloons were released at sunrise), next to large black industrial boxes for audio/visual equipment. Students in a small, crowded room at the back of the third floor control the video screen on the dance floor and the DM Webcast. The hall by the stairs is lined with cardboard boxes of light blue and gray t-shirts for dancers, handwritten signs labeling them as large, medium and small. The emcees and cheers from the audience are audible even from the third floor, and the beats of the songs are easily identifiable.
While the volunteers are busy, nobody seems stressed. Byrne described the event as “going pretty smoothly,” though with a reminder that this is only hour seven, and there is almost a full day still to go.
Photo by Chris Danzig.
When I dance they call me Macarena
Diana Samuels
When you walk into the Louis Room, it seems at first like an average dance, complete with strobe lights and the low tones of “Suavamente.” But the girls aren’t wearing heels, and none of the guys are looking to score afterwards. The dancers’ outfits would be more appropriate for, well, a marathon – they’ve got numbers hanging around their necks, and most are wearing tennis shoes and athletic shorts.
Dancers are packed tight at the front of the room. A big screen shows video footage of dancers bathed in blue, green and red lights. The Emcees “TnA,” Medill sophomore Todd Johnson and Communication sophomore Adam Welton, pump up the crowd from the stage in front, as the dancers take breaks every few songs. At the back, there’s some room to breathe, a health station, red and yellow jugs of water with plastic cups, and a table where dancers have left bottles of Gatorade and rations of Power Bars.
Six hours in, the dancers are still moving, though maybe not with the same energy they began with, and still cheering at the first beats of popular songs. The “Macarena” got a particularly enthusiastic reception. Nobody had to stumble through those dance moves – apparently those Junior High dances were part of some very formative years. Hands out, flip your hands, shoulders, head, hips and shake…
Photo by Chris Danzig
Dancing for a cause
By Marcy Miranda
The Louis Room on the second floor of the Norris University Center stands transformed. As students walk into the room, a giant screen hangs from the wall and hundreds of smiling faces, laughing and dancing erupt from the screen. A multitude of students fill the room, singing, jumping and moving to the high-energy, fast-paced beats streaming from the two speakers surrounding the screen. On any other day, an event of this sort would be unusual, but today’s event has been anticipated for over six months.
Dance Marathon has begun.
In its 32nd year, DM is Northwestern University’s largest student-run philanthropy. Each year, hundreds of NU students dance nonstop for 30 hours in order to raise money for a different beneficiary. This year’s primary beneficiary, Pediatric AIDS Chicago Prevention Initiative, is an organization whose mission it is to decrease the number of cases of mother-to-child infection of HIV and AIDS.
Ten percent of the total amount raised by DM will go to a second beneficiary, the Evanston Community Foundation, which awards grants and offers financial support to growing organizations that promote community growth in Evanston. While DM officials won't know how much much money they've raised until after the event, since funds will come in throughout the weekend, last year they raised more than $600,000.
The 600 NU students participating this year break up the 30 hours of dancing into 10 blocks of three hours, each with a theme. Dancers are encouraged to wear costumes and dress up accordingly, as music fitting the theme is played.
The first theme, Fabulous life of…, encourages dancers to dress like a celebrity. Other themes include Around the World, Guilty Pleasure, Happy Days and A/X Beach Party.
Despite the varying levels of previous experience with DM, dancers agreed that participation in the event was worthwhile.
Allison Schmitt, a SESP senior, has participated in DM for three years. She has continued to dance because of the satisfaction she obtains from the outcome of DM, and because her experiences have been positive, she said.
“This is one of the most worthwhile things you can do here,” Schmitt said. “It’s a one-of-a kind type of thing.”
Dancing for their first year, Brian Levin and Karan Desai, both Weinberg freshmen, said their expectations for DM were exceeded within the first three hours.
“It (the event) was much more lively than I had expected,” Levin said. He added that the preparations that had gone into the event were worthwhile.
Desai said he was inspired by the speaker from Pediatric AIDS Chicago Prevention Initiative, who addressed the crowd regarding the problem of pediatric AIDS during the first block and shared one of her experiences with a mother of two living with AIDS.
“Hearing the speaker made our reason for being here worth it,” Desai said.
Photo: Paulina Orkisz signs in for Dance Marathon on Friday. By Katie Maley.
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