You Call That a Hokey-Pokey?
By
Pete Schulte
**Ladies and Gentlemen: A small portion of what
you are about to read is a true story. A very small portion.
Holly is a Marketing Director for a start-up
internet company. Her latest of endless meetings was held in the offices below
Denver’s Union Station. At the conclusion of the meeting she gathered her
troops, ten new employees, in the crowded concourse of the train station. She
thought it’d be great fun if the new employees did an impromptu Hokey-Pokey,
which she would record for her bosses on her phone. The new staff moaned and
groaned but went with Holly’s instructions. They gathered in a circle and ‘put
their right hands in and pulled their right hands out’ and all the other
movements the silly dance entailed.
“C’mon, everybody join in!” Holly shouted to the
sparse crowd waiting for their train. Two small children joined in but that was
about it. Holly’s Hokey-Pokey soon fizzled out with a few half-hearted claps.
And that would have been the end of it if not for a grumpy old man seated not
far from where the dance took place.
“This is a complete disgrace, Mabel,” he grumbled
to his companion.
“Now Horace, they’re just having a bit of fun.
Please settle down.”
“I can’t let this go, Mabel. You know I can’t. It’s
an outrage is what it is.”
“Horace, please don’t make a scene.”
But Horace could not remain in his seat. He
stalked right up to Holly and raised his index finger to her face. “Missy, do
you have the nerve to call what you just did a Hokey-Pokey? Do you have the
nerve to do that?”
Holly slapped Horace’s finger right out of the
way. “Well that’s what it was, buddy-boy.”
“It’s a damn disgrace is what it was,” Horace
countered.
“You bastard!” exclaimed Holly.
By this time Mabel had risen from her seat and
got between Holly and Horace. “Wait a minute, Horace,” she said, attempting to
pacify her red-faced husband. “If these young peoples’ Hokey-Pokey doesn’t suit
you, why don’t you give it try with a group of your own?”
“Ha!” said Holly. “I’d like to see the old
buzzard try.”
“Oh, you’ll see me try all right,” said Horace. “You’ll
eat my dust, little lady.”
Horace got right to it, dancing and prancing,
shouting and cajoling, beseeching and screeching, anything to get people off
their butts and into a righteous Hokey-Pokey. In just minutes he had the entire
concourse, maybe 150 people, into a giant circle. Soon enough they had their ‘left
elbows in and their left elbows out,’ and all that jazz. It was an amazing
sight that left Holly’s mouth agape. But even she joined in. At the dance’s
conclusion people lined up to shake Horace’s hand. They all congratulated him
except for the last man in line. This man’s face was stone cold. “Do you, sir,
have the audacity, the daring, to call what just happened a Hokey-Pokey?”
“What else would you call it?” asked an out-of-breath
Horace.
“I’d call it a Hokey-Jokey. That’s what I’d call
it.”
“Do you want a fat lip right now?” said Horace. “Nobody
insults my Hokey-Pokey and gets away with it.”
“No,” said the man. “I just want to show you what
a real Hokey-Pokey is. You had some what, 200 people dancing? Ha, I slept with
more women than that just last year.”
“Okay, let’s see you try it,” said Horace. “But I
don’t believe you about sleeping with all those women.”
“Well, after this Hokey-Pokey I’ll get one yet.
You bet I will. Hello, Hokey-Pokey. Good-bye, virginity!”
The man announced to the crowd at the concourse
that his name was Herbie, and that they were to all follow him down the street
to Coors Field if they wanted to participate in the world’s largest
Hokey-Pokey. With that, Herbie headed out of the concourse in the direction of
the baseball stadium. Much to Holly and Horace’s dismay, everyone in the
concourse followed right behind him. It was as if Herbie was the Pied Piper of
the Hokey-Pokey.
By the time Herbie walked the three blocks to
Coors Field, there were over 200 people following behind him. A few more steps
and they were at the gate. The ticket taker sized them up with an icy glare. “You
have tickets to the game?” she asked Herbie.
“Absolutely not,” he replied. “We’ve come here to
do the Hokey-Pokey right in the middle of the baseball field. We’ll need plenty
of room. I do hope we won’t be a bother.”
“The Hokey-Pokey you say?” questioned the ticket
taker. “Well, I guess that’d be okay. But hey, we’d better ask the umpire
first. After all, there is a game going on. Say, mind if I tag along?”
“Not at all,” said Herbie. “That’s what we want.
Bodies. Hundreds of them. No, thousands. Hey everybody, follow me into the
stadium!”
With the gates flung open and abandoned, even
more folks filed in behind Herbie. Maybe
a thousand at this point. Who knows? In any case, Herbie steered his masses
toward home plate and jumped up and down until he got the umpire’s attention. “Hey
there, blue, I’d like to call a time out.”
“Now see here, mister,” said the ump. “You can’t
call a time out. You’re neither a player nor a coach. You’re just…just…”
“I’m Herbie is who I am. And guess what? We’re
here to do a quick Hokey-Pokey. So if you’ll be so kind to let us on the field
for a moment, we’ll be done in no time.”
“Are you mad, sir?” the umpire asked.
“I am,” said Herbie. “I’m mad for the
Hokey-Pokey.”
“You mean we should interrupt a televised Major
League baseball game so that you and your gang can run out there and do the
Hokey-Pokey?”
“It’ll be great fun,” assured Herbie. “I promise.”
“Well, I guess I’ll allow it,” ruled the umpire. “It
does sound like fun.”
With that, the Rockies’ star shortstop, Troy
Tulowitzki, came charging over from his position to confront the umpire and
Herbie. “What the devil is going on here?” asked Tulo. “Who are these people?”
“Tulo,” said the umpire, “these folks want to
come out onto the field and do the Hokey-Pokey. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Jeez, I’m not sure,” replied Tulo. “But hey, I
like doing the Hokey-Pokey as much as the next guy. I’ll get the players
involved. Hey purple gang, let’s do this thing!”
With the umpire and Tulo on board it was smooth
sailing for Herbie and the gang. They all ran onto the field and took their places
in a giant circle. Even the crowd in the stands got into it. There must have
been 30,000 people strong in a mass Hokey-Pokey. It was pure heaven for
Hokey-Pokey aficionados young and old alike. Everyone was thrilled with Herbie,
climbing all over each other to congratulate him. Everyone, that is, except one
guy… “Do you, sir, have the temerity, the gumption, the guts, to call what just
occurred a Hokey-Pokey?”
“Of course I do,” said Herbie. “Would you look at
this crowd! That was the Hokey-Pokey of a lifetime. Thirty-thousand strong I
might add.”
“Ha,” said the man. “This was nothing. I once had
30,000 people at my Bar-Mitzvah and I’m not even Jewish. Don’t you think that I
could beat your puny Hokey-Pokey?”
“If you can beat this Hokey-Pokey,” said Herbie, “I
will gladly shake your hand. But I can’t say I believe you about the
Bar-Mitzvah.”
“Listen up, folks!” the man exclaimed. “My name
is Herman, and I’m going to lead you in a real Hokey-Pokey. Follow me, sports
fans, we’re all going to Vegas!”
Herbie shook his head as he watched Herman
leading thousands of excited Hokey-Pokey enthusiasts to Denver International
Airport. He would fly them all that evening to Las Vegas. “It can’t be done,”
muttered Herbie. “It just can’t be done…”
But a few days later it was done. At the Las
Vegas Motor Speedway, Herman led over 100,000 people in a raucous Hokey-Pokey
that surely nobody could ever top. One woman in the crowd, however, wasn’t so
impressed. She sidled up to Herman and said, “You call that piece of crap, that
pile of excrement, a Hokey-Pokey?”
“How dare you!” Herman exclaimed.
“Sir, my name is Helga, and I will take your
lame-ass Hokey-Pokey and double it. Triple it, probably.”
“You go, girl,” said an impressed Herman to
Helga.
And that, my friends, ‘is what it’s all about…’
The end.
To note: The origin of
the Hokey-Pokey is nebulous at best. One possibility suggests it came from an
old-time ice cream vendor who sang out “Hokey Pokey Penny a lump. Have a
lick, make you jump!” Now that must have been some swell ice cream.
Another theory suggests the dance derived from
the traditional Catholic Latin Mass. The priest, with his back to the clergy,
performs his sacred rituals. But all the clergy can see is him putting his left
hand in, pulling his left hand out, grabbing at a chalice and shaking it about.
It kind of makes sense when you think about it. My favorite version comes from
Sheffield, England, published 1892.
‘Can you dance looby looby,
Can you dance looby looby,
Can you dance looby looby,
All on a Friday night?
You put your left hand in,
And then you take it out.
And wag it, and wag it, and wag it,
Then turn and turn about.
I implore you to enjoy your Hokey-Pokey any way
you like -- looby looby. Next up, a startling expose on the Chicken Dance.
