CIT Y INFORMER
What Makes the Commodore Dance Floor So Bouncy? by
Stacey McLachlan Byron Eggenschwiler
illustration by
I was a tween girl in the horsiest of decades, the ’90s—oh, those heady Saddle Club days—so yes, I’ve met a horse or two. Though, really, I identified less as a “horse girl” and more like a “tags-alongwith-her-cousins-on-family-ranchvacations-to-wait-for-riding-signups-because-they-always-broughtmini-bagels-to-the-barn-forbreakfast-and-I-really-likedmini-bagels girl.” (Are they more delicious than regular-sized bagels? That’s an article for another time.) How would I describe these majestic creatures (horses, not bagels)? Large and in charge. Also constantly defecating, which took some of the charm out of the experience (both horseback riding and bagel-eating). I would not describe them, however, as “nature’s trampolines,” but I guess architect H.H. Gillingham saw something I didn’t when he looked at them, which is why he went on to
When Gillingham built the Commodore Ballroom (née the Commodore Cabaret) back in 1929, he layered the shiplap dance floor atop a bed of 2-by-3 boards and tires stuffed with horsehair—ah yes, that famously bouncy, bouncy horsehair. design the city’s most iconic dance floor and I didn’t (to my mother's great disapointment). That’s right: when Gillingham built the Commodore Ballroom (née the Commodore Cabaret) back in 1929, he took his cue from the equine set and layered the
shiplap dance floor atop a bed of 2-by-3 boards and tires stuffed with horsehair—ah yes, that famously bouncy, bouncy horsehair—to absorb dancers’ impact and add a little spring to one’s step. This innovative new building technique had been used at only a few venues
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