Democrat and Chronicle from Rochester, New York • Page 90

4 "tC" )) 'b rV: I jOA Sara Hightower, a three-year employe of the liUA The By BILL O'BRIEN Photographs by BOB GAPSKY You move in the Pythodd Room. If you aren't moving, somebody should carry you out. You must be dead. The tingle starts around the rib cage, then moves up, down and around. Next thing, the whole body is kind of jiggling ever so slightly.

No, no, it's not that absent-minded foot-tapping and hand-clapping with the vacant stare that some music inflicts. The room. The people. They surround you. Then the music crawls inside.

A girl named Ruthie jumps up from her table by the bar and grabs the mike. She shakes all over and sings. Charlie, the bartender who shaves his head, does a bouncing walk down the rows of bottles. The big shoulders move like a football halfback who has a dancing contract. Rita, everybody's girl from the next bar-stool, catches it.

"You got it, honey?" She means have you got the feeling. Away from the bar, out in the Pythodd's small back room where tables and chairs are so close that even the dead man would get the feeling from his neighbor's jiggle, it's not the same jabber of a crowded night club. Guitarist "Little" Melvin Underwood uses facial English to coa a sound. Pythodd I I You rant dance at the Pythodd, but it's okay to move it around a little! i rig 4UPSTATESundoy, Sept. 6, 1970.