BY OSCAR PEÑARANDA | PHOTO BY TONY REMINGTON
E very morning just before dawn, from my window at the International Hotel, flights of doves descend upon the corner of Kearny and Jackson streets, and soon the dance begins. Older Manongs used to ask of Filipinos there, “Do they still dance on Kearny Street?” Dancing then was a community builder. Now, it is my addled friend Norman Jayo, fellow tenant, who revives the dance with pigeons. Erstwhile hero, now forgotten by the young, in the ‘70s, he coordinated the dance of the media that resulted in the human barricade on that fateful night of the fall of the hotel. The “authorities” had been banging on the doors of the hotel for nine years. That’s how long the people had been defending and protecting it and its tenants. “We won’t move! We won’t move!” It was the dance of the I Hotel, the dance of standing your ground, the Zen-like dance of immo- bility, when thousands around the Bay from all faiths and non-faiths, all walks of life, swooped down into Kearny Street, interlocked arms, and remained steadfast, their energies and forces of resistance reserved inside their own universe. “We won’t move! We won’t move!” Dance is in the DNA of the Universe …For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you Song Of Myself , Walt Whitman
The Birdman of the I-Hotel …I saved some crusts from the Leftover pizza of the gathering last night. The dough was so good. Come by later
And take these humble crumbs And put them in one of your bags For your morning walks, Manong.
You Who soar with wild wings of your own. 1
1
excerpt from original poem written May 15, 2021, San Francisco
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in dance FALL 2022 64
FALL 2022 in dance 65
In Dance | May 2014 | dancersgroup.org
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