Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, October 31, 1993 TAG: 9310300271
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 5 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MARYLOU TOUSIGNANT THE WASHINGTON POST
DATELINE: VIENNA LENGTH: Long
Around them careen 11 other sixth-grade couples in similar dance distress.
Andrew's arms are stretched out like Herman Munster's, to their absolute fullest extension. Susannah, while attempting to mirror her partner's hesitant steps, seems to be concentrating harder on keeping a predetermined distance between the two.
One couple down the line, Jonathan Shoemaker's hands are levitating a few inches above Samantha Wheeler's waist. After three trips around the Vienna church hall dance floor, 11-year-old Jonathan announces proudly, ``I think I've got this!'' Five seconds later, the two are lurching into the palm fronds at the far end of the hall.
``This will get better, won't it?'' Hinkel pleads in her joking-yet-serious voice.
From experience, she knows it will. It has to.
Mothers have told her that after the first lesson, their boys are enjoying themselves without having to be cattle-prodded with a luffa brush, said Hinkel.
Hinkel is the Rhodesian-born daughter of an English headmaster. She married an American serviceman and moved to this side of the Atlantic 20 years ago.
Not that the personable Hinkel, 42, whose parents were friendly with the likes of the archbishop of Canterbury and Sir Edmund Hillary, is stuffy about her social p's and q's. Far from it, which explains the success of her 4-year- old classes, which run the social gamut from wearing white gloves to playing whist.
Once thought the epitome of upper-crust snobbery, cotillion and debutante classes have become decidedly populist in recent years. Some public elementary schools even offer after-hours ballroom dance classes.
Parents see the classes as a way to ease the uncertainty and awkwardness young people feel as they prepare to leave the comfort of elementary school for the unknowns of adolescence. Often it is the children who sell their parents on cotillion class.
``I thought I could use a few pointers with my manners. I didn't think they were as good as they could be,'' said Andrew Wilson, of Vienna, echoing the comments of a half-dozen others in Hinkel's class. ``And I wanted to learn to slow-dance so I wouldn't be totally embarrassed at my sixth-grade dance.''
Although class discussions may be rooted in the blue-blooded do's and don'ts of Emily Post and Amy Vanderbilt, Hinkel's delivery is purely her own: As when she tells her girls it's not polite to ``gag and tell a boy he smells,'' or when she tells her boys that when grown-ups visit their homes, ``get up off your butts and go greet them.''
The cotillion kids listen to her because, not to put too fine a point on it, when Mom tells you to do something, it's nagging, but when Mrs. Hinkel tells you, it's neat. It's fun. In fact, it's downright cool to be courteous.
The etiquette program, aimed at sixth-, seventh- and eighth-graders, got its start when a friend asked Hinkel to take on the challenge.
``This class is a natural,'' she said. ``The kids are ready for it. They absorb it like sponges.''
Classes emphasize that manners are as simple, or as complicated, as showing respect and concern for others. Yes, society has rules, but they are less important than just being yourself and making others feel comfortable.
``I'm trying to get across that an individual is a true gentleman or lady when showing sensitivity, generosity, kindness - all those good words - in their treatment of others,'' she said.
But harnessing the energy of this self-absorbed young swarm is not always easy. The playground pecking order is resilient and the curse of ``cooties'' hovers, at least in the early sessions.
Justin Hockenbury, for one, thinks that the occasional gasps and moans of his peers are simply for show. ``Nobody's really used to it yet,'' the sixth-grader from Vienna said. ``I hope that eventually, when we actually have to touch each other, we won't be shrieking.''
Hinkel chooses to let some of the dramatics pass. ``But if I'm not careful, it can go leaping,'' she said.
Hinkel has three classes, with 24 pupils each, meeting every other Thursday for 90 minutes at Emmanuel Lutheran Church in Vienna. Level I offers etiquette nitty-gritty such as table manners, receiving lines, social correspondence and dances such as the electric slide. Level II hones in on peer pressure and dealing with drugs, alcohol and sex.
The introductory class has a dress code and concludes with a formal dinner dance. Parents are expected to participate. Some classes also are invited to dine at a local French restaurant where the waiters are tuxedoed and the tables are linen-draped.
Hinkel publicizes her classes with fliers mailed to pupils at a half-dozen schools in the Oakton-Vienna-Reston area, and sign-up is on a first-come, first -enrolled basis, providing there are roughly equal numbers of boys and girls.
Susan Wilson mentioned the class to her son last spring, but got no response. Then Andrew went to a dinner dance at his Oakton school. ``He had an absolute ball,'' she recalled, ``but he wanted to learn more about how to dance and act. He came home and said, `I want to do that cotillion thing, Mom,' and I said, `Great.' ''
So now Andrew is doing ``that cotillion thing'' every other Thursday evening, missing baseball practice to learn the cha-cha.
He hasn't mentioned to his coach where he is when he's not on the diamond.
Asked if he planned to tell him at some point, Andrew thinks for a moment.
``Maybe,'' he said. ``Maybe not.''
by CNB