My home away from home. For a stretch of about four years, this was THE place to spend a Saturday night and an occasional Sunday afternoon. I still remember the hours: Saturday nights: 7pm-11pm, Sundays: 11am-5pm. If we went, we stayed the entire time. My older sister and I, and a handful of friends on our block, were regulars. Once we lined up a drop-off and pick-up, we were golden. We’d jamb ourselves into a Ford Pinto or Buick wagon, skates tucked under the seats, as excitement buzzed in the air for the 25-minute drive from Burke to Franconia.
We’d spill out of the car, pay our admission and hurry to lace up our skates in time to catch the end of whatever song was playing. The light-up sign on the far wall indicated the format for each song: all-skate, couples, trio, backwards, reverse, and special. I loved all of them, except for couples skate, which always made me nervous. In my early years, I would hold hands with someone as we trudged around the rink like it was a job. When I was a few years older and had learned to skate backwards, my partner and I more closely resembled a couple enjoying ourselves (but I was faking it – way too awkward). I have couples-skated to “Total Eclipse of the Heart” roughly 50 times.
The best was trio skate. If you could nab two fast partners (not to toot my own horn, but I was FAAAAAST – toot toot!), you ruled the rink. We’d hook our pointer fingers into the back belt loop of each other’s Jordache and weave through slower clusters at warp speed to songs like “Super Freak” and “Celebration.”
In the early 80’s, Wheel-a-While was untamed. Dark corners were plentiful, so you couldn’t throw a Twizzler without hitting a teenage couple making out. Dudes in leather jackets took frequent smoke breaks in the parking lot, and you ran the risk of choking on a mixture of Aqua Net and Marlboro in the girls’ bathroom.
Franconia Wheel-a-While closed it doors for the last time in early 2006, but it hadn’t been its old self in years. I stopped going once I hit high school, and I was back there for a kid’s birthday party a few years before it closed for good. It was not the rink I knew. Gone were the dim lighting, the hidden corners, the dudes in leather jackets, the smoke breaks. It was all bright colors, young children, and wholesome family fun. But – and I did a double-take – the same skate patrol still faithfully cruised the rink. I couldn’t believe it! He must have been there 25 years! I suppose he was thankful for the change; I imagine one grows weary of chasing unruly teens out of dark corners.
My Corner of the Village 