DANCE ORDINANCE NOT OUT OF THE ORDINARY

Sometimes, life imitates art.

Seventeen years ago, moviegoers watched Kevin Bacon lead the charge against
a fictional city government that had outlawed dancing. The film was titled,
"Footloose." It was shot against the scenic backdrop of Utah County, with
its majestic mountains and its Lehi Roller Mills.

Now, true to the script, a real-life group of narrow-minded county leaders
wants to do the same thing, in the same setting.

Or do they?

Before you break into a chorus of "Let's Hear It for the Boy" and charge
the headquarters of Utah County government over its new dance ordinance, it
would help to put the correct backdrop on this one. Don't view it against
the mountains of Utah County, which can seem, to some, like walls meant to
keep out the rest of the world. Instead, look at it against the patchwork
of many other U.S. cities that are trying desperately to deal with the same
thing. You'll find it is nothing radical.

First, let's be clear. The new ordinance ends public dances at 1 a.m., but
the issue is not dance. If all the kids were doing was hopping up and down
in rhythm to a techno beat, the County Commission would have to first crack
down on all those church meetinghouse gymnasiums that double as dance halls
and that sometimes even feature older folks letting loose. Then you would
hear some howling for sure, as thousands of weekend ward-house Fred Astaire
wannabes cut a rug straight to the next commission meeting.

No, the issue here involves illegal drugs -- specifically, ecstasy, or
simply "E" or "X" as the hip crowd calls it, and GHB, or gamma
hydroxybutyrate. Local governments have every reason to be concerned about
these "recreational" drugs, which are sweeping the nation.

The users of ecstasy try to defend it as a harmless stimulant that helps
people feel euphoric. In reality it is a highly addictive stimulant that
causes severe dehydration and, in some cases, brain damage. People who take
it at parties where people are dancing and the temperature is hot need to
drink plenty of water to keep from overheating. But they shouldn't drink
too much water, because that may cause the brain to swell. If you think
swollen brains sound like fun, you'll also enjoy the dry mouth, nausea and
loss of memory that some users experience. Oh yes, did I mention you might die?

As for GHB, it is also known as the "date rape" drug. That's probably
enough said.

These are public menaces, and they are in widespread use at dances known as
"raves." In Utah County, kids are using empty warehouses and other
buildings in remote areas to stage these parties. Sometimes as many as
1,000 people will show up.

Raves and ecstasy all have one thing in common -- dancing. In fact, it has
become predictable. People who abuse more common drugs do so in a variety
of settings, but people who use X and GHB tend to do it almost exclusively
at raves.

Faced with this, communities have a couple of choices. They can go after
the drug users, which would be problematic amid a confusing crowd of
hundreds of people. Or they can go after the raves -- applying some
reasonable restrictions that make ecstacy and GHB less attractive. People
who use X like to party all night, enjoying the euphoria, provided they
don't overheat and die. Send them home early and there really isn't much
point to the drug.

That's why city commissioners in Clearwater, Fla., are considering an
ordinance that would force clubs to close up and send everyone home at 2
a.m. In addition, clubs would need a special city permit, which would be
revoked if police find anything illegal going on, according to the St.
Petersburg Times.

It's why the city of Chicago, which, last time I checked, had a reputation
a little different than that of Utah County, recently passed an ordinance
making it a crime to rent a building to someone who stages a rave party
where drugs are sold. The Chicago Tribune reports that violators could face
up to six months in jail.

Lewiston, Maine, has a different approach. According to the New York Times,
a Lewiston ordinance requires rave promoters to pay for providing one
police officer for every 250 people in attendance.

The Courier-Journal of Louisville, Ky., quotes the former mayor of tiny
Shepherdsville as going apoplectic after visiting a rave. "What I saw made
me sick to my stomach," he said.

Against this backdrop, Utah County's ordinance sounds fairly mainstream. It
doesn't affect private dances at weddings or small parties.

Will it work? That's anyone's guess. Everyone is searching for the right
answer.

But it's hardly a radical approach. If the fictional city leaders in
"Footloose" had offered that sort of a deal, the movie would have fallen
apart before you could finish your popcorn.