They Make Me Feel Like Dancing!

Doris Tunney in the Daigre Dance Studio
photo by M. Sillman

Doris Tunney doesn’t even pretend to be offended when you ask how old she is.

“I’m 86,” she says proudly. “I’ll be 87 on March 26^th.”

Tunney is petite, with cinnamon brown skin, short, curly white hair and perfect posture. Dressed in denim capris and a long sleeved cotton shirt, this octogenarian is ready to roll.

On a rainy Saturday morning, Tunney is one of a half dozen women gathered at a community center in Seattle’s Central Area to work with veteran dance teacher Edna Daigre. The youngest student is in her mid 50’s; Tunney takes the elder honors. She’s been studying with Daigre for decades. She loved to dance when she was younger.

“It made me feel like I was floating,” she recalls. “It made me feel so independent, made feel I could do anything I want to do.”

Keeping people like Doris Tunney in motion and independent has become a mission for Edna Daigre. She and her son, Chris (also a Seattle dance teacher) have developed a program that combines Pilates-style breathing, isolated muscle movements, and other dance techniques that Daigre has taught over her long career.

Dancer and Teacher Edna Daigre
photo by M. Sillman

Edna Daigre is in her 70’s now; she’s been dancing nearly as long as she’s been alive. She started at a community center in Gary, Indiana at the age of 3. Dance allowed her to express herself in a way that words didn’t. Daigre remembers dancing out nursery rhymes, which helped her to learn the stories.

“I would have a speech problem when I tried to communicate,” she explains.

She continued to study dance as a teen: calypso, Latin, and the contemporary technique of Katherine Dunham, which is rooted in African tradition but incorporates elements of ballet and mid-20^th century modern dance. Daigre adored it, but her parents discouraged her from pursuing a dance career. She went into health care instead.

In the early 1970’s, Edna Daigre moved to Seattle with her former husband, who was in the military, and their two sons. When the marriage broke up, Daigre and the kids stayed in Seattle.

“To me, Seattle was like the last frontier,” she laughs.

Culturally, nothing was the same as what she’d left behind in the Midwest. Different music, theater and dance styles.

Instead of bemoaning what wasn’t available, Daigre set out to recreate it in her new community.

She went to talk with the artistic leaders of Black Arts West, and the Central Area Motivational Program. With their backing, Daigre began to teach what she knew to teens. When budget cuts forced CAMP to end her classes, Daigre opened Ewajo Dance Studio. That was 1975.

“I named it Ewajo because it means ‘come and dance’,” she says. 

The teenagers came; so did older people. “We started doing performances in different places like the library and Marymoor Park.”  

Some of Daigre’s students went on to pursue professional dance careers. Most, like Doris Tunney, simply enjoyed moving. Daigre says the community flocked to her studio. But in 2007, Daigre closed Ewajo. She was 65, and she had grown a bit weary of the constant struggle to keep things afloat financially.

Most people retire at 65, but not Daigre.

She wanted to meld her dance and health-care backgrounds.

 “I always had that health-body foundation. I know I wanted to keep dancing ‘til I was 80, 90, as long as I lived.”

Daigre knew that, as she aged, she had to modify the way she moved, and the way she taught older people to move. She was inspired by her own experiences.

“I had an accident that sort of immobilized me. I came back through a very simple technique of all this information that I had gathered for many years.”

Daigre wants older people to believe they can dance. “Dance has a bad stereotype. It’s for the young, it’s for when I get a little tipsy and a little loose.”

Back at the community center, none of Daigre’s Saturday morning students are young or tipsy, but midway through the class, they are all a little loose.

Edna Daigre, center, and Doris Tunney at Daigre Studio
photo by M. Sillman

Infectious R&B music flows out of a simple boom box; the women twitch their hips and roll their shoulders to it, arcing in a circle around Edna Daigre.

Suddenly Doris Tunney busts out a move, and Daigre smiles and claps her hands, urging her other students to copy Tunney.

The older woman just keeps on shakin’ her groove thing. Edna Daigre inspires her.

“Like this morning, I hated to get up,” she says, looking out at the gray skies. “But (I told myself) I’m going to see Edna, and Edna makes me feel good!”

Edna Daigre herself is still a bundle of energy, barely breaking a sweat as she puts her students through their paces. Teaching clearly gives her joy; but dance is her central passion. She says it makes her feel free.

“I love being who I am at this point in my life,” Daigre smiles. “I can do just about anything.”

Watching her navigate her circle of dancers, you don’t doubt that for a second.