Moved by the Music
She dances but she has no reason to.
As Gene O’Brien steps on O’Maddy’s floor in Gulfport, people watch.
Her feet barely touch the beer-puddled floor. Her arms move rhythmically to the karaoke music. She high-fives the amateur singers as they step off the stage.
And there she dances, sometimes alone, but always free. Her style is wild, her movements unchoreographed. Her moves are as new to her as they are to patrons who quickly become her audience.
“Dancing makes me extremely happy,” she said. O’Brien is just over 5 feet tall with a Florida tan. Her hair is short and blond. Her legs bare and freckled, toned like legs of a 20-year-old. Her dress is casual, khaki shorts, tank top and black Skechers. “It comes naturally.”
Her appearance doesn’t hint at her age, 47, except for her faded tattoos. A small blurred daisy on her right shoulder tells a tale of her six years she said she spent in the Army working in medical records in San Antonio. Another on her shin: a butterfly, a mess of colors, a 20-year-old piece of spontaneous art work she and friend had done one day while on the beach.
But beneath her hyper, free-spirited appearance, beneath the smiles, is a woman struggling to make ends meet.
From the energy she has, no one would guess the battles she has fought. From the time she was 9 years old, she said she has dealt with abuse and abandonment. The death of her mother, an alcoholic father and frequent moves are all chapters in the story of O’Brien’s life.
“It only made me stronger,” said O’Brien.
Her childhood made her skin leather-thick; she decided that she can either feel sorry for herself or live her life.
So she dances.
“She never has a bad word to say about anyone,” said Sally Douglas, O’Maddy’s bartender. “She makes me giggle.”
Though her nights are spent dancing to karaoke three or four times a week, her days are vigorous, the reality of her life.
“During the day, I bike, walk and look for jobs,” O’Brien said.
Almost one year ago, O’Brien was laid off from Avid Technologies in Boston, where she worked in customer service. Because of vacations, friends and the weather, she had always wanted to move to Florida. Being laid off was her opportunity to go. Now she is still job-hunting.
According to the Federal Bureau of Labor Statistics, O’Brien has joined 442,000 unemployed Floridians in 2002 who are also seeking jobs. She collects unemployment, recently extended, but that won’t last forever.
“It’s depressing,” said O’Brien. “I have been waiting on taking some jobs because I used to make so much more. But my unemployment will only last through the end of July. Then I may end up taking a lot less or two jobs. I might even end up moving back home.”
Many people know of O’Brien, but not by name.
She is the woman who wears out all her dance partners at O’Maddy’s, the woman whom teen-agers can’t keep up with.
“Sometimes we wish she would stop, other times we get a kick out of her,” said Scott Goodwin, handyman at O’Maddy’s. “You have to part the way when she starts to dance.”
When she starts, she doesn’t stop. She will dance to rap. She will dance to country. She will dance with anyone, or alone. Her favorite: Madonna.
“I don’t know why, but I like her thinking,” said O’Brien. She admits spending more than $100 per ticket to Madonna concerts. That was a luxury she once enjoyed.
Now to save 20 dollars on her rent, O’Brien cuts her own grass. In Gulfport about a mile from O’Maddy’s, she rents a two-bedroom duplex with a friend but hopes to get a place alone. She has enough to cover her rent and expenses, but nothing close to the way her life used to be.
“I love to be on my own,” she said and paused, “but working. I hate disarray, and that is what I feel right now.”
The music stopped for an intermission. She took a swig of her Miller Lite, still smiling. Her shoulders moved slowly but noticeably up and down as she caught her breath. She didn’t appear to be worrying about how the job hunt tomorrow would go, or how tight her budget has to be.
She waited for the music to start back up and she danced.
