"Y.M.C.A." (An Oral History)

Photo-illlustration by Sean McCabe

Jones: I left for the first time in '81, when the group went in a different direction. But I kept getting royalties. Then I was the only one doing any kind of performing. [When the group broke up], Glenn was working in a camera store, David was a bartender, Alex was working in an office, Felipe was a secretary. It was sad -- these were talented men who were once atop the world and deserved a chance to continue their craft.

The Village People regrouped in 1987, but not to record new material. They were proudly and officially a nostalgia act, available for weddings, bar mitzvahs, and corporate events.

Hodo: Bar mitzvahs used to be our bread and butter, everywhere from the Pierre Hotel to backyards. But we haven't played one in five or six years, because now the parents grew up in the '80s, not the '70s. REO Speedwagon does bar mitzvahs instead of us.

Roger Bennett (coauthor, Bar Mitzvah Disco): "Y.M.C.A." is the single most important song to hit the Jewish religion since "Hava Nagila." And paradoxically, not one of the Village People is Jewish. But they did play a critical function, providing a slew of new role models for Jewish youth. We were under such pressure to become bankers, accountants, and lawyers. They opened our eyes to other career possibilities: a cop, a builder, a flamboyant Indian...

In February 1996, five years after Morali's death from AIDS, a onetime aspiring priest from Tampa, Florida, the son-in-law of Yankees owner George Steinbrenner, changed everything.

Joseph Malloy (former general partner, New York Yankees): It was the opening of Legends Field, our spring-training stadium in Tampa, and a couple of the grounds crew guys approached me with the idea of bringing a little excitement to the exhibition games. In the middle of the fifth inning, when they dragged the infield, the guys wanted to do the arm motions to "Y.M.C.A." I hadn't heard the song for a long, long time, but the crowd absolutely loved it. I thought, "Hmmm, this might work in New York."

On April 9, 1996, the Yankees opened at home against the Kansas City Royals. With a driving snowstorm battering players and fans alike, five Yankee Stadium groundskeepers began their customary walk to clean the infield in the middle of the fifth inning. Then, from the speakers, a familiar horn riff and disco beat kicked in.

Juan Gonzalez (from his New York Daily News column, October 29, 1996): They began to dance, strut, and gyrate around second base while they dragged the field. The capacity crowd roared with approving laughter. We all cheered and applauded, and for a moment we all felt a little warmer inside. It was baseball poking fun at itself, reminding us all that this huge, multibillion-dollar, cutthroat business is, after all, about people having a good time.

Molloy: I remember looking at [Yankees] Wade Boggs and Derek Jeter and seeing them swaying to the music. When those grounds crew guys dropped their rakes and performed, you had to watch. From the owner's box, I would do the Y-M-C-A motions with the crowd. I should have trademarked it.

Michael Musto (columnist, The Village Voice): "Y.M.C.A." is one of many cultural phenomena that started as a gay in-joke and eventually became stripped of its winkiness and subsumed by the mainstream. Back in the '70s, the masses did those crazy hand gestures along with the song, truly thinking it was an upbeat number about how nice the Y is, but at least the sophisticated crowd was plugged into the real meaning. The Studio 54 set knew full well the Village People were a campy assortment of gay stereotypes nodding to the gays with coded sexual allusions and macho posturing.

Molloy: "Y.M.C.A." is about homosexuality? I had no idea until this very moment. Wow! Well, it's a great song that makes people feel good. That's what's important.

Not long after Yankee Stadium made "Y.M.C.A." a fifth-inning staple (which is still being done 12 seasons later), other teams took notice. Also in '96, the Oakland Coliseum was undergoing a $200 million renovation. As an A's batter stood at the plate, trying to concentrate while, say, Randy Johnson unleashed a 97-mph inside fastball, the noise from bulldozers and jackhammers filled the air.