Moving to the Beat of a Midlife Funk

4 Men Pop, Lock And Forge a Bond in Hip-Hop

In what is one of their easier moves, John Killoran, left, Stuart Chandler, Michael Temchine, and Joseph Schilling throw their hands in the air as they shift their heads from side to side in a performance at Jammin' Java in Vienna. The four have skipped the crisis and found a midlife calling in hip-hop dancing. (By Jahi Chikwendiu -- The Washington Post)

Lots of middle-aged white guys would love to become hip-hop dancers.

Few actually try. Meet four who have.

On a recent Friday night, they take the stage at Jammin' Java in Vienna. They wear sunglasses, white shirts, dark ties, dark pants and sneakers. A funky beat pumps out of the speakers. Three suddenly cross their arms tightly, gangsta-style.

From the crowd, a light and confused laughter rises. Many of the approximately 110 people in the crowd had come to see something else, a rock band set to begin in 10 minutes. The dancers in front of them start to move -- decidedly jerky but surprisingly synchronized. "I like it!" someone yells.

None of the dancers envisioned performing like this more than a year ago, when they started private hip-hop lessons.

Not Mike Temchine, 29, a photographer who had wanted to quit because of stage fright and tensions with another dancer. Not Joseph Schilling, 43, a landscaper and musician saddled with what he calls a "Euro-puritanical influence that seeps into our ability to function." Not John Killoran, 54, a slender carpenter who almost died after being stabbed five times while walking through central Washington.

And not Stuart Chandler, 45, a nursery yard worker who is the group's best dancer. Pre-hip-hop, he was, his wife said, spending evenings moping around their house in Cabin John, near Bethesda. She urged him to go dance and make new friends.

"He is our Beyonce," Schilling said, referring to hip-hop diva Beyonce Knowles. "He's our ultimate prototype."

First, there were just two.

One was Schilling, who for years had been performing music in local clubs, mixing elements of rock, folk and hip-hop. More recently, a girlfriend had taught him some dance moves. She later left him, but the good feelings of learning dance remained. He moaned about all of it to his friend Killoran, who for his part simply hated that he couldn't dance.

The two tried adult lessons in Dupont Circle and soon discovered that "adult" meant a roomful of young women. Schilling felt as if everyone was sizing him up as a lech. They were constantly several steps behind.

Schilling and Killoran headed to a different studio, finding a private teacher at DC Dance Collective in the District. "Oh, my God," the teacher, Phil Thorne, recalled thinking after seeing Schilling dance. "This guy sucks."