Growing up in Miami Beach during the 1960s & ’70s, my best friend Susan Whitebrook spent three to four weeks every summer at the tony Concord in the Catskills, where she learned to dance the hustle and had her first kiss—an innocent peck on the lips with a young waiter working his way through college named Gary, when she was sweet 16. (And, no, it didn’t happen at clandestine staff quarters as depicted in Dirty Dancing, although the guest-employee romance was certainly a thing, Susan recalls, adding that she also slow-danced to “The Lady in Red” with another young waiter,…
