This story is part of an occasional KCUR series called The regularsabout Kansas City’s popular hangouts and the customers who bring them to life.

Sweat drips from the dancers as the clock approaches midnight. Although it is Wednesday evening, inside Companya bar in Kansas City’s Crossroads Arts District, crowds still twist and turn and dance the mambo on the open concrete floor.

DJ Zammy Martinez spins salsa, bachata, cumbia and merengue, and between songs the dancers spin their shoes in a white powder piled on the floor so their feet glide more easily.

During the day, Society is a bar and restaurant, but two nights a week the space is taken over by “Latin Night.” The event began in 2021 as a place for local dance students to practice after their Wednesday classes ended, but then took on a life of its own.

They became so popular that Society added a Friday night event, held in their smaller “Scarlet” room, where social distancing gave way to ballroom dancing.

“It was a refuge for us dancers after the pandemic,” says Alejandro Parrales, a cancer researcher born in Mexico City who has lived in Kansas City since 2013.

Parrales is here at least once a week. “It is a place that is neither ostentatious nor expensive, but Casero”, he says.

Parrales says that for him, dancing is a form of communication. He can express his feelings more easily than with words. He can dance cumbia without thinking, but bachata is his favorite because it is slow and you have more time to concentrate on the musicality.

“My mother is a great dancer,” says Parrales. “She forced me to learn by practicing with my aunts and cousins ​​throughout my childhood.”

He even met his wife while teaching her cumbia dancing at another event. “And even though she was dating someone else at the time, I think I won her over through my dancing,” he says.

Out on the dance floor, Valentina Soto, with her short dark curls and high heels, performs a perfectly controlled double turn with her partner.

Born in Mexico but raised in Kansas City, Soto is a salsera at heart. She loves the dynamic nature of salsa with its quick turns and it’s a great workout.

Soto has only been dancing for three years, but it has become more than just a hobby.

“I was battling cancer last year and couldn’t wait to get back and just dance,” Soto says. “But when you’re so limited and can’t move and do what you love, it really puts things into perspective.”

Now Soto is here once or twice a week. “For me, it’s literally a life-injection,” she says. “I couldn’t wait to come back.”

Soto just wishes Latin dancing could be more popular in Kansas City. She says the ratio of followers to leaders is sometimes unbalanced, making it difficult to find a dance partner.

“I think the girls need to learn to take the lead so we don’t have to wait for the boys to show up,” Soto says.

After a quick salsa, people gather around the water jugs. Parrales says it’s a sober evening for most – unlike other nighttime dances, salsa requires a lot of precision, so alcohol is optional.

Each song ends with the couples thanking each other for the dance and finding a new partner to share the next rhythm with. Sometimes this means waiting your turn, especially if you ask someone with experience. Promises are made about who owes who a song next.

The next music video lights up on the big screens on the walls, ears prick up to find out what genre it is, and the dance floor fills with a new constellation of couples.

Daniel Aguilar is a longtime dancer who was born and raised in Kansas City, but his parents were born in Veracruz, Mexico. He has been coming to Society for two years and says he has two important rules:

“When you ask someone to dance, always do it with a smile,” says Aguilar. “And then if you mess up a step, don’t be embarrassed. It’s just an opportunity for both of us to laugh.”

About half of Society’s patrons are Latinx.

Lily Burke of Shawnee, Kansas, is part of the other half. Burke has danced all over the world – from Michigan to Spain – and heard about this Kansas City event from a friend.

Although she describes herself as an extrovert, Burke says it can be difficult to connect with people outside of your own circle.

“You can go to a cafe and say hello to someone and try to start a conversation, but that’s not a place that’s designed to connect you with another person,” says Burke. “Social dancing is about connecting with others.”

Parrales says he always recognizes the newcomers and that it makes him happy to see the community grow.

“The beautiful thing is that in this community we respect each other, look after each other and protect each other,” he says.

A few songs before 1 a.m., Martinez plays reggaeton songs to signal that the bar is about to close. As the dancers head out, they check on each other to make sure they get home safely.

“If you work in the morning, it’s a little late, but hey,” Burke says with a laugh. “It’s worth it.” Vale la pena.”

For Aguilar, the best feeling is when the night is over. “Lying in bed after a shower and realizing: ‘You know what? Today I loved talking to everyone, meeting new people and learning new rhythms.’ You just fall in love with the dance community.”

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