Philadelphia flash mob spreads cheer in Rittenhouse Square

A TYPICAL SUNNY June Saturday at Rittenhouse Square. People were walking their dogs, pushing their baby carriages, chatting on their cellphones. A pretzel vendor hawked his wares. A camera-carrying tourist from France stopped to consult his map.

And then the dancing began.

It started with just two people, quickly expanded to about a dozen, and soon more than 25 dancers were moving in sync to the sounds of Fat Boy Slim's "Weapon of Choice," which echoed from a boom box on the corner of 18th and Walnut streets.

For a little more than three minutes, they waved. They jumped. They spun.

Then the song ended, and they dispersed without a word as strangers clapped and cheered.

Another flash mob - the good kind, this time - had struck Philadelphia.

"I got goose bumps," said observer Tracey Neill, 50, who recently moved to Bucks County from Idaho. "I'm sure they have these in Idaho, but I don't know where."

Here in Philadelphia, the words "flash mob" spark connotations of teenage hooligans up to no good, harming people and property.

That's what the city saw last year, when at least four separate events featuring physical harm to strangers and vandalism were dubbed "flash mobs." In one incident along South Street in March, an estimated 2,000 youths swarmed, injuring at least four people.

More recently, a group of teens who robbed and beat pedestrians, leaving one woman with a broken leg, was dubbed a "flash mob" by the media. The latest incident also sparked fears that 2011 would be another summer of bad behavior in Philadelphia.

But flash mobs don't have to be that way. In other places, in the U.S. and abroad, flash mobs are organized groups that break into song or dance or have pillow fights or don't move at all, purely for fun and the amusement of others.

In May, Jane Irwin and her friends decided to take back the term "flash mob." The making of the Rittenhouse Square mob, dubbed "Love Storm," had begun.

Flash mobs as we know them in 2011 started less than a decade ago, but these kinds of performance-art pieces have actually been around since the 1950s, said Staci Lawrence, co-owner of Flash Mob America, a California-based company that organizes flash mobs, generally ones that involve dance or song.

"The term has changed, but it's public performance," said Lawrence, whose company motto is "We create joy through surprise."

Since last year, the Opera Company of Philadelphia has surprised people with "random acts of culture," by bursting into song inside Macy's or Reading Terminal Market.

"We've purposefully avoided the F-word because of Philly's history with certain groups," said Michael Bolton, the company's director of community programs. "To avoid the stigma of the term 'flash mob,' we'll call it a 'pop-up performance.' "

But the Opera Company's events aren't really "flash mobs." They're limited to a select group of people, although strangers can sing along.

Flash mobs, innocuous or not, are generally organized through social-media sites such as Twitter. Participants are usually strangers who work together for a common goal.

One Sunday in May, Irwin, a 30-year-old waitress from Fishtown, and a friend were watching YouTube videos of fun flash mobs, like the one at New York's Grand Central Terminal in 2008 in which more than 200 people simply froze in place.

Irwin began to think about how cool it would be if a flash mob suddenly appeared where she was.

"I liked the idea of a flash mob to cheer Philly up a little bit," Irwin said. "I'm having a rough year, and I'm sure other people are, too. It's so surreal and absurd when you see one, that you have to smile."

Irwin began recruiting dancers. First, she texted a few friends to see if they'd be interested in taking part, and immediately got six replies. A few days later, she and pals Katie Searl and Brynn Tetrick got together to choreograph their dance.

"From about 7 in the evening until 4 in the morning, we put the moves together and hung out and practiced," said Tetrick, 28, a bank teller from Northern Liberties. "Then the next day, we did it again."

Meanwhile, Irwin created a Love Storm Facebook page and promoted the idea on sites like Craigslist. Strangers contacted Irwin to find out where rehearsals were, but they weren't given information about the actual flash-mob event until later.

Love Storm held more than a dozen rehearsals in a grassy Fairmount lot over a four-week period. They weren't the most organized affairs, but they were fun, Irwin said. Different people showed up each time. They ranged in age from early 20s to mid-50s.

"It's kinda on my bucket list," said Amanda Meiers, 26, of East Falls, as a way of explaining her interest in it.

Each rehearsal ended up with a slight modification to the dance.

"It's easy moves and kind of repetitive so everybody who wants to can dance," said Searl, 29, of Fairmount, who works with adults with developmental disabilities. "It's just something positive to do over the summer."

On June 25, the day of the actual Rittenhouse Square performance, the organizers were worried: Rain had been forecast for that afternoon.

Still, they held a final practice session in Port Richmond in the shadow of Interstate 95, running through the routine at least eight times before breaking up and heading to Rittenhouse.

At 4:30 p.m., the dancing began. The French tourist snapped photo after photo. A waitress from a nearby restaurant ran across the street to get a closer look. The watchers cheered as, in waves, the mob of dancers grew.

In a little over three minutes, it was over. Many of the dancers headed to a local bar to celebrate their success. Irwin, red-faced, was jubilant.

"A lot of people stopped!" she said. "It was so much fun. Everyone's really proud of the work we did. They're already bugging me about the next one."