Battle of the Ballroom Bands

The Liberal Club of Fall River hosted the Fall River Musicians Union event, scholarship fundraiser, a good cause. Wednesday dance class got a field trip.
Joe and I decided to try eating in Fall River. The GPS sugggested Biera Alta, a traditional Portuguese restaurant with a bacalau special. Our Portuguese waiter assured Joe he would not feel the salt, a good description of what salted cod can do to the tongue if it is not prepared well. Joe got a beautiful casserole dish, hand painted on a terra cotta base, decorated with a cherry tomato cut to look like a flower. My Portuguese soup was very nice, just right and cheap - $2.50!
On to the Liberal Club - GPS land for sure, even when we were there, since the GPS put us on the back side of the building. "Where are we?"
We don't know why it's the Liberal Club. An online search gave no history, just reviews of the Portuguese restaurant attached. A patron told us it had moved from a smaller building to the present enormous, low ceiling, rambling, dark paneling, fluorescent lighting, rectangular tables, unfrequented bar off in the hallway, 50/50 raffle that only netted $102 to the winner.
The bands were pretty good. Billy Couto really wanted to please the crowd, though he was in the smaller room. The band in the larger room plays for free on Sundays in New Bedford. A crowded floor, we were warned.
The crowd we saw would clog up any floor, shuffling mostly in place, the lady crushed against her partner; the guys couldn't have gone anywhere even if they had wanted to. Not all the songs filled the floor, and there was room for our cha cha and swing.
Then the bands changed. The Meadowlarks 18 piece produced a sloppy sound, so we went to the smaller room for Mike Moran. Moon River, done to tempo, thank goodness, and rest in peace, Andy Williams.
We were apprehensive about the Silvertones, remembering the draggy foxtrots of the Mel-tones, but they started well. When the other band took a break, the floor filled, and the tempo went back down. Oh well, time to go home anyway.
The GPS sent us off into Rhode Island (recalculating). Luckily when it sent us to Rte 24, I knew we were still south of 195 or else Joe would have thrown it out the window, as he did with the previous one.