Rose Adams: “Keep On Moving”

A veteran of Chicago’s mambo and salsa community reflects on music, history and a lifetime of dancing

Anyone who has spent time in Chicago's mambo and salsa community has probably seen Rose Adams on the dance floor.

She is graceful, energetic, stylish and always ready to dance. She supports the instructors, the DJs, the organizers and, most importantly, the other dancers. Although she is now 86 years old, she continues taking classes, attending events and encouraging others to become involved.

Her given name is Romillie Adams, but almost everyone knows her as Rose.

“Put Rose on top of it,” she told my wife, Leslie, and me when we asked which name she wanted us to use in this article, “because most people know me by Rose and not Romillie.”

The nickname goes back to her childhood in Alabama. While helping care for an elderly woman, Romillie worked alongside a woman whose name was also Rose. The older woman began calling her “Little Rose.” Because people often had trouble pronouncing Romillie, the name Rose stayed with her.

On July 17, 2026, Leslie and I visited Rose at her home to learn more about her life and her connection to mambo, salsa and Chicago’s dance community.

We arrived with a questionnaire, but the afternoon became much more than a formal interview. Rose shared memories of growing up in the South, coming to Chicago, working as a nightclub photographer, discovering mambo and cha-cha, following salsa as it developed and continuing to dance through every stage of her life.

Her story is not merely the story of one dancer. It is also part of the story of mambo and salsa in Black Chicago.


From Alabama to Chicago

Rose was born in Mobile, Alabama. When she was about five years old, her family moved her to Demopolis.

Her mother died when Rose was only three, and her father had to work in another city. Rose and her siblings were placed with relatives. Life was difficult, and responsibility came early.

At six years old, Rose was already working in the fields, picking and chopping cotton.

“I went to school maybe two days out of the week,” she remembered, “maybe three days one week and two days the next week. I never got to go to school a straight week because I had to work in the field.”

As a young child, she also learned to help her aunt care for others. By the age of seven or eight, she knew how to assist with the care of an elderly, bedridden woman.

“I was very responsible because of the way I was brought up,” Rose told us. “I didn’t just start to be responsible in my old age. I started that when I was very young.”

Looking back on those years, she described herself as having come up “on the rough side of the mountain.”

Rose moved to Chicago in 1953, when she was between 12 and 13 years old. Chicago opened an entirely different world to her.

When we asked whether her family background had helped create her love for music and dancing, she answered very plainly:

“I inherited all of that here in Chicago.”


A Young Photographer at the Center of Black Chicago

Rose’s introduction to Chicago nightlife came when she was 18 years old.

She worked for Johnson’s Photo Studio and took photographs at clubs, ballrooms and show lounges around 63rd Street and Cottage Grove Avenue.

“That was the center of attraction for Black people in Chicago,” she explained.

Her work took her into places such as the Grand Ballroom, McKee’s, the Fitzhugh Show Lounge, Basin Street and Budland.

“Wherever there were people buying pictures, that’s where I went and took pictures,” she said. “So I was the photographer at that time in the area.”

She was a young woman from Alabama entering a world filled with musicians, dancers, entertainers and sophisticated nightclub patrons. She watched the people around her and learned from them.

“Even in the clubs, I would sit back and look at people,” she recalled. “I learned a lot, and I learned the things that I liked or didn’t want as part of my life.”

Those experiences helped shape more than her love of dancing. They also influenced how she carried herself.

“I’ve always tried to carry myself in a respectable manner,” she said. “People in the South always believed in respecting other people.”

Rose wanted not only to conduct herself with dignity, but also to be a positive example.

“It wasn’t just about me,” she explained. “It’s about how I can influence others in a positive manner.”


Discovering Mambo and Cha-Cha at the Clubhouse Lounge

The Clubhouse Lounge, located near 63rd Street and Cottage Grove, became the center of Rose’s early dance life.

“It was a wonderful experience at the Clubhouse Lounge,” she remembered. “It was a bar, and it was a dance place.”

The building is gone now, but Rose’s memories of it remain vivid.

The Clubhouse Lounge was where she heard mambo and cha-cha and watched the dancers she remembers as the Mambo Kings.

When we asked what first attracted her to mambo, she gave a simple answer:

“I just liked the way they danced.”

Soon, she began dancing too.

Among the people she remembers from those days were Saladin and Rosita, who looked out for her, picked her up and made sure she arrived home safely. She also remembered dancers such as Frank Battle and the husband-and-wife team of Damon and Bernie Riley.

“Boy, they could dance,” Rose said.

She recalled a wonderful dancer named Erwin Hardy lifting her into the air while they danced.

“That was the day,” she said with a smile. “Mambo, cha-cha."

Rose was also discovered at the Clubhouse Lounge by a man looking for a partner for a Miller High Life dance contest. The contest included dozens of dancers, and Rose and her partner finished in second place.

Nevertheless, Rose never considered herself a professional dancer.

“I never danced professionally,” she explained. “Everything was social.”

That distinction is important. Rose learned in the clubs, through observation, participation and dancing with many different people. Her education came directly from the social dance floor.


Moving From Mambo Into Salsa

Rose did not stop dancing when the music and the community began to change.

“What happened with me is that I didn’t stop at that,” she explained. “When the salsa came in, that interested me, and I kept it going.”

Some dancers from the earlier mambo era did not make the transition into salsa. Rose did.

She learned to dance both On1 and On2.

“I learned both ways,” she said. “So I can dance on one or two. It doesn’t matter.”

She credits that versatility to the many years she spent dancing with different partners and moving through different parts of the Chicago dance community.

“I think it was because of the influence of my going around that circle through the years,” she said. “I picked it up, and I danced with different people.”

Rose never had one regular partner. She learned to adjust to the person in front of her, something every experienced social dancer understands.

At one point, she had learned her basic steps using what she called the man’s footwork. Gloria Farr later helped her make the transition to the follower’s footwork.

“She undid what I had learned the wrong way,” Rose said.

Today, Rose prefers following, but she continues to study both sides of the dance. She still takes classes with instructors such as Kat, Tchaas and Joe.

What impressed me most was Rose’s humility. After decades of dancing, she still approaches a class as someone who can learn something new.

“I don’t mind taking the classes because I feel like I don’t know enough,” she said. “I still feel green, even though they say I can dance.”

Anyone who has watched Rose knows that the woman can dance. But her willingness to remain a student is one of the reasons she is still growing.


A Spiritual Journey That Still Guides Her

Rose also wanted her spiritual life to be recognized as an important part of her story.

She told me that a particularly significant chapter of her spiritual journey began in 1980, when she joined Trinity United Church of Christ under the leadership of the Reverend Dr. Jeremiah A. Wright Jr.

Rose spoke with great respect and affection for Reverend Wright and the influence he had on her spiritual development. She also smiled as she remembered the way he would refer to her as “Rose” Romillie Adams. His use of the nickname helped make “Rose” even more firmly established as the name by which people came to know her.

Her faith has remained a steady and continuing presence in her life. Rose is still an active member of Trinity United Church of Christ, now under the leadership of the Reverend Dr. Otis Moss III, of whom she also spoke very highly.

For Rose, spirituality is not merely something from her past. It remains part of the journey she is still traveling—guiding how she treats others, how she serves her community and how she continues to move through life with strength, gratitude and purpose.


Dancing as Therapy

When we asked Rose to describe her dance journey, she did not talk about awards, recognition or complicated turn patterns.

She talked about life.

“Dancing keeps me alive,” she said. “I think if I stop, that’ll be it.”

For Rose, dancing is not about trying to appear younger than she is. It is about continuing to use her body, keeping her mind active and maintaining connections with other people.

“It’s the movement of the body,” she explained. “It’s like therapy.”

She added that dancing exercises parts of her body that she did not even know she had.

Rose has watched other dancers from her generation become less active. Some can no longer stay out late. Others have problems with their knees or have moved into activities such as swimming, yoga and water aerobics.

Rose understands that everyone’s body and circumstances are different. Nevertheless, as long as she can move, she plans to continue moving.

“It’s keeping me young,” she said. “You go out and people see you dancing, and you inspire others.”

That inspiration is not accidental. Rose actively encourages other people, including other seniors, to attend classes and events. She told us about several women she introduced to salsa and mambo classes.

Because Rose inspired them, they became involved. Their participation then encouraged others.

That is how a community grows.


The Music That Still Moves Her

Rose may not always remember the titles of individual songs, but she knows immediately when she hears music that moves her.

She has collected records, cassettes and CDs throughout the years. Her collection includes artists from several eras and genres.

Among the Latin music artists she remembers most fondly are Celia Cruz and Tito Puente.

Rose had the opportunity to see Celia Cruz perform in Chicago several times.

“I felt blessed,” she said. “She was a mover too. She kept moving.”

When we asked Rose whether she preferred classic mambo, classic salsa or newer music, she chose the classics.

Speaking about the music associated with artists such as Tito Puente, she said:

“That good stuff. You can’t get away from that.”

When that music is played well, Rose said, “It makes you feel happy.”

That may be the best explanation of all. The music makes her happy, and that happiness becomes visible when she steps onto the dance floor.


Rose, El Caobo Internacional and Our Dance Community

Neither Rose nor I can remember exactly where we first met.

I remember seeing her with Joe Long at the Green Dolphin. Rose also attended events at places such as Miss Bonnie’s, the Drake Hotel, the Celebrity, the Grand Ballroom, Mr. G’s and the Dating Game.

Leslie remembers Rose from the Dating Game, where Rose and other veteran dancers would share steps and dance together.

Whatever the exact starting point may have been, Rose has supported El Caobo Internacional for many years.

When asked who had influenced her within the dance community, Rose mentioned me. Her answer, however, also became a tribute to Leslie.

“What influenced me about El Caobo was that he never gave up,” she said. “And I would say his wife was a big supporter because she was there through thick and thin, staying up late at all kinds of hours and traveling.”

Hearing that meant a great deal to both of us.

Rose remembered the years when I organized events at venues such as the Celebrity and the Grand Ballroom and sometimes struggled to attract the audience I hoped to reach. She remembered when only a few people attended, and she remembered when the events began to catch on.

“I saw his enthusiasm,” she said. “When you see someone else is motivated to do something, I wanted to support that.”

That statement also describes Rose herself. She does not simply attend events. She supports the effort behind them. She understands that a community cannot survive if everyone waits for someone else to support it.

She has attended salsa congresses, taken classes and followed the development of the Chicago scene for many years.

“This has been an amazing trip,” she told us.


What Makes a Good Mambo or Salsa Event?

Rose’s definition of a good event has nothing to do with expensive decorations, celebrity instructors or the size of the venue.

“I think anytime community comes together for anything, that’s what makes it good,” she said. “When you’re on one accord, and it’s for the same purpose.”

That answer should resonate with everyone involved in Chicago mambo and salsa.

A good event is created when people come ready to participate. It happens when dancers support one another, welcome newcomers, dance with different partners and remember that they share responsibility for the atmosphere in the room.

Rose also believes younger dancers should understand the history behind what they are learning.

She spoke enthusiastically about instructors who explain the African foundations of the music and movement.

“All of this came from Africa,” she said, reflecting on what she had learned. “That’s important for the history of it, because a lot of them don’t know that this actually came from our people. And that’s teaching them our history too.”

When we asked why it is important to continue supporting mambo and salsa, Rose answered in five words:

“Because it’s part of our culture.”


Rose and Emmett Till

During our visit, Rose showed Leslie and me a remarkable class photograph from the summer of 1955.

Rose was in the same eighth-grade classroom as Emmett Till. In the photograph, she is seated in the row behind him, almost directly behind him.

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Summer class, 1955. Romillie "Rose" Adams is standing in the row behind Emmett Till, almost directly behind him. Photograph courtesy of Rose Adams.

​According to Rose’s recollection, Emmett’s mother took him out of the summer session approximately two weeks before it ended so that he could visit relatives in Mississippi.

He never returned to that Chicago classroom.

Emmett Till was abducted and brutally murdered in Mississippi in August 1955. His death became one of the defining tragedies of the Civil Rights era.

For the world, Emmett Till became a symbol of the violence and injustice suffered by Black Americans.

For Rose, he was a classmate.

The photograph brings that history close to home. It captures Rose and Emmett as Chicago schoolchildren before his life was taken and before his name became known throughout the world.

This is an important part of Rose’s story, but it is not the whole of her story. Rose has lived a long, full and active life of her own. She has raised a family, worked, served others, witnessed Chicago history and remained connected to the music and dancing she loves.


“Don’t Stop Moving”

Near the end of our conversation, I asked Rose what advice she would give to younger people who hope to remain as active as she is.

Her answer was immediate:

“Keep on moving. Don’t stop moving.”

At 86, Rose understands that phrase in a way many younger people cannot yet appreciate.

She has lived through poverty, the loss of her mother, childhood labor, interrupted schooling, racial segregation, the murder of a classmate and the many personal losses that come with a long life.

Still, she keeps moving.

She moves physically through dancing and exercise. She moves mentally by continuing to learn. She moves socially by remaining involved in the community. She moves spiritually by encouraging and supporting others.

Finally, I asked Rose what she would like people to remember about her and her connection to the dance community.

She answered:

“That I never stopped moving until I wasn’t able to move anymore.”

I hope that day remains far in the future.

For now, Rose is still here. She is still taking classes. She is still supporting events. She is still encouraging other people to dance. She is still responding when the music begins.

The next time you see Rose at a mambo or salsa event, take a moment to speak with her. Ask her to dance. Listen to one of her stories. Thank her for continuing to show us what dedication, dignity and longevity look like.

Rose Adams is not simply someone who has watched Chicago’s mambo and salsa history.

She has danced through it.

And she is still moving.

With love and appreciation,
- El Caobo