That's just how these skaters roll

When you walk into Saints North in Maplewood, a back-in-time atmosphere drifts down like stardust. The door to the old-fashioned roller rink closes, and suddenly you're in a parallel universe where Lawrence Welk and the Coen brothers could show up any minute, arm in arm.

Retro mod-colored globes cast a dim glow overhead. The empty oval rink looks glassy as a still pond until, wooed by the sound of Henry Mancini going to town over the loudspeakers, the silver-haired skaters trickle through the gate. Around they glide, counterclockwise, always counterclockwise. Some forge solo paths, some pair off side by side. A few are skate-dancing, while others are content with a glorified shuffle.

Growing old on eight wheels is a fine thing for these longtime regulars at the Friday morning senior skate. To them, it is as much a comfort as it is a stimulant. For two hours a week, this is their planet, orbiting at their speed.

Ed Stitt, 75, of Shoreview and his lady friend, 72-year-old Mary Palmer of Rogers, move across the floor almost as one, his arm lightly encircling her waist. Their tempo is somewhere between andante and allegro.

A few years ago, Palmer fell and broke her hip at Saints North (which posts signs at the entrance firmly disavowing responsibility for injury).

"Of course, at that time, I'd only been roller skating for 60 years," she says dryly. As soon as her bones healed, Palmer was right back out there.

"I've had 10 kids, nine boys and a girl, so ... ," she trails off, the source of her fearlessness now obvious.

Darreld, who taught high-school math and gym in St. Paul before he retired, was a roller-rink floor guard at the Skatedium in St. Paul when he met Jackie in the early '90s. The Johnsons, both in their 70s, had a mock wedding at that rink in 1994.

"It took me three years to catch him," she says.

"I was gullible," he says, deadpan.

The songs change, and Darreld, his fit, former gym teacher's physique clad in a sleeveless T-shirt and running shorts, begins a sort of tap dance on skates, hopping from his toes to his soles in a syncopated rhythm.

Taking it leisurely

Some regulars have known him since he was a toddler, stomping around on custom mini-skates made by his late father, Sam Spector, who managed two of St. Paul's most popular roller rinks during the pastime's 1950s-'60s heyday.

"I was a daddy's boy; I liked to hang out with him at work," he said. "When I fell asleep, he'd just slide me into a skate shelf until it was time to leave."

The younger Spector, now 52 and a property manager in the outside world, is a man in his element at Saints North. A self-described "rink rat," he is also an accomplished former competitive skater. He and his longtime customers have the easy rapport that comes from decades of connection.

Spector has been at a rink almost every day of his life, he said. Before running Saints North, he took over management of the Skatedium from his father. That rink, with its prized maple floor, closed in 1996. Earlier, his parents met and courted at another defunct St. Paul rink, the Coliseum, which was in the Midway neighborhood and closed in 1958.

"At the old rinks, they played live organ music," Steve Spector said. "The kids didn't appreciate it, though."

Vannelli, who has been choosing and playing roller-tunes for four decades, turns 90 this year, "and I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up," she said.

She quit skating last June. On her 89th birthday.

"I didn't want to press my luck," she said.

Glenn Livingston of Spring Lake Park strolls in and eases himself into a booth to talk with Spector. He's there for the socializing, not the skating.

"He's 90, and he just quit skating two months ago," Spector says, with the pride of a high-school athlete's father.

Judy Baeten -- at 47 one of the babies of the bunch -- rolled off the rink to greet Glenn.

"He's my knight in shining armor," she said. "Anything wrong with your skates, anything at all, he can fix them."

Their hearts will go on

As a dramatic organ version of the theme from "Titanic" swells up, couples and singles head back out for a skate like the tide rushing back to the sea.

"They always go crazy over that one," Spector says.

"He still does!" pipes in bystander Tom Weber.

Baeten laughs. "We've got a lot of unconditional love around here," she says.

Spector smiles slightly as he recalls favorite past denizens of his rinks, souls no longer rolling on this Earth. Like Father Charlie, who brought his skates in a big metal box, and used to say he'd miss a day only if he had to "marry or bury" someone.

Roller rinks have taken a serious popularity hit since the 1970s, but they're starting to get built again as retro-hip hangouts on the East Coast (a roller rink scene was featured in an episode of "The Office" last season).

Spector isn't too concerned with luring hipsters, though. Saints North features other weekly events designed to draw different groups, including families and young people. He thinks the appeal of roller skating comes in cycles, that skaters who loved it in their youth tend to return to their abandoned hobby in old age.

To an outsider, the senior skate might seem like a rather odd activity in an out-of-the-way location, but Spector's enthusiastic sales pitch is persuasive.

"Look, you can pay $70 to just sit watching other people sing or play baseball," he said. "Or you can pay $7 and come skating. Besides, skaters stay younger longer."

Many of the senior skaters also come on Wednesday nights, when the music's a bit more up-tempo and the median age skews younger, but the crowd is still full of familiar faces.

"Wednesdays are wild," Jackie Johnson said. "I love Wednesdays."

With that, she was off, flying around the rink once more, like an ice dancer who knows no age.