Our dance troupe was appearing in a beautiful nightclub near Alberta, Canada, in 1959. One of the dancers quit to return home. There was an audition, and Nancy was hired.
Nancy and I shared a bedroom at the boarding house for the entertainers. It was explained to us when we arrived to boil the water for making ice and drinking, since the water was contaminated.
We enjoyed working at the club and meeting the many famous performers who filled the showroom with their fans.
Unfortunately, I awoke one morning with the worst case of diarrhea of my life. The manager went to town and bought diapers for me to wear under my costumes. No one was trained to replace me, so I had to work.
While dancing with my partner, as he lifted me overhead, I whispered in his ear: “I just pooped my pants.” He lifted me again. On the way down, he responded, “I know!”
For my next move, he slid me across the floor. I thought, I hope this diaper holds! After all, it is the dinner show.
That evening, I awoke to go to the bathroom and turned on the light. Nancy was lying in her bed, not moving, with her eyes wide open. I yelled, NANCY several times with no response.
Frightened, I ran down the hall, banging on all the doors, yelling, “Come quickly, I think Nancy is dead!” The entire cast ran into the room.
Many yelled, “Nancy!” with no response. Finally, the singer shook her and Nancy sat up saying, “What is everyone doing in here?”
Nancy quietly explained that she was born deaf and that she had always slept with her eyes open.
There were lots of hugs and sighs of relief. A few tears, smiles, and a feeling of family.
I soon realized that Nancy didn’t hear to boil the water for ice, only for drinking water. The mystery was solved, and the medication resolved the diarrhea.Despite this unusual beginning, Nancy and I shared a passion for dancing and became best friends.
