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Indeed none of us, whether we were fans of Danny Tidwell - and especially not those who knew and loved him personally - were ready to hear that he was gone.
As a fan, It's been weird. And difficult. Having not experienced death much firsthand.
My first experience came at seventeen years old and I was urged not to cry. To be strong. And also being a trauma survivor (which, for me, means whatever symptom is at the forefront - dissociation or freeze / fawn - becomes magnified.
I've hesitated to blog about this because I do not want to make his death about me. I didn't know him personally.
We met, briefly, once.
Thankfully, I don't mind sharing that story.
***
I still remember coming back from working at Still Waters Bible Camp and hearing Tara tell me, "You have to see So You Think You Can Dance." She'd been writing to me about it ever since the previous summer. But this time, she found a contestant she really admired: Travis Wall. I found my own contestant to cheer for, and we watched together as Travis advanced week after week, finishing in second place.
A year later, it was time for So You Think You Can Dance to start airing again and, for the first time, I wasn't spending the summer as a camp counselor. Tara and I and a friend got together most weeks and watched.
And we noticed Danny almost immediately, because he was Travis's brother. (The winner of season 2's sister was also competing in Season 3, so we jokingly called it "the season of the siblings.")
I unfortunately bought into the edit the show gave Danny, painting him as an arrogant dancer. I bought tickets for the tour on a whim, about a week before the finale aired, firmly excited about meeting other dancers. Danny was not really on my radar.
Then he was interviewed by host Cat Deeley on the show's finale and I realized, "Oh, my God. He's so insecure and shy."
I'd had no idea.
I'd been convinced by the show's narrative.
But that was the thing.
Danny was both a very shy person and a confident dancer. And reality shows don't often want to depict the nuances of human personality. They want you pigeon-holed.
Like Travis before him, Danny went on to finish second.
I was disappointed - I'd been rooting for him - but still had the tour to look forward to.
***
Two months later, Tara and I were giddy, anticipating the chance to see our favorite dancers live, and on stage. We are not concert-goers - never have been. But this was our equivalent of seeing a really great concert. One we never thought we'd get to see.
To us, these dancers were basically rockstars.
The logistics of this were not as simple as I am making it sound. As anyone with a disability can attest to, we must plan for everything. And not being able to drive ourselves meant that we had to coordinate transportation.
When I bought tickets for that night? I automatically bought three. One of Tara, and one for me. The third, I hoped, would be for our friend, who watched religiously with us each week.
When I spoke to her, and asked if she wanted to go to the show with us, I said, "We have a third ticket. You wouldn't have to pay, but can you please drive?"
Looking back now, it was nowhere near a fair exchange, but at the time it felt more than reasonable. This was something we really wanted. Our friend had the transportation, not the financial means. We - for once - had the financial means but no transportation. It made sense to pool our resources. But I'd be lying if I didn't admit to trying way too hard to not come across as a burden...which is how I often thought of myself then.
She agreed, and we braved downtown together, stopping for a bite to eat beforehand.
***
The show itself was loud. The crowd was huge and overwhelming. Accessible seating meant we sat high and to one side, relying on screens around the arena and our digital camera's zoom lens to capture the moments we most wanted to savor.
Seeing Danny dance live was a revelation. At the time, I wrote:
Danny is... There are no words for what Danny is. They seem too small to give the way he moves any justice at all. Just incredible in absolutely everything.
Afterward, we knew we wanted to try and meet some of the dancers. I even had gifts for a couple of them. So, we agreed that before everyone took their final bows, we would leave and get out ahead of the crowd.
***
Like very few things in my life, this plan worked.
We ended up at the little barrier, and I pulled my wheelchair up as close as I could. I stood (not that it helped much) to see if I could see any dancers.
And soon enough, they came.
I was excited to meet two other dancers. Hopeful that my favorite (who was out with an injury) would be available to come and say hi.
But Danny came by first.
In my journal, I wrote:
[Danny] was in such a fun mood last night. (Which was surprising and so nice considering we heard he seemed to be uneasy around the big crowds of people.)
Prior to taking a picture with me, he was standing directly in front of me, but looking well over my head to sign autographs. His reaction when he did notice me?
"Hi!" he said, with a huge grin. "How are you?!"
I don't remember what I said back. I hope I told him I was great, and how much I loved seeing him perform.
I know I did ask if I could take a picture with him.
He said, "Yeah, of course!"
 |
| [Tonia, left, and Danny Tidwell, right. October 28, 2007] |
***
Seven words.
That's all he said to me.
So I have no illusions that we knew each other on some deep level.
But even in this - the briefest interaction - I came away feeling like I mattered. Danny noticed me. Though I stood a foot shorter than him, he thought to glance down. And he seemed genuinely happy to see me, which, at that point in my life, was a rare experience.
My personal journal ends with this line:
It made my night to see him happy.
It did.
And all these years later, it still does.
***
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