The Wisdom Project at Moment: Inspirational conversations with wise people who have been fortunate to live long lives.
This week’s conversation is with Shirley Goodman, 102, of Sarasota, FL.
You may have seen Shirley Goodman, aka “The Dancing Nana,” on ABC’s Good Morning America or on YouTube, where the video of her line dancing at a family wedding garnered 100 million views. She loves to share her passion for dance, along with the lesson that age doesn’t dull the irresistible urge to move to music.
Shirley was born in Troy, NY on March 14, 1923. Her father, Frank Cohen, was a waiter. Her mother, Jenny Olshein Cohen, died at age 43, when Shirley was 16, leaving Frank to take care of Shirley, her older sister Beatrice and her younger brother, Norman. It was a pivotal event in Shirley’s life: “I have not gotten over it to this day,” she says.
She found her refuge in music and dancing. Jenny Cohen had played piano; Frank tap danced. The family was “very musical,” Shirley says. “There was a lot of music and a lot of love.” (Beatrice became a singer and Norman played trumpet.) When Shirley was eight, her father taught her to tap dance. When she was 13, he took her to local dance studios, hoping that one would give her free lessons (this was during the Depression when he couldn’t pay for it). He succeeded: local dance teacher Amy Congdon was so impressed with his daughter’s talent that she gave Shirley lessons in exchange for assisting her after school and on Saturdays. Shirley opened her own dance studio, Shirley Cohen’s School of Dancing, as soon as she graduated high school.
Then life had a wonderful surprise for her: she met Alfred Goodman through a friend. When they married in February 1943, she closed her studio to travel with him as he trained to be a fighter pilot. At U.S. military bases, she taught tap dancing to the soldiers’ wives and children. Alfred (she called him Alfie) returned from World War II in 1945, after having been a prisoner of war. He eventually became the president of the Sealy Mattress Company. The Goodmans raised four children in Albany and Schenectady and had 10 grandchildren and 10 great-grandchildren. They were married for 52 years before Alfred passed away in 1995.
A snow bird for many years, Shirley now lives in Florida full time, where she continued to teach jazz, line dancing and tap until just a few years ago. She’s danced through two open heart surgeries; she now has a pacemaker and a stent.
Recently, The Dancing Nana—who has 89,000 Instagram followers—sat down for an interview with Moment.
As a teenager, how did you cope with your mother’s death?
We sat shiva, of course, at my grandparents; my brother, sister, me and my dad. When we finally came outside after seven days, I was amazed to see that people were still driving their cars and walking around like nothing happened. It hit me like a ton of bricks: How can they do [everyday things] when my mother is dead and I’ll never see her again?
Certain things from that time still affect me. I can’t be in the house when it’s dead quiet. I have to have some kind of sound. I can’t stay in the silence.
What can help someone who’s grieving?
Being with your family, of course. Trying your best to keep a positive attitude. It’s not easy.
You’ve faced loss, yet you’ve never stopped dancing!
All my life and I’m still doing it. Thank God, I can still move these legs.
Many people who are younger than you are afraid to take risks, physically. Are you?
Falling is the big scare. Believe it or not, I use a walker because my balance is not that great. But when the music plays and my tap shoes are on, it’s like magic! Something happens, and I just dance.
How does it make you feel?
Music and dancing make me smile and be happy. And the best thing I can hear from people is when they say I’m an inspiration to them. They feel that if I can do it, they can do it. That’s what I love to hear. That makes me feel wonderful.
Who inspired you?
My dad. He taught me to dance and he kept playing music all through the Depression. We had no money, of course, we were very poor. We used to go to the delicatessen next door; nobody said, “Charge it”—we just used to say we can’t pay. And they would give us the food and we’d pay whenever we could. All I knew was that I was happy dancing. We didn’t need money to dance, just music.
What stands out to you about your early life in dance?
I was on the Major Bowes Amateur Hour radio show in 1938. Going to New York to be on Major Bowes, that was big excitement. I was 15 and tap danced on the radio and won first prize. When I told my grandchildren about it, they laughed and said, “How could you tap dance on the radio? Nobody could see you.” I explained that there was no such thing as television yet, so I tap danced on the radio. I’m very proud of that.
Tell me about your husband, Alfie.
I was going with another boy who joined the Navy and was leaving for the service, and so he introduced me to Alfie, who was the only kid who had a car, an old Tin Lizzie Ford. We married before he enlisted. When he went to cadet school, I followed him around until he went overseas. [Then] I stayed in Troy. He got shot down over Germany and kept his dog tags on, even though he was Jewish—that was the kind of guy he was. He was a POW until the war ended. He was beaten up and treated very badly but he survived, thank God, and came back to me in 1945.
Since he died, I never wanted to meet anybody else. So, thank God, I had my dancing.
Have you ever experienced antisemitism?
Yes, when I traveled with my husband during his flight training. The cadets’ wives stayed in different homes and we only saw the boys Wednesday night and weekends. In Jacksonville, FL, I stayed in this lovely home with lovely people. They had an adorable little six-year-old whom I taught to tap dance. She loved me and I loved her, and they seemed to love me too until I got a package of Jewish food from home, Hebrew National salami and different Jewish items. I wanted to share it with them and told them this was Jewish food. They asked me to move the next day.
I had grown up with everybody, Blacks, Italians, Jews. I never knew antisemitism when I was growing up. The first time was when I had to move out of their house.
Did they tell you the reason?
Yeah. They hadn’t known that I was Jewish. It was really a bad, bad, experience. I had to find another place to live, and here was this adorable little girl, who I knew loved me, and that was it. They wouldn’t have any part of it.
I never had any problem after that. It was just that one time. But you see what’s happening today—there’s so much of it now.
What can we do to fight antisemitism today?
Keep talking about it, how bad it is, and that it shouldn’t happen.
When did you become The Dancing Nana?
Five years ago. I was teaching line dancing, and one of the dances I taught was the Tush Push.
Seriously, that’s the name of it?
Yes! I didn’t make that up, it’s really a dance! All my kids did it with me, the whole family, and [my grandson] sent the video to Good Morning America. They called and asked me to be on the show. [Editor’s note: the “tush push” is also the name of a play in football.]
Nothing can keep you down, apparently.
When I had my second heart surgery 10 years ago, I decided to quit playing tennis. But I was teaching line dancing at my senior living home, sitting down, chair dancing. I stopped teaching at 100. Now I just tap dance.
Where does your exuberant spirit come from?
Having a positive attitude is the most important thing. I have a sweet little bracelet here that a friend gave me that says “positivity” on it, and I kiss it every morning.
You have to work at staying positive. I try to catch myself thinking negative thoughts. I say to myself, “Don’t be negative, get a hold of yourself. It could be worse. I’ve got to keep on going and make the best of it.”
Is that your advice for young people today?
Yes, stay positive. But I don’t know how young people are going to get along in this crazy world. It’s so different from anything I experienced growing up. I worry for my kids and grandchildren, but I don’t know what to tell them to do.
What changes in your lifetime have had the greatest impact on you?
Well, we went from ice boxes where a man had to actually bring you ice, to refrigerators. And television!
Thanks to the internet, 100 million people know who you are. What’s that like?
To tell you the truth, I don’t even know how to get on Instagram myself and it just boggles my mind that so many people watched the Good Morning America video. I started to learn what a celebrity feels like. People have come up to me when I’m eating dinner out, or at other times when I’d really rather have my privacy. I act differently towards celebrities now. If I see somebody famous, I leave them alone. Once, when I was in New York years ago, we saw a show with Gregory Hines, the tap dancer, and afterwards went to a restaurant—he was there and I went over to him and bothered him. He was eating. I shouldn’t have done that!
Was he gracious about it?
He was very nice. He really was.
Is there anything that you still want to do at 102?
I just want to have my family [around me]. They are the most important thing to me. I’m so grateful that I can still see them and talk to them on FaceTime.
What’s the most important life lesson you’ve learned in your years?
That you can be happy, even with all your troubles. To not feel sorry for yourself and talk about your troubles constantly. It’s not going to help at all. Keep a good attitude. Be an inspiration to people. Make people feel good.
What’s the best advice anyone ever gave you?
Keep smiling, keep your sense of humor. I learned that from my father.
You have 10 great-grandchildren. What have you learned from them?
To be patient!
Are they following in your dance steps?
The young ones all have it in them, down to the five-year-old, and they dance like crazy. No one wants to do it professionally, as I did, but they’ve got dancing in their DNA, no question.
What’s next for you?
Tap dancing! I had heart issues, but my bones, thank God, are good, and I can still use my legs. I thank God every day. They’re having a talent show where I live, and I’m going to do my tap dance. You can’t be sad when you’re dancing to wonderful music.