LEN GOODMAN, R.I.P.

I very rarely pay tribute to someone I have never met, but since Dancing With The Stars Head Judge, Len Goodman, has been entertaining us for the past almost two decades, he deserves this mention, especially because his death is such a shock to the world.

His very recent ill health had never been reported.  So when I woke-up on Monday morning, and saw that a friend, who has worked on that show, was sharing a little personal story of Len on Facebook, my heart stopped. But then I assumed/hoped it was a tribute to Len for leaving the show. With great trepidation I scrolled down and, with incredible sadness, read the words “Rest In Peace.” Not believing that horrible news, I quickly researched it. And I felt sick to my stomach when I saw it confirmed.

It turns-out that Len had been diagnosed with bone cancer just a few weeks ago, and it was so bad that he went into hospice pretty quickly. But he and his family kept it private.

For most of these years, Len Goodman had been the Head Judge on both DWTS here in America and on Strictly Come Dancing in England. So the poor man, who’s not a youngster, had been flying back and forth across the pond twice a week! That’s way too much for anyone!

So his death at this time is an extra shame because the reason he had quit DWTS at the end of last season in late November was because he didn’t want to leave England anymore—he wanted to stay close to home to spend more time with his family and grandchildren.

In reading all the articles about the ballroom dance expert over the past two days, I was shocked to learn that Len did not even begin dancing until he was twenty!!! That’s ancient for a dancer! (I see videos day after day of little kids who are already accomplished in ballroom.)

And Len was a beautiful dancer. Every now and then, he did a little bit of Ballroom or Latin on the show, and it was perfection every time. His grace was a thing of beauty.

Besides the shock of it all, and his loss to the world, another reason his death is getting to me so much is that part of his story reminds me of that of my own father. My parents spent every summer in Aspen for the last two decades of his life. Perhaps because my mother was declared by many to be “the Poet Laureate of Aspen,” the duo had become very popular with a lot of the young people around town, forming some very close friendships with a few of them. Colorado, in general, is known for it’s difficult-to-breathe air due to the elevation of the state, and my father had to be on oxygen at night during what turned-out to be his final summer there.

So one day when I was staying with my parents, one of their young gal pals visited, and as she was leaving, my father said, “I want to tell you good-bye, sweetheart; I won’t be returning next summer.” Chills went down my spine. (On a sidebar, the girl turned to my mother, and asked, “So I won’t be seeing you anymore?,” to which my independent little mo replied, “Oh no—I’ll still be coming to Aspen!” My life flashed before me—I would never be able to stay home in LA in the summers because I’d have to spend one month in Aspen gallivanting around town with my mother, and one in Brooklyn entertaining my sure-to-be-lonely father.)

That proclamation to that one girl opened the flood gates—my father then told everyone he knew at his home-away-from home goodbye forever. And then, just four moths later, he found-out he had lung cancer. We did at-home hospice for him, and he was gone a month and a half after that.

That is so similar to what Len Goodman just went through. He bid farewell to his compatriots and audience at the show in November, and then found-out he had bone cancer a few months later, went into hospice, and died pretty quickly. Both Len Goodman and Martin Salkin must have had premonitions that they would not be on this level of life for much longer, to have taken their leaves in that manner. Len had even told the British press this year that his father had died at the same age, (Len would have turned seventy-nine three days after he died,) so he thought there was a good chance that he might, as well. He said of his dad, “He loved gardening, and he had a stroke while he was out in the garden. He was seventy-nine, so if I go the way of my dad, that’ll be next year.” How chillingly prophetic of him.

I feel that’s why he chose last season of Dancing With The Stars to be his final one—in case his prophecy was to come true, spending as much time with his family at this time was his priority.

But Len Goodman left a rich legacy for us fans. In addition to being charming and knowledgeable, he taught us all the basics of good dance, which help out in so many other parts of life, as well. And we will always remember his strong and special announcing of “Se-ven!,” when that was the middling score he was giving to a contestant; it will stay with us forever. (Whenever that number comes up anywhere, Mr. X declares it in Len’s voice and with the same inflection. He can’t help himself.)

The accolade that every competitor wanted to hear from him is, “From Len, the ten!” So now I say, “To Len, you were so much more than a ten!”

R.I.P., Len Goodman.