Sometimes Humphrey wished he’d studied to be an archeologist rather than a tap dancer. He made what’s called a decent living as a dancer on the Albee Circuit, so it wasn’t the financial end of it that bothered him. What troubled him on certain introspective days was the thought that archaeology was probably a more creative field than hoofing – twenty performances a week. He changed his tap routine regularly, trying to keep it new and fresh and more challenging for himself. His audiences didn’t know or care whether he was doing a “buck and wing” or a “shuffle off to Buffalo” up there, as long as his taps were clacking.
Hadn’t that fellow (what’s his name?), found Tut’s Tomb through just plain stick-to-a-tivity? Sure he had.
The show he was currently touring with, Making Merry, had arrived in Omaha on Wednesday, and here it was Friday, and they’d be off for Waterloo after Sunday night’s performance. This Omaha stop was a three-a-nighter, so this wasn’t a killer like you’d have in Chicago or St. Louis. He hadn’t been to either of those cities in a long time. He missed them. Tonight there’d be one show at 6:30, one at 8:00 and the last at 9:30 PM. Easy aces, yeah.
What does a fellow do in Omaha when he has his afternoon free? He walks mostly, ‘cause he really doesn’t know much else to do. Or he goes to the moving picture shows. And, yeah, Humphrey had thought often that he might head for California and the moving picture business, but what you know, what’s familiar to you, is a darn sight more comfortable than what you don’t know.
“HUMPHREY MILLER FINDS PREHISTORIC CITY NEAR GREENLAND.” Or “HUMPHREY MILLER, WORLD’S GREATEST ARCHAEOLOGIST DOES IT AGAIN – LOCATES ANCIENT TROY!”
He shuffled along a dusty side street, realizing from the pungent stench that he must have wandered near the stockyards. He about-faced as those headlines rushed into his mind. Then he reminded himself that assuming the grass was greener on the other side was a losing game. “If wishes were horses, etc.” he thought. “Don’t cry over spilt milk.”
Maybe if he’d married, had a family to travel with him, to teach dance routines to, things would have been different. Maybe if he’d done those things he’d feel happier, more fulfilled today. Too much time alone, shuffling dust on the streets of too many small cities. Maybe if he could only be friendlier with the other acts on the circuit. He’d tried. He’d befriended Minnie and Her Funhouse Poodles, but Minnie, like almost all dog owners he’d ever known, preferred canines to people. And he’d palled around with Mable and Harry – Mentalists as much as he could, before he got the very uncomfortable notion that while he was conversing with them they were reading his mind. Certainly their pinched eyes and stern concentrated stares led him to believe so.
“Humphrey Miller – Tapping Wonder,” or “Humphrey Miller – Jungle Explorer?” Well, it was too late now for him to switch professions. Forty-six-year-old men with fairly limited means don’t apply to colleges and courses leading to an education in archaeology. No, he’d have to settle for visits to museums in the larger cities the troupe traveled to.
He thought he’d make more effort to endear himself to Ethel – The Juggling Madwoman. Her breath was dreadful and she was troubled with frightening B. O. Everybody in the show knew that. He’d given her a packet of breath-freshening Sen-Sen, but she declared that they upset her stomach. Then he gave her a large bottle of rose water hoping she’d douse herself with it, at least just prior to performances when folks had to be close to her. No, Ethel was out. Who else was there but Flaming Henry who farted musically as he sang old familiar songs. No, Flaming Harry was out too. He ate nothing but beans and raw cauliflower and Humphrey was, well, very sensitive to strong odors.
Dreams. He spent too much time dreaming, he admonished himself. Then he caught himself admonishing himself and decided he’d head to the Avalon, the theatre where they were playing, and work out some variations on an old step – just to keep himself somewhat interested…for another night.
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