Death often throws its dark shadow across our gayest moments. I shall never forget one of the last dances with which I had anything to do. It was a charity ball for the benefit of an organization in which I was deeply interested, and though I was a theological student I was one of the managers of the ball.
On the afternoon of the day when the ball was to take place, my minister called upon me. I think he was disturbed that one of his members should be the manager in a charity ball. But as he talked with me, he did not come to the exact point of the ball. After a while a classmate, who was also one of the managers of the ball, came in and said, “Torrey, are you going to the ball tonight?” I think he did it partly to annoy me and partly to annoy the minister. I said, “Yes, of course, I am going to the ball tonight.” “No,” he said, “you are not going to the ball tonight.” I said, “I am going to the dance tonight.” He said, “You are not going to the dance tonight.” “Well,” I replied, “I guess I know and I am going to the dance tonight.” He said, “You are not going to the dance tonight, for there is to be no dance tonight. While we were making the last arrangements in the hall this afternoon, Mrs.— as she walked across the stage fell dead, and there will be no dance tonight.”