Connie Deeken Williams was born two months after the sinking of the Titanic. That same year, 1912, Woodrow Wilson was elected president, Fenway Park opened its gates, and New Mexico and Arizona joined the union.

It all adds adds up to one impressive milestone: Almost certainly, Williams is the oldest person in Orange County.

And, she still can jitterbug.

On Sunday, June 26, Williams’ family, friends, and caregivers threw her the kind of birthday extravaganza that a super-centenarian deserves. Dressed in a silver-sequined blouse that complimented her bedazzled tiara, Williams took a spin around the block on a firetruck, sipped champagne (her libation of choice), gaily poked a finger in her chocolate cake, and twirled on the dance floor.

 

“This is my best birthday ever,” Williams declared.

The petite woman (“95 pounds!” she boasted) has lived at Emerald Court, a senior community in Anaheim, for two decades. Donning the same tiara, she celebrated her 100th birthday there, too. But these days, 100 is almost the new normal.

Getting all the way to 110 and beyond? Not so much.

Only about 100 Americans alive today have reached that rarefied capstone — meaning approximately one in 3.3 million people can claim super-centenarian status, according to the Gerontology Research Group.

“Statistically, it’s a good bet that Connie is the oldest person in Orange County, given that the county has 3.2 million residents,”  said Robert Young, director of GRG’s database division.

Co-founded by UCLA gerontologist Stephen Coles in 1990, GRG tracks the world’s oldest humans. The count is not perfect here or anywhere. In the U.S., neither the federal nor local governments keep precise databases. And ages can be difficult to verify, Young added, especially for people born in another country.

Until now, GRG did not have evidence of anyone aged 110 or older based in Orange County.

Williams’ secret to longevity is something that’s not too secret or surprising: an active lifestyle.

“I don’t have any pain, and I don’t take any pills,” she said.

Until well into her 90s, Williams walked three miles a day. She’s since cut back to one mile, determinedly pushing her walker up and down the hallways.

But dancing is her first love, if only it were more doable now.

“I’d rather dance than eat,” Williams said. 

The daughter of Fred and Therese Deeken, Williams grew up with three siblings on a North Dakota farm. At six, she survived a harrowing bout of flu during the 1918 pandemic.

“I went through all my illnesses as a child and never got sick again,” Williams said.

Not long after graduating from high school, Williams joined her older brother at his Los Angeles home to escape the cold winters. She worked as a maid and bookkeeper to help pay the rent.

Williams met her first husband, Roy Asher, at a dance hall in 1937. The pretty young woman caught the eye of many a suitor, “but I liked only one boy,” she said.

The couple opened a grocery store in south Los Angeles. For the next 30 years, he ran the meat counter and she the bakery, producing hundreds of cinnamon rolls and loaves of bread each day.

Until she was 102, Williams continued to gift Emerald Court employees with her famous cinnamon rolls.

“Then they pulled the plug on her oven because she kept forgetting to turn it off,” niece Ginger Wright reported.

After Asher died in the mid-1960s, she married Fred Williams, also a butcher. They moved to Torrance for a while and ultimately to Garden Grove. He died in 1991.

Williams does not have children. She and her first husband tried to adopt, she said, but it never worked out.

She is surrounded by multiple generations of nieces and nephews, some who flew in from other states to attend her celebration.

These days, Williams cannot see or hear very well. But that doesn’t stop her from commanding her ship, loud and clear.

“You better go get some food before it runs out,” she ordered family members sitting at her table.

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When Arthur Murray Dance Studio instructors surprised her with a jitterbug performance, Williams “kept shouting dance moves at them: ‘Toss her! Toss her higher,’” Emerald Court executive director Daizel Gasperian said with a laugh.

Then, much to everyone’s delight, dancer Gonzalo Lara took Williams’ hand and led her in some cautious gyrations.

At the end of her thrilling fete, Williams thanked guests — including members of the Anaheim Fire Department.

“I couldn’t have done it without all of you,” she said. “Every single one of you is a blessing. I’ve had a beautiful life.”

See you in five years, she said.

“I’ll be here,” Williams promised. “I’m looking forward to 115.”