CHAPTER 94: IMPRESSIONS OF MY LIFE: AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A RECHERCHE POET -- NOWHERE MAN AND THE WOMEN HE LOVED

 CHAPTER 94.  1961  WEDDING

 

September 16, 1961 was a beautiful Saturday. The sky was blue and the sun bright. Richard Brown and I waited in a backroom where I paced. I am a pacer when nervous. We had a rehearsal the night before, but this was the real deal now. Lois’ bridesmaids were Mary Lou Marple and Ethel “Cookie” Cooke, long-time friends. Her Maid of honor was her best friend since the Second Grade, Evelyn Weinmann.

The first hitch was the Photographer was missing in action as the
ceremony approached. He had been at Lois’ home in Drexel Hill earlier to take some preliminary pictures, but he hadn’t  yet showed up at the church. Someone suggested the possibility he went to the wrong one. A person then drove out to the Brownback Church nearby on Route 23. Yes, the Photographer and Stuart Meisel were both at that church. The person directed them to the right church. Our wedding could commence and be a matter of photographic record.

Evelyn was probably the most nervous person there, a lot worse than I. Outside the door, waiting for things to begin, she stepped on Lois’ gown and made a small hole in the hem with her heel. She carried her bouquet wrong side out when the procession marched down the aisle. Then at the point of the service when the minister asked for the Bride to place her ring on my finger, Evelyn dropped the ring while handing it to Lois. The ring rolled off somewhere. The minister, Lois, the wedding party and I all dropped to our knees to feel about the floor for the errant ring. Where are you, my precious? 

We located it eventually and at long last, back on our feet,  Reverend Johnson said, “I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Indeed I did, and we went up the aisle with mile-wide grins on our faces. There was a reception line in the alcove before we could escape the church for the ride to the fire hall. During the hand shaking one elderly Aunt paused to tell us, “I have never seen that in a wedding ceremony before, but I thought it was lovely. They should all include it.” She was referring to our search for the fallen ring.

Speaking of traditional, we did take the traditional wedding vows. I know it has become a custom today for many couples to write their own vows. I think this is the height of ego and it also allows people to be cutesy and downplay the hard stuff. Getting married is serious and those old vows should be considered long and deep before you step down the aisle and promise them. Maybe I played loose with a lot of rules in my days, but these I took to heart and I keep them.

"In the name of God, I, ______, take you, ______, to be my wife/husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow."

 When you answer “I do” remember it doesn’t say you’ll have and hold as long as the bank account is full and nobody is limping too badly and all the mental faculties are clicking as they should. It is better and worse, richer and poorer, sick or well, and it is until you end up on the underside of the grass as well. You don’t take getting married lightly.

The receiving line ended and we ran out of the church into a hail of
rice. We jumped in a car and the procession of horn beeping, crepe paper festooned, tin-can rattling vehicles headed for the Ridge Fire Hall. Richard Wilson was to lead the way, but he went a 100 miles an hour and we lost most of the others in the dust. 

  The reception was at the Ridge Fire Hall in East Vincent. I can’t tell you what we ate. We danced. I danced with my mother, who I towered over. Lois danced with my dad, who she towered over in her heels. Our dance band was the famous P. Hoffman

Orchestra. They were so famous I can’t even tell you bandleader Hoffman’s first name.

 We opened a lot of gifts; most were thoughtful and nice. My dad, ever tasteful as he was, gave us a gross of condoms. Really, a gross? (Kind of gross opening it in front of

everyone, too.)  Yeah, that was sort of embarrassing, but those blasted things weren’t done with me yet, they were just being dormant until the Honeymoon. Most of the gifts were household items, such as dishes and things like can openers and toasters, blankets. It was like a set from “Price is Right”. Most were decent items. 

One was not so much. My Uncle John Meredith (pictured right) ,

the one who inherited all of Great grandfather’s estate and was the richest member of the family gave us an ugly cupid bowl. His cheap gift angered my mother and grandmother. It is a wonder he didn’t end up wearing it as a hat. After our marriage day mom took it back and got the money. My Uncle John had stopped in a Coatesville drugstore on the way to the wedding and bought the thing. I guess this is how the rich stay rich.

We left before any of the others that evening to start out Honeymoon. Before we could  reach that escape we had to indulge in the usual traditions throughout the evening. There was the cutting of the wedding cake, which I believe my Aunt Edna baked. I am grateful the stupid tradition of smashing the cake into each other’s face hadn’t developed yet. I think that is a totally inappropriate disgusting practice. We each simply took a piece and gave the other a bite. 

 

I had to slip off Lois’ garter and toss it to the single males in attendance. You can look at the picture and decide who looks more lustful or anxious for the night ahead.

 Lois stood on a chair to throw the bridal bouquet to the outstretch arms of the waiting maidens. Tradition is whomever catches the bouquet will be next to marry. She had to face

away from the waiting, eager hands and throw the flowers over her shoulder. She heaved too high. The bouquet hit the ceiling and plummeted straight down to the floor. We retrieved the bouquet. Lois successfully made the toss on the second attempt. 

We left the reception along with a smaller coterie that reassembled
at our Bucktown Home. Being a Methodist ceremony and also as a house rule of the Ridge Fire Hall the reception had been a “dry” affair. But never fear, my dad had tubs of beer and booze waiting back at the house and for some of the closer friends and relatives the  party went on far into the night and the next morning, but we drove off into the night around 10:30. We told no one where we were spending the first night. I had no intension of any tricks. It was very common in that time and my neck of the woods to have a “wedding night chivaree”. These things go back to old Scotch-Irish traditions. A chivaree, sometimes call a serenading, involves relatives and friends trailing the newlyweds to their wedding night lodging. The people raise a great raucous when bride and groom are in the bedroom. They bang Pots and pans, toot noisemakers and do everything possible to disrupt the wedding night. Demands are made for the couple show to themselves no matter what kind of dishevelment they might be in. 

I attended a chivaree for Paul Miller and Patty Lilly when they wed. It was quite loud.  There was a wire stretched across between trees and played with a bow much like a fiddle. It made a horrendous sound, very spooky. 

I hoped to avoid any such stunts. I did notice my car making a loud
rattling sound as I drove up 202 on our way to the motel. What could that be?