My mother told me the following stories about her childhood.
My friend is 84 years old. She lives many miles away, so we sometimes communicate by letter. On rare occasions she uses her “beer and cigarette” money to telephone me just to chat. I am always delighted to hear her voice.
Recently she called and reminded me that many years ago, I invited her to a wedding at my house. We have both forgotten names of the bride and groom, but both of us remember her joy at being invited to the first wedding she ever attended.
Weddings were ordinary events in my home, yet each one was special. I had special permission from my father, or I would not have dared invite my friend to the wedding. Does it sound odd to you that there were many weddings in my home? To me it was a normal happening. That may be because I grew up during Depression years. Most people could not afford church weddings. Some brides and grooms could not even afford new clothes.
Dad was 42 when I was born, so while I still lived at home, he was old enough to marry children of couples he had married years before.
* * *
Let me tell you of one such couple.
It happened one year in May when I had gone home to visit Dad. We were sound asleep when there was a tap, tap on Dad’s bedroom window. The town cop yelled, “Charlie, Charlie, are you awake? Will you get up and marry these young folks?”
By then dad was wide awake. “Who are they?” he wanted to know. Upon hearing the names, he replied, “Of course I will.”
With all the commotion I was awake and getting into some clothes. Dad was an old man; he would need help. Did I neglect to tell you it was about 2 a.m. when all this was happening?
I got the bridal party settled in the living room. They had brought another couple for witnesses. That was a great thing because a wedding requires two witnesses besides the pastor.
These young folks all seem nervous, so I tried to keep the small talk flowing while Dad finished his preparations. I learned they just had to have Rev. Howard because he had married their parents years before. I didn’t find out why they neglected to let him know they were coming.
I did discover the reason for the late hour and the police escort. The group had started hours before from their home in Illinois. They even allowed extra time, but not enough for the automobile having a breakdown. Fortunately, they found a mechanic willing and able to make the needed repairs. And yes, they could still get there at a decent hour.
Several miles later the unthinkable happened again. The car stopped again! It took more searching, but another mechanic got them moving again. Much time had passed.
Also needed dollars had been spent on repairs. They just couldn’t afford to go back home and come another day.
Veedersburg is a very small town, and the only person they could see who could give directions was the night policeman. He felt it best to escort them to Dad’s house.
You can imagine that I didn’t look my best at that early morning hours. So it wasn’t surprising when the bride-to-be looked shocked when I told them I had also been married in May. She blurted out, “Not this May?!”
“Oh, my goodness, no. I have two children asleep in the next room.” That seemed to make things acceptable.
As they drove happily on their way, I couldn’t help wondering if they had money for a motel and/or another car breakdown.
* * *
Pearl’s desk was next to mine in the office where we both worked. She was about 19 and quite attractive Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Monday and Tuesday she looked like a different person. Acted different, too.
Pearl was engaged. She and her boyfriend had even bought furniture for their future home. Then one weekend a lovers’ quarrel ended the whole affair.
Soon there was a new boyfriend and not much later another engagement.
By this time, I had heard on quite a few Monday mornings, “I’m NEVER, NEVER going to drink another drop.” And she didn’t – until the weekend.
On Monday, she asked, “Will your dad marry me?” I got the date and time. Later, having checked with Dad, I answered her question in the affirmative. The day came. I went home for the weekend and Dad was ready. Mom had the house in apple pie order. The appointed hour arrived, but no Pearl. Dad was a patient man. We waited. Waited. Waited.
Finally, Dad asked, “Do you realize what day this is? We’ve been fooled.”
Yes, it was April 1.
We laughed at ourselves for being so naïve and Dad changed into overalls so he could get some work done. As he was making his exit, Pearl and her fiancé drove in. Dad hastily changed into a suit, the wedding was performed, and so far as I know, Pearl lived happily ever after.
* * *
One couple came when I was about 10 years old. They were alone and Mom was the only adult available for witness. Dad looked at me and announced, “I guess you’re old enough to sign your name on a marriage license.” That made me feel quite important. I wish I’d kept a record of all the times I served as witness.