47 years ago and it seems like yesterday.
I’ve
told our wedding story before in this space, but here’s an edited and expanded version:
I spent the night before our wedding in my
apartment at 66 West 85th Street and Ann at hers at 33 West 63rd Street
(although we were already living together on and off).
Her apartment would become our first home.
Our one-week trip to Puerto Rico a few months before we
were married became, unknown to us at the time, our honeymoon in advance. I was between my first job in publishing where
we had met a few years before and returned from our holiday to start a new one
in Westport, CT, which I would occupy for the rest of my working life.
That trip was memorable for several reasons besides being
our first vacation together. We got to
see the new 747 when we landed. Little
did I know how often I would fly that plane across the Atlantic and Pacific in my
future, frequently with Ann. Our hotel
was on the beach and Tony Conigliaro was staying there, the Red Sox outfielder
who was hit by a pitch a couple of years before, but made a comeback and, in
fact, that season which he was about to begin would be his best. Also, I finally got to rent and drive a VW
Bug, something I had coveted when I was younger but could not afford to buy and
maintain in Brooklyn. Driving through
the rain forest was particularly memorable. But what I most remember is the high anxiety I
felt about starting a new job upon our return.
Consequently in the evenings I would read industry journals and
technical books about running a business, something that did not make Ann
particularly happy.
Nonetheless, during that trip we decided that marriage
sometime in the future would be preferable to just living together, so upon our
return, Ann placed a call to The Ethical Culture Society which she regularly attended. There was one Leader who she knew personally and
admired, Jerome Nathanson, the man she wanted to marry us. Naturally, we were thinking of sometime that
summer but he had only one date open in the next seven or eight months – the following
Sunday in exactly one week. We looked at one another and said let’s take it.
Consequently, Ann began hasty wedding arrangements,
including ones to fly her mother and Aunt in from California, picking out a
dress for herself and mother to wear, hiring a caterer and picking out flowers.
We chose the list of attendees, mostly
our immediate families and closest friends, including a few colleagues from
work and of course, my young son Chris from my previous marriage. Ann’s brother and sister-in-law graciously offered
their home in Queens for an informal reception. Everything had to be done on a shoestring and
obviously with a sense of urgency.
The ceremony itself was what one would expect from a brilliant
and humorous Humanist Minister. A
substantial part of the service captured our enthusiasm for the then victorious
New York Knicks, with names such as Bill Bradley, Dave DeBusschere, Walt
Frazier, and Willis Reed sprinkled throughout our wedding vows. Later that night we returned to my 85th Street
apartment. I had to go to work the next
morning, my driving to Westport, while Ann took a one day holiday to spend with
her Mother and Aunt Lilly. So our married
life together began.
Fast forward to now.
Romantic love deepens into a friendship like no other. So how did we celebrate?
First Oysters and Clams on the half shell at Spoto’s and
then later, off to the Sunday jazz jam at the Double Roads Tavern in Jupiter with
our friends, John and Lois.
There we again saw the upcoming jazz prodigy, Ava Faith,
only 13 years old.
It will be interesting to watch how she matures but it is
good to know that the Great American Songbook is being passed on to a younger
generation. Much credit in this geographic
area goes to Legends Radio and its founder Dick Robinson and to the Jupiter Jazz
Society and their founders, the incredibly talented keyboardist Rick Moore and
his wife Cherie who helps to organize and publicize the traditional Sunday
evening jam.
As we are on the topic of music, a special shout out to
David Einhorn, a professional bass player who had been out of the country for
years, and is now back and playing in the area and occasionally comes by our house
to jam with me on the piano --
above which his sister Nina’s painting hangs.
I hear him beating timing into my head, something less important
when one plays solo as I have done all of my life. His recordings with the late, great pianist
Dick Morgan are a shining light to me.
Thank you, David.
And thanks Ann for putting up with me these oh so many
years!
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| A card from our friends, Art and Sydelle, hand
illustrated by Sydelle |
