As
we grow older, our calendar of remarkable days grows longer and often more
precious to us. Many treasured Valentine celebrations have decorated my life,
but the following story relates the most memorable in my life’s journey. Thank
you for allowing me to share this memory with you.
Awakened
by the shrill sound of the alarm, I jumped from the bed and headed for the
bathroom. As usual, my brother had the room occupied, and I sat down on the
edge of the bed to wait. Like a flash I remembered today was a special day. I
raised my hand and the diamond ring sparkled in the morning light. The memory
of the cold December evening when, my high school sweetheart of two years met
me after work in Galveston, our usual routine on Tuesday evenings. I climbed in his old 1940 Plymouth, a relic
of the past, but it served as transportation with a payment he could afford. Quite
a handsome “Prince in shining armor” dressed in his Navy Uniform with steel
blue eyes that could make my head spin, he greeted me with a quick kiss, and we
drove to a Drive-In restaurant where we ordered dinner, a hamburger and fries
served by a car-hop.
As
we relaxed in the comfort of the old Plymouth enjoying our dinner, we discussed
the movie where I would go alone while he attended a compulsory Navy Reserve
Meeting. The Korean conflict raged in 1951, and he expected deployment soon. As always, news of the war dominated the
conversation – not a particularly romantic scene. However, the moment became a
memorable event in our lives as he pulled the ring from his pocket and said,
“Let’s get married before I leave.” The next few weeks were hectic with parents
to please and so many weighty decisions, but as the war news darkened, and the
military draft expanded, the future became more fragile to our young hearts.
“You
can have the bathroom, Betty Jean.” my brother interrupted my reminiscing.
“Okay,
have a great day,” I responded and immediately claimed the bathroom to prepare
for the day of work. A beautiful sunrise greeted me as I relaxed in the car
with other passengers bound for Galveston. The chatter among them that morning
included remarking about the old sailor’s adage, “Red in the morning, sailors
take warning.” As I gazed out the window at the angry waves crashing on the Galveston
Causeway, I noticed the dark ominous clouds gathering in the distance. Weather
predictions were unreliable, and the sun sparkled on the water with the promise
of a beautiful day. I thought, why did I
agree to work today? Of course, we
needed the money.
My
boss greeted me with, “Bring your pad, we have some letters to do,” and I set
aside personal thoughts, diving into my day of work. Early in the afternoon,
the dark storm clouds moved in with high winds, thunder and lightning, and
torrential rain. We had arranged for Shep to meet me at 4:00 pm. Old town
Galveston is below sea level and protected by a seawall, and a torrential rain
storm guaranteed deep water in the streets. I had been delayed and waded out of
this area on several previous occasions. As I looked out the second story
window to the street below, my heart sank. This no doubt will be one of those
days.
I
thought about the old 1940 Plymouth. Rain and water in the street would most
certainly be a challenge. We had often teased about how it struggled to run
even when the dew was heavy, but somehow I knew Shep would be there. This was
our wedding day. After wrestling with indecision knowing deployment was
imminent, we settled on Thursday, February 14th at 8:00 pm. We had
rented an apartment, arranged a three day weekend, invited a number of friends,
and the hour was near.
With
the crash of thunder and streaks of lightning flashing through the windows, my
fellow employees gathered around my desk to honor me with gifts and best
wishes. As I opened the gifts, a power outage occurred, and I remembered the
comment about bad luck for the bride the rain falls upon. However, anxiety and
excitement prevailed, and I struggled down the dark stairway with my gifts
where, indeed, Shep waited at the curb in the deep water. He kept the engine running
knowing it would never start again, and together we managed to get the packages
and me in the car. We greeted each other with “let’s try to get out of here”
and began the trip home, about thirteen miles. With torrents of rain pouring
through the front panels, we were just as wet inside as outside. The old engine
sputtered, stopped, and finally started again several times as we rolled
through the streets of Galveston to higher ground.
“You
should’ve stayed home today,” Shep shouted over the storm raging and thunder
crashing.
“Yes,
but we needed the money,” I snapped back noticing the stress levels were
rising. “With all the advice I’ve heard today about bad luck with the rain, the
ceremony on the down stroke of the hour, and the bride and groom seeing each
other, maybe we should just call it off.” My voice cracked with emotion as I
felt tears near the surface, and fear mounting in the midst of the rising
water. Shep reached over to pat my hand.
“We’ll
make it.” I would learn over the years that optimism was his finest
characteristic, but didn’t always serve him well.
“You
keep your eyes on the road; what you can see of it,” I sobbed as I trembled in
the cold air (the heater didn’t work) and shifted with discomfort in the wet
seat. At last we reached high ground and the thirteen mile, thirty minute trip
took two hours in the slow traffic and poor visibility. Arriving home at 6:00
pm, my mother, and others who were preparing for the wedding in my parents’
parlor, grabbed me and shoved Shep back out the door into the raging storm.
“Where
have you been? Do you know the time?” I burst into tears and sharply reminded
them of what it’s like in Galveston on a rainy day. They expressed sympathy rushing
me into my room where I collapsed on the bed. I remembered the joy of this
morning when I sat in the same place. What
a difference a day can make, I thought. The door opened and neighbors,
along with my maid of honor, slipped into the room and began thrusting clothes
and words of encouragement to me about how I needed to hurry. Someone shoved a
sandwich in my hand; I took a few bites and set it aside feeling the nausea
rising.
“I’m
sick,” I said as the tears returned. Thinking of all the bad luck signs, I felt
a reprieve remembering that for a bride to cry on her wedding day is good luck.
Someone handed me Kleenex and said, “Wipe your eyes and get into this dress.” I
followed all the instructions and sat before the mirror looking at my image
(another sign of bad luck). That’s really
not me, I thought, but just then my Dad knocked on the door. We embraced
and he whispered, “I love you.” Somehow,
his words reassured me with renewed courage. As I heard the Wedding March in
the background, I summoned all the poise I could muster as he escorted me down
the hallway to begin my future.
The
storm continued to rage with thunder crashing and lightning flashing as Shep and
I said our vows. However, later after the reception, we stepped out into the
night to leave; the rain had stopped, the clouds moved away, and the moon cast
a silver shadow across the old Plymouth revealing the decorations our friends
added to assure the whole town would recognize the newlyweds, and they had to
do this in the rain storm. We dove through the shower of rice, slipped into the
still very damp seats, and waved goodbye to the guests. The old Plymouth
struggled to start in the aftermath of the storm, backfiring with a loud boom
from the potato stuck in the tailpipe, the engine responded sputtering with the
gear changes until it finally moved down the road dragging the load of noise
making tin cans tied to the back bumper. Of course, the noise attracted neighbors on
the streets who waved and wished us well as we drove into the night on this
special Valentine’s Day sixty-five years ago.
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