Abio 30: Our road-trip wedding - part 2
Abio 30: Our road-trip wedding – pt 2
We left off last week with me in Niagara Falls trying to get across the Canadian border back into the United States with Susan’s kids, two unrelated minor children with no ID, and a Toyota van with no license plate.
We were driving across country to get married in Pennsylvania. Susan would fly in later.
The border guards interviewed us separately, searched my VIN and van, and called Toyota Vallejo. Lastly, they called Susan. Luckily, she vouched for us, and they let us go.
We (we, we, we all the way home) ran into a new problem back in Ridgway. We couldn’t find anyone to marry us. First, I called an old high-school friend who had become Pastor John. His religion required us to go through two weeks of solid counseling before he could marry us because Susan was a divorcée. We called another faith and they, too, turned us down. They did not marry divorced people either.
Finally, my mother called her preacher friend, a Free Methodist. He asked, “Do you have $300?” Yes, we did. “OK, then. Next Saturday at my church in Brockport.” The date was sent and invitations went out.
Earlier, before the kids and I drove off from California, Susan asked me what this wedding and reception might look like. I asked her, “Have you ever seen the movie, Deer Hunter?” She had. “It’s going to be like that.”
My friends and family filled up the little Brockport church, which was directly across the street from the fire station. It was hot and humid that day, and I was in a heavy rented tuxedo, sweating profusely. I stood with the preacher and Adam walked his mom down the aisle. Just as our ceremony began, a fire broke out somewhere in town and the sirens began to wail across the street. Their garage door went up as volunteer firemen screeched into the parking lot. We had to pause because of the noise and flashing red lights. A fire truck, a police car, and an ambulance all hit their sirens and it got even louder. Sweat was dripping off my nose.
Finally, the sirens faded and the preacher began his ceremonial speech. My eyes wandered. I looked out the window. I saw that the church’s huge grassy lawn was freshly mowed, but in the middle sat an old Buick on blocks with no tires and tall unmown grass growing up around it. I found it curious and continued to stare. Finally, the preacher stopped mid-sentence and leaned into me to whisper, “That’s the get-away car,” he said. Funny guy.
He pronounced us, we kissed, and the audience broke into applause. I hired a good friend of mine, Mickey, to be our photographer and gave him a disposable camera. I chose Mickey because he had a broken right elbow from a motorcycle accident years earlier and it had fused half bent. He was unable to touch his face with his right hand. He would eat popcorn by throwing it at his mouth. We thought the pictures would be memorable, and they were. Mickey couldn’t get the view finder up to his eye. Most of our pictures had the tops of our heads cut off, or the sides of our bodies out of frame. We had them enlarged and proudly hung them in our house.
Gino and his girl at the time, Lynn, drove up from Philadelphia to be my Best Man. Gino was having a good time, but Lynn was constantly terrified. She’d never been in the rural regions before. The reception freaked her out.
Susan was called out to dance with my friends, who cut in one after the other. People came up to her and safety-pinned dollar bills to her gown until she looked like a tree. She was unfamiliar with that custom, but rolled with it.
We rented the Grange Hall for $30 for our reception. Friends kept invited me out to the parking lot where they’d open their trunks and bring out “the good stuff” that they refused to bring inside because people would drink it all. I had multiple shots of Wild Turkey that afternoon.
We threw a Beggar’s Banquet. My guests all brought homemade food, casseroles, beans, cakes and pies, and the main course was 10 pounds of seasoned venison. The beer was provided by my friends, Joe Joe and Rose, who owned a beer distributor business in Ridgway. He was our high school quarterback, and she was the captain of the cheerleaders. When the first keg went dry, Joe Joe drove back to the shop and picked up another.
Cheryl was there with her two kids. I told Susan not to show her the engagement-wedding ring and introduced them. They shook hands, talked and laughed awhile. That makes three old girlfriends that Susan has befriended.
Gino and Lynn were there. Lynn sat in the corner pale and shaking and spoke to no one except whispers to Gino, like “When can we leave?” They were supposed to stay one more day so we could have some personal time together, but they left late that night, and here is why: Ward.
Everybody’s friend, Ward, was a tall, hulking, yet harmless, figure known to exaggerate frequently.
Some of Ward’s tall tales: “My dad killed Hitler. He dropped an anchor out of an airplane and it landed on Hitler’s head.” “My dad is building a WWII tank in our attic, but no one is allowed to go see it.” My favorite one was, “We are the only family in the neighborhood that has a power lawn mower.” He said that on his back porch while his neighbor was mowing his own lawn with a power lawn mower.
I said, “Ward, what about that guy?” and pointed to the mowing neighbor.
Ward replied casually, “Oh, he doesn’t count.”
So, Gino and Lynn were leaving the reception to go back to their hotel room for the evening, and they encountered Ward in the parking lot. Ward didn’t know them, but he asked if they would give him a ride home. Gino said, “Sure,” and Ward climbed into the back seat.
Ward started talking to Lynn. “Hello, pretty lady. You sure are pretty. How did you get so pretty?’ At the same time, Ward was playing with his 14-inch Bowie knife, passing it from hand to hand, oblivious to the message he was sending.
Gino saw the knife and reached beside his seat for a tire iron. He held it by his side, and if Ward started to stab them both, he’d be ready to beat him with it. They reached the long dirt driveway down into a grove of tall trees where Ward’s house sat. “Turn here,” Ward instructed. Gino told me later that when they turned down the dirt driveway, Lynn almost fainted from sheer terror. Ward got out at his front door, said good night, and went inside.
Lynn insisted that they check out of the hotel and return immediately to the safety of downtown Philadelphia.
We explained to our guests in the invitation that we were on a road trip and had no space for gifts. However, they could give money. Susan and I actually made $316 profit from our wedding, and received the reception leftovers, a large bag of baloney sandwiches, for the road.
We left town refreshed. The only incident that upset Susan was when my four blonde nieces took Kristi off and introduced her to make-up for the first time. She came back to us with a powdered face, rouged cheeks, blue eyelids, and fire-engine red lipstick. “Wash that off right now, young lady!” said Susan. We drove south. More later.
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