Young Love (#140)

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November 29, 1969… 11:00 PM

Back in the early 1800’s, something called a “shivaree” became popular with wedding guests (especially drinking ones). After the newlyweds had left the reception, enthusiastic friends followed, equipped with pots, pans, and kettles, intending to harass the couple with a loud racket during their first night together.

In extreme cases, rabble-rousers kidnapped the bride overnight, forcing a delayed consummation of the marriage.

Although most of my married friends hadn’t experienced any shenanigans after their weddings, I had a hunch we were in for it – not a kidnapping or a shivaree, but something. Bervin’s family in particular had a reputation for revelry after weddings and had, indeed, stolen Mary’s honeymoon suitcase before they’d left the church after their wedding.

Our luggage had been hiding in Chicago’s massive underground parking garage since Thanksgiving (inside Nate’s VW), so we weren’t worried about that. The morning of our wedding Nate had retrieved our suitcases and taken them to The Drake’s front desk.

Getting in the carWe hadn’t told a single person about our wedding night plan but expected our pursuers to follow until they figured it out – setting themselves up to bother us multiple times during the night.

As Nate and I complied with the photographer for a last set of photos in front of the church, we watched one car after another pull up behind ours, opening doors for bridesmaids and groomsmen to clamber in. When we finally pulled away, they did, too.

In the carPlan A was to head downtown and lose them in the crowded city, but they were tooting horns and flashing lights as we moved in and out of traffic, causing people to join the celebration by tooting back and making way for them. We flew past The Drake, looking longingly but not daring to stop.

Plan B was to head to the airport, leading our chasers to think we had plane tickets. But an expressway is the easiest place to tail a car, and after our 45 minute drive to O’Hare, they were still with us.

O'Hare.John suggested Plan C, that Nate and I run inside the airport, then try to hide. He would drive the airport circle once and return, when hopefully we could exit through a different door… without our pursuers.

It was the 1960’s, and airport security was non-existent. You could leave your car at the curb without a problem, and TSA hadn’t been invented. The general public could walk to any gate and even board planes with their loved ones to settle them in before saying goodbye. We knew if we could get our followers heading for the gates, we could shed them.

The first thing Nate and I encountered inside the airport was a small, open-air gift shop. Since I was quite conspicuous in my wedding gown, veil, and tipsy crown, we darted inside and crouched behind a glass display case. Peering through it, we were delighted to see Mary, Bervin, and assorted wedding party members run past, headed for the gates.

They’d missed us!

The shop clerks were giggling, but we couldn’t linger to explain. As soon as the wedding party was out of sight, we left the store, grabbed hands, and ran the length of the departure terminal, veil and train flying. Holding onto my crown I said, “I feel like we’re in a movie!”

Although several of the pursuing vehicles were still roaming the airport, when John pulled up and threw open his car door, we made a run for it and dove in, lying low. He sped off, and by the time we were on the expressway again, the coast was clear.

Our next step was to get out of our wedding clothes. Nate had instructed me to bring a change, but I’d forgotten. I did have my Jackie Kennedy coat, though. He had jeans and a shirt, so John turned off and found a gas station.

Ladies room.Cathy, John, and I laughed as we watched Nate rush into the outside bathroom door…

of the ladies room.

I wiggled out of my gown in the back seat and slipped into my blue coat, buttoning it to the chin. How appropriate, I thought. I’m wearing the same “outfit” on our wedding night that I wore on the night we met….

“I am very happy now…” (2 Corinthians 7:16)

Young Love (#139)

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November 29, 1969… 10:30 PM

Before our wedding reception could officially end, 3 more things had to happen: I needed to throw my bouquet, Nate needed to toss the garter, and my bridesmaids and I needed to build a human pyramid.

We didn’t really need to build a pyramid, but we wanted to. From the time I was about 7 years old, I loved gymnastics – round-offs, handstands, flips, backbends, all of it. When friends came over, we’d spend significant time perfecting our routines.

In high school I took classes, including trampoline, which is just gymnastics with a bounce. Even in college I was a member of a gymnastics group that occasionally performed – not competitively but just for fun.

Old pyramidSomewhere in high school we began making pyramids, not the skillful cheerleader type but the old fashioned kind. That’s when someone said, “Wouldn’t it be crazy if we made a pyramid at a wedding? The bridesmaids with the bride on top?” And that’s all it took.

I promised that even if nobody else did it at their weddings, I would at mine – if I ever got married. And so, now that I was a bride, I needed to follow through with a pyramid. The photographer raised his eyebrows but obediently set up his equipment in the Moody Church lobby.

I can’t imagine Nate’s thoughts as he (and the other men) watched us. Surely he wondered what his future would be like with this crazy wife.

Pyramid.Crumble

 

 

 

 

 

 

Although one of the bridesmaids had already departed, a server jumped into her slot, and we went for it – a happy pyramid full of hysterical laughter. The bouquet and garter weren’t nearly as exciting.

BouquetThe garter

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once we had straightened ourselves out, it was time to go. Our Champaign friends, Cathy and John, already had their engine idling in front of the church, ready for us to jump in and zoom away.

Rice...

So we raced out the door through a barrage of rice, heading for the car. But the photographer’s insistence on a couple of pictures as we climbed in gave the wedding party just enough time to retrieve their own vehicles…  and line up right behind ours.

“Take me away with you.” (Song of Solomon 1:4)

Young Love (#138)

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November 29, 1969… 10:00 PM

Mom and LoisAs the reception wound down, Mom began asking what ought to be done with the leftover food and flowers. “Maybe we should feed the adult Sunday school classes in the morning,” she said, always thinking of others. She urged the last guests to take some with them and ran to the kitchen for plastic bags.

I wondered what my new mother-in-law thought of mom, having spent a weekend with her. Even though they were quite different, these two had begun to forge a friendship, which was satisfying to watch. After all, if Nate and I ended up with children, our moms would share them as grandmothers.

New in-lawsThe folks

Our four parents were bushed but cheerfully posed for a few last pictures, probably hoping all the photographer’s boxes would soon be checked.

 

Nate and I were beginning to look at each other with longing but knew it wouldn’t be simple to transition from wedding to honeymoon. Very likely it would take some time… and some creativity.

Mary and BervinOur wedding party stuck by us, but several were wilting on the vine – they’d all worked hard. Despite the fun, it had been a demanding day for them. We would be forever grateful. (R. Mary and Bervin)

As Nate and I held hands and watched the photographer work, I felt something funny – Nate’s wedding band. Lifting his hand, I studied his ring for the first time. His whole hand looked different… unusual… fantastic.

Having not anticipated how his ring might look on him, I was pleasantly surprised at the surge of warmth I felt. He was happy to be identified as a married man, and I was glad other girls would see his ring and know he was “taken.” That smacked of possessiveness, though I knew he didn’t really “belong” to me… or… maybe he did.

RingsNate was more than happy to “be mine” and had longed for that reality for 3 years. I was also thrilled to “belong” to him. As of a few hours ago, we’d promised to have an exclusive relationship with each other that we would never have with anyone else… throughout our lifetimes. Our rings were outward evidence of those inner commitments.

Though some might label that a restriction, as I stood there studying Nate’s hand and its shiny new ring, I felt totally secure and extremely special. I was in a category where no other girl could be. Nate was mine, and I was his – something we had wanted more than anything else in the world. And now, at long last, we were there.

“Love burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame. Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot sweep it away.” (Song of Solomon 8:6-7)