1943 Was a Very Good Year

On August 3rd, 1943 she was a few months passed 18 and he was just over 22. He wore his only Air Corps dress uniform - 100% wool - in the scorching heat of summertime Brooklyn. She wore a fitted floor-length white organdy dress with a long row of tiny buttons down the back. Her hair, swept up in a stylish pompadour, was crowned by a wreath of orange blossoms holding in place an heirloom Belgian lace veil forming a train behind her as she seemed to flow down the aisle of St. Finbar's Church on her father's arm.

Today my parents are celebrating their 64th wedding anniversary. Being true blue, faithful, loving and each other's best friend is their specialty. Although when asked what was the key to their successful marriage, my father responded, "Patience." They live in the house my father designed over thirty-five years ago and ;maintain it without any outside help - even to snow blowing and painting the eaves!

These days their generation is being called "the greatest generation." In the last installment of "my story" (July 2), I gave account of their childhoods during the Great Depression. Within a year of their marriage, my father learned that he would be going overseas. At that news my mother joined him in places like Coffeeville, Kansas and Meridian, Mississippi. When I was born in New York City in 1945, my father was serving on Guam in the Pacific Theater of World War II. We did not meet until I was eight months old.

I am not able to be with them today but have promised to celebrate with them on their 65th. May God continue to bless them with good health and reward them for their model of faithfulness.