Sixty years may destroy more synapses than they retain. Memories without written notes tend toward being nonexistent. Thus, it is for my wedding in Sandusky, Ohio on Sunday, June 22, 1958.
I know I did not stay in the Swank house on Erie Blvd. I probably appeared at some out-of-the-way hotel or motel on Friday, at the height of the tourist season for Cedar Point. My parents would not arrive for the big day until Sunday morning, along with my uncle and aunt, Bill and Ada Moransky, the only relatives who would attend. My Aunt Rose had convinced all of the others that they would surely go to hell, or at the very least be ex-communicated, if they dared to attend my wedding in the First Congregational Church. Since my Uncle Bill had been tossed out of the Church many years ago when he married Ada, their non-Catholic presence was both “allowable” and a very welcomed sight.
I did not anticipate that any friends from either Niles or Kent would be in attendance. The wedding invitations had been limited to family, family acquaintances, and a very few of Karen’s and my personal friends. Ken Kalish, my best man and fraternity brother, who risked his own excommunication on my behalf, was there for the bachelor’s party on Saturday evening at some unremembered suite in the location where we were staying. Actually, a more grammatically correct reference might be bachelors’ party, since there were two bachelors: me and Ken Crain, who would be marrying Karen’s sister, Tami, at the same ceremony, on the following afternoon, to be presided over by Rev. Peters.
I do remember that there was, indeed, a party – but none of the details about it. I do recall that brother Kalish did get me more inebriated than I had ever been either before or after that particular celebration. I have never felt more hung-over than I did on that Sunday morning. I believe I was sober by the time I said my vows in the afternoon.
Reverend Peters had never performed a double wedding, but everyone there believed I did marry Karen and that Ken Crain married Tami. At least their father, G.J. Swank, had escorted each of his daughters down the aisle separately and placed each beside the appropriate, waiting groom. Libby and Ken, our witnesses, stood next to where Karen and I would be placed. The other maid-of-honor and best-man attended Tami and my brother-in-law-to-be. In sequence, we repeated the words offered by Rev. Peters for our vows. The ceremony was brief; we adjourned to the basement in the church for our mutual reception with punch and cake.
Given the photographs that appear in our joint wedding album, I know I was introduced to Karen’s grandfather and several aunts and uncles from out-of-town. The brides were photographed in their identical wedding gowns. Each couple cut a slice from their individual, but identical, wedding cakes and fed one another a bite.
I had a serious “talking-to” from Karen’s father; at least that’s how the informal picture of the three of us is usually interpreted. Finally, Karen changed into a pink traveling suit, and we left the church for my gift-packed Ford. With waves of many kinds, we drove off towards Ashtabula and our overnight honeymoon before heading back to Ithaca, New York and the beginning of the next six decades of our life together.