To Have and to Hold — Onto My Veil
Since June is the month of blushing brides, demure grooms, and flawless weddings, this seemed the appropriate time to recount my first wedding - which failed to contain any of the above.
Let me be perfectly honest. My first husband, R.C., and I had to get married and it had to happen quickly, but not for the reason you are thinking.
It was the mid-sixties, the troop buildup in Vietnam was accelerating, and R.C. received his draft notice to report for a physical. He went down to the draft board and asked if there were some way to get an exemption since he was planning to return to college in a few months. They told him the only way was to marry, but he better do so before the date of his physical, which was in three weeks.
Due to the tight timeline, we decided to have a simple ceremony with my minister father officiating. That plan was blown out of the water when we announced our plans to my mother.
My wedding became my mother’s wedding. She had eloped with my father because her father was adamantly opposed to her marrying a preacher. What his reasoning was, she never revealed. I always found this amusing since, from stories told by family members, my grandfather was a bit of a rapscallion which may have been why he did not want a preacher in the family.
My mother saw nothing daunting about having only three weeks to put together a formal wedding. In record time, the church was reserved, an organist scheduled, a photographer secured, invitations sent out, a cake and flowers ordered, and tuxedos rented for my father and brothers. I had been in a friend’s wedding a few weeks before, and two of those bridesmaid dresses were requisitioned and for friends who would be my attendants.
I already had a wedding dress. Wanting a special formal for my senior year in high school, I stole the idea of a friend who purchased a wedding dress and used it as a formal. This was in the day when bridal gowns were chaste and covered most of a woman’s upper body, including arms. I found the perfect dress at a local department store. When the sleeves were removed, it morphed from bridal gown to prom formal. Once the sleeves were replaced, it resumed its original function.
Another friend provided “something borrowed,” lending me her wedding veil. The veil was simple but had a long train which would play a major role in the wedding.
Before we proceed down the aisle, allow me to provide background on several members of the wedding party. If readers have seen the 1970s movie Animal House, please keep it in mind. That movie perfectly captured the era during which my first husband and I attended college.
I recently read The Blues Brothers by Daniel De Vise, and in it the author recounts the events leading to the making of Animal House. I cannot say I was surprised to learn that the movie’s writers used their college memories from Dartmouth when writing the script. Based on what my college years were like, I doubt they embellished much, if any, of it. One of my friends commented after seeing the movie, “I thought it was a documentary.”
The night before R.C. and I married, there was a fraternity formal which morphed into a bachelor party for R.C. Our two ushers arrived still in their tuxes from the night before. Sam, the usher who seated R.C.’s mother, solemnly did his duty. Then he sat down beside her, pulled back his tux jacket, and showed her he was missing a sleeve from his shirt.
He explained that the previous evening, as he and his date were dancing, she slipped and, in an attempt to remain upright, grabbed his shirt sleeve took it with her as she fell. Who knows what other events he might have recounted had the other usher, Rex, not arrived to retrieve Sam so that my mother could be seated. Once Sam and Rex had done their duty, they returned to the back of the church.
My father, the groom, and the groomsmen entered the vestry. The two bridesmaids proceeded down the aisle. My brother and I moved into position to start down the aisle. The photographer crouched in front of us to capture the moment for posterity.
My mother had told the photographer how important this particular photo was to her. From childhood, I envisioned my father marrying me and my oldest brother giving me away. My mother anxiously anticipated this moment being captured for posterity.
Before being seated, my mother went to great lengths to perfectly arrange the train of my veil. She instructed me to carefully move into place once the bridesmaids went down the aisle so that it would photograph well as the groom and I stood at the altar. I followed her instructions and now waited for my cue to start down the aisle.
The organist struck up the opening chords to Lohengrin’s “Bridal Chorus,” better known as “Here Comes the Bride.” The wedding party turned to look at us and my brother and I stepped forward.
At that moment, one of our friends, who had driven six hours from Lubbock, Texas where he attended college, came through the door. Sam, he of the missing shirt sleeve, in his exuberance at seeing this friend, calls out his name and steps forward to greet him, placing his foot firmly on my veil.
I take a second step forward and feel the headpiece for my veil disengaging itself from my head. It is at this moment the photographer takes the photograph of which my mother has dreamed. I will let it speak for itself, but it is hardly what my mother envisioned. I am caught in full grimace as my veil begins its downward journey. My brother looks as though he just had electric shock treatment.
In the best tradition of irony, it is the only photograph taken of that moment in time. My guess is the photographer was so gobsmacked by the following events he temporarily forgot his role.
I reach up, right the headpiece, and take another step, which pulls the veil from my head. I turn around, retrieve the veil, and put it back on. As I am attempting to get the veil to stay on, the organist continues pounding out the opening chords of “Here Comes the Bride,” which only adds to my level of frustration.
I think I have secured the veil but once more it comes off when I step forward. I try again but once more the veil begins sliding from my head. I yank it off, throw it on the floor and say to my brother, “Let’s go!”
Proceeding down the aisle I see the wedding party looking at us wide-eyed with a combination of disbelief and amazement. My brother and I arrive at the front of the church, my father starts the ceremony and suddenly in my peripheral vision I see someone approaching from my left.
It is my mother. She has obviously trekked to the back of the church, retrieved my veil, and is now putting it on my head. I turn my head and, through gritted teeth, hiss at her, “Mother! Stop it!” It’s a shame the photographer didn’t capture that moment for perpetuity.
My father, in a firm stage whisper says, “Norma, [I was named for her], SIT DOWN!!”
My mother, unperturbed by the spectacle playing out before the congregation, says in her “don’t mess with me” voice, “She is going to be married in this veil and I don’t care how long it takes to get it to stay on her head!” She is worked up enough that her placement of the veil is done with such vigor I almost cry out in pain.
Once the veil is firmly in place, she walks around to my back and arranges its train to best photographic advantage. When finished, she gives my father a nod and goes back to her seat. The wedding ceremony proceeds without other mishaps.
My father pronounces us husband and wife, R.C. kisses me, and as we turn to face the congregation, he says, “Whatever you do, keep that damn veil on your head!” which I succeed in doing.
Our wedding became the stuff of legend. For the next several years whenever I was introduced by someone who was at the wedding, part of the introduction would include, “She’s the one who lost her veil.” Even now, more than half a century later, the story is still told at dinner parties I attend.
We made it through the reception without further mishap, however when R.C. threw my blue garter, he threw it to Sam. Given the implication that whoever caught it would be next to wed and Sam’s aversion to marriage, the garter dropped at his feet.
As we tried to depart for our honeymoon, our car would not start. Rex, the other usher, had taken the distributor cap. At this point is his life, R.C., had a hair-trigger temper. He demanded the missing object be replaced. After several minutes of watching R.C. becoming increasingly frustrated, Rex walked over to the car, raised the hood and began replacing the cable. To demonstrate how unamused he was at the prank, R.C. shut the hood on him. Animal House at its finest.
Though these events would have sent some brides into a tizzy, they did not phase me. When I try to puzzle out why, several reasons come to mind. One is that it was my mother’s wedding, not mine. By this time in my life, having a formal wedding was not important to me. I had no aspirations to follow the expectations society had set for me, and this wedding was in keeping with that.
Even though I would marry several more times, it was this wedding that became the stuff of legends.
