On Friday morning, May 11, 1951, I drove to the “Tux Shoppe” in Durham, North Carolina for a final fitting of my white coat tuxedo. It fit perfectly. I took it with me to the hotel. At the desk, I asked for someone to ring the phone in my room at five o’clock. I hung the tux in the closet, and stretched out on the bed for a short nap.
On Friday morning, May 11, 1951, I drove to the “Tux Shoppe” in Durham, North Carolina for a final fitting of my white coat tuxedo. It fit perfectly. I took it with me to the hotel. At the desk, I asked for someone to ring the phone in my room at five o’clock. I hung the tux in the closet, and stretched out on the bed for a short nap.
Earlier in the day, my younger brother, Jim, and soon-to-be my “Best Man, and our Dad had decided to allow twenty minutes for the ten-minute ride from the hotel to the Greek Orthodox Church. We would ride in two cars; me alone in my maroon, 1949 Mercury convertible, and Jim would drive his 1949 Ford, with Dad, as his passenger.
About 5:30, we began our drive to the Church. All went well according to our plan, up until we approached the main street where suddenly we observed three horrendous, long lines of traffic consisting of all sorts of farm vehicles, containing numerous truckloads of chickens, ducks, pigs, and innumerable varieties of farm fruits and vegetables, etc.
How were we supposed to know all the farmers from near and far, came to Durham on a Friday night, so they could sell their crops, poultry, and produce at the Farmers’ Market on Saturday morning?
(Note: It is important to know that the front exteriors of many buildings in the southern states are made of red bricks, and tall, white columns. So many of them look alike.)
After creeping along at about two miles an hour, there on the opposite side of the street, I spotted a red brick building with tall, white columns. I also noticed there was supposed to be two vacant parking spaces at the curb. There weren’t any… but fortunately I saw an empty parking lot on the right side of the street, so we both drove in and parked.
The next obstacle was to cross the street betwixt the many dozens of farm vehicles.
As soon as we reached the front of the red brick building, I dashed around to the right side of the building as I had been instructed to do, the night before, in our pre-wedding rehearsal.
Suddenly, I heard Jim yell, “Hey, Willie, are you getting married in a library?”
“No, why?”
“Well, that’s what this building is…?
I quickly read the sign on the building: “Durham Public Library.”
Again, with our new experience of crossing a busy street filled with creep-along farm vehicles, we managed to get into our two cars; mesh along with the massive long line of produce-laden trucks until I spotted another red brick building with white columns.
This time, I was certain this was the correct church building with two parking spaces at the curb. With great skill and daring, we two drivers, with great deftness of driving, made unique unprecedented u-turns, and eventually parked in the two reserved curb spaces.
We were nearly a half hour late for my wedding,
Dad and Jim entered through the front doorway of the Greek Church,
I, the tardy groom, ran to the doorway on the right side of the building. As I entered, the sexton greeted me with, “Oh, Mr. Thomas, you’re finally here. Some people were concerned….”
I replied, “Too much slow traffic…”
He said, “Don’t worry, Sir, we’ll have everything in control; and I’ll tell you when to go into the church. Just relax.”
I decided the best way for me to relax was to place a single piece of Wrigley’s “Double Mint Gum” in my mouth, and begin to chew it.
Only a few minutes later, to my sudden surprise, I heard, “Okay, Sir, now is the time.”
The sexton, in his aggressive but polite manner, opened the door, and urged me to walk into the church. I heard the music, and the female vocalist.
I saw the oncoming procession, so I hastily stepped in front of the little flower girl and the boy ring-bearer, and quickly walked ahead of them.
But, on my way to the altar, I realized this marriage is an auspicious occasion, and I should not be chewing a sticky wad of gum.
With my brilliant flash of thought, I brought my right hand up to my mouth, and quicker than a magician could do it, I relayed the gum into the palm of my right hand, and quickly took my place next to where Jim, the best man, and the ushers stood; handsome in their black tuxedos
Moments later, my beautiful fiancee, Soula, dazzling in her white wedding gown proceeded up the aisle with her right hand tucked into her father’s left arm. Then, my bride-to-be turned to face her father, who in turn kissed her cheek.
This lovely young lady turned to face me, the smiling groom, as we continued to walk the few steps to the altar where the priest stood, waiting patiently, I hoped.
Fr. George, motioned for the church visitors to be seated.
He smiled at us. He greeted the bride by name.
When he greeted me, he extended his right arm to shake hands with me. As I brought my right hand up to shake with the priest, I opened my hand and with the swiftest motion, forced the sticky wad of gum to fly out of my hand. I shook hands with the priest who suddenly had an odd grimace on his face… and he seemed to be wiping his right hand on the back side of his gown.
In the tradition of a Greek wedding, the priest recites all the appropriate words and then he leads the marrying couple around the altar three times, stopping for a few minutes on each turn where he recites more of the ceremony.
The matron-of-honor carries the trailing edge of the bridal gown, and the best man is also engaged in this brief procession around the altar. Jim’s task is to hold and cross-switch two white, circular, head-size rings back and forth over the couple’s heads.
Fr. George began the first turn around the altar quite easily with all the others following him, but as he nearly completed the first circuit, he happened to step onto the sticky wad of gum that I had hastily discarded inappropriately in his path.
As the priest began the second phase of the tour around the altar, he seemed to have a bit of difficulty in moving his right foot.
I was the only one in the church who knew what the priest’s sticky shoe problem is. I tried hard to not laugh out loud, and I tried to control myself by “guffawing” into my right sleeve.
My sudden muffled, abrupt, loud, coarse bits of laughter had my bride-to-be greatly concerned, by repeatedly asking, me, “Bill, are you all right?”
I tried to reassure her by nodding, but each effort to respond only brought on more of my guffawing. I’m sure none of it sounded like any real, genuine laughter.
I calmed myself momentarily, but the prevailing thought about the sticky gum under the priest’s shoe only brought on more of my secretive chortles.
As our wedding group continued to walk slowly around the altar to continue the ceremony, the priest struggled to lift his right foot on every step. I tried my very best to be serious, dignified, and unsmiling.
The serious looks from the priest caused him to ask, “William, are you well enough to continue?”
“Yessss, I’m okay.”
Finally after the third trip around the altar, Fr. George announced in a loud and perhaps uncertain manner, “I am most happy to announce our newly wedded couple are Mr. and Mrs. William Thomas. William, you may now kiss your wife.”
The bride turned her lovely body and face toward me. We kissed, and we remained in a long, warm embrace.
As Soula and I walked along the aisles to exit the church, everyone rose from their seats to applaud.
Outside, many friends and relatives threw handsful of rice at us; and their flash cameras shone quite brightly, and repeatedly.
As we sat in the rear seat of a car, Soula noticed one of the round studs on my white shirt had popped off revealing a bare part of my hairy chest.
I remarked, “Can I help it when I’m so proud.”
The wedding “slipped by a bit sticky” but pretty well otherwise.
After the busy session at the photo studio, we rode to a large hall for the beautifully decorated dinner reception.
Upon our arrival, everyone cheered and applauded. When we came into view, the musicians changed their musical rendition so Soula and I glided into a waltz. Then they played a Greek tune, we swung into a Greek dance and many other couples came onto the dance floor.
Later, all the lovely bridesmaids and handsome ushers sat at the reception table, Soula and I and our parents were seated at the middle section.
Jim sat next to Soula. He rose to introduce a couple of old friends who hilariously “roasted and toasted” us, the newly hitched couple.
Everyone stood and applauded. With all the guests seated again, someone started tapping a fork to an empty water glass, which immediately caught on, and nearly everyone tinkled their glasses. This of course meant the bridegroom had to kiss the bride.
Soula and I stood up. I wrapped my arms around her, and drew her close to me, and we began a very long, endearing kiss. We stopped when someone yelled, “Get a room!”
After the laughter subsided, the waiters distributed plates of delicious foods onto the dining tables. Then, the tinkling of glass-wear began again, so Soula and I demonstrated an extra long embrace and kiss.
After dinner, about an hour later, the floor filled with long Greek dancing lines covering every bit of the dance floor. Soula in her bridal gown, and me in my white tuxedo, waltzed again, and then we completed with my version of a Greek dance.
Somewhat later, after the dining on a great variety of Greek foods, dancing, and imbibing on a few beverages, some of the male guests had cornered me into a quieter part of the ballroom.
“Come on, Bill, tell us what was going on as you walked around the altar.”
Just at the end of my description of my odd behavior during the wedding ceremony, and the three trips around the altar, Father George suddenly appeared.
“Excuse me, gentlemen but I’d like to personally congratulate the new groom.”
“Bill, I know you and Soula will have a long and happy marriage…. but I also want to caution you… there will be some sticky times once in awhile,” and with that said, he walked away.
The fellas all got a good laugh out of the priest’s remarks… and they razzed me quite a bit.
I left the group to go find my wife. When Soula and I began dancing a Fox Trot, one of the bridesmaids cut in to dance with me. Moments later, another woman cut in, and again, one more, and then a tall blonde with big bosoms cut in to dance. She held me so close I nearly smothered between her breasts. My nose was so delightfully crested in her deep cleavage with her lust-enhancing perfume. And when I turned my head to breathe, I got poked in my ear.
I heard some of the guys roaring with laughter and stating some discernable remarks. Nearly everyone was roar-laughing and applauding.
Suddenly, the music stopped. I also noticed the other dancers had stopped dancing, just to watch me and the tall blonde.
Then I realized the joke was on me. This was a put-up stunt.
All of the above, and more, occurred during our sixty-five years of marriage including our honeymoon. I drove a maroon, 1949 Mercury convertible along the east coast so Soula and I could visit many of the interesting sights in Washington, D C., Philadelphia, and then to Niagara Falls, across to Detroit. Several house parties ensued where I was able to show off my bride to relatives and friends.
Meanwhile, I had made arrangements with an auto dealer to deliver a new 1950 Cadillac Coupe DeVille to a doctor in Sacramento, California after our two weeks journey to Long Beach where I lived and worked.
HINT: I would advise Aagainst a 4,000 mile road trip on a honeymoon.
Bill Thomas of Rossmoor is a Veteran of World War II, and Past Commander of Veterans of Foreign Wars Post 4048, and American Legion Post 857. Contact Bill at vvbthomasvets@gmail.com
