January 6^th, 2024 is the 60^th anniversary of our first wedding. It started as a dare. Surprise, surprise it lasted! The beginning was a bit unusual.

Ken and I met in 1962 at a Junior Achievement Meeting. He went to the rival high school across town. We began dating in February 1963. It was a rocky romance at best. He proposed on our third date. My response was to laugh. Ridiculous I said. We’re in high school and I have plans. I was going to be a world traveler and a French/English interpreter living in Paris not a haus frau in Bellevue, Washington.  He was undaunted and asked me several times. Each time I said no. He was intense and serious; I was a flibbertigibbet. We broke up over and over, but I kept going back to him. There was that indefinable something that I couldn’t resist.

We were enrolled at Washington State University and our dating life the first semester was a replay of our high school experience. On again, off again. We went back to our homes at Christmas break and saw each other for the holidays. It was common practice for a student with a reliable vehicle to sell space in said vehicle to other students who needed rides to and from the west side of the mountains. We each signed up for the ride back to the University after New Year. The guy oversold the space in his car. Ken and I can’t remember exactly what kind of car he had but Ken thinks it was something like a Chevy Malibu – not a full-size car by any means. The driver, his girlfriend, and another fellow sat in the front seat, Ken and two other big guys in the backseat and me. The only place I could sit was on Ken’s lap. We were all 18 and 19 years old so being packed like a canister of tennis balls didn’t seem so bad. After all, it was only four hours across the mountains from Bellevue to Pullman.

On Sunday, January 5^th, we left about 1:00 pm in a light snow. As we got into the mountains the snowfall was harder. By the time we reached the pass, it was closed due to the storm. We couldn’t use I-90 to get to eastern Washington and had to backtrack and reroute south into Oregon then across I-84 and up to Walla Walla and then to Pullman making a four-hour journey into an eight-hour marathon. We stopped a few times so everyone could get out and stretch their legs. Ken’s legs went numb a few times with me sitting on him but, as I said, we were young and everything was possible. We were all in good spirits and having a great time despite the delay.

Ken was going back to school for semester finals, then leaving the first week of February to go to Florida for Spring Training. After high school, he signed a contract to be a pitcher with the Detroit Tigers’ Baseball Organization.  He was going to be in exotic sunny Florida with baseball groupies, playing ball all summer. I began thinking how much I would miss him.

I whispered in Ken’s ear. “Do you still want to get married?”
Without hesitation, he said, “Yes.”
“Ok, we’ll do it tomorrow,” I continued to whisper so our companions couldn’t hear.
“Tomorrow?” he queried.
“Tomorrow or never,” I challenged.
“OK.”
“I have two conditions”.
“What?”
“One: we don’t tell anyone and then when you get back from baseball, we have a real wedding. Two: you take me out of Washington State to live somewhere else”.
“Ok.”

My first condition was because my mother would be disappointed if I didn’t have a big fat wedding. From the time I was knee-high to a beetle she talked about my wedding. She was cheated out of a formal wedding in 1943 because of the war and she wanted to put on a big affair for me. I knew it would kill her spirit if I eloped and she didn’t get the chance to plan a wedding.  The second condition was because I couldn’t stand the dreary climate in western Washington and had wanted to leave since I got there when I was twelve. Ken was willing to live anywhere.

It was decided. We got to our respective dorms late and agreed he would pick me up at 8:00 to go to Idaho to get married. We couldn’t marry in Washington State because, at that time, men under 21 had to have a parent’s permission. There was also a waiting period from the time a license was issued until the nuptials could be performed. That didn’t fit our window of opportunity.  In Idaho, there were no restrictions and no waiting period. We set off for Coeur d’Alene in Ken’s knackered old 1950 Chevy that used more oil than gas. At one point our car spun out on the ice and we ended up backed into a snowbank. A kind motorist stopped to help us get back on the road. It was still snowing lightly but undaunted we continued on. Nothing deterred us.

I dressed in a sleeveless cream-colored wool dress and high heels. It was the only almost white dress I had. High heels in snow are not the best choice either. But again, what about this whole thing made sense? I took my big china pig under my arm as my maid of honor…. don’t ask. Ken wore a sports coat, slacks, and sensible shoes. We each had a coat against the winter chill.

With a few stops along the way to add oil, we made it to Coeur d’Alene and found the courthouse. We quickly obtained a license and asked where we could get married. We were directed to a little chapel, The Hitching Post.  A justice of the peace married us with his wife as a witness. It was done!! We had lunch at a lakeside café. They gave us a tiny wedding cake to celebrate. On the way back to the University, the Chevy gave up and died. We left it at a service station in Colfax and caught a bus for the ride to Pullman, pig, wedding cake, and all.

 As soon as we got off the bus we went directly to the car dealer and Ken bought a cranky 1950 Cadillac, again not the most reliable car, but it got us around town for the couple of weeks before he left for Florida. The next weekend we drove to Lewiston, Idaho for our two-day honeymoon and happily ever after.

Ken never lets me forget I was the one who proposed to HIM. Yes, indeed I did, and I don’t regret it. We still chuckle over the impulsive decision and the fact that it actually turned out to be a good idea. We marvel that our spontaneous marriage has weathered sixty years.

We did have a formal wedding with all the hoopla, wedding showers, white dress, “something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue”, flowers, music, big cake, and reception at the beautiful old Saint Thomas Episcopal Church in Medina with Father “Mac” McMurtry and Father “Val” Valspinosa presiding on September 4, 1964, just five days after Ken returned from the baseball season.

To keep up the story, Ken had called my father from Florida in April to ask for my hand in marriage, then sent me a diamond engagement ring in the mail. My mother and I went to the courthouse in Seattle to get the license. My best friend was my maid of honor (much better than a china pig) and Ken’s best friend was his best man. Mom planned the whole shebang. The only thing I picked out was my groom and my dress, she did the rest and had a wonderful time doing it. I was probably the least stressed bride in history.

We kept the secret for forty years until my mother passed away. She never knew the story and neither did anyone else. Our kids were flabbergasted that we kept the secret for so long from them. “What else don’t we know?” was their response. Oh, the stories we could tell…