Wedded Bliss-ters

Digging into my mental museum, I decided to share with you the true story of a wedding from Hell, which I attended fifty years ago. And, YES, it is still exceedingly memorable. The formal wedding and reception dinner were held on a Sunday evening, in December, in the sanctuary, and adjoining reception room, of a little congregation, in a small town near Chicago---where many of the grooms relatives lived.

The wealthy parents of the groom had arranged for a private bus to ferry their fancy Chicago friends to the wedding. Since my husband, Warren, was a groomsman; we arrived a couple of days early.

Saturday morning, Warren looked at the sky and said, “It looks like rain.” He was wrong. It didn’t rain, but late Saturday night, it began to snow. The groom arrived. He hadn’t forgotten to bring his tuxedo, but bringing the wedding license had slipped his mind. Luckily, one of his uncles woke up a sleeping judge, who ordered the powers to be, to open the license office, and by Sunday morning, when the bride arrived, the license was well in hand. Unfortunately, she had forgotten to bring the wedding cake. It kept snowing!

The groom’s aunts had planned an elegant champagne lunch, for out-of-town guests, at the only hotel in town. As we were seated, and the heartfelt toasts were being made, the private dining room doors flew open, and 30 unexpected relatives of the bride (from Detroit) burst into the room, shouting “Is this the place for lunch?”

One of the aunts almost fainted. Another aunt explained, as politely as possible, that since she had not been informed that they were coming, food had not been ordered for them, but she would arrange for some sandwich platters, if they could wait quietly. They decided not to wait, and began to take rolls out of the breadbaskets. When another aunt said, “Please stop doing that,” they left. The breadbaskets were empty. As a matter of fact, they took two of the baskets with them. The almost fainting aunt kept mumbling, “Not our side of the family. Not our side of the family.” Unfazed, the bride said, “What a nice surprise! I had no idea they were invited.” By now the snow was coming down very fast.

Radio commentators reported, “Chicago traffic is backed up due to blizzard conditions.” Most of the guests had decided to get to the wedding early due to the increasingly bad weather. The chapel was beautifully decorated with roses. We could smell them, but no one could see them, because as soon as we all were seated, the lights went out. It was like sitting in a nice smelling coal mine. It was pitch black inside the chapel when the busload of bejeweled and mink covered guests arrived, in their wrinkled tuxedos and gowns, from Chicago. Carrying a flashlight, one disgruntled man said, “I’ll buy the damn electric company in this Burg, if they turn on the lights!”

Candles were lit, and I prayed that they wouldn’t burn down the chapel. Warren prayed that he wouldn’t be poisoned at the dinner, because the refrigeration in the wedding reception area was also down and out. I couldn’t see the bride come down the aisle, but I assume she was present when the vows were said. After the ceremony, the candles were brought into the reception area. The melting ice-sculptured swans looked more like pigeons, and the champagne was a bit warm, but the food had not spoiled. I’m not sure what I ate, but it kind of tasted good.

“Dancing in the Dark” was a good theme song for the wedding, and then it was time to leave. By now, all of the cars in the parking lot were totally covered with snow. Two of the drunken Detroit relatives had located a couple of shovels and asked Warren, “Where’s our car?” He showed them where to dig.  When they were finished, they had dug out our car. Oops! 

The snow removal truck had only cleared the street that led to the hotel. There was no way we could go anywhere else. So everyone, including the bride and groom spent the night in the hotel. The next day, the bride’s relatives returned to Detroit with their newly acquired breadbaskets. The wealthy people returned on the private bus to Chicago, without buying the electric company, and we were free to go home.

Esther Blumenfeld (The marriage was kaput in a year. I guess they turned on the lights.)