For the Hollies It Was a Bus Stop. For Us It Was A Mailbox

 It was August of '83, and Eric and I had moved into a garden apartment in Kendall called Les Chalet, only AFTER Barry had bugged out on his commitment to live with us in a bigger place down the street. That bug out had big consequences for my life. Eric was starting med school, and I law school. One day I was studying in the living room, and I heard a knock at the door.

I got up, probably in cutoff jeans, to answer the door. No one had knocked -- a girl was fighting with her mailbox door outside, and making a racket. I said hello and said I thought she had knocked. She apologized and said no -- the door was always stuck. I shook her hand and introduced myself.

I'm Dave, and starting law school, for lack of anything better to do with a B.A. in English. But I figure I'll be ok at law, make a very nice living, and marry you when I graduate, and together we'll have an amazing life together, with 2 absurdly amazing girls who will marry amazing men, and give us a grandson who is also absurdly adorable, to the point it seems unreal. Oh yeah -- and I'll buy you a house that looks like something out of a tropical vision of Gatsby. But first -- want to get some dinner at a classic 80s fern bar named Raffles?

She agreed, and three and a half years later, 35 years ago tonight, we were married.

The wedding had a funny tale, too. First, I had contacted the only rabbi I knew -- the UM Hillel guy named Mark Kram. We met with him, and he got us to buy into this whole ersatz Catholic premarital counseling thing -- we met with him and his wife Mindy (Oy -- Mark and Mindy -- that alone should have told me this was a failed idea) and Wifey (not yet) and I bought into it. We would be progressive young Jews -- and Rabbi Mark and Mindy would be a foundation of our Jewish married life.

And then, a week before the big night, he called me at my office, in the SouthEast Building Downtown. "Uh Dave -- got some bad news. I can't be there for your big, fat, Holocaust Survivor kid wedding. One of my friends from UJA got sick and I get a free trip to Israel -- it leaves January 1." What -- had you never BEEN? "Oh now -- I've been several times, but I really like it -- so see ya, Chaim Yonkel!" Did you have a replacement? No -- as Hillel guy, I'm not really connected with the local rabbinate. I guess it sucks to be you."

As D2 loves it when I tell the story, my reaction was "But I thought we was partners!" We wasn't -- the selfish prick succeeded in turning Wifey and I off to the sanctimoniousness and hypocrisy of organized religion for years -- only to be rescued 11 years hence by the sincerity and reality of Rabbi Yossi and Nechama.

But what to do? Luckily Eric's Mom Norma knew a guy -- Norman Lipson -- sort of a relief Rabbi around South Florida. We met him once, and he did a yeoman's job. I hear he later founded a Reform temple in Weston, and is now retired

And what a night it turned out to be. Our friend Elizabeth, now tragically gone after a heart attack while hiking last year, was married to Pat Travers, a rock and roll singer. He played with the classic wedding band, Harry Frank and his Band of Mirth Makers, my Mom had found and paid for. Wifey's college friend Eileen, very drunk and thinking she could sing, joined them onstage in a classic act of silliness, and sang "Good Lovin" while Pat was singing "Gimme Some Lovin'" Pat, the professional, made it still sound great.

The next day we were off to a honeymoon in Jamaica for 4 nights -- all we could afford at Half Moon Bay. And then we returned, to our tiny but loved house on SW 125th Terrace, and began our life together.

The blessings were, and are, manifold. The sadnesses, too -- we said goodbye to Wifey's father and my mother. My mother in law rides on -- just turned 97.

There were serious illnesses -- for Wifey a year ago this month -- which thankfully she has recovered. The Ds gave us some scares.

But I had a vision for us, and Wifey shared it: our marriage would be the foundation for the rest of our lives, upon which we would build a family. And it goes deeper.

Wifey is the only child of Holocaust Survivors. Two years ago, at D2 and Jonathan's wedding, Rabbi Yossi reminded us all that D2 and Jonathan are grandchildren of Survivors. The Evil Nazis truly tried to do away with our people. And on a beautiful Miami Beach evening, with streaming setting sunlight that looked as if it was created by a Hollywood lighting director, the generations gave the ultimate F You to Hitler.

We weren't thinking about that on January 3, 1987. We were just a couple of young kids getting married and starting a life.

Truth is, I love Wifey more than I did then. Big Man willing, long may we run, together.