A stream of more than 30 cars and trucks roared down the dirt road, honking their horns and then stopping at our farmhouse just south of Galesburg.
Don Swedlund, the dairy farmer down the road, got out and hollered, “We’re having a shivaree!”
For the uninitiated, a shivaree is a rural matrimonial custom where the newlyweds are serenaded on their wedding night. Sometimes the bride or groom is kidnapped and hazed.
In my parents’ case, it was just the name neighbors chose to call a surprise anniversary party. I remember thinking that warm summer night in 1974, 20 years is an awfully long time – more than twice as long as I had been alive.
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Next week, my wife, Joan, and I will have reached that milestone that my childhood neighbors believed warranted an impromptu celebration. Yes, we will hit the platinum mark, two decades.
I met Joan on a blind date in 2001. The twin towers had tumbled a couple months earlier, our mothers were battling cancer and I had pretty much altogether soured on dating. It hardly seemed an auspicious time to begin a romance, but five weeks later we were engaged to be married.
I was 38 and entering the world of matrimony a bit later than most, so well-meaning friends felt the need to offer advice.
“When she does something that annoys you, don’t hold anything back and let her know just what you are thinking,” advised a twice-divorced college buddy.
On the other hand, a fellow statehouse reporter told me, “The secret to a long marriage is inertia.” I remember giving him a blank look in the Senate press box and thinking, “So, your marriage has lasted because it wasn’t worth the effort to get a divorce?”
He and his wife have since split.
Even the governor at the time, George Ryan, felt the need to provide some marital wisdom before we began an interview, he said, “The secret is picking the right gal.”
Ryan was on to something. His wife Lura Lynn stuck with him for 55 years. Even when George was in prison, she visited him regularly and worked to see that he was released. She died of cancer the day after their wedding anniversary. Her husband remained incarcerated but anyone who knew them will tell you they were very much in love.
And there is the rub, when you fall in love the world is all puppy dogs, jelly beans and unicorns. But marriage is a lot more than that.
While most of the advice I received was unsolicited, I do remember asking a veteran wedding photographer if he had a good idea at the wedding which couples’ marriages would last.
He laughed and said, “Nobody gets sprinkled with fairy dust. You never know. All that I can say is that it’s never a good sign if the groom has been sleeping with one of the bridesmaids.”
When state Sen. Denny Jacobs heard about our impending nuptials, he walked up to the press box and said, “What do reckon marriage will be like, Scott?”
I replied, “A lot of fun.”
His response: “Marriage isn’t about fun.” As he said “fun,” he repeatedly thrust his pelvis and gyrated his hips. His act may have drawn the attention of his senatorial colleagues – including a future president of the United States. I could hear them wondering, “What on earth is Denny talking to that reporter about?”
After he finished his performance, he leaned forward and almost snarled, “Marriage is not about fun, it’s about commitment.”
The senator from East Moline must have known something; he and his wife, Mary Ellen, have been married 68 years. I do suspect there has been some fun there over the years – along with the commitment.
Spouses don’t come with instructions and I’ll admit that even after 20 years, I’m at times bewildered as to how to respond to some situations. More than a few times I’ve exclaimed, “Honey, I can’t read your mind.”
But I do know this: She is the love of my life and puts up with me despite my many shortcomings.
She completes me.
Right before we wed, one relative opined: “Marriage is something you should go into with your eyes wide open and through with them half shut.”
When I ran this adage by my father, who ultimately was married to my mother for 58 years, he would just smile.
His folks were married 74 years, and my mother’s parents’ marriage lasted until the eve of their 50th anniversary, when a bad heart felled my grandfather.
They set good examples.
I only hope Joan and I can provide an even better example for our three daughters.
If they ever ask the secret to a happy marriage I’ll say this: love, forgive and never give up.
Happy anniversary, Dear.
• Scott Reeder, a staff writer for the Illinois Times, can be reached at sreeder@illinoistimes.com.