It was a romance worth remembering. It was a wedding that was unbelievable. Nobody in Pryor had ever seen a military wedding. I certainly hadn't. Nine Navy and Marine Corps pilots flew in to Tulsa the day before the wedding in a Beechcraft in time for the rehearsal, and dinner.
One of my friend's mom had the dinner on the lawn at their farm. She was an antique collector, and the tables looked like something out of a magazine. When the dinner was over, the guys grabbed Ken who was yelling and kicking, and carried him to the cow pond and threw him in. My husband-to-be ruined his suit, his shoes and everything else. And smelled like cow poop. What can I say, It was a rehearsal dinner to be remembered as well.
I had spent the week preparing all the flowers, (I worked for a florist). I made most of the bridesmaid's and maid of honor's dresses. Nine of them. In pastels. And pretty much decorated the church as well. I bought my dress in Tulsa--on sale of course. It was gorgeous, with dozens of french buttons up the back. My family was not well-heeled, but everything was spectacular. The groomsmen, complete with white uniforms, swords, medals and wings simply added the final touch.
There was no air conditioning in the church and it was an August 104 degree day. I don't remember coming down the aisle, I don't remember the vows. I do remember Ken's dad--who was bald--having sweat running between his eyes and dripping off the end of his nose as he preformed our ceremony. And I remember returning down the aisle after we were officially married, and the groomsmen's clanking swords as they made an arch--which we went underneath. They swatted me on the butt with a sword as we came out from under the arch--no one had warned me of this tradition. Everyone got a kick out of my reaction.
People talked about our wedding for years after that. The church was packed--no empty seats. In Pryor, if you wanted to come to a wedding, you came--and everyone knew me. Everyone knew Ken. Ken's dad had baptized and married half the town when he had been the pastor there. If it hadn't been for the tornado, which blew down the church and caused the elders to call Ken's dad to come to Pryor to rebuild it, none of this would have happened. He brought his family, my family came to that church and they became friends. And I married the brick laying preacher's son.
Saturday, December 30, 2017
Friday, December 29, 2017
Every week it was the same. He would fly in on Friday, spend Friday night to Sunday night trying to convince me to marry him--go back to work in Pensacola and repeat the procedure the next week. It must have been exhausting. But he was right. Resisting was getting harder and harder. There is nothing quite as appealing as being pursued. He wasn't giving up.
One night after we had gone to eat, we came back to the house and he asked, "Okay, exactly what is it going to take?" Obviously he hadn't thought it was going to be this hard. Was he conceited? I don't think so. He just had never met someone who said they weren't interested. Obviously he was good looking. Obviously he had money to spend. Obviously he had an over the top car. Why wouldn't you want to marry him.
So, I answered his question flippantly--I definitely wasn't serious. "Well, at least 3/4 of a karat set in platinum with four prongs." He left on Sunday and Tuesday in the mail a 3/4 karat diamond ring set in platinum, with four prongs, arrived in the mail. He called, "Does it fit? Did you try it on?" Of course I had tried it on. Yes, it fit. I was shocked. "Are you going to wear it," he asked?" Truth was, I had a date with another guy that night--so no, I wasn't going to wear it. I figured it was a zircon, so the next day I took it to my jeweler to see if it was real. It was, and the jeweler said, "I've never seen a diamond this perfect. This was getting serious.
So, I talked with my mom. "I'm too young to get married. How would I know if he was the right person even if I considered it? How do you know when you are really in love--enough to get married? She said four things. He obviously loves you. He is a Christian. Everyone in the town of Pryor adores him. (Which was true.) And, he will make you a good living. Typical requirement for moms that had gone through the depression.
Was I attracted to him. Mercy. He was so good looking. He was so smart. He was so sincere. He had declared his love in hundreds of ways. So the next weekend I told him, "You were right, I can't resist you any longer. I think what I feel is love, but whatever it is, it's enough. I'll marry you. And on August 18, I did. Best decision I ever made. And for fifty-seven years, I loved him with all my heart. I love him still. I'm so glad he knew what he wanted--and didn't give up until he got it.
One night after we had gone to eat, we came back to the house and he asked, "Okay, exactly what is it going to take?" Obviously he hadn't thought it was going to be this hard. Was he conceited? I don't think so. He just had never met someone who said they weren't interested. Obviously he was good looking. Obviously he had money to spend. Obviously he had an over the top car. Why wouldn't you want to marry him.
So, I answered his question flippantly--I definitely wasn't serious. "Well, at least 3/4 of a karat set in platinum with four prongs." He left on Sunday and Tuesday in the mail a 3/4 karat diamond ring set in platinum, with four prongs, arrived in the mail. He called, "Does it fit? Did you try it on?" Of course I had tried it on. Yes, it fit. I was shocked. "Are you going to wear it," he asked?" Truth was, I had a date with another guy that night--so no, I wasn't going to wear it. I figured it was a zircon, so the next day I took it to my jeweler to see if it was real. It was, and the jeweler said, "I've never seen a diamond this perfect. This was getting serious.
So, I talked with my mom. "I'm too young to get married. How would I know if he was the right person even if I considered it? How do you know when you are really in love--enough to get married? She said four things. He obviously loves you. He is a Christian. Everyone in the town of Pryor adores him. (Which was true.) And, he will make you a good living. Typical requirement for moms that had gone through the depression.
Was I attracted to him. Mercy. He was so good looking. He was so smart. He was so sincere. He had declared his love in hundreds of ways. So the next weekend I told him, "You were right, I can't resist you any longer. I think what I feel is love, but whatever it is, it's enough. I'll marry you. And on August 18, I did. Best decision I ever made. And for fifty-seven years, I loved him with all my heart. I love him still. I'm so glad he knew what he wanted--and didn't give up until he got it.
Thursday, December 28, 2017
The pursuit began. He had made up his mind. I, on the other hand, had not. I already had a room at OSU reserved. A corner room--and you know how hard those are to come by. I had applied early. I had a plan. But he had thought the entire thing out. In his mind it was a done deal. I guess he thought I was going to jump at the opportunity to date an officer. He certainly had no shortage of women who would. (Pensacola. An Officer and a Gentleman.)
So the next week after the letter he wrote me, a bottle of Chanel #5 came in the mail. (A teenager--expensive perfume? What was he thinking.) Followed by a well worn copy of Cyrano de Bergerac: And then a copy of Elizabeth Browning's poems. The gifts kept coming, and by the time I graduated from high school, I didn't know what to think about him. This was a whole new experience for me.
And then, in May, he took leave and came back to Pryor. He had bought a new car. A baby blue Jag XK convertible. Cool. We went to dinner, and on the way home from Tulsa, I fell asleep. He stopped in Claremore at the train station, woke me up, and said, "I want you to marry me. My mom and dad (Baptist preacher) are here from Oregon and he can perform the ceremony. If you don't marry me this week, I will have to fly them back when you do." I was completely dumbfounded.
Ken's dad had baptized me. I knew them very well. I didn't know Ken at all. I thought he was nuts. "I'm not getting married. To you or anyone else. No." That seemed easy enough for him to understand. He replied, "You won't be able to resist me for the summer. I want to marry you." Cocky. But he was sincere. He had thought about it for 8 months. I, on the other hand, hadn't.
He left a week later, and every weekend after that, he would get in whatever military plane was available in Pensacola, and fly to Pryor, buzzing the town at low altitude. He would land in Tulsa and rent a car or have someone pick him up and spend the weekend trying to convince me to marry him. People were stopping me downtown, (Pryor is a little town) and telling me to marry him so the town could have some peace. Once, he buzzed my house at 50 feet, but didn't know about the new water tower behind us--he grew up in Pryor--and missed it by rotating at the last second. This was getting serious. Everyone knew it was him, but getting the number on the plane was impossible. Illegal. But he was determined. I was confused.
So the next week after the letter he wrote me, a bottle of Chanel #5 came in the mail. (A teenager--expensive perfume? What was he thinking.) Followed by a well worn copy of Cyrano de Bergerac: And then a copy of Elizabeth Browning's poems. The gifts kept coming, and by the time I graduated from high school, I didn't know what to think about him. This was a whole new experience for me.
And then, in May, he took leave and came back to Pryor. He had bought a new car. A baby blue Jag XK convertible. Cool. We went to dinner, and on the way home from Tulsa, I fell asleep. He stopped in Claremore at the train station, woke me up, and said, "I want you to marry me. My mom and dad (Baptist preacher) are here from Oregon and he can perform the ceremony. If you don't marry me this week, I will have to fly them back when you do." I was completely dumbfounded.
Ken's dad had baptized me. I knew them very well. I didn't know Ken at all. I thought he was nuts. "I'm not getting married. To you or anyone else. No." That seemed easy enough for him to understand. He replied, "You won't be able to resist me for the summer. I want to marry you." Cocky. But he was sincere. He had thought about it for 8 months. I, on the other hand, hadn't.
He left a week later, and every weekend after that, he would get in whatever military plane was available in Pensacola, and fly to Pryor, buzzing the town at low altitude. He would land in Tulsa and rent a car or have someone pick him up and spend the weekend trying to convince me to marry him. People were stopping me downtown, (Pryor is a little town) and telling me to marry him so the town could have some peace. Once, he buzzed my house at 50 feet, but didn't know about the new water tower behind us--he grew up in Pryor--and missed it by rotating at the last second. This was getting serious. Everyone knew it was him, but getting the number on the plane was impossible. Illegal. But he was determined. I was confused.
Wednesday, December 27, 2017
Ken had spent a year at the front in the Korean war. Two distinguished flying crosses, 10 air medals, hit by antiaircraft fire 7 times and brought back planes so damaged that they pushed them over the side. He was not your average pilot. All of his so called youth was far behind him at the age of 25. He was a Captain in the Marine Corps. He was not a kid anymore.
Unbeknownst to anyone, he had been looking for the right woman since he returned from the war. He was ready to settle down. But he was certainly not looking for someone 8 years younger than himself. He had a mental check list of what he wanted: Someone from a similar background. A Christian. Preferable someone from the same denomination. Smart. Pretty. Confident. Independent. Able to stand on her own two feet. He hadn't written anything down, but he knew what he was looking for and I missed on two points. I was way too young, and I had never had to live on my own. But after he returned to Pensacola, he thought about me.
And the day I turned 18--in March of the next year---he called my dad. "I know she is too young, and I wouldn't pursue it unless you approved. But what would you think if I said I wanted to get to know your daughter better? I'm thinking about seriously better." My dad answered, "What does she think about that?"
"Well, she doesn't have a clue. I haven't spoken to her since I was there last September. She was so young that I didn't think it feasible, but I can't stop thinking about her." Ken would never have spoken to me without my dad's approval.
"I'd say, go for it--if you can catch her. She's dated a lot of different fellows, but she doesn't stick with one very long. She's particular. And you are a long way off. But you certainly have my approval."
And so, the next week, I got a letter in the mail. "I'm coming back to Oklahoma next month and would like to see you. Is that a possibility?" Shock. My plan had been to never to see him again. Ever. I couldn't help but wonder if it had been the kiss? Maybe I could explain it to him? That I wasn't the kind of girl that had ever done such a thing before. I admit, I was curious.
Unbeknownst to anyone, he had been looking for the right woman since he returned from the war. He was ready to settle down. But he was certainly not looking for someone 8 years younger than himself. He had a mental check list of what he wanted: Someone from a similar background. A Christian. Preferable someone from the same denomination. Smart. Pretty. Confident. Independent. Able to stand on her own two feet. He hadn't written anything down, but he knew what he was looking for and I missed on two points. I was way too young, and I had never had to live on my own. But after he returned to Pensacola, he thought about me.
And the day I turned 18--in March of the next year---he called my dad. "I know she is too young, and I wouldn't pursue it unless you approved. But what would you think if I said I wanted to get to know your daughter better? I'm thinking about seriously better." My dad answered, "What does she think about that?"
"Well, she doesn't have a clue. I haven't spoken to her since I was there last September. She was so young that I didn't think it feasible, but I can't stop thinking about her." Ken would never have spoken to me without my dad's approval.
"I'd say, go for it--if you can catch her. She's dated a lot of different fellows, but she doesn't stick with one very long. She's particular. And you are a long way off. But you certainly have my approval."
And so, the next week, I got a letter in the mail. "I'm coming back to Oklahoma next month and would like to see you. Is that a possibility?" Shock. My plan had been to never to see him again. Ever. I couldn't help but wonder if it had been the kiss? Maybe I could explain it to him? That I wasn't the kind of girl that had ever done such a thing before. I admit, I was curious.
Tuesday, December 26, 2017
Last week I ended in the middle of a story. My friend Jerry borrowed Ken's convertible to take his girlfriend to the ball game. He dropped Ken off at our house and said he would pick him up at 10:00. Of course, he was late coming back. My folks eventually went to bed, Ken laid down on the floor to watch TV, and I curled up on the sofa to wait for Jerry. This story is very embarrassing to me but I'm going to share it with you anyway--but you have to think like a 17 year old teenage girl.
It's humiliating to tell you how silly I was, but the only thing I could think about was what my girlfriends were going to ask me when I got to school on Monday. Ken and Mom and Dad and I had gone to the ball game. My friends would probably think I had a "date?" Which of course I didn't. But I knew they would ask me a zillion questions. The first one would be, "Did he kiss you?"
I would then have to admit that he spent the evening talking to my folks, and that he not only didn't kiss me, but he didn't hold my hand, look at me with any particular interest, or anything else. It wasn't a date, it wasn't much of anything. But.....since he was leaving the next morning to go back to Pensacola to the flight command, and I would never see him again, the wheels in my head began to turn. The stupid wheels. So....
When Jerry drove up, I got up off the sofa, (remember--I would never see this guy again) I leaned over where he was lying on the floor with his hands under his head and kissed him. All I was thinking was what I could tell my girlfriends--"Yes, he kissed me"--which wasn't true at all. (I'm really embarrassed to tell this story--but I was stupid, I was 17.) Well, Ken didn't move his hands from under his head, or respond. Nada. He stood up, got his coat and walked to the front door, stepped outside, stood there a moment and then turned around and said: "Young lady, you don't ever wake a sleeping tiger."
Abashed--but I would never have to face him again. Where I got the nerve to do something so stupid I'll never know. He was 25 years old. A Korean war veteran. A grown man. The only good thing was that when I got to school on Monday, everyone was buzzing about him and his car and the fact that I had gone to the football game with him. And of course all my 16-17 year old girl friends asked me what he was like, etc., and...did he kiss me?!!! I just smiled, and said, "Yes." (Continued.)
It's humiliating to tell you how silly I was, but the only thing I could think about was what my girlfriends were going to ask me when I got to school on Monday. Ken and Mom and Dad and I had gone to the ball game. My friends would probably think I had a "date?" Which of course I didn't. But I knew they would ask me a zillion questions. The first one would be, "Did he kiss you?"
I would then have to admit that he spent the evening talking to my folks, and that he not only didn't kiss me, but he didn't hold my hand, look at me with any particular interest, or anything else. It wasn't a date, it wasn't much of anything. But.....since he was leaving the next morning to go back to Pensacola to the flight command, and I would never see him again, the wheels in my head began to turn. The stupid wheels. So....
When Jerry drove up, I got up off the sofa, (remember--I would never see this guy again) I leaned over where he was lying on the floor with his hands under his head and kissed him. All I was thinking was what I could tell my girlfriends--"Yes, he kissed me"--which wasn't true at all. (I'm really embarrassed to tell this story--but I was stupid, I was 17.) Well, Ken didn't move his hands from under his head, or respond. Nada. He stood up, got his coat and walked to the front door, stepped outside, stood there a moment and then turned around and said: "Young lady, you don't ever wake a sleeping tiger."
Abashed--but I would never have to face him again. Where I got the nerve to do something so stupid I'll never know. He was 25 years old. A Korean war veteran. A grown man. The only good thing was that when I got to school on Monday, everyone was buzzing about him and his car and the fact that I had gone to the football game with him. And of course all my 16-17 year old girl friends asked me what he was like, etc., and...did he kiss me?!!! I just smiled, and said, "Yes." (Continued.)
Monday, December 25, 2017
Friday, December 22, 2017
I've told this story before. I was in the third grade when Ken graduated from high school. I don't remember anything about him one way or another. He had been in the Marine Corps for eight years when he returned to Pryor on military leave, and came to visit his high school football coach and my dad. It was September of my senior year, and I had a date with someone for Saturday night that I wanted to get out of. People didn't have cell phones, (not invented yet), so I decided not to be home when the guy came to pick me up. I'd let my mom explain. (Actually, my date had done something stupid that was a deal breaker for me. I figured he wouldn't be surprised at all that I canceled.)
All my friends had come over to my house that morning, to help me decide where I could go that evening to get out of the house. (We weren't very mature to say the least.) We were all in the kitchen talking it over when I heard my mom answer the front door and greet someone. "Janie," she said, "Come here. I want you to meet a friend of our family. Ken Jacks." I looked past the kitchen door, through the dining room window, and saw a yellow Hudson Hornet convertible parked in front of our house. All of my friends and I were in awe. We asked the guy my mom had introduced us to if we could drive his car. (Looking back, we were not only immature, but we didn't have good manners either. The car was more important than the visitor.)
He handed me the keys, and the five of us took off to drag main with the top down. No seat belts back then. Three of my friends sat on top of the back seat, and two of us in front. Our hair blowing in the wind. We did main (which was only five blocks) three or four times making sure that everyone in town saw us. When we got back, Ken said he was going to Tulsa that evening to visit family, and if I was going to stand my boyfriend up, I could go with him if I wanted to. "Put something fancy on, and we'll make sure everyone knows you are out on the town." Fabulous. It wasn't a "date." He was too way too old for me to date--and my mom, the strictest mom in town, said it would be okay.
We went to dinner. I thought nothing of it. But a week later, Friday, my friend Jerry (the football coach's son) called and asked a favor--he wanted to take this girl out, and Ken, who was staying with his folks for the week, was going to let him have the convertible. "Can I bring him over to your house? You and your folks can take him to the game, and I'll come back and pick him up later." So that's what we did. Me, mom, dad and Ken went to the game, came home and waited for Jerry. Who didn't come back on time... (Continued)
All my friends had come over to my house that morning, to help me decide where I could go that evening to get out of the house. (We weren't very mature to say the least.) We were all in the kitchen talking it over when I heard my mom answer the front door and greet someone. "Janie," she said, "Come here. I want you to meet a friend of our family. Ken Jacks." I looked past the kitchen door, through the dining room window, and saw a yellow Hudson Hornet convertible parked in front of our house. All of my friends and I were in awe. We asked the guy my mom had introduced us to if we could drive his car. (Looking back, we were not only immature, but we didn't have good manners either. The car was more important than the visitor.)
He handed me the keys, and the five of us took off to drag main with the top down. No seat belts back then. Three of my friends sat on top of the back seat, and two of us in front. Our hair blowing in the wind. We did main (which was only five blocks) three or four times making sure that everyone in town saw us. When we got back, Ken said he was going to Tulsa that evening to visit family, and if I was going to stand my boyfriend up, I could go with him if I wanted to. "Put something fancy on, and we'll make sure everyone knows you are out on the town." Fabulous. It wasn't a "date." He was too way too old for me to date--and my mom, the strictest mom in town, said it would be okay.
We went to dinner. I thought nothing of it. But a week later, Friday, my friend Jerry (the football coach's son) called and asked a favor--he wanted to take this girl out, and Ken, who was staying with his folks for the week, was going to let him have the convertible. "Can I bring him over to your house? You and your folks can take him to the game, and I'll come back and pick him up later." So that's what we did. Me, mom, dad and Ken went to the game, came home and waited for Jerry. Who didn't come back on time... (Continued)
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