Hurricane Wedding

If reality TV shows had been popular in 1954, my wedding day could fill an entire episode of wedding bloopers.

            Hurricane Edna slammed into New York City with torrential rain and gale-force winds in the early morning hours of my wedding day, September 11, 1954. It wasn’t the screeching storm that woke me but the slow plop of water upon my face. Driven by the wind, rain had made its way through a crevice in the outside wall, followed a beam and dripped raindrops into my bedroom. I opened my eyes to the eerie incandescence of the ceiling light fixture aglow with a dim orange shimmer, as if an invisible hand had replaced the bulbs with low wattage Christmas lights. I hadn’t turned the lights on and the wall fixture remained in the off position. Wet wires made the bulbs glow.

            My beautiful satin and silk gown, draped in a white sheet to keep it dust-free, hung from my closet door. Another white sheet on the floor beneath the dress cradled the train.

            Save the gown, I thought. I grabbed the dress and ran to my mother’s room.

            “Mom, it’s raining in my room,” I cried, bunching my gown tighter to my chest.

            “You’re having a nightmare Mary. Go back to bed.”

            “No, Mom, it’s really raining in my room.”

            So there we were at 3:00 A.M. placing pots and bowls, to catch the drops, around my wet and gleaming bedroom.

            “You sleep in my room.  I’ll sleep on the couch.” Mom said, and we settled down for the remainder of the night, but neither of us slept. Dawn brought continued wind and rain with no letup in sight.

            Three hours before the eleven o’clock wedding, my attendants arrived and we got busy with makeup, hair, and helping each other dress. The photographer arrived to take pictures. The flowers arrived and we assembled, all set to go to the church but what happened to the limos? We had hired two limos to take my attendants, my mother and brother, and me to the church. I frantically called the limo company.

            “They’re on their way,” he assured me.

             We all stood by the windows watching for them. The room grew silent except for the clock ticking the minutes away: five minutes late, ten minutes late, fifteen minutes late. Where were they? To the phone again.

            “They’re coming from Sheepshead Bay and the streets are flooded. They’ll be there.”

            Finally I saw a limo slowly coming to the curb. Only one? Where’s the other limo?

            “He got stuck in a flooded street and couldn’t restart the car,” the driver said.

            How can we all fit in one limo? After much discussion, we decided: three would sit in the back seat, my brother,  my maid of honor, and me. My two bridesmaids sat on jump seats. The driver refused to let my mother sit in the front with him.

            “It’s against the rules,” he admonished.

            Our neighbors, Jim and Betty, offered to take Mom and she agreed.

....to be continued