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On November 30, 1996, my graduating class gathered for a pre-celebration of our 25th reunion at our old high school. We would later head to the Hilton Inn for food and festivities but at this moment we were standing in the foyer, meeting, greeting and hugging old friends from years past. Our class president, Harry Santoro, hushed the group and amidst the quiet handed the microphone to Phil Daniels. In a bit of a faltering voice, Phil looked in my direction and said the following words ever so sweetly:
"I can't think of a better place or a better time,
because of all the plans we made while we were here in school.
Things changed and we went our separate ways.
But now I have the chance again.
Nancy, I love you…
Will you marry me?"
The Oh's and Ah's from the crowd were touching as everyone looked over to me for my answer. Never one at a loss for words, I was stunned and speechless because I was not expecting a proposal at that particular moment.
Because the town in which I grew up did not have its own high school, we Maple Shaders were bussed to Merchantville, New Jersey, for the 10th, 11th, and 12th grades. A few days into that September of 1968, I remember telling my mom that I had met a boy. I didn't know if his name was Phillip Daniels or Daniel Phillips but I thought he was wonderful.
Phil and I were the first to ‘go steady' (as we said in those days) from the blending of the Maple Shade students with the Merchantville kids and we remained a couple until our senior year. Going our separate ways and living our separate lives, the time had come when we were to be together again which neither of us had known until that fall of 1996.
Of course I said Yes. I knew this man. It was Phil; it was my high school sweetheart; and, there was no doubt in my mind or in my heart that it would work.
As I was living in Canada at the time and Phil was in New Jersey, our time together was limited. I wanted to marry at the end of the school year the following June and then move back to Jersey. My mom, the eternal optimist and one who loved Phil as well, said, "You've been apart for 26 years. That's long enough. Get married now!" Since my mother had eloped and her mother had eloped, it seemed only fitting to continue the tradition in a somewhat similar fashion.
So we were married in a little stone church in the woods in Strathroy, Ontario, on January 2, 1997. Because my minister was in Western Canada visiting his sons at the time, we were unable to be wed in my own church, but the late Jack Burghardt, Deputy Mayor of London, Ontario, and a minister himself, graciously agreed to perform the ceremony.
It was foggy that night and the roads were deserted. Helen, my maid of honor, got lost trying to navigate her way through the dark woods in search of a church with which neither of us was familiar. But finally we found the ‘Little Brown Church in the Wildwood,' as I refer to it, hidden among the trees on a gravel path, its lights beckoning us from the road. Helen's husband Robert, as well as my two boys, attended. Jack's girlfriend played the organ for us; the service was video-taped; and, after the ritual of the vows, my 10-year-old son recited a verse from Proverbs completely at his own discretion.
Following the ceremony, Helen and Robert treated us to a wonderful dinner at Michael's on the Thames. As we sat in the corner surrounded by windows, the view of the river and London's foggy landscape was mesmerizing; and, while others might have envisioned the evening as damp and dreary, I found it to be warm and enveloping because of this most unusual balminess generally not experienced in that part of Canada at that time of year.
Aside from one other couple, the restaurant was empty; and, here I was married to my high school sweetheart, dressed in a beautiful white silk gown. The table was laden with flickering candles as we ate rack of lamb while the maitre'd serenaded us with the Hawaiian Wedding Song.
Most brides will tell you that because of the stress of planning a wedding coupled with the large number of those in attendance, the big day goes too quickly and that they often don't remember much of it. Since weddings today are more akin to events, I would not generally describe them as romantic; however, I can say that January 2, 1997 was truly the most romantic evening I have ever experienced and a night I will never forget!
Our love may have been interrupted 26 years earlier, but it was certainly fulfilled that night amidst the ‘Little Brown Church in the Wildwood' and a restaurant with a singing maitre'd.
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