Today would have been my parents’ 70th wedding anniversary.
They were married on August 7, 1954, at the First Baptist Church in Hawkinsville.
My dad, the real True Gris, is not smiling in any of the black-and-white photos from across the years.
But trust me. He was a happy man. They shared 52 years together.
They met when my mother was a stewardess for Delta Airlines. My father was a junior resident physician at the VA Hospital Atlanta.
Mama had a cousin, Roy Sawyer Jr., who lived in College Park. His wife, Juanita, wanted to set her up with a man they knew. For the first date, matchmaker Juanita invited them to dinner at her house.
It did not go well.
“He was awful. I did not care for him at all,’’ my mother would later say.
But one Saturday afternoon, he showed up at her apartment with a friend.
That friend was my father, and my mother would claim it was “the best thing that ever happened to me.’’
She was attracted to him immediately, even if he was so poor he could not afford a car.
“I loved the fact that he was so intelligent, but most of all his kind, gentle and caring way,’’ she said. “First, I fell in love with his hands. They were the most beautiful ones I had ever seen.’’
Before my father proposed to my mom, he tested her. Only she didn’t know it at the time.
In those days, there was no cable car to the top of Stone Mountain. You had to climb the big rock – the largest piece of exposed granite in the world – from the sloped side. There was a marked trail, but it was a steep hike.
Not once did she complain. She passed the test.
They selected August 7 because it was when my father could get off work, and it gave my mother time to resign from her job at Delta. In the 1950s, stewardesses were not allowed to be married. (You were automatically terminated on your wedding day.) Delta did give you a “honeymoon pass” – two free airline tickets to any destination.
My mom bought her wedding dress at Rich’s department store, which had the largest and finest bridal department in Atlanta. It was chantilly lace with swede pearls sewn on the bodice and long sleeves. She wore a long train with tiers of Chantilly lace and a Juliet cap of matching lace.
She carried the white prayer book her grandmother had given to her when she was a little girl. Her bridesmaids wore white tulle dresses with pale yellow sashes and boleros and carried yellow flowers. My father and the groomsmen all wore black pants and white dinner jackets.
The minister at First Baptist, Byron Kennerly, performed the double ring ceremony. A violinist played “Clair de Loon,” and the soloist sang “Through the Years.” The hymn “Seal Us, Oh Holy Spirit’’ was sung for the prayer at the end.
My mom and dad memorized their vows and said them to each other rather than repeat after the preacher.
One of my mom’s ex-boyfriends unexpectedly showed up at the church. He was not invited, but fortunately he did not cause a scene.
There was no clubhouse or hotel in Hawkinsville that was suitable for a reception, so it was held in the basement of the church. My grandfather cut down small pine trees to cover the walls so it looked as if they were in a garden. Wedding cake was served, along with punch and ice cream squares with a yellow bell.
They spent their honeymoon night at the Moss Oaks Motel outside of Perry, then drove to the Atlanta Airport the next morning. They flew to New Orleans and boarded a Delta Constellation for Montego Bay, Jamaica, where they took a wild, 60-mile taxi ride in the middle of the night to Tower Isle.
They honeymooned for a week. Their total bill was $111.68.
My father died in 2006. We were blessed that he lived long enough for them to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary in 2004.
For their anniversary, we took them to Hawkinsville. I arranged for someone to open the doors at First Baptist on a Saturday morning to let them spend some time in the sanctuary where it all began.
Afterward, we headed to Perry for lunch and drive past the cement plant in Clinchfield. When the Grisamore children were growing up, they would always tell us the story about stopping there after the wedding so my dad could take the tin cans off the back of the car. I think about it every time I pass by there.
The Moss Oaks Motel is long gone so we stopped at the New Perry Hotel for a delightful lunch.
I thought about that the other day when I read about how the bulldozers were tearing down the historic hotel. It made me sad.
A beautiful wedding of the perfect couple. Our family has a history of longevity in our marriages. This makes me another Grisamore of proud family heritage. We love our family and are thankful for our strength and devotion. Thank you, Ed, for sharing this memory with everyone.
A dear and sweet story. Thanks so much for sharing, Ed.