by Diane Rehm
DIANE: I think you're absolutely right.
JOHN: Did you reach that point in our relationship?
DIANE: No, because I think the fundamentals were there. We were economically supported. You loved the children—that was clear. When you were around, you maintained a wonderful relationship with both of them. My complaint was that you were not there often enough, and when you were there, frankly, you were more engaged with the children than you were with me. Or else you were sleeping, claiming fatigue, or claiming that you didn't have the energy for anything.
JOHN: It sounds as though you were willing to accept a pretty barren—that may be an overstatement—barren relationship for the sake of something you hoped or believed would evolve in the future. You were trading a lot of present pain for a future hope of a better time. I think someone of the younger generation would say, “Boy, this doesn't sound like a very good deal to me…. Why continue this way? Why not just go our separate ways?”
DIANE: We're back to anticipations and expectations. In my culture, OK, you make a mistake once, that may be acceptable. Everybody can make a mistake once. But to make a mistake twice, when you've got children involved, seemed to me totally unacceptable. And then you have to understand that my pride wouldn't allow me to accept a second failure. I didn't want to suffer the humiliation that would've been involved. To be off on my own, as a single woman, with two children, was not the accepted norm at that time, and was not something I would've felt I could have done for myself. Remember that there was economic security.
JOHN: But we didn't have much money then.
DIANE: It was enough to meet our needs, though, especially since neither one of us was a spendthrift. I felt comforted and protected by a sense of security that I didn't have growing up or in my first marriage.
JOHN: Then let me change the question a little bit. Suppose you hadn't had a prior marriage and that you hadn't been driven by this fierce desire to keep the marriage going. Would that have changed things?
DIANE: Probably. But who knows? The presence of children changed things for me. In my first marriage, there were no children. And I had no real compunction about leaving that marriage, because it was totally unsatisfying: economically, physically, socially—in just about every way. He is a good man, but we were not compatible. I knew from our first year together that there was a human being inside you with whom I could connect.
JOHN: But don't you think it comes down to the question of how much pain is worth enduring for the sake of a better future? I think that's where the younger generation says—not unreasonably, perhaps—if commitment entails this trade-off, why should I get involved at all? It sounds as though it involves too many present problems for the sake of a somewhat evanescent future. How would you advise somebody who poses that question?
DIANE: I'm not going to advise anybody. What I do think is that today's woman is far more independent in her economic status, professional status, and social status. She is far more free to make the choices that she makes. My concern is that both men and women go into marriage without a true sense of commitment. In the case of a physically abusive relationship, I think there are probably no ways that a couple can make it. That was never the case in our relationship. I was turning to other pursuits, you remember. We bought a piano. We bought a sewing machine. I began to turn to those things literally with a passion … a passion that I would have loved to bestow on you, but you weren't receptive at that point in our lives.
JOHN: In a sense, what you and I are talking about is a kind of unwritten question: Is there any reason why the traditional marriage, consisting of a nuclear family, a husband, a wife, children, should continue to exist? Maybe we don't need it anymore. Maybe right now, we're all searching for alternative ways of living together.
DIANE: I think you're right. I think the world is searching for other ways. Women living more independently, alone with their children—sometimes by choice, sometimes by neglect, or simply because of pregnancy in an unmarried situation. I continue, perhaps out of my old-fashioned beliefs, to feel that a child needs two people. Whether those people are married, whether they're the same sex, whether they're simply living together, I feel that a child needs two parents. Just one parent doesn't do the trick, because there needs to be a reflection from that other parent. Plus, frankly, I agree with Hillary Clinton's statement that it does “take a village” to raise a child. It took not only you and me, our different perspectives, our different perceptions, it took the schools they went to, their friends, the parents of the friends, our own friends—it took a whole broad spectrum of people to raise our children in health. At that time I strongly believed it took at least two people—in our case, a man and a woman.
JOHN: The thing that so strikes me about this awkward and difficult process is how it does rest upon this fundamental ignorance of who we are. What overwhelms me after years of marriage is that we entered into this relationship with gross ignorance of ourselves and the other. In a sense, I suppose I might suggest that an enduring marriage is one that continues to explore and reveal the ignorance. It never goes away. There are times when I live with you as a stranger. I hardly recognize you. At other times, I feel intimately close to you with some strong sense of who you are.
DIANE: And what makes the difference? Do you know?
JOHN: No…. I'm almost tempted to say the weather. It's so subtle, and of course, I also do believe that we're all made up of an infinite range of different personalities, and sometimes the two mesh, and sometimes they don't, and there are degrees of meshing. It sort of oscillates. To appreciate the existence of the ignorance, to confess it and to share it, may be the beginning of an enduring relationship. No answers in the immediate sense.
DIANE: Just questions.
JOHN: Just questions. But you need the willingness and ability to state the questions … because that looks like weakness….
DIANE: But what would you have asked me? What would I have asked you? I would have, instead of sitting quietly, said something like, “John, why are you so moody? Why are you so withdrawn at times? What is it about your personality that makes you this way?”
JOHN: To a far greater extent than I ever did, I would've sat down with you and said, “Diane, tell me something about your childhood. Was it happy? Sad? Why? What were your relationships with your mother and father?” It's taken me some years to get a really good sense as to the kind of almost alarming entity that your mother was, and the softer, gentler side that your father showed. Some understanding of who you were. Because who you were is who you are, to a large extent. That kind of anecdotal, historical reminiscence would have been very helpful.
DIANE: As I recall, either before we were married or shortly after we were married, we began talking about your mother and father. The fact that they slept at far ends of a hallway. The fact that you were quite often put in the middle in terms of mediating their relationship. I can't be sure that those revelations would've changed my view of who you were. And I'm not at all sure that I was really listening to what you were telling me—or that, at that point, I was actually equipped to listen.
JOHN: I think it would've given you a better understanding of my behavior and why I needed to go off and be by myself.
DIANE: And do you think that understanding some of this at that point would've made it easier for me?
JOHN: I think so.
DIANE: I think you may be right.
JOHN: And in terms of your childhood, as I've said, it's taken me years to get a clear picture of how your mother resonated inside you….
DIANE: And still does.
JOHN: And that's a good point … how that continues to cling to you.
DIANE: To you as well: your father left you and your mother to go to war. Then your mother left you in Lynbrook to live with Aunt Katinka for a full year. You had this sense not only of being left alone but of being alone. And being, in some sense, abandoned by your mother. And abandoned by your father. You didn't see it that way then, but your
mother was saying, “I have to go off and establish myself.”
JOHN: And assuming you're right in using that term “abandoned,” that probably only served to reinforce my desire and need to be alone.
DIANE: Talking about these assumptions and expectations does confirm how you and I entered into marriage in ignorance— ignorance of both ourselves and each other. Do you suppose we've spent our entire marriage in a process of trying to reduce that ignorance?
JOHN: Oh, I think so, particularly when we realize that the process never ends, and that some element of bedeviling ignorance will always be there.
DIANE: But the ignorance doesn't have to kill the marriage. Somehow, some way, we both knew—even if we didn't know we knew—that we had values we shared, such as caring about, and providing a good education for, our kids. If we had both understood how ignorant we were, we'd have been a heck of a lot better off.
Diane's and John's Appeal
John on Diane's Appeal
During our courtship, what drew me to Diane? We knew each other for about a year before our wedding. Over that time, I gained several powerful impressions of Diane, although they may have said more about me than her.
Nevertheless, right or wrong, those impressions combined to render her immensely desirable.
I first came to know Diane in 1958. She was secretary to a Foreign Service officer who was serving as a senior economic adviser in the State Department. I was a young lawyer assigned to a legal unit of the department. Her boss and I spent considerable time together backstopping the negotiation of the first economic assistance agreements with Algeria and Tunisia. In order to get to his office, I had to pass by Diane. We began warily to engage in brief and mundane conversations that masked—at least for me—strong feelings.
I had previously had scant experience with women. In high school, I participated in a few group dates. In college and law school, I probably had fewer than five real dates, which led to a few kisses and caresses but nothing more intimate. Although I admired and desired women, I was nevertheless easily unnerved by them. I was therefore unprepared for someone like Diane.
Physically, she was a knockout. Blond hair, a lovely face with a strong Semitic nose, full breasts, slim hips and legs. Combined, these features created an unmistakable allure. Her smallest gestures seemed sexually charged. As a result, I was especially nervous in her unavoidable presence, yet nevertheless intent upon pursuing her. That pursuit revealed other qualities that made her all the more desirable.
It became clear, for example, that Diane had a fierce intellectual curiosity. I soon learned that she had only a high school diploma and had never attended college. Yet on her desk were books like Dostoevski's Brothers Karamazov, Maugham's Of Human Bondage, and the essays of Alfred North Whitehead. It was obvious that she was tackling these and comparable books on her own. Her appetite for learning enabled me to play the role of mentor, reminiscent of the legend of Pygmalion. As my pupil, she became even more attractive.
There were other aspects of her desirability. At the time, she was separated from her husband and was increasingly determined to obtain a divorce. In my eyes, this made her both courageous and also somehow worldly. Moreover, she was of Arab extraction, her mother from Egypt and her father from Lebanon. This gave her an exotic aura. The fact that she was blond we laughingly attributed to an Anglo-Saxon crusader.
In short, in those heady days Diane was at one and the same time physically beautiful, intellectually curious, worldly, and exotic. I have often said that I married her because of her lovely breasts and divine scrambled eggs. But how much did I really know about her? Very little, and probably no more than I knew about myself. Our mutual ignorance was, in retrospect, appalling, especially with regard to the dark sides of our upbringings. Yet that very ignorance probably allowed each of us—however unwisely—to follow our heart's desire.
In today's culture, the question arises whether we ever discussed the idea of living together for a trial period before marriage. To the best of my recollection, the idea never came up, I think for several reasons. First, we wanted a child as soon as possible, and we were not about to inflict illegitimacy on him or her. In addition, Diane's divorce made it all the more important to give our relationship the solemnity of a traditional marriage. Also, in 1959 the idea of just living together did not have the acceptance it does today. In short, cohabitation would not have fit in with our plans or suited our temperaments.
Would our marriage have gotten off to a better start if it had been preceded by, say, a year of living together? Or even having the experience of living with others? I am inclined to think it might have helped, because it could have provided an opportunity for greater understanding of ourselves. On the other hand, the very lack of a long-term commitment might have encouraged the deferral and even evasion of the tough issues.
Diane on John's Appeal
To this day, I can remember my introduction to John Rehm (for some reason, throughout our marriage, I have always referred to John, or Scoop, as “John Rehm”—I have no idea why). I could hear him before I saw him. Even though the door to the hallway was closed, here came this booming voice, talking about legal issues pertaining to Africa. He walked into the office I shared with my boss at the Department of State, George Dolgin, who had already spoken to me in glowing terms about this brilliant young attorney with whom he was working.
John has always been youthful-looking. Back in 1958, he had a crew cut, he wore a simple blue button-down oxford shirt, a gray suit, and his shoes were shined. His physique was a football player's: very wide and muscular-looking shoulders, broad chest, all brought down through slim hips and long legs. All of which made for a very attractive young man. But his voice! It was overwhelming. I wanted to put my hands over my ears, but dared not insult this young man of whom my boss thought so highly. When he finally left the office, I breathed a sigh of relief.
He must have sensed my discomfort, because slowly, as he frequented the office, he began to talk more softly when he was speaking directly to me. He was flirtatious, but in a gentle way. We began talking about baseball, about which we were both passionate, each of us playing on the separate State Department teams for men and women. And finally, we made a bet on that year's World Series. John lost the bet and was therefore obligated to take me to dinner. He chose an old downtown restaurant, Chez François, a small, intimate place known for its outstanding food, atmosphere, and service.
It was at this point that I began to appreciate and be attracted to John Rehm. I can tell you what I wore that evening—a red silk blouse and a black velvet skirt. John commented on my attire, especially appreciating the color of my blouse. As we sat down to dinner and began talking across a small table, I noticed the beauty and fine lines of his hands, strong, large, and simply and cleanly manicured. Why I am so drawn to hands I cannot tell you, but I know they are one very important element I observe as I meet individuals, and John's hands were and are nothing short of beautiful.
I was also drawn to his interest in engaging in conversation, his curiosity about various aspects of my life as well as his eagerness to share his own interests. He wore glasses, but behind them were eyes that expressed warmth and kindness. He clearly knew a lot about many different subjects. Whatever I asked him, he seemed to be able to offer up an idea that enlightened me. He asked about the books I was reading and why I had chosen them. We had a marvelous time together that first evening, except for one thing: in my nervousness over this first real “date” with another man since my separation, my face began to flush profusely, and then my stomach, always a reminder to me of my sensitive nervous system, began to hurt. As we left the restaurant, John noticed I was uncomfortable and asked whether I would like to go to his nearby apartment. When we got there, I felt even worse than before, so I lay down on his daybed and crumpled into a ball, trying to allay the discomfort I was experiencing. John went to his record player and chose a piece of soft classical music, then sat down in a rocking chair across the roo
m. There was no talk between us, just the music. I stayed curled up for about a half hour and then took a taxi back to my apartment.
So why was I attracted to John? His intelligence, his sensitivity, his strength, his perceptiveness, and, no doubt, his beautiful hands, which reflected everything I saw in him.
Dialogue on Appeal
DIANE: It has always struck me as odd that the very things that attract us to another human being can become those things that begin to irritate us. For example, when you and I first began to date, I was so struck by your sense of independence, your sense of freedom, your ability to be by yourself, your passion about your work! I was drawn to those things. Eventually, I think I began to yearn for more of the kind of engagement that I saw early on. But after we married, that same intellectual drive took you outside the marriage instead of drawing you toward the relationship.
JOHN: So an apparent strength turned out to be a weakness? My ability to be on my own and enjoy my independence became a centrifugal force within the relationship.
DIANE: To a certain extent.
JOHN: For my part, I'm struck by the fact that you made such a strong impression on me, both in sexual and intellectual terms. I engaged in no reflection about myself, about you, who we really were, the extent to which we understood each other. I just sailed along, based on these powerful attractions. Sometimes I think Mother Nature deliberately plays a trick on us …
DIANE: [laughter]
JOHN: … so it can bring men and women together to procreate. It plays upon and, indeed, enhances our ignorance. With knowledge, that procreation might not come about.
DIANE: Maggie Scarf has written that there's something in the genes that attracts people to one another. Something unknown, something unrealized. I do believe that was at work with you and me, because we made an instant connection. Given your inclination to teach, there you were, an attorney at the State Department, here I was, a young woman with no college education. You had gone through college and then law school, but still, within you was that desire to teach, which could have been part of your attraction to me. Certainly part of my attraction to you was to delight in being a pupil.