by Dave Isay
Bobbi: We met in the middle of a war, and we fell in love to Bob Hope singing, “Thanks for the Memory.” After a few months of dating we decided that we would get a three-day pass and go to Atlanta and get “married.” This was 1968. We went to this cheesy little motel in Atlanta and got a Gideon’s Bible. I remember reading the story of Ruth to you, and you reading it to me, and us committing ourselves to each other. And you know? That was almost forty years ago, but I still feel the same way today.
Then we moved to Ohio.
Sandi: [Laughs.] Your hometown, Bowling Green. The second day that we were there your mother came by and told me that it was a small town, that your father was a prominent doctor, that everybody knew everybody, and that she would give us three days to get out of town so that we wouldn’t disgrace your father, his practice, or your extended family.
Bobbi: We didn’t leave. And so they sent me to a psychiatrist to see if they could “fix” me. That obviously didn’t work. [Laughs.]
Sandi: But then—years later—your mom all of a sudden decided that her daughter should have the right to marry.
Bobbi: My mom had been diagnosed with a brain hemorrhage, and she wanted to walk us down the aisle before she died. And this is the same woman that gave us three days to get out of town!
Sandi: We were living in Vermont, and when they voted for civil union in 2000, we said, “Okay, we’ll have a civil union.” We had it in your mom’s backyard. It was a beautiful ceremony, and I remember the minister saying, “Bobbi and Sandi did it backward: They did all of the committing stuff, and then got married.”
For the first time, we got to stand up in front of our friends and family and tell them that we loved each other and that we were going to take care of each other for the rest of our lives. I didn’t believe that there was another level that we could reach, but just having the ceremony, and having our friends and family there happy for us, was sort of like being nineteen again and celebrating our love.
Bobbi: But I still wasn’t totally happy with something less than marriage. That’s the way I was brought up, you know? You find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with and you get married. That’s just what you do. Then Massachusetts passed a law allowing gay and lesbian couples to get married, and so we went to Provincetown, Massachusetts.
Sandi: I remember the town clerk telling us that if we could get a judge to waive the three-day waiting period we could get married the next day.
When we got to the court the judge said, “What can I do for you ladies?” And I said, “We want to get married, but we don’t want to wait the three days.” He said, “That isn’t a long time.” I said, “After we’ve waited thirty-four years, it is a very long time!” [Laughs.] He said, “Well, I would be happy to sign the waiver. I don’t believe the state of Massachusetts should make you wait one day longer.”
And the next morning we had a justice of the peace say the words out in her yard. She had a nice lilac tree, and she declared us to be married in the state of Massachusetts.
Bobbi: We went out and we bought T-shirts that said JUST MARRIED! We walked on the sand barefoot. At the motel where we were staying, they gave us this beautiful bouquet of flowers.
Sandi: It was everything that we had thought it would be.
Bobbi: And now I can call you my wife.
Sandi: And I can call you mine.
Recorded in Burlington, Vermont, on August 18, 2006.
BOBBI COTE-WHITACRE (left) AND SANDI COTE-WHITACRE
FRANK CARRILLO, 54, talks with his wife, NANCY NGAI CARRILLO, 52
Frank Carrillo: I told my mom that my girlfriend was Chinese, and she wasn’t happy about it.
Nancy Ngai Carrillo: It was a little nerve-racking meeting her for the first time.
Frank: We were standing in the yard talking to my sister. My mom started banging on pots and pans to make dinner. Her upbringing said that she had to feed this woman that came home with her son, so she opened up the window and she goes, “Hey! Are you guys going to stay around and eat or what?” I asked you, “You want to stay for dinner?” You weren’t too sure.
Nancy: I was scared to death of her!
Frank: Hey, don’t feel bad. I was scared to death of her too! But I said, “Well, Mom’s already making dinner.” So you stayed, and to make a long story short, you and my mom became very, very good friends. My mom now has more faith in you than she does in me. I tell her one thing, and she may not believe me, but you tell her the same thing, and she believes it.
Nancy: I think she finally realized that I wasn’t going anywhere, and slowly the prejudice eroded.
When my family emigrated here in 1968, the one thing Grandfather told my dad was to be sure the kids didn’t marry outside the Chinese race. When we first met and started dating, I was really afraid to introduce you to my parents. I just introduced you as a “friend” for a long time.
Frank: I was known as “Mexican boy,” then “Nancy’s friend,” and then finally I became known as “Frank.”
The only person that accepted me right off the bat was your grandmother. Grandma used to stand there and talk to me in Chinese. I had no clue what she was telling me, but I would sit there and listen. I would hold the door open for her; I would help her out of her chair; I would look to see what she needed. And I guess she understood that the same basic values transcended both cultures. She was the one that was actually advocating for us with your parents.
We dated for ten years. When we decided to get married, I sat down with you and said, “I’ve never waited for anything this long in my life.” Your dad didn’t want to participate in the marriage. But he finally accepted me after I explained to him, “You know, Dad, we need to get along. If we don’t, the only person who’s going to suffer is your daughter.” After that I became Bob’s son-in-law. And that May I was a married man.
One of the biggest problems I see in this world is fear of the unknown. And I think that raising a child who is Mexican, Puerto Rican, and Chinese is making this world a little bit better, giving people an understanding that we’re all the same. I think that relationships like ours are what make this country what it is.
Recorded in Yuma, Arizona, on January 29, 2010.
BILL BLOOM, 90, talks with his wife, JANE BLOOM, 84
Bill Bloom: We met in Stillwater, Oklahoma. I think it was the second night I was in town.
Jane Bloom: The women would bake cookies for the service people and the girls would come down to dance, but I was a terrible dancer.
Bill: I remember meeting you there at the USO and asking you to dance, and you said you didn’t know how. And I said, “Oh, everybody knows how to dance!” And so I took you out and pushed you around the floor. You learned enough to get by.
Jane: Somewhere along the line you decided that you were going to marry me. I certainly hadn’t decided I would marry you. You were an antique. You were twenty-six.
Bill: I think you were nineteen. It was around Christmas vacation, and you’d gone off for a week. When you came back the first thing I said to you was, “Well, I’ve got some news for you: You and I are going to get married.”
You didn’t say no. You said, “Oh, I don’t think it’s possible.” And I said, “Why not?” You said, “Well, you’re Protestant and I’m Catholic,” and I said, “Oh, things like that don’t make any difference. We’ll work that out.” And we did. We got married in Paris.
Jane: Paris, Texas. That was an army camp then. We were married by the priest who was there at the time, in the chapel that’s long since been torn down—but the marriage lasted.
During the war I lived with your parents. They seemed to have a little more than my parents in substance and food and heat and house. I was already pregnant with our first child when you went overseas. In those days you were real lucky if you could get a telegram, but if you
were out in the field, you couldn’t even get that.
Bill: I told you to have it published in Stars and Stripes. That’s where I found out about David being born.
Jane: When you came back you started right away working with your dad. And you did that for many, many years while we had many, many children—we had eight in nine years, all single births. Eventually we had ten, but we finally managed to put a little time between them. In the meantime we bought a farm with an old farmhouse on it. It was really hard. Chop the wood; keep the house heated. We never made enough money to make our ends meet.
Bill: I think we reached a point where we realized that there were easier ways to earn money.
Jane: Yeah, and you said, “Hey, you can get a job too!” And I said, “All I know how to do is take care of kids and handle eggs. I think I’ll go back to school.” Those were different times, you know. Your sister said, “Why in the world are you going to school when you’ve got a husband?”
I went into the university and told them I was ready to come back to school. The man sort of looked at me funny, and I said, “My children are all grown, I don’t have any on the lap or breast or anything else, so I have a lot of free time to go to school.” They were really shocked.
So the man said to me, “Well, what are you going to do?” And I said, “You know, I haven’t really thought about it, but I think I’ll just go on and be a doctor.” Here I was, forty years old, looking like anything but a doctor—not even predoctorish—and you were off struggling to pay off the debts and raise the kids. But you stood behind me every drop of the way.
And I did it. I became a doctor. In 1974 I graduated from medical school. All the time you were working to pay off the debts, never complaining at all, just struggling along.
We’ve been married sixty-four years. We’ve come through some hard times, but we’ve had lots of rewards—lots.
Recorded in Ann Arbor, Michigan, on September 5, 2008.
TOMÁŠ KUBRICAN, 32, interviews his wife, CAROL MITTLESTEADT, 31
Tomáš Kubrican: I was a student in medical school in Slovakia on a visit at the United States to learn about America. I worked at Paul Bunyan restaurant, and you picked the same place for your summer job.
Carol Mittlesteadt: I saw you on my interview. I walked through the kitchen to meet with the owners, and I saw you standing there. You were this kind of skinny guy with a big apron around his waist, and you were sorting silverware in the kitchen.
Tomáš: I got immediately interested in you. But because of the cultural difference your perception was a little different.
Carol: I got the job, and as I was going about my business through the kitchen, you just kept staring at me. You wouldn’t stop looking at me! You were this scrawny guy with great big blue eyes looking at me all the time and never saying anything.
Tomáš: As I learned many years later, you thought that I had some mental disorder. [Laughs.]
Carol: I thought you were maybe a little slow, and I kind of felt sorry for you. So I just kind of smiled at you once in a while.
It was your job to make the pancakes every morning. One day you made me these pancakes in the shape of hearts. I knew something was up, and I tried to talk to you, but you didn’t really talk back. I didn’t know that you didn’t speak English.
Tomáš: I was speaking English. Just my English wasn’t as good as it should be.
Carol: But obviously, we did find some way to communicate, and we both realized that we kind of liked each other.
Our first date that summer was in Madison. The Wisconsin Chamber Orchestra was playing on the Capitol lawn—it was a nice picnic affair. I came to pick you up, and you were not so appropriately dressed. You were wearing big, saggy jeans and a plastic belt that was almost broken through. But your T-shirt was the best part. It was a big picture of a stein of beer in the shape of a woman’s figure and it said TEN REASONS WHY BEER IS BETTER THAN A WOMAN. And this was our first date!
I took you anyway, and we were having a nice picnic and listening to the chamber orchestra. At one point the mood turned really romantic, and you turned to me and you said . . .
Tomáš: “I’m sick of you.”
Carol: And I said, “What?”
Tomáš: Well, at the moment I knew I said something wrong. Translated from Slovak language, that’s how we say “I’m lovesick.” But reading your facial expression I realized that it probably doesn’t mean the same thing in English.
Carol: I decided to give you a second chance anyway.
Tomáš: This first date was July 31, 1996. Then I returned back to Slovakia.
Carol: When I came to Slovakia in January, it was my first trip abroad, and I was very nervous, because we hadn’t seen each other since the previous summer. I thought, What am I doing? I’m crazy! I’m flying halfway across the world to see this guy I haven’t seen for months! But after that, we realized that we had something going on. You were still in medical school in Slovakia, and I needed to return to school in Chicago. So we’d be together for a week or two weeks, and then we’d have to say good-bye.
Tomáš: It usually meant another six months.
Carol: Saying good-bye was always the hardest. But I remember one day we were crossing the street and you turned to me and said in your accent, “Maybe ve could get married.”
Tomáš: It’s not the most romantic way to propose. But I just said what I felt, and I never regret that. Then I had to call my future father-in-law and with my broken English ask him for your hand. It was really difficult for him to understand what I was saying on the phone. I just remember I was sweating a lot.
So we got what I needed to enter States, and we got married in 1999. Our wedding date was July 31, 1999—exactly three years later after our first date. But I dressed up better for the wedding.
Carol: After our wedding we lived in Madison for a while, and you finished medical school, and finally your dream to become a doctor has come true. It’s been a hard road.
Tomáš: This whole process probably would be much more different if you didn’t help me. So hopefully in near future, I’ll be able to pay back.
Carol: You already have. When things get difficult, I think about what you have given up—your family, your medical career in Slovakia, your language, your culture, everything to come and be with me. And that nothing can be too horrible with you by my side.
Recorded in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, on February 3, 2007.
HUNNY REIKEN, 80, talks with her husband, ELLIOT REIKEN, 86
Hunny Reiken: I have a twin sister, Bunny. And you have a twin brother, Danny. When we met we were sixteen and a half, and we were waitresses in a hotel. You and Danny were musicians in a band. And we thought you were handsome, which you still are.
Elliot Reiken: At first, you and your sister couldn’t tell us apart and we couldn’t tell you two apart. Remember how you decided on which one you were going with?
Hunny: We said, “With whomever we walk.” So I asked, “What’s your name?” And you told me, “Elliot.” And for the next few days I’d always ask, “Elliot?” Within a few weeks, I knew Elliot. I never went over to Danny thinking it was you. And lo and behold, those were the ones we ended up with. I walked with you; I married you. Bunny walked with Danny; she married Danny. Lucky us, because I don’t think it would’ve worked the other way.
You were tall. You were handsome. And to me, being a musician made you glamorous and sexy, automatically. You took me out for my seventeenth birthday. We saw Oklahoma! on Broadway. I had never dated anyone else, but from then on I knew I loved you, and there was no chance of separating us.
Elliot: We didn’t skip a beat. Right from the summer romance into the winter, and on and on.
Hunny: We were married at Temple Beth El in Borough Park, Brooklyn. You and I were married the same day as Bunny and Danny—th
at was quite a big affair. We had a double wedding. And it was two brides, two grooms, one set of parents for each.
Bunny and I had identical gowns. The flowers were identical.
Elliot: We both went on our honeymoon by train to Miami Beach. But we went on different trains and to different hotels, so that people wouldn’t stare at us.
What did you think about marrying me so many years ago? Did you think it would turn out this many years?
Hunny: I never thought anybody lasts this many years! To me divorce was not a foreign word, because if you remember, Elliot, my mother was a divorced woman when she was in her thirties. But I was sure you were the right one. And you know what? I was right. You are the right one for me.
I like the way you kiss. You bowled me over sixty-some-odd years ago with your way of kissing, and the way you hold me when we dance. You’re not a fantastic dancer, but you hold me fantastically, and I feel it. It’s genuine.
Elliot: You’ve told me that many times, but it still makes me feel great.
Hunny: There are times we can be so annoyed at each other, Elliot, and we yell at each other. But when push comes to shove, we let it go, and we’re back to our normal selves, because being unhappy is part of being happy.
When two people get married, they say two people become one. No, I don’t agree. Two people should remain two people but walk side by side. I’ve not become Elliot. Elliot has not become Hunny. We remain Hunny and Elliot. And to me, that’s important.
Elliot: You made my life complete. And I hope we’ll go on for another fifty years.
Hunny: I’ll take five good ones. Five good ones, and I’ll say, “Thank you, God!”
Recorded in Brooklyn, New York, on May 15, 2010.
SCOTT WALL, 50, talks with his wife, ISABEL SOBOZINSKY-WALL, 52