A friend of mine planned an 80th birthday party for her father this weekend. He was in his day a jazz musician, playing with Herb Pomeroy’s big band and teaching at the Berklee School of Music here in Boston. Part of the celebration included a jazz guitarist they hired to perform at the party.
Talking about the plans with her reminded me of my first wedding. In case you didn’t know, The Bob is my second husband, my BEST husband. My first wedding took place in Oregon, where most of my family lives. My parents helped me plan this wedding, including finding the person who would play music during the ceremony.
This will sound odd, and in retrospect, it was, but the person we had play music at our wedding was my mother’s barber. My mother worked at a book store in Oregon City at the time, and Dan owned the barber shop in the plaza. He was the only one in the shop who would cut womens’ hair, which is how my mother got to know him. He was also a fairly talented jazz guitarist. We were getting married in a small chapel that was a historic landmark, and had very little to offer by way of music. I had this idea that a guitarist, playing “Here comes the Bride” in kind of bossa nova style would be great. And it was. In case you were wondering.
The ceremony was lovely, the music was pretty. A few weeks after the event my mother had some interesting information to share. Turns out Dan had a small cocaine problem. He apparently needed some funds, so in a moment that can only be described as “Poor Judgement Extraordinaire” he did the following:
Robbed a bank. The bank in the same plaza where he had his business, where he was known to the employees. And used as his getaway vehicle…a bicycle. Which at some point in his getaway he decided to abandon, and dump over a bridge into a river. Because NO ONE would notice that.
In retrospect, I probably should have taken this as a red flag, an indication perhaps, that things would not go as hoped or anticipated in my first marriage. Which is why it was my first and not only marriage.