I’m not a big believer in the old adage that opposites attract, but it was certainly true in my parents’ case.
My dad: introverted, outdoorsman, lone wolf cowboy at heart. My mom: social, spontaneous, quick to make friends and plans.
They met in 1955 in Saddle Brook, New Jersey at a soda fountain called “Gaddy’s.” Soda fountains were at their peak in the 50s, upbeat gathering spots where young people went to enjoy sodas, milkshakes and burgers and listen to the hits of the day on a jukebox. My mom was working as a waitress at Gaddy’s when my dad sauntered in one afternoon, back in town after serving in the Army during the Korean War.
As my mom tells it, she saw this tall, handsome guy with jet black hair walk through the door and she said to herself, “There’s the man I’m going to marry.” Of course, young girls say things like that all the time in a playful, jokey way, but my mom was a woman of her word.
After a lot of milkshakes and a whirlwind courtship, they quietly eloped and got married in June of 1956. I remember it well because I was there. I didn’t want to make a big scene – those were different times – so I kept a low profile. Though just an embryo at the time, I recall thinking “I give this five years tops.” They were young and immature. They had no money. And now they were about to be parents of a newborn who was already questioning their decision making. How wrong I was.
No one could have predicted the stubborn resilience and plucky perseverance that would propel these polar opposites forward. Like many marriages, theirs became a journey of good times and bad, of peaks and valleys, of sacrifices that they made for each other and for me and my brothers.
After laboring in some low-paying construction jobs, my dad got his big career break in 1959 when he was hired as a foreman at a chemical plant. It wasn’t a job he ever dreamed about – that would have more likely been rancher, farmer or horse trainer – but it gave he and my mom a reliable income, health insurance, and the foundation to provide for a growing family.
When I was six, my brother Bob three, and brother Jim a newborn, dad moved the family to a rural New Jersey town called West Milford, about 40 miles northwest of New York City. He converted a ramshackle shed in the backyard into a barn and kept horses throughout my boyhood. We had chickens, grew our own vegetables, and hosted family from the suburbs during yearly summer cookouts and Christmas gatherings. To this day I can conjure up the smell of horse manure just by flashing back to the jobs my brothers and I were assigned as backyard stable hands. It was my dad’s version of paradise, and it suited him perfectly.
My mom was another story. Given her social nature, living in isolation on top of a mountain surrounded by woods wasn’t exactly her fairytale come true. Dad called our place “The Ponderosa” after the family homestead on the TV western Bonanza. Mom might have chosen a less flattering nickname, something more along the lines of “The Boondocks.” To her credit she made the most of it for 30 years, forming close friendships with a few special women who entered her orbit, turning her love of reading into a long-running stint as the town librarian, and eventually going back to school to earn a Master of Library and Information Science degree.
When I was in my early 30s, my parents retired and moved to Florida. For my mom, it was a well-earned release from remote country living and bitter cold winters. For my dad, it was like being tranquilized and removed from an off-the-grid wilderness and plopped down into the middle of a crowded bingo hall. He never completely adapted to living in Florida, but he and my mom spent many good years there, with visits from friends and family, trips back to New Jersey, and periodic pilgrimages to the gambling palaces of Biloxi, Mississippi and Vegas.
Now my dad has been gone for five years and my mom is grappling with some of the challenges that come with time and age. They were married for 65 years, navigating through the decades raising three kids, surviving life’s storms and savoring the rewards of a journey few have the staying power to attain. As Al and Marge, they became a brand name of sorts, loved as a couple and as unique individuals.
It’s been said that we spend the bulk of our lives in reaction to our parents – whether we strive to follow in their footsteps or vow to chart a course completely different from theirs. As opposite as they were in some ways, my parents shared one singularly important trait that has shaped how I live: decency. They have taught me by example to work hard, act with integrity and honesty, and treat others as I would want to be treated.
As my life rolls along and the years go drifting by, I’m not as clear-eyed as I once was about many things. But this I know with absolute certainty: I am proud to be the son of Al and Marge Williamson.
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