I Screwed Up the Honeymoon

Our honeymoon started on June 21, 1947, at the Drake Hotel in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I woke up in the middle of the night to a hard push and wound up on the floor. I remember thinking, Is there an unspoken message here?

The next morning Sandy and I boarded a train to Miami Beach, Florida. When the conductor asked for our tickets, I handed him our marriage license by mistake. He looked me and said, “This is good for a lot of rides, but not on this train. You’ll have to produce a ticket.”

Later that morning, after ordering pancakes in the dining car, a woman across the table asked why I was pouring coffee on my pancakes. “It isn’t coffee; it’s syrup,” I replied. “They probably heat it up to make it pour easier.” Well, I was wrong and she was right. It was coffee.

When we pulled into Fort Lauderdale and went to our hotel, another surprise awaited—twin-size beds. I immediately called the desk and told the clerk I was on my honeymoon and definitely had ordered a double bed. The clerk told me that they didn’t have a double bed but that I could push together the two singles. I raised my voice and said, “I want what I ordered.” A double bed was delivered—at 6:30 the next morning.

Things were definitely starting to add up, and after I mistakenly used Vaseline instead of underarm deodorant, my lovely new bride expressed a look of concern about our lifelong commitment.

Sure enough, when we returned to Philadelphia, I sprained my back carrying her across the threshold of our new home and spent two weeks in bed.

That was 68 years ago, and I don’t put coffee on my pancakes or Vaseline under my arms anymore. But after reviewing what I wrote here, a second honeymoon would be most welcome.