In honor of the New Year and Valentine’s Day, for this issue I’ve collected a few more stories about how couples met. Today, many meet online, of all places—like my godson Doug Herman and Jaime Maloney, on match.com, where they discovered they had much in common. They now have even more in common in Lynnfield, Massachusetts—a pair of 10-year-old twin boys.
Brooke Mifflin met Ralph Gaiss in an elevator in the Wellesley building in New York, where she lived on the 32nd floor. Ralph, the perfect gentleman, held the elevator door open for her, and they chatted on their way up to the 24th floor, where he got off. Later, he asked the doorman for her name and left a handwritten note in her mailbox asking her out for a date. They’ve been married 10 years and live in Darien with three boys and a black lab puppy.
Stephanie Johnson and Gordon Hinshalwood met at bagpipe camp in Edinboro, Pennsylvania. Both age 15, he was already a talented player
from Montclair; she, a beginner, from Washingtonville, New York. Today, the Rev. Stephanie Johnson officiates at weddings at St. Paul’s in Riverside (where Gordon on special occasions plays the bagpipes).
Molly Brownwood met Brennan Gerster on a chairlift in Stratton when they were seniors in college. They chatted on the ride up and the next day were surprised to find themselves standing next to each other in the long lift line. They started skiing together, he taught her to snow-board, and they now live in Rowayton with their three teen offspring. A certified dietitian, Molly is studying at Yale to become a midwife. Brennan is an exec at the Weather Channel.
Christy Prunier met David Doss when he was looking for a dog sitter. An intern at Primetime, where he was a producer, she had left to look for a full-time job—commuting to New York from Riverside. David traveled a lot and needed a caretaker for his Whippet-mix, and a colleague suggested Christy. Thrilled to have a place to stay in the city while job-hunting, she refused to be paid. “But I want to do something for you,” he insisted. “Why not just take me out to dinner?” she suggested. They’ve now been married 26 years, have raised two kids and live—with a dog, of course—across the street from where she grew up.
Then there was my friend who married the Greenwich cop who stopped her for a traffic violation. But I haven’t been able to reach her in time to flesh out the story for this issue.
As for Jack and me, it was a rocky start. At age 23 and just home from a six-month job in New York, I walked into a party in Shaker Heights, spotted an “older” guy who looked familiar, tapped him on the shoulder and asked: “Are you Ed Pendergast?” “No,” he answered, turning his back to resume a conversation. “Now there’s one rude dude,” I huffed to myself.
Later, upstairs in the loo, I found a friend very sick to her stomach. “Oh, you’re in terrible shape, Martha,” I observed. “Who’s your date?” “Jack Moffly,” she moaned, adding they’d been to a wedding. “I’ll get him,” I volunteered. “What’s he look like?” A-ha! I went back downstairs, tapped Rude Dude on the shoulder again, asking, “Are you Jack Moffly?” “Yes,” he said. “Well, your date’s throwing up!” I informed him. “You better take her home.”
But the next day I had a date with one of his roommates at the Bone Pile, playing bridge with—you guessed it—Jack Moffly and some divorcée. It was then I decided he was OK after all. Probably he’d just had a rough night. He called the next day, and the rest is a 59-year history. Oh, he was 33.
Ah, young love. Can’t beat it. Happy Valentine’s Day.