It wasn’t exactly summer yet according to the calendar, but it was hot and humid. It was June 9th, 1973 and it was my 24th birthday and my wedding day.
It was hotter than hades on the altar at 10 AM in the morning. When it came time to put the ring on my finger, John, my new husband, had great difficulty. I told him “Oh, push it!” The sweat was pouring down his forehead and it wasn’t from nervousness. After the ceremony, the priest had us come in to the sacristy to sign the marriage certificate. A thermometer on the wall read 101 degrees. God only knows what the humidity level was.
We had decided before the wedding not to have a receiving line in the back of the church. It was a good thing because of the heat. Fortunately, the limo was air conditioned. When we got to the hotel for the reception, the guys in the wedding party wanted pitchers of beer. They wanted to drink right out of the pitcher they were so hot and thirsty. The banquet manager wouldn’t give them to them.
“I don’t want you getting drunk before the reception has even started.” That made the temperature in the room even hotter even though the hotel was air-conditioned.
That was about the only thing that went wrong that day, thank goodness, but when I think about my wedding day, I can’t not think about the temperature.