Samuel Florman - The Aftermath

Somewhat abashed by their sudden celebrity, the three brides announced that their gowns would be made available to others in the future who chose to add a touch of formality to their wedding ceremonies. Thinking further about all the attention being focused on the forthcoming big day, we sent out a general invitation for other couples to join in.

There was at first some interest expressed, but in the end no takers. Everybody agreed that they didn’t want a mass wedding like those employed in the past by certain religious sects. And there developed a friendly willingness to let the six of us have our mini-extravaganza. Sarah, in her daily work, had become widely known and much beloved. Roxy was a favorite among the ship’s crew. And Mary was one of the more popular young engineers. Tom, as I have noted, had become one of the acknowledged stars among the engineering elite. Herb and I, as ubiquitous secretaries at important meetings, had gotten on familiar terms with a lot of people. So we were not begrudged our special moment in the sun. A gala triple wedding in June it would be!

For clergy, we were faced with an embarrassment of riches. The cruise ship line often recruited clerics from the major faiths, offering them free vacations plus a small stipend. Our trip, however, was something of an exception. In designing the seminar, my father and his colleagues had conceived of a session on “Engineering and the Spirit,” and to lead it they invited two Catholic priests, three ministers of various Protestant denominations, and two rabbis. (In elusion of the Eastern faiths was considered but deemed outside the competence of the planning group.) In addition, three or four spouses of the engineer participants were ordained ministers of one sort or another, and—just in case anyone was looking for a completely secular approach—several spouses were judges. Not to be forgotten, of course, Captain Nordstrom himself was always available. So the problem was less finding acceptable people than being careful not to hurt anybody’s feelings.

Mary zeroed in on Father Jim O’Reilly, a jolly, florid priest right out of Central Casting, who happened to hail from a parish very close to hers in New York City. The good father might have presented a jolly front, but he soon made it clear that in matters of faith he was a stern mentor. The post-holocaust circumstances made not the slightest difference in the way he regarded the sacred obligations of matrimony. A thousand comets, he told Roxy, would not shake his faith or his view of his responsibilities—and hers. Happily, Tom, the nonchalant agnostic, was willing to promise that any children resulting from the union would be baptized and reared as Catholics.

Roxy, following up on Herb’s wishes, contacted the two rabbis. The one from Philadelphia proved too sober for her taste. But she took a liking to David Silverman, a young man recently selected to head a synagogue in Denver. Silverman explained that in ordinary circumstances, an Orthodox or Conservative rabbi would not be authorized to perform an interfaith wedding, and that even he, a Reform rabbi, would like to see the prospective bride studying Judaism and considering eventual conversion. Obviously, these were not ordinary circumstances, and David Silverman struggled with the idea that the cosmic devastation might suggest radically new reforms beyond those that were in his tradition. To whom could he turn for guidance? Assuming that Jerusalem had been destroyed once again, what did this portend for the Jewish people—for the human race? The young rabbi had always prided himself on being reasonable, within limits, but in the present circumstance how was he to judge what reasonable meant? As it turned out, Roxy was enthusiastic about the idea of studying Judaism and attended a few informal study sessions. She listened carefully to everything the rabbi had to tell her, and then disarmed and bemused him with the ways in which she sought to merge Jewish traditions into her quasi-Buddhist faith.

Sarah, aboard ship, had become friendly with Ruth Peters, minister to a Presbyterian congregation in northern New Hampshire, who had herself been married—to an environmental engineer—just before coming on the trip. After meeting the other clergy, and giving the matter significant thought, Sarah decided that Ruth would be a perfect choice. My idea of a minister ran more along the lines of a fatherly gentleman with gray hair and a sonorous voice. But this was a new world. Actually, when it came to women in the clergy, it had been a new world for quite a few years, and I just had not been paying attention. Whatever—as the kids used to say (and some of them here still do)—I was to be married to a young woman by a young woman, and soon became accustomed to the idea.

The notion of legal proprieties, of course, was something of an anomaly. The typical marriage ceremony incorporated the words “by the authority vested in me by…” By whom? By what? In answer to popular sentiment, the Coordinating Committee, at one of its first meetings, passed a resolution stating that all individuals who before the Event had been authorized to perform weddings would be so empowered in the new society being formed. Some day there would be debates about the laws of marriage and divorce; but not yet.

As for location, the prospective brides chose a spot on the beach where we had first come ashore. Although, as I have noted, Engineering Village was established a short distance inland, adjoining Lake Mzingai, there were still some facilities at the ocean beach, including a bamboo pavilion with a canvas roof that had served as a gathering place from the earliest days. Everyone agreed that Herb should have his huppah. In fact, we all decided to marry under the huppah—a lovely trellis, also bamboo—festooned with the wild-flowers that had bloomed during the now-disappearing summer and fall.

Music was no problem, since members of the ship’s orchestra took meticulous care of their instruments, and were happy to have an occasion to display their talents. For a pre-ceremony recital, Mary, Roxy, and Sarah each chose several selections, including such semiclassical chestnuts as “Oh, Promise Me.” The idea was to start with traditional melodies that would evoke the past, pay homage to a world that was no more, and proclaim our intention to preserve the best qualities of that world. This concept was carried through in the selection of two wedding marches, Lohengrin (Here Comes the Bride) for the processional and Mendelssohn’s Midsummer Night’s Dream for after the ceremony.

Herb protested that this was too corny, but Roxy persuaded him that this was the point, and that old-fashioned sentiment was not to be scorned. She assured him that the music planned for later in the proceedings would include material unusual enough to satisfy the most exotic taste. When he pressed her for details, she put her finger to her lips and smiled. “That’s our secret,” she said.

After many discussions, we decided to forgo attendants, except for immediate family. At first this didn’t seem fair, since Mary, Sarah, Herb, and I had at least one parent with us, while Roxy and Tom, both of whom had come to the Queen of Africa on their own, had lost their entire families in the Event. But Roxy said that she never had family who would have come to her wedding anyhow… and Tom insisted that his loss should not affect the planning in a negative way.

The brides agreed that they would serve as maids of honor for each other, and the grooms made the same arrangements concern ing the best man. Mary and Sarah were to be escorted down the aisle by their fathers. Roxy asked Captain Nordstrom if he would do the same for her, and he was delighted to accept. Mary and Herb both had younger sisters—much younger—and they would add to the festivities as flower girls. Sarah and I observed, not for the first time, that we were both the products of one-child families.