Michael J. Moran

Mixed Marriages

Michael J. Moran

Tommy Delaney drew stares as he walked into the Idle Hour Tavern wearing a torn powder blue tuxedo and sporting a badly swollen left eye. The handful of customers silently turned their heads to follow Tommy as he walked to the end of the bar, climbed onto the stool, and ordered a double Irish whiskey with a beer chaser. Pete the bartender poured the whiskey, and placed a draft beer in front of the bruised and tattered young man.

“What the hell happened to you?” asked Pete.

“Got married today,” Tommy replied. “You got any ice back there I can put on this eye?”

“Must’a been a hell of a wedding,” said Pete as he handed Tommy a bar rag wrapped around a scoop-full of ice cubes.

“It started out great: the Italian-American Citizen’s Club, a couple kegs o’ beer, Cold Duck on every table, Tony D’Amico, the midget who sings all the Jerry Vale songs. You know, a real classy affair.”

“Sounds nice. So what went wrong?”

“Backward pig-headed families,” said Tommy as he emptied the glass of whiskey and shoved it toward Pete for a refill. “Neither side was real happy about Angie and me gettin’ married. My mom didn’t want me to marry an ‘EYE talian’. That’s what she calls them when she’s tryin’ to be polite. She thinks they’re all in the mob. She said we didn’t need to hire a photographer because the FBI would have plenty of pictures of the wedding. And Angie’s family wasn’t much better, they don’t think I’m good enough for her, told her the Irish drink too much. We thought it would get better when they all realized that we were serious about each other.”

“I guess that didn’t happen, huh?”

“No, it got worse. Last week her Dad offered to buy her a Mustang if she put off gettin’ married for a year or two. And at the reception, after my best man gave the toast, her brother Dante stood up and said ‘Here’s to my sister Angie who will soon find out that the most useless thing on a woman is an Irishman.’ I ignored all that crap until close to the end. They got this thing at Italian weddings where all the guys in the bride’s family link arms and form a circle around her. The groom is supposed ta break through, grab the bride, and carry her out the door.”

“Yeah, I seen that. They usually let him through after about two or three tries” said Pete.

“Well her brothers decided they weren’t gonna let me break through. They kept pushin’ me back and finally knocked me on my ass. Then my brother, who was half in the bag, throws a punch at her brother and all of a sudden there’s a brawl goin’ on. Chairs were flyin’, the cake got knocked over, I ended up hidin’ under a table with little Tony the singer until the cops finally came. Then Angie starts yellin’ at me, sayin’ my family started it and her folks were right about the Irish. So I crawled out from under the table and came here.”

“So where’s your bride now?”

“The last time I saw her she was cursin’ at some cop and hittin’ him with her bouquet. She’s pretty feisty ya know. That’s one of the things I like about her.” Then after draining the glass of beer he said, “I dunno, maybe we shouldn’t a got married. I love her, but the families are killin’ us. So what do I do now?”

“You could get an annulment,” suggested Pete. “Since you didn’t get to consummate your marriage yet, an annulment would be a lot less trouble than a divorce.”

“Geez Pete, don’t tell anybody but Angie and me have been consumatin’ for a couple o’ months now.”

Before Pete could clarify his suggestion, Bert Bednarsky, and elderly white haired man who had been listening to the conversation, climbed off his stool and moved next to Tommy. “Hold on son,” he said. “Sure you got off to a bad start, but don’t go doin’ nothin’ stupid. The key to getting’ along in a marriage is communication. What you gotta do is talk to your wife. Let her know how you feel, what you think. Tell her that you’re gonna stand up to both families. Don’t just keep your mouth shut and give up on things. I married my wife fifty-five years ago and I still talk to her every day. I tell her what’s on my mind and what I think we should do about things. That might be somethin’ you wana do with your new wife.”

“You might be right mister. If it was just me and her without the families interferin’ it might be OK.” With that Tommy threw down the last of the whiskey, got off the stool, and headed for the door.

Pete looked at the old man and said, “Bert, I thought your wife died about ten years ago.”

“She did,” said Bert. “But I got a picture of her in my living room and I talk to her every day….. Of course the conversation goes a hell of a lot smoother now that she can’t talk back, but that young fella didn’t need to know that.”

Tommy went to search for Angie. He found the teary eyed bride still in her wedding gown, at the police station with many of the wedding guests. It was almost as chaotic at the station as it was at the reception except that instead of fists and chairs, it was accusations and ethnic slurs that were flying. Because Angie’s only real offense was hitting a police officer with flowers, Tommy was able to convince the harried sergeant in charge to allow the tearful girl to slip away with him. He whisked her off to the Best Western where they had reservations to spend their wedding night. Instead of the traditional wedding night activity, they spent the evening as Bert Bednarsky advised trying to talk things out. By about three a.m., after Angie had exhausted herself yelling, crying, and throwing things, they agreed that their feelings for each other were as strong as ever, and that the problem was their families. They decided to go ahead with their honeymoon at the Jersey Shore and deal with the in-laws when they returned.

After a few days of lying on the beach and evenings spent strolling on the boardwalk, eating Mack’s pizza, and playing miniature golf, the couple was relaxed and ready to head home and face their families. After some discussion on the drive back from the shore, Tommy and Angie agreed that the only person to whom both families might pay attention to was their parish priest Father Joseph O’Boyle. The parish they belonged to was fairly evenly split between Italian and Irish parishioners. Both groups, however, liked Father O’Boyle. He was Irish but had studied in Rome and spoke fluent Italian, which was greatly appreciated by many older folks who struggled with English. After discussing the situation with the young couple, Father O’Boyle arranged for Angie’s and Tommy’s parents to meet with him at the rectory.

The meeting took place on a rainy Saturday morning. Tommy and Angie were first to arrive followed shortly by Angie’s parents. Everyone’s spirits were lifted when Angie’s mother related a conversation she had with her own elderly mother.

Looking at Angie she said, “After the reception, your grandmother told us something that we never knew. She was from Palermo and your grandfather was from Naples. When they wanted to get married, her father forbid it because your grandfather was not Sicilian. So they ran away and got married against her father’s wishes. When he found out, he disowned her, put her belongings out on the street, and never spoke to her again. She said it was one of the great sorrows of her life and warned us not to let our old fashioned views interfere with your happiness. So we promise to make a good faith effort to have peace in the family if Tommy’s family will do the same.”

“Ah,” said a smiling Father O’Boyle. “There’s an old Italian proverb: Se non va bene chiamare tua nonna. If nothing is going well, call your grandmother.”

After a round of hugs and handshakes, everyone waited for the Delaneys to arrive. Tommy’s father was an affable fellow but his mother was one of those Irish women who held a grudge like it was a family heirloom; keeping it for years and occasionally bringing it out to put on display. Of the four parents, Father O’Boyle suspected that she would require the most tact and priestly skill. When Mr. Delaney arrived he said that his wife would be there shortly. She wanted to stop by the church for a few moments before the meeting. “Like Patton before a battle,” thought Father O’Boyle. “She’s probably asking God for strength to slay the enemy.” Everyone was concerned when Mrs. Delaney finally appeared, ashen-faced and looking a bit dazed.

“Ma, are you all right?” asked Tommy.

“Yes honey, I’m fine,” Then turning to Angie she said, “I’m so sorry for not welcoming you like a daughter. I’ve behaved badly and I apologize. Please forgive me.”

The dumbfounded group sat and looked at each other in silence until Father O’Boyle said, “Well, It would appear that our work here is done. Now all of you, go home and be a family.” He made the sign of the cross to provide the group with a blessing.

As the others left, a still bewildered looking Mrs. Delaney asked if she could have a word with Father O’Boyle. “Go on,” she said to the rest of the group, “I’ll catch up.” Turning to the priest she said, “Father, I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others because they’d probably think I lost my mind. I went into the church this morning to ask the Blessed Mother for strength because I didn’t think I could support this marriage. Then when I looked up at her, she was crying. Tears were running down her face. I think she was telling me that she was unhappy about how intolerant I’ve been. Is that possible Father?”

Father O’Boyle was not one to automatically accept such reports as evidence of communication from on high. In this case he knew that the church roof had recently begun to leak and on rainy days like this one water dripped directly onto the statue of the Blessed Virgin. But the fact that Mrs. Delaney was there on a rainy day and that she interpreted what she saw as a sign was close enough to divine intervention for him. “God speaks to each of us in different ways,” he said. “Whatever you saw, it influenced you more strongly than I could have. So go, be the good mother I know you to be.”

During the next several months everyone did their best to be supportive of the newlyweds. In less than a year Tommy and Angie began a family of their own. First little Patrick Vito was born and about a year later Raffaela Kathleen, both children named to honor great grandparents from each side. Both families doted on the children. The earlier conflicts were forgotten, and Angie and Tommy always told their children that, when they were old enough, they could marry anyone they wanted…as long as they were Catholic.