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It is almost 50 years ago that I wrote in these pages about the agony of the traditional Italian wedding and the rituals leading up to it. I use the word “agony” without any reservation whatsoever. How else to describe, for instance, a tradition at the time called “showing the rooms”? I figured it’s time to revisit weddings.
Many of you are too young to remember some of the old traditions, so let me enlighten you. Fifty years ago, the modern custom of living together prior to marriage was described as “shacking up.” Respectable couples didn’t shack up. We didn’t think of the marital state as one akin to test driving an automobile before buying. Unimaginable as it might be, most couples waited to get married before they moved in together. Unless you were well-heeled, moving in together meant renting an apartment, not purchasing a home. If you were raised in the city, the idea of a suburban home with a two-car garage and a backyard with grass was the American dream we postponed off into the future when we hoped we could afford such amenities. The thought of such a home equipped with an outdoor swimming pool and a rec room with a pool table and bar was something reserved for Hollywood stars.
According to the tradition of showing the rooms, during the period leading up to the church wedding (yes, it was traditional to marry in church and not on some exotic island- that was reserved for the honeymoon, as was actual (weep, weep,) sexual intercourse), South Philadelphia Italian couples invited relatives to visit their newly furnished apartment. In our case, my parents actually purchased a painting without our knowledge and hung it on the living room wall because no wall should be bare, my mother felt. Needless to say, the painting was much closer to a velvet Elvis than a van Gogh, and years later we gave it to my sister. As our relatives trooped up to our apartment to see the rooms, my mother stood at the top of the stairs to explain why our living room was without an end table and lamp as if she were defending the family honor. Delivery of the accoutrements had been unforeseeably delayed.
What did seeing the rooms involve? For the aunts, it was a chance to review the prospective bride’s taste in interior decorating. For the uncles, it was a chance to act as building inspectors, tapping on walls and inspecting the plumbing. Before leaving, it was traditional that visitors tossed money on the bed (or as one of the uncles described it– “the work bench”) in the fervent hope that you would appreciate that sex could only be enjoyed if it proved fertile.
Tradition at that time also required couples to hire a photographer to take photos of the wedding ceremony and reception. You paid through the nose for the wedding photos, and 50 years later the albums gathered dust in an area of the home that no one ever visits except by accident. Today the wedding photo album has been expanded to include 3-D movies with sound by Bose and an appearance on YouTube of the riotous reception that often includes either an all-out brawl or the entire bridal party doing a musical number from “Rent.”
What we considered an elaborate reception would seem cheap and uneventful today. Although we did have a hotel reception, it was pretty tame by today’s standards. Relatives and friends tapped their coffee cups with spoons to signal that they wanted the couple to kiss. Only the best man got to make a toast. Usually he merely wished the couple luck and unlike today refrained from doing a stand-up routine that included a graphic description of what went on at the bachelor party. Incredibly, back then, except for an uncle or two, no one got remotely tipsy. The bridal party actually kept its shoes on the entire night, and the music was live, not some DJ entertaining himself playing records that sounded like a roar from a supersonic jet. The couple’s song was likely to be something sappy and romantic, not “Do What U Want” (unfortunately, we were never expected to do what we wanted, even after marriage).
The honeymoon meant the Poconos (although we used our wedding money to go to Bermuda), not a two-week cruise to the South Pacific. The tradition was you tried not to let your male friends or uncles know where you were honeymooning for fear they might ring your room phone all night long. What ribald sports they were. Back when we were married, one needed a birth certificate to travel to Bermuda. I discovered late that night that I had grabbed a greeting card instead of my birth certificate and, red-faced, had to call my father to drop off the needed document the next morning before we left.
You dressed differently when you boarded a plane back then, especially when you were embarking on your honeymoon. The new bride wore a corsage and wondered whether she looked different now that she had made love for the first time. The groom wore a suit, tie and a boutonniere in his lapel. Both bride and groom wondered if anyone on the plane knew they were honeymooners.
Ya think? ■
Comment at southphillyreview.com/opinion/cardella.
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