He had long blond hair and a remarkably low-paying job as a radio DJ on the Eastern Shore. She had beautiful long chestnut-colored hair and a nice job as a legal assistant in Baltimore. They had a mutual friend whose birthday was that Friday night, June 22, 1973, so the friend's girlfriend fixed them up to go to the party together, since everyone was tired of him showing up to functions with ill-bred young women. The other couple arranged for a trial date for the night before, always a good idea since he takes a little getting-used to. So, he showed up at the girl's house with his buddy the night before, took one step into the kitchen, saw her, and like Michael Corleone, found himself struck by the thunderbolt of love. (Another way in which he is like Michael is that he will come visit you in the hospital, and bring his friend Enzo to help out.) He stood there among the pots and pans and knew that this was the woman he was to marry and love forever. But with the cool, calm self-possession that has long been his hallmark, he thought it best not to blurt that out...right away.
Thunderbolts of lightning, not very very frightening. The guy fell into love just as easily as he fell in love, and the party date went well. Returning to his fabulous bachelor apartment in the fashionable Bordertown section of Delmar ("Where Delaware and Maryland meet!") he worked Saturday and Sunday night until midnight, playing Conway Twitty ("Hello Darling") and Wynn Stewart ("In Love") records that only accentuated his deep, deep feelings. By 3 AM Monday, still unable to sleep, so in love was he, he called the girl on the phone and asked her to marry him.
And they were married on this day in 1973 and to this day, every time he sees her, he hears birds chirping and Wynn Stewart singing and feels the earth crumbling beneath his Rockports. He tries every day to tell her how much he loves her, but there's no way to express such love except to live it, he figures.