Weston Woman Marries...Almost Took the Cake

March 18 of '66 had been a bit of a whirlwind day for me. Married during Spring break, Frank had just finished finals week and would receive his BA degree, soon. In addition to the preparations for our wedding, I had been working long hours at the Salon, sewing, and making trips back and forth to Weston to finalize preparations for a "Just Married" celebration there. I'd had the worst migraine of my life overnight, but we were up early the morning of the 19th, having breakfast with Frank's dad, Bill. We had a two to three hour drive ahead of us, but all we had to do was show up. My sister was in charge of getting my dress and veil to the church in Weston. My roommates would be transporting the tiered wedding cake. A simple double ring backdrop--rented from Edward's Floral in Preston and barely used as it turned out--would be delivered and put in place in Weston Ward's Cultural Hall at some time during the day. Brother and Sister Olsen would set up tables and chairs for guests to sit, visit and enjoy refreshments that were being delivered by Edward's, also. Remember, an older crowd was anticipated. The Relief Society room where my trousseau would be available to Mother and her friends was separated from the Hall by a folding wall. That would be unlocked, the wall pushed back by the time we arrived. I'd left instructions and a diagram of how I envisioned the Hall arrangement, a place highlighted as the perfect spot to reserve for the wedding cake. I hoped we'd have restored energy as there would be dancing!

Frank and I arrived in Weston late and found 135 guests waiting to shake our hands and have a cup of Frappe! 

MerLyn was in the dressing room, standing and holding my dress, a safeguard against having to press it again. It had slipped off it's hanger on the trip to Idaho and she had just spent a great deal of time pressing, so afraid of scorching the delicate fabric or lace.

In the interest of keeping to my original idea for an informal evening, I hadn't planned to stand in a receiving line in front of that double-ringed backdrop rental set up in the Cultural Hall for more than a few minutes at the beginning of the evening. I just thought we'd mingle but at the Weston Ward building, after entering through the front entrance and walking into the foyer, the first thing you saw was an entire wall of glass. This was just too inviting to pass up. Everyone agreed to stand in place there, to begin to shake hands and thank those who had already arrived, for their patience in waiting. My brothers, Sylvan and Marion, stood with Mother, somewhat symbolic of my father's absence, I thought, and a nice gesture.

When I walked into the Hall and saw that the cake, my beautiful wedding cake, was not in its place in the spotlight, but pushed more into a corner, the "why" spilled out.

The cake was not overly large, three-tiers, pillared, a traditional wedding fruit cake--yummy, moist, hearty, like a really good applesauce cake with raisins and nuts that a mother or grandma-ma might have baked for the occasion--rested on a large, cut glass base from Mrs. Anderson's personal collection. It was simply embellished with many, delicate rows of perfectly precise, loops of icing, layered in such a way as to stand away from the cake and create a 3-D effect of hanging lace. Hand-crocheted lace bells and a sprig of Lilly of the Valley topped this stunner of a cake.  Mrs. Anderson urged me not to cut into it at the Carillon reception and transport it to Weston for the "Open House". The trip, with the cake sitting on the front seat of Lorraine's car, had been uneventful, until about a mile or two from journey's end, with the church in sight. Another driver ran a stop sign! Lorraine was forced to slam on her brakes! And rather than lose the entire cake in a heap on the floor, or risk damaging that borrowed base, Ruth Ann quickly put her fist through the back of all that beautiful frosting lace and cake, grabbing onto the middle pillars, saving it from complete disaster. So instead of placing the cake in its originally intended spot for an all-around view, my cousin, Leone, had positioned it with the damaged part facing a corner, the still intact, three-quarters of the cake still on display, looking as if nothing had happened!

This was a fun time. Everyone danced. Mother appeared to enjoy herself, though her friends voiced disappointment in not seeing the gifts opened. I hadn't heard any chatter regarding numbers of pillow cases or dish towels and such from those who had taken the opportunity to visit the Trousseau room. We cut the wedding cake and served it along with the Petit Fours and Frappe, saving the top layer, of course, for our first anniversary.  Though utterly exhausted, Frank and I drove back to Salt Lake in the wee hours of the morning, some of that drive, asleep at the wheel, no doubt.

We stopped by Commonwealth Ave. the next afternoon, to say goodbye to the South's on our way out of town. We planned to honeymoon for a few days in San Francisco. Frank's dad handed us a $50 dollar check. Crossing the Nevada desert, the fuel pump died. Our cash was quickly eaten up, filling the car at little one-pump stops until we got to a station equipped to do repairs.

We had a great time sightseeing that first day in San Fran but were so low on money, we didn't dare risk buying food. We hadn't cashed that check before leaving Salt Lake and now, our out-of-state check was refused. The next morning, Frank remembered a cousin he hadn't seen since he was about 10 years old.  Spence Egli lived in Las Altos, and...he worked at a bank. After cashing our check, he took us home for fried chicken. We were so-o-o hungry but didn't want to appear ravenous. It took some control to eat a reasonable amount, slowly while making polite conversation!

In Carmel, we walked the white, sandy beaches, then drove the 90 torturous, cliff-hanging miles to see Hurst Castle at San Simeon only to find that the tours had closed. In Monterey, I got up early to set my hair. With Frank still sleeping, I ventured out to the car to retrieve something. On my return, I discovered I had locked myself out of the room. I banged on the door. He woke up, looked out the window, didn't recognize the woman standing there in curlers and crawled back into bed!

Driving back home by way of Lake Tahoe, we ran out of gas somewhere near the Toelle junction. We could scrape up only 75 cents between us but we made it the rest of the way home on that.

From our first apartment on Yale Avenue--the basement of a lovely home in a beautiful neighborhood--I went back to work while building a little nest, and making what I thought were grand dinners. I was no cook but Frank ate everything I made, with lots of Ketchup. Sometime, in those first weeks, friends and relatives were invited to come for dessert and enjoy opening wedding presents with us.

Beginning a new chapter, with a new name and title, Mrs. South, is a part of who I once was--a wife.