How to Find a Wife
CLICK here to view “A Halo for Barb - Barb’s Miracle,” the story of just one of her struggles with health problems.
CLICK here to view, “Barb’s Last Days,” The personal anguish of one slowly losing a dear loved one.
CLICK here to view, “Postscript to a Beautiful Life,” Reflections on the days following Barb’s funeral.
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The story:
I had been single for nearly fifteen years after a short, disastrous second marriage. It had been a serious mistake from the day we spoke our vows. I was past sixty and lived alone on a lake in northern Indiana. A year before I had broken up with a wonderful lady after a five-year relationship. We discussed marriage, but when she was ready, I wasn’t and when I was ready, she wasn’t. We remained dear friends even after we broke off our relationship. I was perfectly happy living alone. I rarely experienced feelings of loneliness. I had good friends, attended the nearby Leesburg United Methodist Church regularly and sang in the choir. Living alone and being lonely are completely different things. I certainly enjoy being among people, but I have also experienced many pleasant and quite comfortable times being alone. Just a few times I had felt the terrible loneliness that sometimes strikes one among people, even in a crowd.
One morning, early in July, I sauntered into the offices of "The Paper" in the nearby town of Milford to place an ad for a salesman for the personal computer business I had started a few months before. A scruffy looking man of about thirty stood at the counter talking to a lady I assumed to be an ad taker. As I watched, he wrestled a crumpled scrap of lined yellow paper from his pocket, carefully flattened it on the counter and spread a crumpled five-dollar bill atop the yellow paper. Paying no attention to their conversation, I waited until the lady behind the counter turned to me when the young man left.
She smiled as she spoke. "Can I help you?"
I unfolded the ad copy produced on my computer, and handed it to her. "I’d like to place this ad for a computer salesman."
"If you’ll wait a few moments, I’ll have a want-ad-taker speak to you."
I was just a bit mystified. "Aren’t you an ad-taker? What was the bit with the guy who just spoke to you?"
She laughed, "I run the singles column. He was giving me his requirements for a lady friend. Hang on a sec. I’ll get someone for you."
"Wait a minute. Tell me about it," I sputtered as she turned to go. After all, I was single and unencumbered. I wanted to know what it was all about.
She turned and grabbed a paper from a stack behind the counter. Shuffling through until she found the right page, she spread it out on the counter in front of me. "Here’s last week’s column. You can get an idea by looking at these. Do you think you might want to place an ad?"
After skimming through the ads I commented, "I’ve never even considered anything like this. How does it work?"
"As you can see, there are no addresses or phone numbers in the ads. We provide a PO Box number here at the bottom of the page. An interested party simply sends a letter to that PO Box with the ID number in the ad. You come and pick up those letters and then it’s up to you. The usual first meeting place is a restaurant or other safe public place. We suggest a lunch as the first meeting. Then if you both want to pursue further contact, a date can be set."
"That seems simple enough."
"This month we’re having a special, two weekly ads for five dollars."
My curiosity was instantly piqued. "I think I’ll take you up on your special." I then wrote out the following brief ad:
"D/W/M, 62, 5' 10" Self employed computer engineer/scientist/poet. I love the outdoors, sailing, fishing, waterskiing, biking, fall colors, fresh snow, the smell of spring, moonlight on the water, singing and my large, loving family. I’d like to share an active life with a like minded, independent woman. I’m not looking for a subordinate. Write Single #5653 in care of ‘the PAPER’"
After paying my five dollars and also placing my ad for a salesman to the correct person, I headed for home wondering what this momentary lapse in my usual conservative nature would bring.
About two weeks later I picked up more than thirty letters, to be followed several weeks later by another bundle of nearly thirty more. I couldn’t believe there would be so many responses to an old coot. They had a wide range of both quality and content. One was written on a single page of lined paper, in pencil, with terrible grammar and many misspelled words. The other extreme was one of two pages, impeccably composed with near-perfect grammar and spelling, and in beautiful handwriting. The engineer in me prompted me to organize the letters and rate them from one to ten based on my impressions of the writers. Naturally, I started at the top of the list with the only one that rated above an eight. Here is the text of that letter:
"July 18, 1990
Hi,
I’m Barbara. I’m a 49-year young legal secretary who’s still going to school. Just finished my first of two years at IUSB in the paralegal program.
My first love has to be music (big band) and ballroom dancing. I do enjoy light classical and I sing in my church choir.
I’m a nature lover beyond a doubt and especially enjoy listening to and watching the birds at my feeder. Needless to say, I love flowers and have them everywhere, especially those that will attract God’s critters! I look forward to being out of doors as much as is possible. And really enjoy camping and don’t do enough traveling! Being near or on the water gives me my tranquility.
I enjoy gourmet cooking (and preparing and eating it). I like to try new dishes and make dining an experience rather than just something one must do.
To sum up, I’m an incurable romantic and a cockeyed optimist! I have blond hair (with some silver for highlight, of course) and blue eyes. I’m 4' 11 ½" tall and weigh 107 lbs. and I meet life head-on!
If you think we might have some things in common and could be friends, I can be reached at 848-5780."
When I called the writer of this letter, her mother answered and said that Barbara was out. I gave her my name and phone number and asked her to return my call. I continued down the list until I made several dates for lunch. As a result I met several ladies resulting in a number of interesting experiences. The first was a quite timid, longtime secretary, several years younger than I. She spoke meekly when I could get her to speak. Tall and slender, she was pleasant but had never married and definitely not my type.
The next lady was just the opposite. By the time we finished lunch, she was planning our winters in Arizona. About sixty, this farmer’s widow was small, muscular, and sported a blonde beehive hairdo that added at least four inches to her height and could probably have withstood a tornado. Her years on the farm showed in her local speech idioms and calloused hands. She was a formidable presence despite her diminutive size. That lunch was our first and last contact.
I then met a really pleasant, plump but attractive lady almost my age. Her clothes, the car she drove and her general demeanor showed at least the trappings of wealth. It soon was apparent to me that she was lonely and still seriously mourned her husband who died a few years earlier.
Near the end of our lunch I realized just how vulnerable she was and became concerned she might fall pray to an unscrupulous man after her money. I asked if she was active in a church or other women’s group. Her negative response prompted these words I recall exactly, "To me you seem a very pleasant but vulnerable lady. I don’t think you are ready for the dating game. Why don’t you join a church or other organization and become active with a group of women? When you feel secure in the fellowship of those women, then you might reconsider entering the dating game."
Nearly a year later, I received a phone call from her. She said my words had been some of the best advice she’d ever received and thanked me repeatedly. She had done what I suggested and was now active in a group of church women who had become good and close friends. "I don’t know if I’ll ever look for a man again, but thanks to your advice, my life is now much fuller and more rewarding." That was a wonderful reward for speaking to a near stranger of a genuine concern.
During this time, Barbara, the lady with the letter I placed atop my list, had been playing phone tag with me. I discovered later that during that time she was in the hospital having sinus surgery. It was mid-August before we finally connected after exchanging many phone calls for at least three weeks. We set a Sunday afternoon dinner date at the Holiday Inn in Goshen. I arrived just before the appointed time and waited in the lobby. I waited - and waited - and waited, finally wondering if I had been stood up. About half an hour after I arrived, a young lady came over from the check-in counter.
"I hope this is not a prank, but would you happen to be Howard Johnson?"
When I replied in the affirmative she said. "There’s a lady on the phone who wants to speak to you." The ensuing phone conversation went something like this:
"Hello?"
"How’s your patience quotient? I’m terribly sorry, but I got lost. I’m calling you from a filling station in New Paris."
New Paris is eight or ten miles from where I was waiting. "How’d you end up in New Paris? That’s not even near US 33."
"I’m not very familiar with Goshen and must have taken the wrong road."
I laughed. "You probably went straight where US 33 turns left. That’s why you ended up on Indiana 15."
"How far away am I?"
"My guess is about ten or twelve miles."
"I’m so sorry. It will take at least twenty minutes to get there. Do you want to cancel?"
"No, I’ve plenty of time. Come on over." I then gave her directions to the Holiday Inn and sat down to wait.
Nearly a half hour later, a diminutive female walked swiftly and with determination across the parking lot and into the lobby. I knew it was Barbara as soon as she stepped out of her car.
"I’m so terribly sorry," she said as soon as we met. "You must be a very patient and understanding man."
After our introductory conversation we entered the nearly deserted dining room and sat down for dinner. I don’t remember much of the conversation, but we hit it off right away and our dinner stretched out for several hours. We were definitely kindred souls, delighting in each other’s company. We parted reluctantly, after making arrangements to see each other again.
Barb walks down the aisle with sons Mike and Adam
During the next few years, we were constant companions and met each other’s families and friends. Barbara soon started to attend the Leesburg UM Church with me, joining me in the choir. We became deeply committed to each other. Friendship Sunday at church, in October of 1992, I stood up in the choir loft during the "Joys and Concerns" part of the service and bravely uttered the words, "I would like to ask the little lady seated in front of me if she will marry me."
No one, including the minister, my friends, or Barb knew this was coming. Don Shanks, our pleasant but often tongue-twisted minister, blurted out, "I don’t know if this is a joy or a concern." Turning to Barb he added "Is there an answer?"
Caught a bit off guard, Barb finally replied, "What could I say in front of all these people but yes."
With her reply the entire congregation applauded. Wallace Huffman, a member of the congregation, was video taping the service that Sunday and captured the entire thing, including the proposal and acceptance. The following May 29, 1993 we were married in an unusually emotional ceremony fashioned after the Quaker wedding of my grand niece, Deanna, that we experienced and loved a few months before. Another member of the church video-taped our wedding as well as the proposal and, in cooperation with Wally, presented us with a tape of both events as a wedding present. In the years since then, we have often viewed that video and relived those wonderful moments.
To contact author, Howard Johnson Click Here!____________________________________________
CLICK here to view, “Barb’s Last Days,” The personal anguish of one slowly losing a dear loved one.
CLICK here to view, “Postscript to a Beautiful Life,” Reflections on the days following Barb’s funeral.
________________________________________________
The story:
I had been single for nearly fifteen years after a short, disastrous second marriage. It had been a serious mistake from the day we spoke our vows. I was past sixty and lived alone on a lake in northern Indiana. A year before I had broken up with a wonderful lady after a five-year relationship. We discussed marriage, but when she was ready, I wasn’t and when I was ready, she wasn’t. We remained dear friends even after we broke off our relationship. I was perfectly happy living alone. I rarely experienced feelings of loneliness. I had good friends, attended the nearby Leesburg United Methodist Church regularly and sang in the choir. Living alone and being lonely are completely different things. I certainly enjoy being among people, but I have also experienced many pleasant and quite comfortable times being alone. Just a few times I had felt the terrible loneliness that sometimes strikes one among people, even in a crowd.
One morning, early in July, I sauntered into the offices of "The Paper" in the nearby town of Milford to place an ad for a salesman for the personal computer business I had started a few months before. A scruffy looking man of about thirty stood at the counter talking to a lady I assumed to be an ad taker. As I watched, he wrestled a crumpled scrap of lined yellow paper from his pocket, carefully flattened it on the counter and spread a crumpled five-dollar bill atop the yellow paper. Paying no attention to their conversation, I waited until the lady behind the counter turned to me when the young man left.
She smiled as she spoke. "Can I help you?"
I unfolded the ad copy produced on my computer, and handed it to her. "I’d like to place this ad for a computer salesman."
"If you’ll wait a few moments, I’ll have a want-ad-taker speak to you."
I was just a bit mystified. "Aren’t you an ad-taker? What was the bit with the guy who just spoke to you?"
She laughed, "I run the singles column. He was giving me his requirements for a lady friend. Hang on a sec. I’ll get someone for you."
"Wait a minute. Tell me about it," I sputtered as she turned to go. After all, I was single and unencumbered. I wanted to know what it was all about.
She turned and grabbed a paper from a stack behind the counter. Shuffling through until she found the right page, she spread it out on the counter in front of me. "Here’s last week’s column. You can get an idea by looking at these. Do you think you might want to place an ad?"
After skimming through the ads I commented, "I’ve never even considered anything like this. How does it work?"
"As you can see, there are no addresses or phone numbers in the ads. We provide a PO Box number here at the bottom of the page. An interested party simply sends a letter to that PO Box with the ID number in the ad. You come and pick up those letters and then it’s up to you. The usual first meeting place is a restaurant or other safe public place. We suggest a lunch as the first meeting. Then if you both want to pursue further contact, a date can be set."
"That seems simple enough."
"This month we’re having a special, two weekly ads for five dollars."
My curiosity was instantly piqued. "I think I’ll take you up on your special." I then wrote out the following brief ad:
"D/W/M, 62, 5' 10" Self employed computer engineer/scientist/poet. I love the outdoors, sailing, fishing, waterskiing, biking, fall colors, fresh snow, the smell of spring, moonlight on the water, singing and my large, loving family. I’d like to share an active life with a like minded, independent woman. I’m not looking for a subordinate. Write Single #5653 in care of ‘the PAPER’"
After paying my five dollars and also placing my ad for a salesman to the correct person, I headed for home wondering what this momentary lapse in my usual conservative nature would bring.
About two weeks later I picked up more than thirty letters, to be followed several weeks later by another bundle of nearly thirty more. I couldn’t believe there would be so many responses to an old coot. They had a wide range of both quality and content. One was written on a single page of lined paper, in pencil, with terrible grammar and many misspelled words. The other extreme was one of two pages, impeccably composed with near-perfect grammar and spelling, and in beautiful handwriting. The engineer in me prompted me to organize the letters and rate them from one to ten based on my impressions of the writers. Naturally, I started at the top of the list with the only one that rated above an eight. Here is the text of that letter:
"July 18, 1990
Hi,
I’m Barbara. I’m a 49-year young legal secretary who’s still going to school. Just finished my first of two years at IUSB in the paralegal program.
My first love has to be music (big band) and ballroom dancing. I do enjoy light classical and I sing in my church choir.
I’m a nature lover beyond a doubt and especially enjoy listening to and watching the birds at my feeder. Needless to say, I love flowers and have them everywhere, especially those that will attract God’s critters! I look forward to being out of doors as much as is possible. And really enjoy camping and don’t do enough traveling! Being near or on the water gives me my tranquility.
I enjoy gourmet cooking (and preparing and eating it). I like to try new dishes and make dining an experience rather than just something one must do.
To sum up, I’m an incurable romantic and a cockeyed optimist! I have blond hair (with some silver for highlight, of course) and blue eyes. I’m 4' 11 ½" tall and weigh 107 lbs. and I meet life head-on!
If you think we might have some things in common and could be friends, I can be reached at 848-5780."
When I called the writer of this letter, her mother answered and said that Barbara was out. I gave her my name and phone number and asked her to return my call. I continued down the list until I made several dates for lunch. As a result I met several ladies resulting in a number of interesting experiences. The first was a quite timid, longtime secretary, several years younger than I. She spoke meekly when I could get her to speak. Tall and slender, she was pleasant but had never married and definitely not my type.
The next lady was just the opposite. By the time we finished lunch, she was planning our winters in Arizona. About sixty, this farmer’s widow was small, muscular, and sported a blonde beehive hairdo that added at least four inches to her height and could probably have withstood a tornado. Her years on the farm showed in her local speech idioms and calloused hands. She was a formidable presence despite her diminutive size. That lunch was our first and last contact.
I then met a really pleasant, plump but attractive lady almost my age. Her clothes, the car she drove and her general demeanor showed at least the trappings of wealth. It soon was apparent to me that she was lonely and still seriously mourned her husband who died a few years earlier.
Near the end of our lunch I realized just how vulnerable she was and became concerned she might fall pray to an unscrupulous man after her money. I asked if she was active in a church or other women’s group. Her negative response prompted these words I recall exactly, "To me you seem a very pleasant but vulnerable lady. I don’t think you are ready for the dating game. Why don’t you join a church or other organization and become active with a group of women? When you feel secure in the fellowship of those women, then you might reconsider entering the dating game."
Nearly a year later, I received a phone call from her. She said my words had been some of the best advice she’d ever received and thanked me repeatedly. She had done what I suggested and was now active in a group of church women who had become good and close friends. "I don’t know if I’ll ever look for a man again, but thanks to your advice, my life is now much fuller and more rewarding." That was a wonderful reward for speaking to a near stranger of a genuine concern.
During this time, Barbara, the lady with the letter I placed atop my list, had been playing phone tag with me. I discovered later that during that time she was in the hospital having sinus surgery. It was mid-August before we finally connected after exchanging many phone calls for at least three weeks. We set a Sunday afternoon dinner date at the Holiday Inn in Goshen. I arrived just before the appointed time and waited in the lobby. I waited - and waited - and waited, finally wondering if I had been stood up. About half an hour after I arrived, a young lady came over from the check-in counter.
"I hope this is not a prank, but would you happen to be Howard Johnson?"
When I replied in the affirmative she said. "There’s a lady on the phone who wants to speak to you." The ensuing phone conversation went something like this:
"Hello?"
"How’s your patience quotient? I’m terribly sorry, but I got lost. I’m calling you from a filling station in New Paris."
New Paris is eight or ten miles from where I was waiting. "How’d you end up in New Paris? That’s not even near US 33."
"I’m not very familiar with Goshen and must have taken the wrong road."
I laughed. "You probably went straight where US 33 turns left. That’s why you ended up on Indiana 15."
"How far away am I?"
"My guess is about ten or twelve miles."
"I’m so sorry. It will take at least twenty minutes to get there. Do you want to cancel?"
"No, I’ve plenty of time. Come on over." I then gave her directions to the Holiday Inn and sat down to wait.
Nearly a half hour later, a diminutive female walked swiftly and with determination across the parking lot and into the lobby. I knew it was Barbara as soon as she stepped out of her car.
"I’m so terribly sorry," she said as soon as we met. "You must be a very patient and understanding man."
After our introductory conversation we entered the nearly deserted dining room and sat down for dinner. I don’t remember much of the conversation, but we hit it off right away and our dinner stretched out for several hours. We were definitely kindred souls, delighting in each other’s company. We parted reluctantly, after making arrangements to see each other again.
Barb walks down the aisle with sons Mike and Adam
During the next few years, we were constant companions and met each other’s families and friends. Barbara soon started to attend the Leesburg UM Church with me, joining me in the choir. We became deeply committed to each other. Friendship Sunday at church, in October of 1992, I stood up in the choir loft during the "Joys and Concerns" part of the service and bravely uttered the words, "I would like to ask the little lady seated in front of me if she will marry me."
No one, including the minister, my friends, or Barb knew this was coming. Don Shanks, our pleasant but often tongue-twisted minister, blurted out, "I don’t know if this is a joy or a concern." Turning to Barb he added "Is there an answer?"
Caught a bit off guard, Barb finally replied, "What could I say in front of all these people but yes."
With her reply the entire congregation applauded. Wallace Huffman, a member of the congregation, was video taping the service that Sunday and captured the entire thing, including the proposal and acceptance. The following May 29, 1993 we were married in an unusually emotional ceremony fashioned after the Quaker wedding of my grand niece, Deanna, that we experienced and loved a few months before. Another member of the church video-taped our wedding as well as the proposal and, in cooperation with Wally, presented us with a tape of both events as a wedding present. In the years since then, we have often viewed that video and relived those wonderful moments.
To contact author, Howard Johnson Click Here!____________________________________________
posted by HoJo @ 6:04 AM
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