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Couples share what it takes to keep a relationship strong through the years
The Daily Camera
February 11, 2001
Franklin D. Roosevelt was president, the Andrews Sisters were rising stars and German forces were marching across Europe when Harvey Fraser and Jean Adele Mueller exchanged wedding vows on a military base in Hawaii.
Since then, the two have been through a World War, the death of a toddler, the upbringing of three children, 35 changes of address, Jean's stroke and Harvey's car accident. Sixty years after the young lovers spoke the words, "til death do us part," they've kept their promise.
"Life wasn't dull," says Harvey, a retired brigadier general, now 84. "We're even more dedicated now because of all we've been through." The Frasers are among 12 couples living together at Balfour Retirement Community in Louisville, their marriages having spanned anywhere from five to seven decades through more trials than many couples can imagine.
Four still share a room. The others spend days together but say goodbye at night, one retiring to an apartment on one end of Balfour, the other to the nursing home on the other side, where they can get more medical care.
At a time when there is one divorce for every two weddings, and men and women are waiting longer than ever to tie the knot, these couples represent what many believe is a vanishing phenomenon: everlasting marriage. What's their secret?
Some say the tough times of their generation brought them closer together; others credit laughter, adventure and sex. A few have a simpler, less romantic explanation: You just didn't get divorced in those days, they say.
Despite how they got here, one common theme appears to sustain their love in the autumn of their life, say observers: "I've never seen such devotion in people," says Marilyn Israel, executive director of Balfour. "I don't think our generation is ever going to see this much devotion."
Hard times and promises kept
At a weekly support group for couples at Balfour, facilitator Jan Forreider goes around the circle posing a question in the spirit of Valentine's Day: "What's made it last?" She's greeted with puzzled looks. "In our generation, that is a way of life. You just stay married," says Kay Fang, who has been married to her husband, Victor, for 56 years.
For Robert Enrietto, who celebrated his 50th anniversary with his wife, Emajene, just before her death in September, hard times bred devotion.
"There were times at the market when we had to check what we had in the basket and check what we had in our wallet and put some things back," says Enrietto, 76, choking back tears. "Things like that bring you together."
The Frasers agree. Harvey went off to war when his first child was just 3 days old, and Jean was still in the hospital. Over the next two and a half years, he never once saw his bride and child, but his devotion never lagged. "It was hell," he says. "I wrote letters every day. Sometimes she'd get 10 or 20 letters at a time."
From cared for to caregiver
Back in her room, Dorothy Cole, 85, sits quietly leafing through a custom-made calendar, a photo of a cherished time with her husband, Clarence, on each page. There's the 1939 shot of she and Clarence ice skating in Detroit, the black and white of them picnicking next to a line of Depression-era roadsters, and the family portrait with the small army of children and grandchildren.
"Those pictures tell our story better than anything," whispers Clarence, 88, looking on from his wheelchair. Because his health is failing, Clarence now must sleep in the nursing home. Dorothy picks him up each day at the crack of dawn and sits with him until bedtime. She does his laundry, reads to him and quietly shares meals with him. "I hate it when I have to take him back at night. I'd rather keep him with me," she says. "I've been with him 65 years and I love him as much as ever."
Evelyn Balis, 82, also has taken on something of a caregiver role as she enters the seventh decade of her marriage. She remembers vividly the day she met her husband, Sam. It was Labor Day. He'd just graduated from medical school and they were both on Bradley Beach in New Jersey.
"I said, 'Would you like to sit on my blanket,' and that was the beginning of the end," Evelyn recalls. "He was the most intelligent man I'd ever met in my life. I knew from the word go." Today, the marriage is on a different plane, she says. After years of supporting Evelyn and the three children, Sam, 88, now needs support. Evelyn gently reminds him when he is repeating himself. When he retires to the nursing home early, leaving her alone in her apartment for the afternoon, she, too, looks over a lifetime's worth of old pictures. "It's what I wanted out of life," she says. "I wanted to be successful in my marriage."
Love and laughter
Israel believes the same dynamics that helped the couples through the challenges of marriage are serving them well in the tough times that old age can bring.
For Margry and James Waddel that dynamic is humor. "We're both deaf so we really can't hear the names we call each other," explains James, 85. When asked what has kept he and his bride together through six decades, he pulls his pant leg up and points to a bruise on his shin. "See what happens when I misbehave," he says with a wink. A black and white Old West photo on the desk in their bright apartment shows Margry, clad in fishnet stockings and a scant bar maids dress, seated on Jim's lap clutching a fake bottle of whiskey. The back reads "1975; Old Town San Diego." But life has not been all laughs since the two wed in 1938 in Day County S.D.
They began their marriage in the Great Depression and watched in horror from their home in San Diego as news reports rolled in about the bombing of Pearl Harbor. When Jim had a stroke, they moved to Balfour after living in the same home in San Diego for 42 years. "You have to laugh around here," says Jim. But when the laughter dies down, something much deeper sustains them through the hard times, they say. "We love each other," says Margry. "We really, really do."