Who are these Joneses with whom we must keep up no matter how fast they set the pace or to what heights they climb? Who has anointed them arbiters as to what we should wear and eat, how we dress, where we live, what car we drive, and how lavish we make our weddings?
We have big troubles presently - Iraq, a war on terrorism, a plunging economy - all easily recognizable. But there is another concern which has been out there longer than any of the aforementioned. And is equally as treacherous. It's our penchant to "keep up with the Joneses."
I don't know whether these Joneses are legendary, mythical, metaphorical or even real. But I do know "they" exercise considerable control over our choices. It was never more apparent than a few weeks ago when the Los Angeles Times ran a detailed article on the opulence of current weddings.
One of the people interviewed was a Glendora wedding planner who had just orchestrated what she had referred to as "a royal American wedding."
"It was extremely regal", she added. And the cost? Forty-two thousand non-royal bucks, paid for by the bride's parents, two Dallas school district workers who had to scoop it out of their retirement fund.
According to Conde Nast publications, the average nationwide cost for today's wedding is $22,360. For the affluent Joneses and others of their ilk, some weddings exceed a million dollars, a sum which at one time could have bought all the tea in China, all the coffee in Brazil and every Danish in Copenhagen - pastries, not townsfolk.
If the rich want to engage in this kind of one-upmanship, fine. They can afford it. Scott Fitzgerald was right. The rich are very different from the rest of us. They have more money. If we of the hoi polloi try to emulate them we will be broke before our time.
Can one imagine $12,000 for a Vera Wang wedding gown? Twenty-five thousand for a fire works display? And whatever it costs to rent a museum, a mansion, or some other exotic place for the shindig to unfold. Hotels are passé. Or at least not as popular as they once were for weddings.
Added to that is the photographer, the videographer, the entertainer, the orchestra, the gowns for the bride's maids (which occasionally they pay for themselves), the presents (from Tiffany's to Target) for those standing in the entourage, and the night-before dinner for the wedding party and families of bride and groom.
The only things missing are the cannons from which the bride and groom can be shot to soar hand in hand over the well-wishers as Tony Bennett croons "Fly Me To The Moon" while backed by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
A wedding is one of the most sacred ceremonies we will ever experience. I'm inclined to feel it is better left in the hands of God than in those of Barnum.
Longtime readers of this column may remember articles I used to write about dear friends Jim and Pat Pabian. Some years ago Jim died. I was always captivated with the wonderful stories he would tell me of his youth in Rochester, of his travels on freight trains across the country, of a career in which he became one of Hollywood's foremost animators and, most of all, of his never-ending romance with his wife, Pat.
In April 1992, I wrote about Jim and Pat getting married. What follows is an excerpt from that column:
Sometimes the impetuosity of youth can not be contained. Both Jim and Pat, separated by 1400 miles, thought they should be married at once. Jim's employers would not grant him a vacation until the following summer so he had no time to go to Oklahoma for a big family shindig. Jim's in-laws, recognizing youth's impetuosity, allowed 17-year-old Pat to travel to California with a notarized statement sanctioning their marriage. However, as Jim points out, "to insure her chastity until the nuptials", they dispatched Pat to California with two bodyguards - a sister-in-law and Gladys Ash, Pat's best friend. "They never left Pat's side until we were married," adds Jim.
When Pat arrived in L.A. they found they needed to wait three days to get married once a license was obtained. They didn't have the time because Jim had to be at work on Monday so they drove to Yuma, which was devoid of red tape and blood tests and which offered instant marriage. They found a judge. At the ceremony's conclusion Jim asked, "What do I owe you?"
"How much is your wife worth?" replied the judge.
"There isn't that much money in the world," answered Jim with his ever-present sense of gallantry.
"How's two bucks?" said the judge.
"I was going to give you five," Jim stated.
"I couldn't possibly take that much," the judge responded.
They settled on three. They stayed overnight in Yuma. Apparently Pat's bodyguards relaxed their vigil once she was sanctified as Mrs. Pabian. The next day they drove back to L.A.
That three-dollar wedding was the start of a million-dollar marriage.

© 2002 The Ojai Valley News

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