That Time I Didn’t Get Cross-Trainers
By Shelli Johnson
I met Jerry in Omaha on Aug. 9, 1990, at a rehearsal for a wedding in Omaha. It was the wedding of Jody and Kathy, two people who are dear to us, and Jerry was a groomsman and I was a bridesmaid. I noticed Jerry as I was talking with the other bridesmaids during rehearsal. He was talking loudly to the other groomsmen, almost as if he wanted to get my attention, which he did.
As is so often the case with weddings, love was in the air, and Jody and Kathy’s was no exception. So many family and friends of Jody’s and Kathy’s were in attendance and it was an epic celebration. After the wedding, Jerry and I continued flirting and danced the night away before ending up in Jerry’s uncle Gene’s hot tub in the wee hours of the morning.
The next day, I flew back to Missoula, Montana, where I was finishing up my journalism degree, and Jerry returned to Dayton, Ohio, where he was a physical therapy tech in the Air Force.
It was 1990, a time before cell phones and email so we wrote and mailed letters to each other. (We saved all of our love letters and they are among my most cherished possessions.) Eventually, our long-distance phone calls and trips to see each other over long weekends became more frequent.
We fell in love, and we found ourselves talking about the future as if it was something we would someday share.
For some reason, in 1991, I didn’t go home to Wyoming for the Christmas holiday. I think it was because I was working my first career job as an advertising sales consultant at The Missoulian newspaper and I had no vacation time left due to the various Fridays I had taken off to visit Jerry in Dayton, Ohio, or to take off when he flew to Montana for a visit. Plus, I was needing to earn income, given the phone bills and the debt from plane ticket purchases were piling up on my personal credit card.
Fortunately, Jerry would fly to Missoula to spend the Christmas holiday with me, and he was due to arrive on the evening of Dec. 20.
In 1991, Dec. 20 was a Friday, which meant I did as I usually did and went to Happy Hour at a favorite bar with some Missoulian coworkers. This particular bar had the best long island iced teas, and was famous for its “nachos bar.” We had a great time and I was excited and blabbing on and on to my coworkers about Jerry’s pending arrival and our upcoming time together. I indulged in only one beverage since I would have to drive a distance to the airport to meet and pick up Jerry.
I stopped at home first, where I had a message on my answering machine. It was a message from Jerry calling from his layover in the Denver airport, saying his flight would be delayed by an hour but that he couldn’t wait to see me. So I putzed around, trying to pass the time, feeling excited as I anticipated Jerry’s arrival.
Impatient, I headed to the airport early. In 1991, Missoula was about 35% smaller in population than it is now. The airport was quaint and not very big. I was one of the only ones at the airport and I was early, so I wandered around looking at the various houseplants and looking outside one of the windows every now and then.
At the time, my mode of transportation was a gray, Ford Taurus. And it burned oil, or maybe it leaked oil. I don’t know which and who cares. All I know is it was important to have oil on hand and that I was seemingly always adding it “just to make sure.”
As I wandered around the airport, with nothing to do and time on my hands, it occurred to me to go add a quart of oil to the car while I had the time , to help ensure we’d make it back to my apartment with no vehicle problems. We didn’t want to squander any of our precious time on the side of the road with a broken-down car fresh after being reunited. 🙂
As I was outside pouring a quart of oil into my car, I noticed a bearded man with a huge video camera over his shoulder. (People who are my age or older will remember that back in the early 1990s, a high-quality video camera was big enough to hold a gigantic VHS tape, and then some, and it was so big that one had to “rest” it on your shoulder to bear its heavy weight and to keep it steady.) This man with the camera on his right shoulder seemed at first to be lurking a bit. It was as if he was trying to see my face as he walked by. I thought he was going to ask if I had car problems and if I needed help, but he just said “Hello,” and continued into the airport.
After I added the oil, I did the same.
There was Christmas music playing throughout the airport and slowly, more people started arriving. Jerry’s flight, which had a brief stop to make in Bozeman, was due to arrive shortly. I waited and fidgeted. I was so excited to see Jerry. We were in love, and, well, the saying, distance makes the heart grow fonder, is absolutely true. I longed to see him and the anticipation possessed me.
Those of us waiting for passengers that were on the flight started to line up by the doors they would all come through after landing and disembarking the plane. I was first in line. Of course.
I waited in anticipation for the doors to open and finally, they did. Passengers started coming through. There were many passengers, dozens and dozens. The first few stopped as they approached me, and asked me, “Are you Shelli?” Surprised and confused, I said, “Yes.” At first, I thought the worst , that they were going to tell me Jerry didn’t get on the flight and that they were asked to pass a message along to me. Why else would they ask me if I was Shelli?
As passengers continued coming through the door, each of them stopped when they got to me, stuck a Christmas bow to my body or head or in my hand, and said, “Merry Christmas, Shelli!” I was confused, and felt my cheeks blushing from all the attention.
Covered in bows and growing impatient to see my boyfriend, I figured Jerry, who is romantic, wanted me to feel special, and maybe he thought having so many people wish me a Merry Christmas would make for an unforgettable experience. Mission accomplished. Now, where’s Jerry? I thought.
And then, “Ho Ho Ho.”
One more time, I heard a deep-voiced, loud “Ho Ho Ho.”
I looked up and — finally — I see Jerry, only he’s Santa Claus. Dressed in a Santa hat and coat, he rushed toward me and we embraced. Jerry hugged me so tightly that he lifted me off the ground. After he set me back down, he exclaimed, “Merry Christmas!”
And then, next thing I know, Jerry’s on his knee, holding my left hand and asking me to “open the present” that was taped to his chest. I peeled off the wrapping paper from the front of his red sweatshirt to reveal stenciled words that spelled, “Shelli: Will You Marry Me?”
I couldn’t believe it. I said, YES! I’ll marry you! We had some brief happy tears, and a little more affection, before we heard applause and whooping and hollering.
The passengers and flight attendants that Jerry had enlisted during the flight to help him with the proposal, as well as others who had gathered out of curiosity, congratulated us. And there was champagne! The flight attendants located a few bottles of champagne and poured several small servings to distribute to everyone. It was a fantastic celebration for us, and it was meaningful to share it with a bunch of wonderful strangers who had played a part in helping Jerry propose to me.
And it’s all on video. Remember the bearded man with the huge video camera on his shoulder who seemed to be lurking? He was lurking, but doing so for hire. Jerry had hired the man to capture the whole event. (We should have submitted it to America’s Funniest Home Videos. I think we could have won some serious money that would have helped to pay off the high interest personal credit card debt we had accumulated thanks to our long distance phone calls and plane tickets.)
I remember touching the ring on my finger all night and in the days following as we celebrated the holidays together. I was so happy to be engaged but had been so surprised that I kept wondering if it was a dream or if it really happened.
A month earlier, on a night in November, we had been on our weekly phone call when Jerry told me something to this effect: “I know we’re going to be together someday. You’re probably getting asked by all of your friends, ‘Are you and Jerry going to get married?’ Or ‘When are you and Jerry going to get married?’ And I just want you to know that while I hope we will get to share our future together, I won’t be proposing this Christmas.”
I wasn’t disappointed, because I knew our love was real, and that the proposal would likely come at some point. And besides, it wasn’t like I was waiting to get married. I had just started my career in a place I loved, and we were in love and our relationship felt strong and wonderful.
Still, I appreciated the conversation, even if it felt a little awkward and I responded, “Oh my gosh, that’s no problem at all, honey. In fact, what I really need –if you’re interested –are some new cross-trainers.” I was playing a lot of racquetball at that time, and I did in fact need a new pair of shoes, what were at the time called cross-trainers. “Ideally, they’d be Reebok,” I added.
People like Warren Buffett and Sheryl Sandberg have referred to the choosing of a partner in life as being the most important decision one will make in his or her life. I couldn’t agree more.
In August, Jerry and I celebrated 30 years of marriage. We have three sons , Wolf, 22, Hayden, 20, and Fin, 15, who are our greatest blessings, and we have created quite an amazing life together.
I’m so glad I didn’t get cross-trainers.
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