Photo courtesy of Jon Pitts-Wiley

Never give a director the timeline to his own wedding.

Even better, don’t let him have anything to do with putting it together.

Directors don’t know how to do anything but keep time, make sure entrances and exits take place with alacrity, and generally fuss over the little details that separate a great production from a good one. A director doesn’t know how to turn this off, even on his wedding day, especially when the stakes of that production are much bigger than a thumbs up or down from some critic or other. If a director isn’t careful, he can miss out on the great moments that make weddings memorable.

Knowing the wedding timeline as I did, I knew we were running behind. I hate running behind. It’s not so much a problem for me as it makes me nervous. As I stood in the stairwell of the Narragansett Towers with my groomsmen waiting to be given the go-ahead, all I could think to myself was, “My God, all these people have made the effort to be here and we’re not running on time.” I thought of my aunts who came from California, our friends who flew in on red eyes or trooped several hours by car. I thought of all the family and friends who’d worked like dogs to make sure this day happened at all. Without all these people, please believe me, The Feath and I would have been up the creek as far as a wedding was concerned. And here we were running late.

In all my nervousness, I momentarily lost sight of the fact that on a March day in Rhode Island, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. I wouldn’t allow myself to be comforted by the nearly panoramic ocean view that accompanied a day that actually felt like spring (if you know nothing of New England weather, please rest assured that there could have been a snowstorm and no one would have batted an eye).

Some people want their weddings to go off without a hitch only to stroke their own ego; only to demonstrate how perfect their wedding day was for all those in attendance. Believe it or not, for me, Saturday, March 20th, 2010 was about something a lot deeper than ego. I badly wanted to honor the efforts of everyone who had supported The Feath and me. I didn’t want anyone to get the impression that we took their time for granted, that we took them for granted.

I knew the timeline and I knew we were running behind.

So I died a thousand deaths, wondering if people were getting restless, almost missing out on the three other men in sharp dinner jacket tuxes bantering and taking pictures around me, three men who’d agreed to stand behind me without objection: my big brother, my best friend, and my knucklehead roommate from college who may just be the smartest guy I know. A handsome trio, they probably should have been off crooning to some of the tenderonis upstairs rather than trying to keep me calm.

You see, I almost missed all of the above. Then DeVon came around the corner.

DeVon is a buddy from high school and I wasn’t sure he was going to be able to make it. About a week before the wedding, as The Feath and I were making our last-minute plans at the kitchen table, I got a text message from DeVon. He was saying he might not be able to make it. He’d been stabbed in the neck, but was still trying to make it to the ceremony. Stunned, I replied that I appreciated the effort but that I would be nowhere in the neighborhood of offended if he wasn’t able to make it. Having not heard from him since earlier in the week, I figured his table would have an empty seat. Still, I made sure his place card was set, just in case.

But there he was in the stairwell. Yankee fitted and all.

All I could do was hug him in disbelief. I looked him over, making sure he was real. He was. And so were the wounds on his neck; the children of blows thrown with bad intentions.

DeVon hadn’t been superficially nicked; he’d been legitimately stabbed by a man who’d made several attempts to disrespect the mother of his child. Had he been a smaller man, there wouldn’t have been a joyful stairwell reunion. There wouldn’t have been joy at all.

But there we were, hugging like we’d won the championship. Considering the fact I was getting married and he was alive as opposed to not alive, I’d say we had. He asked if it was OK to keep his fitted on during the reception. I told him I knew people running the show and we could probably work that out.

Looking back, I suppose that moment could have made me more nervous. I mean, who wants to hold up the guy who got stabbed and came anyway? But I didn’t get more nervous. Whoever or whatever sent DeVon around that corner at that moment was telling me to settle down.

You’re surrounded by people who love you. There isn’t a cloud in the sky. The ocean is half a stone’s throw away. You and your groomsmen look cleeeeeeeeean. Not only was your friend not killed, he made it here with bells on. Relax.

In its patience and kindness, love showed its inimitable wisdom, knowing better than to mind the best-laid plans of directors and timelines.

ODDS FACT: Based on historical data, the odds a March day in Providence, Rhode Island will be clear are 1 in 3.88. It's much more likely to be cloudy (1 in 2.07) and/or rainy (1 in 2.58).

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