In May 1988, my friend Ellen and I went to New York City, from our home in Teaneck, N.J. New college grads, we took the A train from Port Authority to South Street Seaport. But getting back to the Port Authority was more complicated. The Fulton Street subway entrance was closed, and we saw some young men about our age looking confused too. We asked if we could follow them to an open entrance. When we got to the platform, they were taking the 6 to Grand Central and we were looking for the A Train to Port Authority. They said we could take the train with them and they would walk us to the shuttle. Or, they said pointing into the distance, the A train was somewhere in that direction. We started walking to the A Train, but thought better of it, turned around, and looked at the men on the platform dressed in suits and holding briefcases.
We decided it would be safer to take the 6 with them.
On the train, I had a lovely conversation with Bill, who I discovered had a good job, lived in Westchester, and loved the Mets. He gave me his business card with his home phone number. We went our separate ways. Unbeknownst to me, Bill went home and told his roommate that he had just met the next Mrs. Meyers.
But I was about to start a nine-week trip to Israel and Europe. I was conflicted. Should I call him or not? Around 9 a.m. the next morning, I called Ellen to discuss the matter. Her mother, who was in the room with Ellen, heard the conversation, and said, “Call! You have nothing to lose!” And so I did. We spoke on the phone for three hours. I told him when I was coming home. And while I was away, I sent him a postcard.
Also, while I was away, Bill got an assignment in Germany. He knew when I was coming home, and made sure to be in New York that weekend. But when I got home, I ran into an old friend, and he asked me out for the next evening. The next morning Bill called to ask me out and I had to say I was sorry, I had plans. He promised to call when he came home from Germany in November.
And he did. By then, I had moved to the city. He asked me to a movie and drinks, and I happily said yes. We had been dating for about two and a half years when Bill was sent to work in the South of France. That tested our relationship. Without cell phones or WiFi, we wrote letters and spoke on the phone once a week. I visited him twice.
Shortly after he got home, we got engaged and were married in November of 1992.
—Carol Meyers (married to Bill)
