Four Weddings and a Fundraiser

Yes, I know it's been far too long between posts.

I know this because my sister Jennifer will usually call me after a certain period of time has elapsed and whisper into my ear, "Um, I think you need to blog again." But I don't need Jennifer to tell me this. It's been a very busy month--one which started with our annual fundraiser, Photo Marathon, not to mention four consecutive weddings and oodles of portrait sessions. I love to keep this blog, as you all know, but the folks at the Dep't. of Tail Wagging The Dog keep reminding me that it's the taking of photos--not the writing about the taking of photos--that pays the bills around this joint. Hence the slight delay in posts.

So let's get right to the great news: Photo Marathon '07 was a huge success. In one day of shooting portraits we raised....(drum roll, please)....$10,800! Yup, that's right. Today I had the pleasure of mailing two FedEx envelopes containing the entire proceeds to two very deserving families. The children of Capt. Christopher Petty and Capt. Brian Freeman, both killed in Iraq, will have those funds to use for their college educations. All four children are very young and it's my hope that this money will have ample time to grow in the bank.

Photo Marathon would not have been possible without the kindness of all of you who took part--including those who couldn't be present at the studio but still sent in donations. Every year I do this I'm truly floored by the generosity I witness. Whether former brides and grooms, friends and neighbors or total strangers, people always rise to the occasion.

For the first time we even had a little media coverage! Fox News and Newschannel8 both came out and did little features on Photo Marathon. We also had some very special visitors: Capt. Petty's dad happened to be in D.C. that morning and stopped by, moving all of us to tears as we watched some home movies Chris had made in Iraq. Later in the day his mom stopped by as well. We thank them both.

For any of you who still want to help out, you can always mail a check payable to either the Owen and Oliver Petty College Fund or the Brian Freeman Memorial Fund to me at: Matt Mendelsohn Photography, 3823 N. Chesterbrook Road, Arlington, VA 22207. I'm more than happy to forward them along.

(You'll remember that Capt. Freeman spent months trying to secure a visa for a little Iraqi boy who needed heart surgery in America. And Capt. Petty was involved in school rebuilding at the time of his death. You can still read this emotional piece about Capt. Freeman here in the Washington Post, as well as this follow up story about Charlotte Freeman meeting the boy, Ali, after his successful surgery in New York. And for more information about Capt. Petty, please go here.)

Photo Marathon kicked off October with a bang. That same weekend I had the pleasure of photographing the wedding of Samantha Sterling and Chris McCormack in downtown Baltimore. As I walked into Sam's hotel room and saw her adjusting her dress underneath this striking painting hanging on the wall, I knew things were going to be great. It reminded me of a perfect scene straight out of Vermeer.

After a ceremony at St. Leo's in Fells Point, we all headed over to the Peabody Library, the site of my sister's wedding many years ago, for a great reception. If you haven't been there, the Peabody is really one of the most stunning venues in this area. Floor upon floor of bookstacks, crowned with a gorgeous conservatory ceiling, it is simply breathtaking.

A few months back, after shooting their engagement picture, I wrote about how much respect I have for nurses like Sam. Their dedication and professionalism is always something I admire. It was a pleasure returning the favor.

Next up was the wedding of Jennifer Dlouhy and Christopher Doering. Jennifer is a journalist and it was fun bumping into my friend--and great photographer-- Linda Creighton at St. Peter's on Capitol Hill. (St. Peter's is one of my favorite churches for purely selfish reasons: it is bright and airy inside, a stark contrast to most other Catholic churches of that era.)

Like Chris and Sam, Jen and Chris opted for a classic reception venue, the grandeur of the headquarters of the Daughters of the American Revolution. A stone's throw from the White House, DAR is a regal place for a wedding if ever there was. Guests drank cocktails outside, always in the shadow of the Washington Monument. And as the sun started to set, Jen and Chris danced their first dance amid the soaring white columns of the portico. It's no wonder the producers of The West Wing used to use DAR as a White House stunt double!

And we're only halfway!

The next day was a new experience for me. After ten years, one thinks he's seen every venue Washington has to offer, but that wasn't the case with the wedding of Sarah Greenberger and Matthew Engel. They threw me for a loop by choosing the fantastic Music Center at Strathmore. Located in North Bethesda, Strathmore Music Center is a 1,976 seat concert hall, home to the Baltimore Symphony and its dynamic new conductor, Marin Alsop. The first woman to lead a major American concert orchestra, Alsop has re-energized the BSO. (I had to laugh, too, when I read in the program that she's a big fan of John Adams' incredible opera Nixon in China. Name aside, it's one of my favorite works. I listen to it constantly, though it drives Maya crazy. If she could just get past the name, I think she'd love it.)

Anyway, Sarah and and Matt had a glorious day for their outdoor ceremony. It's been absurdly hot this fall in Washington, a trend that forebodes terrible things for our gardens and lawns but has provided for a rain-free streak of weddings going back several months. Lucky for everyone, the ceremony was late in the afternoon, just as the temperatures found a perfect comfort level. And as Sarah was led down the aisle by her mother and father, the setting sun (notice a trend here?) perfectly backlit her veil, providing one of those moments where I whisper to myself, my Canon 5D clicking along, "Ohhh, this is killer light."

(One other thing: I am the last person you want commenting on fashion. The folks at Project Runway would gasp if they knew that my wardrobe, outside of weddings, consisted of mainly jeans and t-shirts. But I have to say that Sarah had one of the most beautiful dresses I've seen in a long time. Bucking the strapless trend of the last few years, it was something right out of a Greek myth. Way cool.)

Okay, gang, almost there!

I can't forget the fabulous Virginia wedding of Christina Princi and Michael Outten, who were married on October 13. Both graduates of Mr. Jefferson's university, Michael and Christina had a UVA blowout, culminating, quite amusingly, with all the guests dancing the Virginia Reel, a dance that dates back to 1695! (My sister, also a UVA grad, would have explained the whole thing to me. She was a guide back in her Charlottesville days.)

So stay with me: it is hard enough for a DJ to keep everyone happy at a reception. After all, some folks like Cole Porter while others prefer hip-hop and rock. And it's not the easiest thing in the world transitioning from "I Get a kick Out of You" to "Sweet Home, Alabama." So if you told me that someone could get an entire wedding reception to stop dancing to "I Will Survive" and start do-si-do'ing to Thomas Jefferson's favorite line dance, the hot, hot, hot Virginia Reel, I would said you were crazy. But it happened.

Thanks to the energy of one of Michael and Christina's college friends, who looked like he was going to have a coronary as he shouted instructions to guests, everyone learned the required steps. And those steps, I should add, are far more complicated than your average Arthur Murray routine. I was trying to focus but I could swear I heard instructions to "stare your partner down like a bull." Maybe I got it wrong. Anyway, my first thought upon seeing this commotion was to echo the words of my four-year-old, Alexandra, whose favorite saying these days is "this is not going to be good." But you know what? It was great. People were, as they say, a-whoopin and a-hollerin. Thomas Jefferson would have been proud.

And there you have it: four weddings and a fundraiser. Not a bad three weeks!

Once again, a big thanks to everyone involved in Photo Marathon. We'll do it all again next year, hopefully under the auspices of our new 501(c)(3), The Bronia Fund, named in memory of my twelve-year-old cousin killed in the Holocaust. Look for details here.

Thanks for reading, and, as always, double-click the images for better viewing.




Matt

Something in the water

When Scott Claffee and Lily Fu told me many months ago that they were planning on getting married on the Jersey Shore, my ears pricked up a bit. When she was twelve, my wife Maya and her mom moved back from their home in Athens, Greece. Though they settled in Port St. Lucie, Florida, they spent many a summer on the Jersey Shore, the stomping grounds of Maya's grandparents, Joseph and Gladys Catenaci.

Joseph Catenaci, who turns a healthy 94 today, was in the construction business after World War II, among many other things, building sewers and jetties on Long Beach Island. (He also worked on the Verazzano Narrows Bridge, which I think is incredibly cool.) Known simply as LBI these days, Long Beach Island was, in 1948, a far cry from what we now think of when someone says "Jersey Shore." Largely undeveloped back then, Grandpa Catenaci and his workmen would stay at the only hotel on the island that was open all year long, Wida's, which is no longer there.

(Oddly, I'm told the toughest time on the island was after the Storm of '62, the year I happened to have been born. My mother always told me that I was born in a blizzard, on Long Island, so I'm sure it must have been that same storm.)

Even today, after decades of development, Long Beach Island is still a much simpler place than its counterparts like Asbury Park in the north or Atlantic City to the south. Other than the occasional Ben and Jerry's or 7-Eleven, just about every restaurant and store on LBI is family owned and operated. There is no Chili's, no Applebees, no McDonalds.

So when Scott and Lily told me they were contemplating a shore wedding, I asked them where exactly?

Long Beach Island, they said excitedly.

Well, add another notch in the serendipity belt.

It turns out that Scott's family has deep roots in Long Beach Island as well. For decades, they've been coming to the same tiny cottage originally purchased by his grandparents, Charles and Florence Peterson. And when I say cottage, I mean cottage. If you've ever been to Corrolla, on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, and have stayed in one of the beautiful homes on the ocean that sleep 34, shake your head and erase your memory. Long Beach Island doesn't have homes that sleep 34. In fact, some of the homes are so tiny--perfectly preserved artifacts of a post-war era--that they barely sleep 3.4. And that's what makes them so charming.

Scott's family comes back each year to the Cum-a-Dee, named so because when his grandfather's grandfather, with a thick accent, would call to one of his grandchildren to "come to me," it would come out as simply as "cum-a-dee."

Scott's grandfather, known affectionately as Pop-Pop, the same term of endearment that my daughter refers to her great-grandfather with, passed away earlier this year. But given that he was such a fixture on Long Beach Island, one can only assume that he and Maya's grandfather surely must have crossed paths at some point, during one summer or another. After all, they both were born in the same year, 1913, and both married for a period of time that often feels like a typo: Charles and Florence for seventy years, Joe and Gladys for seventy-two. Seventy-two years! There must be something in the water.

The morning of Scott and Lily's wedding, on a glorious off-season beach day, I drove down the island a bit, to the Holgate section, where Maya's grandfather once lived. I wanted to take a photo of his last house. I knew I was close when I saw the street sign for "Joan Road." After all, the "Joan" of Joan Road is my mother-in-law, Joan Vastardis. It's neat to have a street named for you.

(Two weeks ago, in a post here, I joked about the mysterious circumstance surrounding how Maya and her mom came into possession of the street sign from their neighborhood in Athens. I have since been assured that there was nothing nefarious about its acquisition. Apparently the sign was in a pile of construction rubble. As for Joan Road, well, that sign is municipal property.)

I drove a block or so further and came upon a group of older men, all laughing as they chatted. I asked them if they knew which house once belonged to Joe Catenaci and they laughed.

"All of them!" one joked.

We talked for a while and they shared some nice stories.

"Joe Catenaci was the only man to ever say anything nice about my boat," one remarked. I though that was sweet. One of the other men described him as "the prince" of LBI. I got out my cell phone and called my mother-in-law so she could say hello. Small world.

Lily and Scott were married later that day. As we drove from the church to the reception, a hip hotel named Daddy-O, I tried to avoid flying out of Scott's brother's convertible. I've learned from my daughter that it's hard to take pictures while standing backwards on a carousel. It's even harder to stand backwards in a moving car, on a windy day, while trying to photograph a bride and groom. It seems fun, but it's actually quite tricky.

During their dinner, as the sun set on the sound side of the island, we made a quick decision to try and get a picture. Luckily, the distance on some parts of Long Beach island from ocean to sound is about, oh, one quarter of a mile. We raced across the street and with not more than sixty seconds to spare made a beautiful picture. A minute later we would have missed it.

The morning after the wedding, I stopped into Ferarra's Bakery (the yellowed newspaper clipping on the wall from decades earlier told me this place has seen a lot of history) and bought some of their "famous" stuffed breads. I then met up with Scott, Lily and the whole Claffee clan outside the Cum-a-dee. We took some pictures on the beach and I began the drive back to D.C., glad to have had this brief nostalgic weekend.

Today, while mentioning this column to my mother-in-law, she laughed at the mention of Wida's, that island hotel where her father had stayed so many nights, so many decades ago.

"You know what Daddy-O used to be, don't you? That used to be Wida's!"

Small world.


Matt



























p.s. Stay tuned for a wrap-up of last week's Photo Marathon, a great success! And as always, double-click on the images for better viewing.

Happy birthday, Grandpa!!