I Met My True Love in Wildwood

Joe & Pat Russo in their home of 55 years	Joe & Pat’s engagement picture	Joe & Pat at Ft. Meade

I have listened to the story dozens of times yet I never tire of hearing it again. Even the alternate version - the one created by my father to extricate a laugh from his children (and now his grandchildren) that tells of how he, while deeply embroiled in the “Battle of Baltimore” campaign while a member of the U.S. Army, sought refuge in a nightclub along the harbor and spotted a certain beautiful dancer - has a soft spot. Of course, we all knew that it was just Dad telling tall tales and my mother, ever the good sport, always rolled her eyes and smiled.

Truthfully, the manner in which my parents, Patricia Bush and Joseph Russo, met is a tale set in Wildwood in the early 1950’s featuring an aspiring fashion model and a dental student at Georgetown University whose family just so happened to run a popular nightclub and dining establishment here in town. They are still going strong and I, the oldest child, am fortunate to have been around for the greater part of their union, and they have always been a source of inspiration for me. So, over dinner one night at our home, I gladly listened once again as they recounted how they both met their true love in Wildwood:

“Now, don’t go telling the story of the Battle of Baltimore,” says my mother as we gather around the dining room table.

With perfect timing Dad responds, “In a cage! That’s where she was.” to the booming laughter of our son Joseph, who prefers his grandfather’s version over all others.

“I was a sample model in the garment district in New York City,” my mother begins, to set the record straight. “In 1953 and I came back to Clermont for the summer to be with my mother. I got a job at the Ruth Feld Shop, which was on Pacific Avenue, and your aunts, Bianca, Moffie, and Rae used to come in all of the time.

“After we got to know each other they started to ask me who I was dating and, if not, could they fix me up with somebody? It came down to their brother, (your dad), or their nephew Gordon and Gordon was too short for me so they set me up on a blind date with Dad.”

“I borrowed my sister Bianca’s pale blue Chevy convertible,” said my Dad, picking up the story, “because my car was a piece of junk. I was in dental school at Georgetown University back then.” He turns to my mother. “Do you remember what shirt I was wearing?”

“Yes, it was Hawaiian,” she answers, “and it was hanging out of your pants. I was used to dating men in New York who never dressed like that. And...,” she adds with emphasis, “...there he was in his crepe sole shoes!”

“You never let that go, do you?’ “We drove up to the Venice Restaurant in Atlantic City. Dad ordered a seafood combination which he sent back because it had a lobster tail on it.” “... I ate so much lobster back then that I lost my taste for it.”

“Soon I was incorporated into the fold at The Gingham Club as a waitress, even though I was only nineteen. Reds Maxwell and all of the old commissioners of Wildwood used to come in all the time and they would always ask me how old I was. They knew I wasn’t twenty-one, but they looked the other way.

“Your dad was still in dental school and he became ill with hepatitis and lost a lot of time. Then he was drafted into the Army- seven times.”

“That was during the Korean War,” adds my father, “and they always classified me as 4f because of my bad knee. My mother was so distraught over the thought of me being deployed that she tried to call The White House to intervene. Finally, the seventh time I was drafted, it stuck, because by then they were taking anybody, even if you were missing a limb.”

“Dad was stationed at Fort Meade in Maryland (hence the origin of the fictional account) and I would drive down to see him and bring a couple of his female cousins along. We always brought a ton of food from the restaurant.”

Dad smiles and nods in recollection. “I used to sell chances to date one of my cousins and the guys used to snap them up because they knew if they won they were going to get a good meal as well. I also raffled off the hoagies they used to bring me. I had a pretty good thing going!”

“We started dating seriously in the spring of 1954,” said my mother. Then, one night, six weeks later, I was babysitting for your Aunt Moffie at their house on 26th Street in North Wildwood and your dad came over and proposed to me.”

“Six months later,” Dad corrects.

“No. It was six weeks,” says Mom firmly to end the debate.

“By then,” Dad continues, “I was out of the Army and my father wanted to retire. ‘Make up your mind,’ he said, ‘whether you want to go back to school or not.’ I decided to stay and he gave me the entire business. That’s when I brought your aunts into it. I just couldn’t run that entire business alone.”

“He didn’t give me an engagement ring right away,” declared my mother, “and I thought that I was going to get it on Easter Sunday. That morning we all got orchids to wear to mass...and no ring. After mass...no ring. Then we had dinner at the Gingham Club...no ring...everyone congratulated us...no ring...there was a champagne toast and we raised our glasses...and the ring was in the glass.”

“You copied!” exclaimed my wife Carla. (I did)

“We couldn’t get married right away,” Mom continued, “because his sister Marie had passed away and there was a year of mourning. Then Nanny Russo stated that we couldn’t get married until the fall - after ‘The Season!’ So, we picked October 1st.

“We were married at the old St. Ann’s Parish on Pacific Avenue. It was a huge wedding. We had thirteen attendants. If you could walk and carry flowers, you were in the wedding.”

“Well, I WAS the only son,” says Dad, in his own defense.

“We had breakfast at the restaurant and then two receptions at the Manor Hotel in North Wildwood; 250 people at the first one and 200 at the second. We stayed up all night opening envelopes. Then we drove up to Niagra Falls but it was so cold we decided to go down to the Poconos.”

“We found a room at the old Onowa Lodge,” says Dad, “and we ran into a bunch of people from Wildwood. Al and Doris Menz were there and Keith and Evelyn Rasmussen, and some others whom I can’t recall, and we had a great time. Then we came home and Will Morey built our house on the lot that my mother and father gave us as a wedding gift and we moved in December of that year.”

Mom settles back into her chair. “And now, here we are, fifty-five years later; five children, thirteen grandchildren, and FOUR great-grandchildren. Can you believe that?”

And they join hands and smile at one another in a way that only two people who have shared a lifetime together can.