30

-30-

A true story by Erick Sahler

In newspapering, -30- signifies the end of the story. It’s a holdover from the old “92 Code” adopted by Western Union in 1859, in which “30” meant “No more. The end.”

For a couple who met in a newsroom, and is marking its 30th wedding anniversary today, it seems a good time to celebrate not the end, but the beginning and middle. Here’s a list of some of our most memorable moments — 30, actually — from the journey so far.

— We were hired four weeks apart, she as a cub reporter and me as an illustrator, and our desks were in opposite corners of the newsroom. I once absent-mindedly tugged my earlobe and the managing editor accused me of sending her secret signals across the room.

— We each bought new red Honda CRXes with our first paychecks. It was kind of neat until we started sharing a driveway. Then it was silly.

— Our first official date was to the Library of Congress in Washington. She is way smarter than me. But conversation was easy and we made each other laugh.

— One night while dating, we had some drinks and then crawled on our hands and knees across US 13 in Fruitland.

— Another night, we “liberated” a metal newspaper box, hefted it up the stairs to my third-floor apartment, then felt guilty, hauled it back downstairs and returned it to its original location.

— Clowning around, I accidentally kicked her in the nose. After being momentarily stunned, she laughed. Another time, she poured a beverage over my head. I didn’t laugh, which shows she’s a better person than me. Eventually we began to settle down.

— Before cell phones and GPSes, we took a hike at Trap Pond, walked out of the woods onto a country road, then another, kept going until we were thoroughly lost. Another time on a hike, we were caught in a lightning storm on a Colorado mountaintop.

— We sailed across Chesapeake Bay on a deadrise workboat and slept overnight on its deck.

— We participated in the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Walk, which was a never-ending series of lines: to park, to board the bus, the long walk up and over the bridge and, many hours later, to board the bus to return to the parking lot. Finally back at our car, we were so hungry we devoured an entire box of Saltines. Whenever the Bridge Walk comes up, we look at each other, shake our heads and say, “Never again.”

— We shared a fold-out bed in the Presidential Suite at Disney’s Contemporary Resort for a week while celebrating with 11 other family members after my aunt won the Virginia Lottery.

— We purchased a tiny (750-square-foot!) five-room cottage in Delmar, where we became the first couple in our family to “live together.” We hosted regular dinner parties, made wine and eventually got married in the front yard, amid blooming azaleas.

— We bought her wedding gown for peanuts at a vintage boutique in Denver. She wore it once and looked stunning. Then we discarded it in a Dumpster at the Delmar transfer station.

— We returned a day early from our honeymoon to the Shenandoah Mountains after a freak spring snowstorm was forecast.

— One day in the mid-1990s, we took the train from Dublin to Belfast, and then another train deep into Northern Ireland. At the coast, we boarded a public school bus and rode until the last student got off, then walked the final stretch to arrive at Giant’s Causeway for sunset. We had the park to ourselves. It was magical, and I remember thinking nobody in the world knew where we were.

— We outgrew our little cottage and bought three acres near Shad Point, where my family has lived for 300 years.

— Under my dad’s guidance, we took a year designing our dream home. Then the three of us worked the next two years to build it. She and I painted every wall, ceiling, window frame, door, cabinet and piece of trim in our house.

— While at the newspaper, we scored some boondoggle travel in which we received the red-carpet treatment, including weekend trips to Cape May, Solomon’s Island and a round-trip cruise from Crisfield to Norfolk.

— We remained newsroom colleagues for eight years. On our last night working together, minutes before the end of her shift, there was a shooting on Church Street and the gunman was at large. As the editor in charge, I had to ask her to go out and cover the story for the next day’s paper. It was the hardest thing I ever did at work. Her too, I imagine.

— We were at a Philadelphia Phillies game watching kids chase foul balls the night we decided we were ready to become parents.

— I was with her — and my cousin, a nurse — for the birth of both our children.

— In addition to Alison and Molly, we’ve been “parents” to a foreign exchange student from Germany, a Delmarva Shorebird from Cuba, three Chesapeake Bay retrievers, a basset hound, a sheltie and a gray tabby.

— We have traveled all over: to the end of just about every road on Delmarva; to every state in the Lower 48; to Montreal, Nova Scotia and Newfoundland; to England, Ireland and Scotland; to Germany, France, Denmark and Norway. As much as we enjoy our journeys, we look forward to coming home even more.

— I like to drive and she likes to take pictures. Sometimes, without saying a word, I point at things and she photographs them. I call her a “drive-by shooter” and occasionally I speed up when I spy something good, just to test her.

— She makes the best crab cakes, steak, grilled salmon, spaghetti, meatloaf, cheesecake, pecan pie and maple ice cream I have ever tasted. She also cooks my grandmothers’ soup recipes for me. And her pina colada is damn fine. It’s my job to keep the grass cut, wash the dishes and open the champagne. Also, for the record, we both launder our own clothes.

— We have accompanied one another on work assignments in New York City, which would blow the minds of those kids who started their careers in a Salisbury newsroom.

— We attended dinner and a show with Noel Paul Stookey of the legendary folk trio Peter, Paul & Mary. Together we have also met the Smothers Brothers, Sam Donaldson and Annie Leibovitz.

— We spent the night (two, actually) in Norman Rockwell’s studio.

— We were on CBS’s “The Late Show” and our faces briefly shared the screen during a video cross-fade with host Stephen Colbert.

— We have both been the first thing the other has seen waking from anesthesia following surgery. It was a sight that filled me with joy. I hope she felt the same.

— She makes me laugh. I make her laugh. Still.

-30-

Under my dad’s guidance, we took a year designing our dream home. Then the three of us worked the next two years to build it. She and I painted every wall, ceiling, window frame, door, cabinet and piece of trim in our house.