Her mind drifted off, her hand still clutching a card, as she reflected on her first marriage, which ended two years before she met John. His name was Paul and he was a test pilot for the Navy in San Diego where she'd met him on a weekend yacht cruise from Monterey to San Diego. It was truly one of those rare 'love at first sight' occurrences that you read about in thirty-five cent magazines at bus stations. His square shoulders and red perky hair, that always stuck up in a cowlick, peeking out from the back of his head beneath the strict confines of his Navy hat, and his merry blue eyes, so typical of the Irish, struck her dead.
It was a week she would never forget! They'd met on Saturday and on Monday she called her friend and fellow stewardess, Trudy, and begged her, "Please, please, please, exchange schedules with me. I've met this knockout of a test pilot. He's with the Navy and he's such a hunk. God, Trudy, wait'til you see him!"
With thoughtful consideration, Trudy complied, and that very day Ann and Paul flew in his private plane to Reno where they were married. The honeymoon was spent at the honeymoon suite of the Harrah, breakfast delivered every morning, lunch every afternoon and dinner every evening, while the newspapers piled up outside of their hotel door, completely ignored. For three days they didn't leave the room, not even to try their luck at the tempting machines that clinked and clattered in the downstairs of their love bungalow. Frank Sinatra was opening in the very building, but they did not stir from the honey sweet love nest of their bedroom.