Please join me in wishing my wife, Amy, a happy birthday. We have been partners, friends and lovers for nearly 50 years and will celebrate our 48th wedding anniversary in five months.
Amy S. Davis and I met in 1977 when she was asked to appear as the “working professional actress” in a charity melodrama in Alton, Illinois, just up the Mississippi River from St. Louis. She had been the resident heroine on the Goldenrod Showboat on the downtown riverfront, right below the Gateway Arch and had appeared in films and commercials after studying drama and theater at Southern Illinois University.
I was, at the time, a reporter, photographer and columnist for The Alton Telegraph daily newspaper and, because many of my columns stirred controversy, the Alton Little Theater asked me to appear as the villain in the charity melodrama. I did so, gladly. As a young single man who drove a British convertible sports car and had a reputation as a womanizer, I asked the stunningly attractive actress for a date.
She turned me down, making it clear that she had no desire to go out with me. Seems I had, a year or so earlier, come to party at the university housing complex with a coed who showed up without being invited. The coed, she said, had a trashy reputation. Also, I had reviewed a play, Marat Sade, that she had appeared in and she didn’t care for what I wrote.
Despite her feelings, we worked well together in rehearsals for the melodrama. One night, after reheearsal, her car would not start. I tired to fix what appeared to be an electrical problem but did not have the proper tools, so I offered to take her home. Neither of us had taken time for dinner, so I suggested we stop at a neighborhood spot for some food and libation. Talking at the bar, she asked me about the “trashy” coed and I answered that the evening she saw us at the party was the first and only date we had together. In talking, we found we had a lot in common and, later, ended up making out in my car with the top up and rain pouring down. Amy later blamed some of what happened that evening it on the “White Russian” cocktails she consumed. We had a good time, became friends and more.
By the time the melodrama was presented, we were a couple. At the cast party afterwards, we were toasted, noting that this was probably the only time in the history of melodramas where the villain got the heroine. In 1979, we married. A second union for both of us. Some of our friends wondered if it would last a year. They were wrong.
We continued to work in our chosen professions. She appeared in plays and directed some others. In 1981, we left Alton and moved to the National Capital Region of Washington, DC, where we lived in a condo in Arlington County. I said we might spend a year or two there. I worked for a few years for members of Congress but returned to journalism in 1994 as a contact photojournalist with worldwide assignments.
Amy worked on drama and commercial projects and as a buyer for May Department Stores. A later project, she worked with Al Pacino and others to honor Lee Stasberg for his role as an acting coach and mentor for many stars, including Pacino, Robert De Niro and others. She also returned to the St. Louis area to direct plays. When her work took her to New York City, I might return from an overseas assignment and come to Manhattan for a weekend with her.
Sometimes, she came with me on overnight trips, visiting London, Rome, Israel and other locations. We celebrated New Year’s Eve in London, Manhattan and Washington, DC. We attended the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, had dinner with legendary photographer Annie Leibovitz.
At dinner with former Gov. John Connolly, who was shot along with President John F. Kennedy in 1963., he told us, after a few too many drinks that he didn’t believe a word of the “official” report on the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in 1963. Amy asked the governor why he didn’t go public with the concerns but he said “I love this country too much to do so.”
“We’ve sure been around a lot of history,” she said after that dinner.
Amy helped me battle the beast of alcoholism that threatened our marriage and my health. She, with friends, set up an “intervention” that made me take the first step towards sobriety. As this is written, I have been sober for 32 years, one month and eight days.
For nearly 50 years, we have seen a lot of history and have had far more good times than bad.
Happy Birthday my love. I would not be here without your help, love and support. Thank you for it all.