I’ve written before about my late husband, Charlie King, but always as the hero, raconteur, and adorable spouse that he was. Not as the victim of my tyrannical manipulations, which he also was.

No. No. No. This isn’t a confession. My tyranny was pretty benevolent, and I got a great kick out of it. We both did. But I was a little sneaky. Thing is … I loved making my handsome, masculine, rescue-people-from-burning-buildings-and-apprehend-evil-arsonists husband cry.

It started out with a newsclip on TV. This was many years ago, and I’m not sure who was president at the time, but the camera captured him in a V.A. Hospital approaching a severely wounded warrior. As he came to a halt beside the bed, the young man’s eyes fluttered open, met the eyes of the Commander in Chief, and through his pain, he hoarsely whispered, “Semper Fi.”

For those not familiar with the Latin phrase, Semper Fidelis is the Marine Corps motto, and means “Always Faithful.”

Charlie saw that newsclip. And next thing you know, tears were streaming down his face. I noticed, and loved it. Being of an emotional nature myself (I cry at Hallmark card commercials), I had just realized that my new husband was as susceptible to sentiment and heroics as I was.

Which was almost too good to be true, as there is nothing more fun to share with the man you love than a good cry. I grinned inwardly, and planned a three-pronged campaign. It wasn’t a test, and there was no grading system. Nor was there a “win” or “lose” decision at the end of the experiment.

But we hadn’t been married long, and I was curious about what else we had in common. My first exposure to “essence of Charlie” occurred when I was researching a book about arson, and had gotten permission from the FDNY to ride with Supervising Fire Marshal King’s surveillance squad. I was sitting in the backseat of his squad car and Charlie was driving. It was around 3:00 a.m., and they were patrolling the Upper West Side for arson-related crimes. Up 10th Avenue. Down 11th Avenue. East on 54th Street. West on 55th Street. And as I peered out the car’s window observing the local flora and fauna, I noticed dozens and dozens of hookers lining the avenues. Shocked and saddened, I said, without thinking “I feel so sorry for them. What a terrible life!”

And Charlie – I had only known him for 5 hours by then – instead of responding with something condescending or lewd, as I would have expected from most men … in real life, in movies, or on TV … quietly mused, “They are subjected to every kind of degradation and abuse.” Then he repeated what I had said. “A terrible life.”

Tip of the iceberg.

But I was slow on the uptake, and it took me another Two Whole Weeks to fall in love with him! However, now that we were married, I was curious to probe deeper into what made my new husband tick. So, I began my experiment: we would watch three wonderful old movies. Ones that always made me cry. And I would see if they made Charlie cry, too.

First, A TREE GROWS IN BROOKLYN. This 1945 movie, based on Betty’s Smith’s book, tells the story of the Nolan family through the eyes of 12-year-old Franny Nolan, a sweet girl being raised on the rough and tumble streets of Brooklyn in 1912. Franny loves books and vows to read "a book a day in alphabetical order and not skipping the dry ones." Her family is so poor, her tummy growls at the sight of a piece of pie. She adores her Aunt Sissy, who marries one man after the other, without bothering to get divorced in between, and she loves her charming, weak, alcoholic father, Johnny Nolan – a singing waiter who can’t support his family but has a beautiful soul.

The book’s title is explained in its preface, where “the Tree of Heaven” serves as an analogy for Brooklyn’s immigrant poor.

“It grows in boarded-up lots and out of neglected rubbish heaps. It grows up out of cellar gratings. It is the only tree that grows out of cement. It grows lushly … survives without sun, water, and seemingly without earth. It would be considered beautiful except that there are too many of them.”

I always cry twice when I watch the movie. First when Franny’s father (who had died months earlier) somehow manages to deliver a bouquet of white roses for her to carry at her high school graduation. And last, after the local policeman, Officer McShane, proposes marriage to Franny’s widowed mother, and offers to adopt her new baby. Standing on their tenement rooftop looking out at the city, Franny says to her brother Neeley, “Annie Laurie McShane. She’ll never have the hard times we had … will she?”

Neeley responds, “She’ll never have the fun either.”

And my tears start to pour. I stole a look at Charlie, and … yep. True to form, that dear, dear man was crying, too!

Next on my list was PRIDE OF THE YANKEES, about Lou Gehrig: nicknamed “The Iron Horse” because, for 56 years, he held the record for most consecutive baseball games played. What makes this movie tug so ferociously at the heart is the nobility, humility, and decency of Lou Gehrig … and the speech he gives at the end of his career as he retires from baseball, after he discovers that he is dying of  amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. Iterated by Gary Cooper, who beautifully plays Gehrig, he tells the crowd gathered to honor him at Yankee Stadium, “People will say that I’ve had a bad break, but today … today …I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.”

I don’t even have to glance at Charlie to know that he is keeping up with me – tear for tear.

The third movie we watched together was THE THORN BIRDS, based on the novel by Colleen  McCullough. In this 1983 mini-series, the sorrows, trials and tribulations of the Cleary family, who live on a prosperous sheep ranch in the Australian Outback, are showcased. The story takes us from the 1920s to the 1960s, and revolves around Meggie Cleary, a sad unloved child, and handsome Father Ralph de Bricassart, the lonely but ambitious priest who befriends and protects Meggie … before he irrevocably breaks her heart.

As the movie progresses, little Meggie becomes a beautiful young woman, and Father Ralph’s paternal love for her transforms into passion. Ralph has devoted his life to God, but he also loves Meggie. And Meggie? Well, she loves Ralph with an intensity and devotion that bespeaks Grand Opera. However, Ralph will not give up the Church to marry her. So, Meggie (sensibly) hates God.

Lust. Rejection. Passion. Requited love. Unrequited love. A real mess and a marvelous tangle, accompanied by Henry Mancini’s glorious score and the underlying theme that LOVE, regardless of the cost, is worth the effort and the pain: Or …as Coleen McCullough tells us:

“There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above its own agony to out-carol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain… Or so says the legend.”

The movie ends. Charlie and I are weeping. Our hearts break, and I smile. Satisfied. A perfect husband is a blessing and a joy. But one who will also cry with you at the movies? Sigh. Double sigh. Triple sigh.

It just doesn’t get any better than that.

Copyright © Shelly Reuben, 2024. Shelly Reuben’s books have been nominated for Edgar, Prometheus, and Falcon awards. For more about her writing, visit www.shellyreuben.com