Terry Marshall and Ann Garretson Marshall
“A love story you’ll never forget.”
– Hope Edelman, #1 New York Times best-selling author of Motherless Daughters
A Rendezvous to Remember
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    1 day ago

    FLASH-BACK WEEKENDWhat a week: Thanksgiving, yes, but wow, I fell into a time machine: Friday night, MSNBC zipped me back into late 2019, back to the hearings that led to Trump’s first impeachment. Hard to believe it has been two years.Nicolle Wallace interviewed both Dr. Fiona Hill and Lt. Colonel Alex Vindman. What a pair: bright, articulate, fearless, and committed. Here’s what we posted two years ago in the middle of those hearings. It all came back this week:We’re not TV critics, but, boy did we see some riveting television last week: the impeachment hearings—day after day of insights, details, and facts. Courageous testimony countered by buffoonery, distortion, and innuendo. What a show!Three full days of spellbinding testimony—more than enough to keep us awake every night.Our main takeaways (leaving aside the question of the president’s culpability):  Renewed pride in the talent, intellect, professionalism, and patriotism of the men and women in America’s foreign service—and, our too-often maligned federal bureaucracy. Renewed appreciation that we are a nation of immigrants—special thanks to Ms. Hill, Ambassador Yovanovitch, and Lt. Colonel Vindman, outstanding Americans all.Here’s to Fiona Hill, Alex Vindman, George Kent, Marie Yovanovitch, Bill Taylor, David Holmes, and Laura Cooper. These men and women had the courage to defy their political bosses who directed them to remain silent about what they had seen and heard. And they’re still at it—public servants of the best order!—Terry ... See MoreSee Less
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    4 days ago

    NOVEMBER 25: A DAY TO CELEBRATE . . . BUT ALSO A DAY TO MOURN Today’s my birthday, so it’s not a day I’ll forget.My 80th! (Whoa, how did eight-tenths of a century fly by so fast?)But more importantly, today is Thanksgiving—a day to celebrate, to be with family, to rejoice.But it’s also a day that everyone in our generation remembers as if it were yesterday: in 1963, November 25 was on a Monday. It was the day we buried President John F. Kennedy.All of us—Americans everywhere—came out of that weekend with images burned into our souls: Jacqueline Kennedy as stoic as she was elegant. Little John-John at attention, saluting his dead father. The white horses pulling the President’s flag-draped caisson up Pennsylvania Avenue to the cadence of muffled drums. The riderless black stallion, stirrups holding empty backwards-facing riding boots. Lee Harvey Oswald’s contorted face as Jack Ruby’s bullet struck him. An endless do-loop of anguish throughout that weekend.We all ached with our own personal grief.Annie’s and mine was the assassination of a visionary president who created the Peace Corps. In 1961, after Kennedy’s inauguration, if you had asked me to state my most important goal in life, I would have said, “to join the Peace Corps.” JFK had touched me personally when he said, “Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.” Within weeks, I had applied, and been accepted to go to Colombia in June. But in April, my father was killed in a car accident. Mom was left hobbled by her injuries, and my brothers and sister were so young, I couldn’t leave them for two years.Worse, I had to turn down later Peace Corps offers to serve in Venezuela, then Thailand. For years, I felt as if I’d betrayed the pledge I’d made silently to JFK by not joining the Peace Corps.. As fate would have it, I finally kept that pledge, and served for 7 years—as a Volunteer in the Philippines, country co-director in the Solomon Islands, and a staff member in the Washington, DC headquarters. But those are different stories . . . we’ll save them for another day.The salient question here is, Where were you on that terrible weekend of November 22-25, 1963? What are your recollections—or impressions—of those life-altering days? ... See MoreSee Less
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    1 week ago

    THE WEEK AHEAD:DAYS TO CELEBRATE . . . AND TO MOURNNovember 22, 1963: a date burned forever into the memories of an entire American generation.Boulder, Colorado, Ann’s memory:I had been sorting my University of Colorado dormitory’s mail when I heard crying in the foyer on the other side of the mailboxes. I was used to girls reacting to their mail—some happy, some heartbroken—but this was different. I peeked out. Two girls were clinging to each other like they’d seen Banquo’s ghost. “You girls okay?”One of them looked at me like I was a dunce, then wailed, “They shot the president!” . .I strained to form words, You, you mean . . . “Pr- President Kennedy?” “I don’t want to die!” she wailed.Incomprehensible! I locked the mailroom, found the dorm mother glued to the TV in the lobby. I slumped down beside her, sat like that until Walter Cronkite announced the president had died “. . . at 1:30 p.m. Dallas Time.” I called Terry. He’d been trying to call me. “I’ll be right over,” he said. —Ann Garretson, A RENDEZVOUS TO REMEMBER, chapter 10, “Flirting with the Past.”§Boulder, Colorado, Terry’s memory:I bounded into the University of Colorado School of Journalism reading room for a late sack lunch. Friday again. Another lonely weekend lay ahead.Sarah Abrams, now my ex-lover, grabbed me, pulled me into the typewriter lab, and closed the door. Her cheeks were tear-stained. I’d never seen her cry; she was too tough.“They’ve killed President Kennedy,” she said.That’s how I found out. From Sarah. In the J-School basement. At exactly 12:42 p.m. Running into her after we’d broken up two weeks earlier had been awkward. But that afternoon we held each other shamelessly, locked together as one, this time in shock, not lust.Over that endless four-day week, it wasn’t Sarah I comforted, however. Or who comforted me. After Sarah took off, I called Annie. All afternoon, she and I wandered benumbed through campus, uanable to fathom the news from Dallas . . .—Terry Marshall, A RENDEZVOUS TO REMEMBER, chapter 2, “Hungry Lions, Circling”§Camp Whalen, Germany, Jack Sigg, as told by Ann: “Tom and I hang out in the command post. 7:15 or so, we break out MREs for dinner. “We’re shooting the breeze, listening to Ray Charles: ‘I Can’t Stop Loving You’ on AFN. I love that song.” Jack shot me a glance. “The announcer breaks in: ‘We have just received this word from Dallas, Texas . . .’” Jack’s voice dropped. He was steely-eyed, grasping a make-believe mike. “‘President Kennedy has been shot. He has been taken to Parkland Memorial Hospital.’” —Jack Sigg, as told by Ann Garretson Marshall, A RENDEZVOUS TO REMEMBER, chapter 10, “Flirting with the Past.”For the full stories, see: bit.ly/30z7BhZ ... See MoreSee Less
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    Aeii, Time’s Running Out!
    May 26, 1964, Boulder, Colorado. Time’s running out! Annie leaves next week for Europe. She’ll be gone all summer . . . with that stud lieutenant in Germany. How did we ever get ourselves into this fix?—Terry https://terryannmarshall.com/the-rendezvous-log/

    A Fine Parting Shot
    May 29, 1964, Boulder, Colorado. It took some cajoling, but Annie let me take a glamour shot of her. Her response: “OK, if it’s the Clothed Maja you want me to model and not that au naturel one you’re always raving about.”—Terry https://terryannmarshall.com/the-rendezvous-log/

    Saturday, May 16, 1964, Boulder, Colorado. Terry: On this day, 57 years ago, our excursion to Boulder Creek etched an image in my mind that will live forever: Lucky me. I saw Botticelli’s Birth of Venus come to life. #ARendezvoustoRemember https://terryannmarshall.com/relive-the-memories-with-us/

    Our fingers touched, as if drawn together by magnets. Electricity sizzled. Not as profound as God giving Adam the spark of life, but palpable enough to kindle a warm burn in the pit of my stomach. —Ann, Ch02, A Rendezvous to Remember, https://terryannmarshall.com/glimpses-quotes-of-note/

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