Love blossoms (again) in a very familiar setting

Aug. 9, 2008
Chris Satullo
Inquirer columnist

Let me tell you a story I've told often of late. It usually leads men to say, "How about that?" and women to claim, "I have chills."

Let's start the tale on a September day 32 years ago, my first day of work in a newspaper newsroom, in a squat, yellow-brick building off Route 22 in Easton, Pa. I showed up eager, clueless, wearing a tie that in no way, shape or form went with my boldly striped shirt (go easy on me; it was the '70s).

A gruff editor told me to squat for the day at a vacant desk near the water fountain.

Crammed between this desk and the wall was a little half-desk, at which sat, furiously dialing for updates on a car accident, a slim young woman with reddish-brown hair, Irish skin and a flowered blouse. "Hmm," I thought, "She's kinda cute."

Today, after dozens of shared bylines and bottles of wine, not to mention 29 years of marriage and two kids, that's still my considered judgment on Eileen Ann Kenna.

One of those kids is a daughter, Sara. In a complete failure of parenting, we allowed Sara to get bedazzled by the struggling family trade, journalism. Two years ago, upon graduation from the University of Delaware, she sought employment in the tight newspaper market.

So, guess which paper offered her a job. Yep, the one where her parents had met, where as a toddler she'd played on the dingy rug beneath editors' desks, the one where she'd interned during one winter break, the Easton Express-Times.

Her first reaction was, "Anywhere but there. How pathetic would that be, going to my parents' paper?" Her second reaction, as student loan payments loomed and waitressing jobs beckoned, was "When do I start?"

Back on her first day at the E-T as a college intern, she'd grabbed an empty desk and begun working the phones. At one point, she felt a presence and looked up to see a handsome guy, with a scruffy, bass player's beard and wavy black hair. "Hi, I'm Nick. and you're at my desk," he said. She skedaddled.

When Sar returned to the Express-Times full-time, that guy was still there. You perhaps glimpse where this is going.

Sara and Nick started dating. And liking each other. A lot.

After a few months, Sara brought Nick to Philly to meet the 'rents. We went to dinner. A few facts became clear: Nick, like me, is Italian. Like me, he has roots in Cleveland, and roots for that city's feckless Browns. He, too, loves baseball and likes to hack it up around a golf course. He remains, despite all the layoffs and scandals, passionate and earnest about journalism. He even, like someone I know, refuses to wear a watch.

At that first dinner, he and I chatted about this and that, leaving Eileen and Sara to their own devices. After dinner, Nick and Sara went off in his car, and Eileen and I drove home. Somewhere on Kelly Drive, Eileen asked, "You ordered him on the Internet, didn't you?"

The spooky parallels mount. One time, Eileen dug up an old photo of the then-just-the-Express newsroom, circa 1982. Squinting at the snapshot, Nick said, "Wow, there's my desk, the same one." Sitting at that desk in the photo, unrecognizable to Nick, thanks to more hair, fewer pounds and eyeglasses the size of aviator goggles, was - of course - me. Thanks to a recent, richly
deserved promotion, Nick now has precisely the same title as I did when I left Easton.

Why relate this now? Well, last Monday, standing on a North Carolina beach at high noon, Nick Falsone asked my only daughter to marry him. To the shock of no one, she said yes. Bystanders in beach chairs applauded.

Nick, trained in the old-school ways by his father, Bill (who is, by the way, as bald as my dad was and just as much of a mensch), had journeyed to Philly last spring to meet secretly with Eileen and me. Almost too nervous for coherent speech, he asked for our daughter's hand. I considered responding with a deadpan "No way," but took pity. I shook his hand; Eileen hugged him. We are two lucky parents.

Now, our fondest wish for Nick is that his life parallel mine in the most important way of all: a long and insanely happy marriage.

Anyone know a good wedding planner?