Sylvie met Stan when she was in her senior year at Hunter College. Her cousin Ethel, who was already married, had met him at a friend’s wedding and arranged for them to go on a date. Stan had attended New York University and graduated with a degree in accounting, then served two years in the army, avoiding overseas duty by becoming the company clerk to his commanding officer. When Sylvie met him, he was a fast-rising whiz kid working for a big accounting firm in Newark. Stan had his life all planned out by the age of twenty-five and had been looking for the right girl to accompany him on his journey: pretty, smart, good mother material, and a captivating hostess. Sylvie, with her smiling green eyes, dimples, English degree, and sweet personality, would fill the bill. And then there was his irresistible enthusiasm. Stan bowled her over with his nonstop sweet talk and plans for the future.

There’d been only one glitch. Although he’d been raised by “high holiday Jews,” Stan didn’t believe in religion and wanted a civil wedding, but with both sets of parents campaigning and Sylvie none too happy about a secular wedding, he finally agreed to have a Jewish ceremony. They were married at the Statler Hotel in New York on a warm Sunday in July. It had been all that Sylvie had wanted, with Stan cracking jokes after the ceremony about holding some chits for a later time.

Stan was a good husband and father. He continu