Finally they out the big "wedding" cake. Nat and Lil kiss. It is a long kiss, and she shuts her eyes. The accordion plays "Here Comes the Bride" again and many stand up to toast.

My grandfather makes a speech: "In fifty years of marriage, it's the first time my wife and I are sitting in the same room and I have a chance to talk. . . . I'd like to say in the few years since we moved to Florida, we've been very fortunate to meet some very nice people who've made some very fine friends who have contributed a lot to make our life happy here. . . ."

A friend stands up and reads a poem composed by some of my grandparents' crowd for the occasion; it ends with "We love you." Lil seems about to cry. "We'll never forget, never!" she calls out.

"Neither will we." answers Reb from across the room.

"If we live to our fifty-fifth," says Lil, "you've all got another party coming."

MY grandmother stood up to make a speech, concentrating particularly on the work she has done for ORT (a charity for the development of Israel) in Miami. She concluded by saying, "And whenever someone sends a contribution to some other organization, I just want to bury them!"

"Dear!" cautioned my grandfather.

"Don't bury me, Lil, don't bury me," shouted a woman in the back.

My grandmother's mood suddenly changed. "I just hope God will spare us all, so that we can continue to live."

People got up from dinner. Some started to leave. For others there was dancing and a bar. A woman walked up to me; she was from Chicago. It was hard to make conversation.

"Did you vote in the Senate election last week?" I asked.

"Sure thing."

"Did you vote for Stevenson?" I asked.

"What? I loved the father-you think I wouldn't vote for the kid?"

Another woman, who had been dancing and was about to leave, came over. She said, "You know, you see us all dancing and living it up-well, we love to do that. We're old now and we don't mind a bit if the young people, like the sixty-year-olds, see us letting our hair down. . . .'"