[Congressional Record Volume 161, Number 34 (Friday, February 27, 2015)]
[Senate]
[Page S1196]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
TRIBUTE TO ARLENE AND ALAN ALDA
Mr. LEAHY. Madam President, Marcelle and I met Arlene and Alan Alda
on a trip with Senator Lloyd Bentsen. We had dinner together but I had
a chance to talk to Alan Alda about our mutual Italian heritage. Later
I told my Italian-American mother how nice a couple they were. She
said, basically, what would I expect? With an Italian background, they
would have to be nice.
The New York Times recently ran an article about this remarkable
couple, focusing on her prolific writing, and his acting and writing,
but especially their ability to maintain a wonderful marriage and a
sense of life. I wanted to make sure my fellow Senators and anybody
else who reads the Congressional Record would read this profile. I ask
unanimous consent to have printed in the Record the article from the
New York Times entitled ``There's Always Room for Rum Cake.''
There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in
the Record, as follows:
[From the New York Times, Feb. 13, 2015]
There's Always Room for Rum Cake
(By Lois Smith Brady)
Arlene Alda, 81, and her husband, the actor Alan Alda, 79,
say that one secret to a long-lasting marriage (theirs has
been going for almost 58 years) is forgetfulness, which comes
naturally to them at this point.
The Aldas, who discussed their decades together by
telephone, with Ms. Alda also weighing in later by email,
haven't had a serious argument for the last 20 years, she
said, primarily because they can no longer remember for very
long whether they are angry with each other or why.
``I have a short memory, and so does he,'' Ms. Alda said.
``Was that always true? I don't recall.''
Both emanate warmth and thoughtfulness in the way of
beloved English professors or concerned therapists. Mr. Alda,
whose career in television and theater has been as remarkably
durable as his marriage, and Ms. Alda, a writer and
photographer, possess laughs that are like old jeans:
comfortable and well used.
Ms. Alda said that laughter is ``the real glue that keeps
us happily and willingly stuck together.'' They are
definitely not the kind of couple who sit silently across the
table from each other. ``We're both loud laughers,'' she
said. ``Guffawing ones.''
He said: ``I have a very highfalutin notion about laughter.
I think when you laugh you make yourself momentarily
vulnerable. Your defenses are not up, and if you can stay in
a playful mood, where you are susceptible to laughter, your
chances of being antagonistic with each other are lower.''
In general, they do not seem to act their ages. She
described a recent afternoon: ``I have a blurb to write for
someone's book. I have soup I want to cook. I have a good
chicken I want to roast. I have a book I'm reading that I
want to finish. I have email correspondence. I have Facebook
posts.''
Her 19th book, ``Just Kids From the Bronx,'' a collection
of vignettes about 65 noteworthy people who grew up in rough
Bronx neighborhoods and escaped in their own idiosyncratic
ways, is to be published next month.
Ms. Alda, who grew up in the Bronx herself and is a Hunter
College graduate, met Mr. Alda in 1956 while he was attending
Fordham University. They connected at a dinner party on the
Upper West Side when a rum cake accidentally fell onto the
kitchen floor and they were the only two guests who did not
hesitate to eat it.
``He was a kindred spirit who was also funny, so there was
this great chemistry,'' she said. ``It sure was fun and
delightful to be with him that night. Boys from Manhattan
didn't date girls from the Bronx. That was a given. It was
too long of a trip. He took me home to the Bronx. Unheard
of.''
Eleven months later, they were married in a modest ceremony
(18 guests watched) that reflected their humble goals at the
time. They mainly wanted to be able to pay the rent and not
suffer as their parents had.
``There was a lot of unhappiness in my parents'' marriage
partly because my mother was psychotic,'' Mr. Alda said. ``We
were already ahead of the game in that neither of us were
seriously mentally ill.''
Her parents had struggled financially and had no time for
luxuries like dinner parties or showing affection for each
other. ``I wanted something different,'' she said. ``I wanted
something without stress.''
So they filled their marriage with affection, music, dinner
parties with artists and actors and celebrations of every
paycheck.
``The first job I got was with a traveling children's
company where we had to lug our own scenery,'' Mr. Alda said.
``I got $10 a performance, and we were so glad, we went out
to get pizza to celebrate.'' To this day, whenever he gets a
new acting job, they celebrate by sharing a pizza.
Early on, they lived in Cleveland, where Eve, their first
child, was born. He often read poetry and short stories aloud
in the evenings. ``I'd be stirring a pot of soup, and the
baby would be sleeping, and he'd be reading to me,'' Ms. Alda
said. ``It was a warmth that's hard to describe.''
They eventually had two more daughters, moved to Leonia,
N.J., and discovered they had very different parenting
styles. ``I was the drill sergeant, and he liked to play with
the kids,'' she said. ``These were disagreements we had to
work out. How important is it for the kids to go to bed on
time?''
She added, ``We would talk a lot and talk angrily. When you
look back, you think, 'Why did I have to be angry?' ''
From 1972 to 1983, Mr. Alda commuted from New Jersey to Los
Angeles to play the part of Dr. Hawkeye Pierce in the iconic
television series ``M*A*S*H.'' Ms. Alda suddenly found
herself juggling raising their girls with trying to spend
time with a husband who was increasingly busy, famous and out
of town.
``I was not a good juggler,'' she said. ``It all took
energy, and I found that I had spurts of energy. Not
sustained at all.''
Not wanting to become ``just an audience'' for her husband,
Ms. Alda worked harder on her own photography and writing
projects. ``I had my own drive,'' she said. ``One challenge
of marriage is how to keep your sense of self yet be able to
meld and blend with the other person.'' She said that being
married to a celebrity ``diminishes you, unless you feel
really secure in yourself.''
``I like basking in someone else's glow,'' she said, ``but
not as a daily diet.''
Today, they live in an Upper West Side apartment and are
practically inseparable. On Facebook, she mentions Mr. Alda
in almost every post, and they seem to be always headed out
to a concert, play, lecture or reading. They even work on
their separate writing projects together.
Mr. Alda, who has written two memoirs, writes in the living
room, while Ms. Alda works in the study. They keep all the
doors open so they can talk back and forth, bounce ideas off
each other or call out when it's time to break for a meal.
``Most likely one of us will die first,'' she said. ``I
can't even contemplate what that might be for either of us.
Meanwhile, we're doing what we should be doing. Living.''
Like many of the people profiled in ``Just Kids From the
Bronx,'' Ms. Alda believes that success in life--and in
marriage--is mostly a matter of luck. ``Luck is in neon
lights,'' she said, adding that there is no way a couple can
predict their future on their wedding day.
Both Aldas said it was especially lucky that they have
never grown bored of each other and that they didn't remain
penniless forever. ``I really do believe that scraping by can
damage a person and can damage a relationship,'' he said.
``We have a lot of advantages. We know how lucky we are. I
don't think anybody can tell you how happy we'd be if we were
still scraping by.''
They have a house in the Hamptons and drink really good
wine, but otherwise they don't live particularly large. Both
dress in the comfortable baggy clothes of struggling writers
and have remained frugal and reluctant to waste anything.
``That's never changed,'' she said. ``We are definitely
still those two people who would eat the cake off the
floor.''
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