Commentary: Saturday was

golden at the Behr residence
By Steve Behr, sports editor

Usually, I devote this space to some column about sports, usually either about Appalachian State or Watauga athletics.

We’ll get back to the sports on Wednesday. Today, I offer my congratulations to a couple who celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary last Saturday.

On April 18, 1959, Raymond J. Behr, Jr. tied the knot with Mary Margery Mulkern in Boulder, Colo. If the groom’s name looks like the one next to my picture up above, there’s a reason.

Yes, those two 20-somethings back in 1959 are my parents, and they’ve been together for 50 years.

It’s not unheard of for people to be married that long, but it seems to be a lost art. I’m told that 50 percent of all marriages end in divorce, even though the vows said “Till death do us part.”

I guess the death of a marriage counts in a divorce.

Not with my folks. Oh, it’s hardly been smooth sailing for two of them. They had to raise a middle son who got mediocre grades throughout his school years, yet somehow they managed to pay for five years of college to make sure I could eventually live in Boone and attend sporting events for a living.

There were times when we didn’t know if they would make it to 50 years simply because of health problems. My father went through a rough ordeal a couple of years ago, but because of prayers and an excellent heart surgeon, he made it through.

And with apologies to my doctor, my dad and I have a big plate of the best spaghetti the state of Colorado can offer waiting for us in Louisville, Colo., when I take my yearly trip to my home state.

There were disagreements, but nothing that cooler heads could not solve. They are children of the Great Depression, a time that makes the current economic woes look like a garden party. Often times, their parents were literally down to their last dollars, so saving money here and there comes naturally to my folks.

It’s probably why we never did without. We weren’t wealthy, but I never knew the difference. Need some clothes? Shoes, and I mean the cool ones that cost $35 instead of the not-as-cool ones that were $20 landed on my feet.

And food? We had steak on occasion and went out to restaurants like everybody else. And as for vacations, well, we played baseball in the summer months instead, which required gloves, cleats, uniforms and registration fees.

I never had to sweat any of that. The money was there no matter what other bill had to be paid.
And credit cards? My father is an old-school, cash-only man. His credit cards have more dust on them than what’s on the bookshelves at Herman Munster’s house.

Mom was born and raised in Chicago and dad was born in Idaho Springs, Colo., but attended Evergreen (Colo.) High School, where he played quarterback. Both are small towns located in the heart of the Rocky Mountains.

Both worked jobs much of their lives. Dad worked with Mountain Bell, a subsidiary of AT&T until the trustbusters decided that too much of a good thing was not good for the telecommunications giant and broke things up. He worked two years in Colorado Springs before finally retiring and taking a job at a golf course until he finally had to call it quits for good.

Mom taught physical education at two different elementary schools before retiring during the 1990s.

So, love me or hate me, they’re the foundation of who you see sitting in those local press boxes. Sports were very important in our house. We grew up watching the AFL Denver Broncos to the point that we felt the NFL was the other league.

My dad never allowed us to boo anybody, especially the Broncos. Occasionally, a “For crying out loud” would escape from our frustrated minds, but booing was forbidden.

It gave me the discipline to keep any emotions in check in press boxes, which forbid cheering or booing.

That’s a big deal in a college and professional press box. Cheering gets you a warning. Do it again and you’re likely removed — for good.

But all of that information above isn’t why I take pride in calling Ray and Mary Behr my Dad and Mom. Most of all, they raised their three boys to be nice people, mirrors of themselves. Older brother Mike (48) lives in Boulder and younger brother Jeff (44) lives in Longmont, Colo.

Sure, we are flawed, but over everything else, we are simply nice people. You’ll just have to trust me on this one. Unfortunately for Boone, I’m the grouchiest of the trio, but I try to keep that in check.

The Behr family will celebrate this anniversary at a dinner theater this week, since a big snow storm dumped seven inches of the white stuff in Boulder. I can’t attend, but I hope this column will let them know that I remember 45 of those years, and I am grateful that they were a part of every one of them.