Tex Hay says it was a Corsair F4U fighter plane that brought him and wife Fran together. Assigned to be trained on the plane, he ended up at Mojave Marine Air Corps Station, where Fran was using her education from law school as a legal occupational specialist in the Marine Corps Women’s Reserve. On New Year’s Eve 1943, while World War II was raging, the two found themselves deep in conversation at a celebration to ring in the New Year. Tex had to return to the war, to the Pacific and the last great battle at Okinawa. He and Fran, now both 93, stayed in constant contact while he was gone, and a month after he returned in June of 1945, they were married. When asked what it has been like sharing a life with one person, Tex said, “Well, you learn to turn your back on a lot of things. You learn to walk away now and then.” Tex came from Texas dairy farmers, and he said that when he broke the news to his father that he was going to Boston to marry a woman lawyer, his reserved father said he had never heard of such a thing. When he told him that she was also Catholic, his father was silent for a long time before saying simply, “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing.” It seems Tex did know what he was doing. He and Fran will celebrate their 66th wedding anniversary this year. For 66 years, the two have celebrated birthdays, holidays and vacations. They have watched the births of their three children, five grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. They have lived in Paris, on both coasts of the U.S. and several places in between. “It hasn’t always been a bed of roses,” said Tex. “But we’ve had a lot of fun, and I guess everything has turned out alright.” Abe and Fran Gleiberman Married Oct. 28, 1948 After Abe Gleiberman asked a girl named Fran to dance at the Saturday night social in December 1947 at the 92nd Street YMCA in New York City, she walked away. But, he asserts, she must have been smitten, because shortly after, she joined the club. “What other reason would she have had to join, if it wasn’t that she liked me?” said the 87-year-old La Jollan. It turns out that Abe was right. Fran, now 81, who had worked as a cigarette girl at the Copacabana Club in New York City, did like him, and besides, she said, “My mother said I had to marry a Jewish boy.” They did marry, on Oct. 28, 1948, and after a few attempts at different businesses down in Florida, the two settled in New Jersey and opened a successful coffee shop. There, they worked long hours together, raising a family while offering breakfast specials of two eggs any style for 29 cents. “I always say that the key to marriage is suffering,” Abe said with a laugh. “But seriously, it’s a give and take. Nothing is ever perfect and everybody’s different, but we had a comfortable, easygoing marriage.” Fran chuckled, adding, “The secret to being with one person is ignoring them.” After 20 years in the restaurant business, the pair eventually retired and moved out to San Diego in 1981, where their son had married the daughter of one of Abe’s best friends. Now living in La Jolla at Vi Retirement Community, they take every chance to be active. With three children, nine grandchildren and five great-grandchildren, they have plenty of potential activity, but the years spent working 80 hours a week have left them somewhat restless. Abe said getting old is “boring,” but is still grateful he can share it with someone. “We do everything together. Sometimes it’s too much,” he said, laughing again. “But really, we’re side by side in everything.” Doris and Paul Sutton Married Nov. 28, 1946 Doris Sutton was a published poet and New York socialite at the end of World War II, attending dances where girls could meet eligible bachelors, many of them officers in the military. “I never saw so many beautiful young men in one place at one time as when the officers would come to the clubs,” said Doris, 90. Most of those young men, however, didn’t have much to offer in the way of conversation, she said. Then, one beautiful young man caught her eye. Paul Sutton, now 89, and his shock of bright blond hair wandered into the club, and asked her to dance. “There we were, doing the samba,” she said. “And suddenly, we were talking about comparative religion. We never stopped talking.” Shortly after, Paul was shipped off to the Bikini Atoll as the instrumentation coordinator for the Ordinance Evaluation Group, where testing was being done on atom bomb explosions. Finding his job of monitoring the equipment somewhat boring between explosions, Paul sat down at a piano and started to compose a song. Called “Just a Dream Away,” the song was written for Doris, who, back in New York, was anxiously awaiting his return. Though her mother thought it was scandalous for her daughter to marry a boy from Ohio, marry they did, on Nov. 28, 1946. “I don’t know how we ever got by my mother to get married,” Doris said. “It was such a social upheaval for both of our families, but he was so smart, so nice and so cute. He had so much flair.” The Suttons raised two daughters while Paul worked as a physicist for Corning Glass Works and Doris wrote poetry and worked as associate editor of the Fine Editions Press. They moved to California in 1959, and eventually settled in La Jolla. Doris, who will turn 91 in March (Paul is only 89, another reason their union was such a scandal), said age is not a factor in their active lifestyle. “We’ve decided that we’re getting younger now and we’re making plans for the future,” she said. “We have such a full life because we have so many ideas to share. It’s thrilling to share a life with someone. But the key is total acceptance. You should always respect each other’s identity.”