He was ”five-foot-ten, single, intellectual yet romantic, with a love of fine wine, beautiful women and great operas.”
She was ”five-foot-three, professional, attractive and sincere, with passionate interests in art, ice cream, bread-baking and Beethoven.”
You might say it was a match made in heaven, except that it was actually put together in the living room-office of Tamara Monique Conroy, who has come up with a deliciously offbeat way of helping the highbrows meet each other.
When a fellow who prefers Rachmaninoff to racquetball seeks a woman who prefers Penderecki to power-lunching, he looks to Conroy`s Classical Music Lovers Exchange, America`s only dating service for the longhairs.
That`s how five-foot-ten Henry Glass met five-foot-three Shar Marcus three years ago in Chicago. When Valentine`s Day comes around next Saturday, they will be toasting just over two years of making beautiful music together as a married couple.
”Before I met my classical music date, I was just going out with jerks,” says Shar.
”I rarely met anyone I wanted to see for more than one date, until I went the classical route,” says Henry.
”I can`t exactly say why people who adore classical music need each other, but I think it has something to do with attitudes on life. Classical music lovers generally aren`t interested in bars and booze and party animals. They prefer culture and refinement, and they`re infinitely happier with someone who prefers the same.”
That, indeed, may explain why Conroy has barely had a moment`s rest since she founded CMLE on a lark eight years ago out of her home in Pelham, N.Y.
”I had gotten absolutely sick of the men I was going out with,” says Conroy, a widow and passionate lover of anything by Brahms.
”I dated men who could talk about nothing but football and basketball, and who needs that? So I figured there must be other people out there with the same problem.”
Thus Conroy, a special education instructor, printed up a batch of pitch letters and application forms, placed a couple of magazine ads and soon found her mailbox jammed with responses.
She wasted no time in sending each inquirer an introductory letter that reads something like a manifesto against the philistines:
”Do you feel out of step with a world that happily subsists on a steady diet of rock, country-western or what passes for `beautiful` music?” it began.
”Do you resent being assaulted by such music in elevators, stores and doctors` offices, at work, on subways, streets and even on the telephone?
”Do you desperately turn the dial on your radio in search of a full-time or even part-time classical music station? And if there is one in your area, do you constantly worry about its imminent demise?”
Clearly, anyone who answered ”yes” to those questions probably wasn`t a big hit at the New Wave bars, but for $42 they could buy a six-month membership into a more rarefied world. The application form queried the classically lovelorn about ”occupation, favorite types of music, preferred instruments” and, of course, ”interest in marriage.”
In return, each member received a list of all the other members. Though names and addresses were omitted, each listing carried a brief biographical profile, and if a young cellist in Oklahoma City hankered for a witty operagoer in Dubuque, he simply wrote to Conroy for the name, address and other pertinent information.
The process might seem a tad cumbersome in this age of video dating, yet
”dozens of our members have gotten married over the years,” says Conroy,
”and so far there hasn`t been a single divorce that I know of!”
Indeed, Conroy`s mail over the years might make Abigail Van Buren a shade jealous:
— ”Dear Monique: W1516 met M0902 three weeks ago. We are engaged and will be married Dec. 21. I can`t tell you how much I appreciate your service.”
— ”We had lived our lives just a few miles apart, and it took your service to get us together.”
— ”I find this a most felicitous alternative to the ghastly singles scene. Since it is based on a common interest rather than mere chance, personality remains paramount, and one`s dignity is not compromised!”
Of course, not all of CMLE`s members find romantic bliss.
— ”I do not wish to renew my membership because I need a rest.”
— ”I feel saturated.”
— ”I`m afraid I have not met the `special` person yet.”
And then there was the fellow–actually there have been many–who yearned to court Conroy herself.
”If you`re ever in my neighborhood,” he wrote from halfway across the country, ”I`d love to meet you, Monique! I`m so impressed with the creativity of your business.”
Conroy demurred, prefering not to ”mix business with pleasure.”
Nevertheless, to this day she ”simply can`t wait to read the mail every day,” she says. Her CMLE correspondents number roughly 1,500, including
”members of major symphony orchestras, doctors, lawyers, a couple of minor music critics and several touring artists.”
Anyone famous?
”Not really,” says Conroy. ”Someone like Andre Watts doesn`t really need my help.”
Three years ago, business got so lively that Conroy quit her job in special education to follow her true calling.
”It`s not making me a millionaire,” she says, ”but I intend to do this for many more years. It`s too much fun to quit.” (Potential members can get more information by writing to CMLE at P.O. Box 31, Pelham, N.Y. 10803-0031). As for Henry and Shar Glass, who now live in Los Angeles with their 14-month-old son David, they`ve run into only one true obstacle in their classical romance.
”I love opera, but she thinks it`s disgusting,” says Henry, with a tone of regret. ”Nevertheless, I got her to join me at a production of `Carmen` a couple seasons ago, and she didn`t hate it.
”So there`s hope for her yet.”
