When Lou Gothelf boarded a plane in Detroit for a guided tour of England in the summer of 1984, he still was aching from the loss of his wife of 55 years.
When Reva Shwayder got on the flight, she hoped the trip would dull the pain of the deaths of her husband of 60 years and her two sons.
Then, in a moment of fate now blessed, Reva plopped down next to Lou. Reva is an abstract painter. Lou is a realist painter. Reva is carefree. Lou is meticulous. Reva is blunt. Lou is contemplative. Reva loves the comforts of home. Lou loves the great outdoors. Reva is 85 years old. Lou is 87. Reva packed her brushes. Lou packed his paint. Romance never was known to be this sweet.
”We were so compatible right off,” Reva recalled recently. ”We just talked and talked and didn`t stop once except for eating.”
”I didn`t think I`d fall in love again after my wife died,” Lou said.
”I crave companionship, of course, like every man does. And I met people. But not like this woman. Not like this woman.”
Four years later, these two beating hearts pushing 90 are the sweethearts of the Hollywood movie set. ”Young At Heart,” a 29-minute documentary chronicling Reva and Lou`s pairing-from their nervous hand-holding to their rebellious shacking up and finally to their wedding-won a 1988 Academy Award for best documentary/short subject. The movie is the work of Detroit filmmakers Sue Marx, who is Lou`s daughter, and her partner, Pamela Conn.
”Young at Heart” also has been awarded second prize in the independent category of the 1988 National Media Owl Awards, sponsored by the Chicago-based Retirement Research Foundation, for films about old age. The awards will be presented to Marx and Conn Thursday at the First Chicago Center. Reva and Lou will be on hand to take a bow.
The celebrity status bemuses Lou and Reva, who live in a ranch house in Franklin, Mich., a Detroit suburb. Although they did attend the Academy Awards ceremonies, they have turned down interview requests from ”Entertainment Tonight” and Geraldo Rivera. ”It would be a hassle,” Lou explains. ”We would have to get up at 5 o`clock in the morning to get to the airport by 7.” ”Besides,” Reva chimes in, as she does often, ”what good would it do us? We`re not running for anything.”
”Yeah,” Lou says. ”It`s a feather in their hat. So I can say I`m on
`Good Morning America.` Big deal.”
”Yeah,” Reva says. ”Big deal.”
They talk like old the chums that they are, agreeing with each other in most moments, brushing off faults like lint on a sweater in others, because new love in your 80s, in the `80s, is just too precious.
Fan mail makes the 2 p.m. trip to the mailbox a celebrated event; they say they have received hundreds of letters since the film made its debut in the fall of 1987. The local movie theater extended its run of ”Young At Heart” from two weeks to six to accommodate sellout crowds. Reva and Lou get lifetime free admission.
Strangers in grocery stores stammer: ”Aren`t you the actors in . . . ?” ”They think that we`re the best actors in the world,” Lou says.
”Which is funny, because we didn`t have a script. We just said whatever was in our minds and hearts.”
”I didn`t think we were making a movie,” Reva says. ”I thought it was one of those things you do for the grandchildren.” Until this film, Sue Marx`s work had largely been promotional films for corporate clients.
”I watched the story as it unfolded, as they dated,” Marx says.
”People were always asking, `How are the lovebirds?` because they were so cute. So, I started to film them” in 1985, about a year after their trip to England.”
It is a love story of two octogenarians whose zest for life defies convention. In the second week of their trip to England, Reva was dismayed with her tiny hotel room. She picked up her bags, marched to Lou`s spacious suite and knocked on the door.
”I asked if I could move in with him,” Reva remembers. ”He didn`t object at all. You know, you find somebody who speaks your language on a trip like that, that`s unusual.”
”This lady was so straightforward and so full of wit and honesty,” Lou says. ”There was nothing artificial about her. I liked that right away.”
By the time the two returned home, they were like schoolkids, Marx remembers. ”They were always holding hands, always. Reva flattered my dad to death. And my father was always kissing her.”
They painted together and attended art openings. In the winter of 1984-85, when Reva asked Lou to spend the winter with her in Sarasota, Fla., Lou asked for his children`s permission-which they readily gave.
It wasn`t long before Lou was spending two or three nights at Reva`s house. ”At first, I brought just a few shirts and put them in the closet in case I stayed overnight,” Lou says. ”Little by little, I`d bring more. And then, Reva says to me: `With a big house like this, why should I live alone?
Why don`t you live with me?` ”
Lou returned to his five-room apartment and began packing. In the film, he comes across a portrait he painted of his wife, Leona. He studies the face, focusing on a memory. In a breaking voice, he says, half to himself, half to the camera: ”We declared our love for each other in 1928. She was a very good wife and I loved her. She had torturous bout with Alzheimer`s for 10 years, and I cared for her until she died in November of 1983.”
Long, lonely days followed, weeks of sitting in his apartment, feeling alone and very much his age. Now, sitting in Reva and Lou`s living room, that moment is recalled and Lou`s eyes glaze over. ”I thought that was the most poignant part of the movie,” Reva says. ”When you were looking at the painting and then you packed it with the others and said: `Goodbye, sweetie.` ”
Lou, fighting emotion, is paralyzed. The seconds of silence are eternal. Finally, he says: ”Well, it happened to be filmed.”
Reva has had more than of her share of tragedy. Her husband Benjamin, a founder of the Samsonite Luggage Co., died of a stroke in 1980. In the next five years, she lost her two children, Warren, 60, who died in a scuba-diving accident and Richard, 40, of cancer. But she keeps her sorrows to herself, she says.
”I used to say that years ago, the worst thing that could happen is that the children would go first. Never thought it would happen to me. But it does happen. And I guess that`s one of the things you just have to live with.”
After Lou moved in, the two took delight in shocking fuddyduddies.
” `Well, well, well,` the women used to whisper,” Lou says. ” `Look, look, look, that`s him, that`s him.` ”
Eight months into the living arrangement, Reva sought to make an honest man out of Lou. ”I just said, `How about getting married?` ” Reva says. ”I thought it would be more convenient.”
At this, Lou winks. His voice lowers to a confidential tone. ”As usual, a woman thinks, Well, this man is going to play around with someone else unless we get married,” he says. ”So she asked me.”
”I did not,” protests a startled Reva.
”You see,” Lou continues, ”I know these things about women. Even at my age. At my age, who would want me? But that was probably on her mind. So I said, Why not?”
They were married in the back yard on Aug. 30, 1986, Reva saying, ”I do” three times, and Lou, teary again. The film crew hid in the bushes.
”Love at 80 is a little bit different than love in your 20s or 30s,”
Lou explains. ”Let`s not kid ourselves. But compatibility takes over. The years of experiences that she went through and the years of experiences I went through, we understand them. For us, chemistry worked beautifully.”
Both are respected artists. Lou`s landscapes and portraits have been exhibited at the Toledo Museum of Art and the Milwaukee Institute of Art and Design. Reva`s abstract paintings have been shown at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts in Philadelphia and New York`s Lincoln Center.
Both agree that their interest in art has kept them young. ”As we get older and people are trying newer things, it`s important that we open our eyes and understand and enjoy their work,” Reva says.
One of their philosophies is that if you`re in your 80s, don`t complain about your ailments, or you`ll never find a mate.
”If you want people to like you,” Reva says, ”don`t inflict your problems on other people. I`ve been in many groups of women, and the minute they get together, they start talking about, oh, this one broke a hip and this one had an operation. I`ve started a policy: If somebody is sick, don`t tell me about it. At our age, it gets boring.
”And so many women wonder, how do you get a man? How do you get a man, that`s their main interest. I always say, `Well, gee, don`t talk to them about your friend`s broken hip.` ”
Reaching across the couch for Reva`s hand, Lou says: ”She also tells them to be in the right place at the right time.”
”Yeah,” Reva agrees, with a laugh. ”That helps, too.”
