David Taffet and Brian Cross were married on stage during a Turtle Creek Chorale concert 10 years ago this month in a Jewish wedding ceremony complete with a chuppa, loving relatives and friends and a 6-foot, 8-inch “flower girl” (Photo by Tammye Nash/Dallas Voice)
DAVID TAFFET | Senior Staff Writer
Taffet@DallasVoice.com
On Monday night this week, I attended the Turtle Creek Chorale’s Pride as Big as Texas concert at the Meyerson. Two friends joined my partner, my roommate and my husband and me. Yes — six seats for the five of us, because it was six if you count Brian. And I still count Brian.
For those of you who don’t know me, let me explain.
During the Chorale’s concert this week — and during the chorale’s other concert stops this Pride month — before each song, a different member of the chorus stepped forward and shared a story about themselves. Some of the stories were funny. Some were sad. Some were inspiring coming out tales from years ago, while others were more current. Some of those stories were about how the Chorale inspired them or helped them or saved them.
So, I thought I’d tell you how much I enjoyed the evening by telling my own Chorale story.
And I promise not to sing.
In early 2015, I had lunch with Bruce Jaster, who was executive director of the Chorale at the time. We were talking about the group’s upcoming concerts, and I said, “Marriage equality is coming,” then I suggested they plan a marriage-themed program for 2016’s season.
A month later, Bruce and I were having lunch again, and he told me the board liked the idea of a marriage themed concert, and if the Supreme Court ruled in our favor, that would be the theme for the June 2016 concert.
“You know what would be fun?” I suggested off the top of my head, “a couple gets married on stage during the concert.”
Again, Bruce took the idea to the board, and the board members loved the idea.
Sometime over the summer, Bruce and I met up again. He told me the concert was set for June 2016, then he asked if I was ready to get married on stage.
Well, I DID open my big, fat mouth. What else could I say?
So that night, over dinner, I said to my partner Brian, “Oh, June 9, next year. We’re getting married.”
And Brian just figured I was getting him into another of my hair-brained schemes, and he said, “Whatever.”
But then he started planning. What would the colors of the wedding be? Obviously: blush and bashful. So, he set about finding vests in those non-existent colors for us to wear with our tuxedos.
But because we’d be getting married in front of 950 of our closest friends at Moody Performance Hall on stage at a Turtle Creek Chorale concert, there was little planning for us to actually do.
One thing we did do was find a wonderful cake baker to make a cake large enough to serve a piece to each member of the audience and the chorale. I can’t remember the flavors involved, but they were all wonderful. And this monstrous cake was held upright with a PVC pipe running down the middle.
I called my cousins to invite them to the wedding, and that night, I got a call from my 89-year old Aunt Rhoda: “David! I want to give you away!”
“Rhoda, I’m honored, but just know this will be the most bizarre wedding you’ve ever been to,” I warned her.
“David, I’ve known you since you were born,” she said. “Why do you think I’m coming?”
So, my aunt would give me away. Brian’s mom would walk him on stage and give him away.
We asked four friends to hold up the four corners of our chuppah (wedding canopy that symbolizes the home), and Chad Mantooth from my office signed on to be the flower girl.
During the second act of the concert, our wedding party members were standing in the wings. When we got the cue, our flower girl — wearing an original gown designed and sewn by Asia O’Hara — entered first, along with the chuppah holders. When Chad ran out of flower petals in his basket, he reached into his ample bosom and pulled out a few more blossoms to throw.
Then I entered stage right with my aunt on my arm and Brian entered stage left with his mom on his arm. We met under the chuppah, backs to the audience, facing the rabbi and 175 members of the chorale.
And we saw a number of the Chorale members begin to tear up. I hadn’t counted on that.
Somehow, we got through the ceremony without too many tears. After the 10-minute ceremony, the Chorale began to sing again, and we walked off the stage.
That was the happiest day of my life.
Eight months and 27 days later — a Monday morning — I woke up as usual, and so did Brian. I headed off to work.
I worked late that evening. And when I walked into our apartment, Brian was passed out on the floor. I was able to wake him, and when he said he was hungry, I made something to eat.
Then Brian said he was tired and wanted to lie down. So I lay down with him.
After about 15 minutes he stopped breathing. I began CPR.
I called 911 and got a recording: “Your call is very important to us. Do not hang up. Your call will be answered in the order in which …”
Not what you want to hear when calling for emergency help.
After 20 minutes, someone responded. An ambulance was there in less than five minutes.
They transported him to Parkland, but it was too late.
The following Friday, we held a funeral service at Northaven Church. I was sitting in the front row when — to my complete surprise — the Turtle Creek Chorale began walking up the steps to the choir loft. Artistic Director Sean Baugh walked over, put his arms around me and explained that the Chorale always sings at the funeral of any member, and Brian and I were part of the chorale’s family.
Turtle Creek Chorale made the worst week of my life easier to get through, and I’ll always love them for it.
This coming Tuesday — June 9, 2026 — Brian and I would have celebrated our 10-year wedding anniversary. To commemorate that event that never had the chance to happen, five of us went to the Meyerson to enjoy the Chorale’s Pride as Big as Texas concert. Well, six — if you count the empty seat next to us for Brian.
Because of the love they’ve shown me, going to Chorale concerts has become like visiting family. And they inspired my cousin Suzanne, who attended my wedding and saw them sing again at Carnegie Hall, to join a chorus on Long Island.
And from the stories I heard at the concert, they’ve made the lives of so many of their members fuller, more enriched and happier.
For me, they’ll always be family members who were there to participate in what was the happiest day of my life … and also in the saddest day of my life.
Oh, and how do I know Brian died eight months and 27 days after we married? Because, to collect his social security, we would have had to have been married nine months. Application denied.