One sunny day in 1983, Paul Taylor’s luck changed when he happened to notice something glistening brilliantly on the pavement. The diamond bracelet he found outside of Mayflower Cleansers on Atlantic Avenue was the beginning of a new chapter.
A jeweler in town confirmed that the bracelet — adorned with 22 diamonds in all — was indeed valuable, and asked if Paul planned to sell it.
“I know what it’s like to lose something and never get it back,” Paul said.
Selling the bracelet was never an option, so he placed an ad in the local paper.
Within a few days, Paul received a phone call from a man who claimed the lost diamond bracelet belonged to his girlfriend.
“This guy described it perfectly,” Paul said. “I made arrangements to drop it off and they were so grateful,” he added, describing how the couple showered Paul with gifts to thank him.
Three years passed before Paul saw the couple again at a local restaurant. The owner of the bracelet wanted to give Paul the number of her best friend.
“She said she’d like for me to call this woman,” Paul said, recounting her firm request. When Paul asked, “Why me?” the woman replied, “Because you’re honest.”
Paul was divorced, but hadn’t given a new relationship much thought. A few weeks later, with “no expectations,” he threw caution to the wind, and placed the call.
Claudette Pelletier had just moved back to Marblehead, the town where she grew up. She, too, had been divorced, and was enjoying success in her profession as a commercial architect.
A recent edition of Newsweek magazine from June 5, 1986, sat on her kitchen counter with the title: “A single, 40-year-old woman has a better chance of being killed by a terrorist, than getting married.” She recalls the impression the article made, and her strong objection to her best friend passing along her phone number to a Marblehead man.
A few weeks went by before the phone call from Paul came.
Despite her hesitance, the call lasted more than an hour.
“He was lighthearted and fun to talk to so when he asked to get together for a drink, I agreed,” she said.
The pair had drinks a few nights later, followed by dinner at Rosalie’s. Despite the easy conversation, at the night’s conclusion, Claudette told Paul that he wasn’t her type.
“He looked like he was ready to climb a mountain and I was dressed to go out in Boston,” she recalled.
Claudette left the next morning to go away for a week, but upon her return she happened to pass Paul on the road as she made her daily morning Dunkin’ Donuts trip.
“I had mentioned at dinner that I went there every morning,” she said, smiling.
Claudette called Paul a few days later to invite him to a play in Salem. Within two weeks, the two had moved in together and were married a year later.
“He’s still not my type. But ‘my type’ never worked out,” Claudette said after finding happiness with Paul, their two sons, and 35 years of marriage.