The Marrying Mayor

Yesterday a fellow approached my desk. He identified himself as a member of the Treasurer's staff, and he explained that he had a colleague named Jennilyn who wanted to be married - tomorrow. Evidently, she and her intended had planned their marriage for June, but her fiance was working at Hill Field and the sequester resulted in his furlough.

Therefore, her future husband’s health benefits were in doubt.

This resulted in Jennilyn and Robert deciding to preemptively tie the knot. Originally they were simply going to get a license from the County Clerk, recite the necessary formula, and let it go at that. But, over the process of the day, Jennilyn’s co-workers decided to dress up the event a touch and give it some sense of ceremony.

This brought to me a request to have the mayor perform the ceremony in the lobby of a very busy Treasurer’s office. In the midst of our discussion Ben approached my desk, so I quickly turned this request over to him, and he just as quickly agreed to do it.

Therefore, it became my responsibility to write up some vows and prepare Ben for his first performance as "The Marrying Mayor.”

That evening Ben announced this development to his family as they gathered around the dining table. “I’ll be marrying someone,” he enthused.

Shocked, James, Ben’s oldest son, swallowed hard and reminded his father that he was already married to someone. And, in fact, that someone was his own dear mother.

Ben quickly provided clarity on his use of the verb “to marry.”

“Don’t worry, James, your mom is my one and only.”

So, this morning, I placed the sacred rite of marriage in Ben’s eager hands as we walked together toward the Treasurer’s office. “One of the things I love about this job,” Ben said, “is the huge variety of things I do… visiting a fire station one day, learning to use a sat phone the next, and today a marriage.”

When we entered the Treasurer's lobby we beheld a vision of utter discontinuity. Lined up at the counters was the typical variety of citizens paying property taxes, or attempting an explanation of why they couldn’t. There were potbellied men in suspenders, young mothers with strollers, men in suits, old ladies with canes and a smattering of employees with ID’s hanging from their necks.

And there, standing in their midst, were the bride and groom - separated from the rest because one held a gold and purple bouquet, and the other wore a gold and purple corsage.

At the far end of the lobby was a jury-rigged altar supporting a vase of flowers, all of the same colors and kind. Soon Ben stood in front of that altar as the bride and groom zigzagged between constituents looking on with curiosity and amazement.

A few moments later the vows were over, and the new bride stood there beautiful, and freshly kissed. Friends of the couple descended upon them with joy and congratulations, while county officials descended on the mayor with complements and questions.

At the end of an appropriate interval I interrupted the “county klatch” surrounding Ben. “Your honor,” I said, “it’s nearly 12:00, and you’re scheduled to deliver a baby at noon.”

Ben smiled and we rushed from the “Treasurer’s Chapel” in the direction of the escalator.