Bestowing Civil Touch to Marriage Ceremonies Has Become a 9-to-5 Job : 7,500 Couples Wed Since County Began Offering Full-Time Service a Year Ago

His brief civil marriage ceremony having just concluded, the new husband turned to deputy commissioner George Cosand and, certificate in hand, asked: “How long is this good for?”

Bettie Williams, another county worker authorized to perform the marriage ritual, remembered an excited bride who just couldn’t stop chewing gum for the two minutes. “I asked her if she couldn’t please hold off blowing bubbles until we had finished.”

Some arrived in shorts and sandals, some in native costumes, some in jogging outfits, some in tuxedos or gowns, but all paid their $15 and all walked out of the county courthouse here as husband and wife.

It has been a year now--the day after Labor Day last year--since civil marriages were offered on a full-time basis by the county. During that period, more than 7,500 couples have chosen not to have the knot tied elaborately in a cathedral or synagogue, but rather to walk into what used to be a storeroom and stand before a lectern.

“The contract of marriage is most solemn and is not to be entered into lightly . . ., “ intones the commissioner, as the couple stands silently, clasping hands. Since often they arrive by themselves--and law requires that there be a witness--frequently it is another county worker who is pressed into service and lingers in the background.

It is a scene repeated from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. every working day just inside the main floor of the county courthouse at 111 N. Hill St. Considering the other less cheerful activities usually taking place within the building, this is definitely not the Hill Street blues.

Dugley Singeal and Nedra Washington, both of Los Angeles, were candid about why they had taken their place in the line between the two red ropes leading to the ceremony room.

“We were going to get married anyway, and we found how cheap this was, so here we are,” the bride-to-be said.

“Will you be exchanging rings?” Williams asked, clad in a county-provided black gown. “No,” came the joint reply. There is a no-ring ceremony, one for a single ring, and another for double rings.

“Relax, this only takes a couple minutes,” the deputy commissioner assured the couple as she stood opening a loose-leaf binder containing the scripts for the three different ceremonies.

Preceding them in what seemed to be a never-ending assembly line of sweethearts--some couples there just for licenses--had been Peter Wen and Natalie Chang, both originally from Taiwan and both now going for a master’s in business administration at UCLA.

Unlike many in front of and behind her, the bride-to-be was resplendent in a white satin gown, pearl-bedecked white headpiece, and carried a bouquet of red roses. At her side, the husband-to-be was dapper in a gray business suit.

They had brought six friends and relatives along. One, Shuennder Yu of UC Davis, occupied the time as they waited their turn by recording everything on film.

“We think this is the best way for foreigners like us to get married,” Wen said. “It is decent and not very time consuming.”

The neon-lit room itself is carpeted in light brown and has drapes on one side, hiding a bank of filing cabinets. The lectern is flanked by the flags of America and California. At the rear is a table holding a potted plant, plus a floral painting that will eventually be hung. A decorated Christmas tree was put up in December, but other than that the decor wouldn’t win any awards.

When appropriate, a sign dangles outside the door: “Ceremony in Progress.” It is left there most of the day.

For some couples, close, but no cigar. “There was one man and woman who reached the typist, but then the prospective bridegroom discovered he didn’t have any money or his checkbook,” recalled David J. Collins, director of county central civil services.

“The woman shouted: ‘Well, I’m not going to pay for my own license!’ They stormed out, and we never saw them again.”

Engraved Invitations

In most cases, though, everything goes full speed ahead, albeit with some unsafe lane changing. “We have had as many as 35 members of a wedding party jammed into the room at one time,” Williams said.

Iris Spencer, head of court services who also does some of the ceremonies, recalled that one couple had sent out engraved invitations for their relatives and friends to show up during the two historic minutes.

Only a few feet away from the red ropes is another set, blue to match the mood. Most of the heartthrobs nearby are unaware of it, but in this line, petitions are being filed, including those for divorce.

However, between the happy ropes, Chang Kun Lim and Sherry Young Yim, both originally from Korea, were awaiting their turn to get a marriage license ($35, good for 90 days).

Hadn’t Obtained License

They had already gotten married at a Presbyterian Church a few days earlier, she explained, but hadn’t yet obtained a license. Once they reached the clerk typing the licenses, they also agreed to pay an additional $15 for a civil ceremony. They marched into the room and recited “I do” once again.

“It is a common mistake among the foreign-born (to think) that you must have a civil ceremony in addition to one in a church, as is the practice in many other nations,” Collins explained.

In the case of the Korean couple, however, whether or not they were aware of it, the two-minute additional ceremony was legally necessary, because they had no license when they had gone through the church nuptial.

Speaking of the licenses, they are available at any of the 13 county clerk locations throughout the county, although downtown is the only one that additionally offers the ceremony.

“I remember one guy who wanted a license,” Collins said. “When we asked the name of the bride-to-be, he replied that he didn’t have anybody in mind. He just wanted a license-at-large in case he ran into somebody that weekend.”

In the fiscal year that ended in June, more than 70,000 licenses were issued countywide, which means that roughly 11% of these were used for the downtown civil ritual.

And about a third of these ceremonies were spoken in Spanish, usually presided over by Paul Amesquita Jr., whom Collins said receives $50 a month extra for using a second language on the job.

A year ago, Amesquita’s job was entering probate documents into a log. “One reason he was selected for the new opening, in addition to the fact that he speaks Spanish fluently, is that he relates well to people,” Collins said. “We didn’t want someone who would offend.”

Charming in Role

Amesquita was at his charming best for the uniting of Cristobal Briones and Ana Miranda, standing by themselves before him. The bridegroom is originally from Nicaragua and the bride from Honduras, but both now live in Inglewood.

Amesquita requested them to join hands.

“Do you each promise to love and comfort one another, to honor and keep one another, in sickness and in health, in prosperity and adversity, and forsaking all others, be faithful to each other as long as you both shall live?” he asked in Spanish.

Everything went smoothly. As usual, the man in the black robe told the newlyweds they could kiss, and they did. That part isn’t in the script, but Amesquita and the four others who fill this role always add it. As any Hollywood writer can tell you, a script has to have romance in it. And never was more effort put into any script than went into the creation of this one.

“Prior to September of last year, the ceremonies were performed by the commissioners and sometimes the judges,” Cosand, division chief for the county clerk and the Superior Court clerk, said. Commissioners have judicial qualifications and are selected by the judges.

“The ceremonies were done from about noon to 2 p.m. on working days. It was first-come, first-served, and there was a limit of 20 couples per day. Some of them would buy their licenses early in the morning, and then would have to hang around for hours until the ceremonies started.”

For years it was a public service that the Superior Court provided. Then a couple of years ago the Legislature passed a law that allowed the boards of supervisors in each county, if they chose, to designate the county clerk as commissioner of civil marriages.

Changes Made

“A summer ago, the court here decided its workload was such that it could no longer free up judges and commissioners for the marriages,” Cosand explained. “The Board of Supervisors went ahead and designated the county clerk.”

Fine and dandy. But now that the service was going to be offered full time, changes were made.

“We put in new carpeting and drapes and a green plant,” Collins said. “But it is non-sectarian, and so we had to avoid giving it any appearance of a chapel.”

Also, Spencer pointed out, no one wanted to compete with the commercial chapels as regards music or flowers or photographers. Incidentally, flower peddlers and free-lance photographers aren’t allowed on the license-ceremony premises, but conveniently may be found on the outside steps at times, awaiting the newlyweds.

As for the script, Collins said, the first order of business was to ask the judges and commissioners for copies of what they had been using.

“We wanted to come up with something simple, of necessity without any theological references, something not tedious to perform or offensive to hear, and all of this done with dignity.

“We established five deputy marriage commissioners, two of whom speak Spanish.”

English, Spanish Only

County workers have been identified who are fluent in other languages, Cosand said, but they would have to be always on call. Therefore, the ceremony is offered in English or Spanish only. Sometimes, if the couple speaks only another language, they bring along their own interpreter, usually a family member.

The $15 fee was set by state law. Unlike the tradition with many clergymen, no gratuity is permitted.

“The question of music came up, but we decided that would be a matter of taste, and we didn’t want to get involved with that,” Collins said.

Finally, two judicial robes were purchased, of different sizes. “We feel it adds a touch of formality and dignity,” Cosand said.

All systems were go. Everybody loves a parade, and the parade began.

“The single-day record during the first year was 107 couples, last St. Valentine’s Day,” Williams remembered.

“We did 87 on Christmas Eve, and 85 on New Year’s Eve. On days such as these, we put a second room into service.”

Although 30 civil marriages a day is about average, Fridays are always busier--often 45 to 50--Cosand said. As for months, the June volume was highest.

The most popular time of the day to get this taken care of is roughly 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. “A lot of people stop by during their lunch breaks, and then go back to work afterward,” Williams disclosed.

The other workers in the department have other responsibilities, but for Amesquita, this is just about his entire obligation. He does about 90% of the ceremonies.

“We are gathered here in the presence of this witness for the purpose of uniting in matrimony Carlos Mancillas and Shelly Burney,” Amesquita recited in a conversational tone.

Took a Vacation Day

He was speaking in English, as they had requested when asked. The couple, both from West Covina, earlier had said they had each been married before.

“We each took a vacation day from work,” the bridegroom said. “We are going to have a reception in a week at my house, but nobody knows that we went off and did this today. We did it this way because it’s quick and cheap, and you don’t have a lot of headache.”

The couple, clasping hands as instructed, heard the magic words: “By virtue of the authority vested in me as a deputy commissioner of civil marriages, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

No rice was thrown, no organ strains filled the air, but--even as two new names were being called out--the newlyweds happily walked arm in arm out of Room 102A, everything having gone off with a hitch.