A Time for Hearts and Flowers at Courthouse

RoBin Hollingsworth and Eric Johnson stood nervously before Frank Lundry, one of San Diego County’s deputy commissioners of civil marriages. The painting behind Lundry’s head--of flowers in water--looked like a motel reject.

The background noise? Well, it wasn’t soft and sweet--the business of a county clerk’s office rarely is--and a candle was nowhere in sight.

To Lundry’s left was the California flag, to his right the Stars and Stripes. The walls were a tired mustard yellow, and the carpet beneath the feet a faded mixture of orange and green.

Ah, but there was no mistaking the language, or the intentions . . . .

“To have and to hold, from this day forward,” Lundry intoned, in a crisp, authoritative voice. “For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, as long as you both shall live. . . . “

In no time at all, Johnson was kissing his new bride--an act that’s happening more and more these days on the first floor of the county courthouse in San Diego and in other offices in Vista. Lundry said a record number of weddings may be performed today in both places.

Thirteen are booked for San Diego, where, he said, “walk-ins” may double the number. Valentine’s Day is considered so special around the county clerk’s office that Robert Zumwalt, the county clerk himself, will come down from his upstairs office and officiate at most of today’s weddings.

Marilyn Powell, one of nine deputy commissioners of civil marriages appointed by Zumwalt, said that, since 1981, when the County Board of Supervisors appointed the county clerk marriage commissioner, scores of ceremonies have taken place right there in the office, where newlyweds-to-be obtain marriage licenses.

Lundry said that, since July 1, the start of the current fiscal year, 153 have been performed in San Diego and 340 in Vista. He said the numbers are soaring, partly because the population of the county is also and partly because private weddings have gotten so expensive. Weddings in the county clerk’s office are free, although the licenses cost $35 for conventional and $41 for confidential. (A health certificate is not required for a confidential marriage, and the record of the marriage is kept confidential.)

As in the case of Hollingsworth and Johnson, who, as of Tuesday at 3 p.m., became Johnson and Johnson, couples walk behind a counter in Room 1001 and into a small cubicle partitioned from the rest of the room.

The bride and groom hold hands, and, as their eyes grow soft and moist, they listen as a deputy commissioner executes a ceremony utterly devoid of religious reference and does so in no more than seven minutes.

Lundry treasures this part of a bureaucrat’s job.

“I enjoy it because it’s so upbeat,” he said. “Normal proceedings in a courthouse are either mundane or dismal. Generally, these folks are here because they’re happy.”

Lundry and his colleagues tell some funny stories. In one of the many weddings he performed in Vista, before he transferred to the San Diego courthouse, Lundry instructed an elderly man to kiss his middle-aged bride.

“He looked at me kind of startled-like and said, ‘I’ve already done that today!,’ and immediately stalked out,” Lundry said.

Helen Strand, another deputy marriage commissioner, has officiated at weddings for three years. During that time, she joined a couple, who, as soon as vows and kisses were exchanged, were booked into County Jail.

“That same morning, I did a ceremony for an elegantly dressed couple,” Strand said. “I have to say, though, that both brides reacted the same way--the one nicely dressed and the one going to jail. Both were choked up and weeping. A wedding is a very human occasion that touches people with pretty much the same emotions.

“On one occasion, though, the bride changed her mind in the middle of the ceremony and didn’t come back. Once, I had a groom call back the next day and ask for an annulment, which, of course, we don’t do. And, I marry a lot of people who used to live in Mexico. ‘Lawfully wedded wife’ usually comes out ‘awfully wedded wife’ or ‘lawfully leaded wife.’ ”

Marilyn Powell said one of the more intriguing aspects of the courthouse wedding scene is the clothing worn by the bride and groom. She said it ranges from tuxedos and lacy gowns to bathing suits, even skimpy ones.

Hollingsworth, 24, and Johnson, 26, were dressed quite smartly as they arrived at the clerk’s desk, moments before becoming husband and wife. Hollingsworth said they had known each other for eight years and had lived together for five. She said they wanted to be married because they share a daughter, who is 3, and have another child on the way. The due date is March 23.

The Johnsons met in an English class at Crawford High School. They have “no regrets” about not being married more elaborately, but she said they hope to “do it up right” exactly one year from now.

Jamey Robison, 26, and Annette Jerfita, 21, were there, obtaining a license, one of about 20,000 people who do so every year in the San Diego office. They met on a pistachio ranch in Arizona.

“He came over to pick up some boxes, and I threw some nuts at him--you know, just kind of flirtin’ and all,” Jerfita said. “And, well, the rest is history!”

A person sitting nearby suggested it was just a couple of nuts getting together, to which Robison said, “Don’t pecan me, man.”

Michael Scott Sanford, 31, and Pamela Dawn Williams, 41, were there, too, as a pair of the many walk-ins who come in each day.

They said they went to San Francisco last weekend to get married, but didn’t. They “hopped over” to Tahoe, intending to do it there, but didn’t. They didn’t get it done in Reno, either--”We just kept gambling--and losing,” Williams said--and, finally, “to save face,” they resolved to do it as soon as the plane landed in San Diego.

“We didn’t want to waste any more time,” Williams said. “We just came from the airport, and, before we go home to San Marcos, we intend to be married. There’s no casino around here, is there?”