Judge Goodheart Knows His Valentine’s Role

For the past 23 Valentine’s Days, Judge Bernard Goodheart has managed to put a smile on many of the faces of those who appear before him.

Each Feb. 14, Goodheart, a judge of common pleas court, has honored his name by marrying couples in his courtroom at City Hall. He began this tradition somewhat accidentally, during his first year on the bench.

Today marks his final ceremony. He plans to retire later this year, when he turns 70.

The first ceremony interrupted a jury trial as an unsuspecting couple wandered into Goodheart’s courtroom on Feb. 14, 1977. The judge watched as a court officer turned them away. Minutes later, with testimony over, Goodheart asked why.

When the judge discovered that this couple had hoped to find a marrying judge, Goodheart issued an informal order of the court: Go find them.

“How could I turn them down?” he says. “I wouldn’t be worthy of my name.”

Since then, Goodheart’s name has attracted more than 500 couples, including Norman Madsen and Charlene Brockington of northeast Philadelphia, who plan to be married today.

Much like the first couple, Madsen and his bride-to-be stumbled into the opportunity. Marriage license in hand, they saw Goodheart’s name on the door, joked, paused, stopped laughing and started asking: Is this a marrying judge?

“We thought it was perfect for Valentine’s Day,” Madsen says.

After officiating at that first ceremony, Goodheart began receiving calls. Would he oversee more vows? At first, he managed to confine the marrying to lunch breaks. But, he concedes, “it grew and grew. . . . It got too big.”

24 Couples Per Day, Reservation Only

The biggest gathering, a decade ago, included 30 couples, his mother as an observer--and a three-hour lunch break. Now, Goodheart limits the day to 24 couples, by reservation. And, he notes, “it still takes up to three hours.”

To prevent overcrowding, each couple is assigned a time slot of five minutes. Some appreciate the low-cost convenience. Many acknowledge the romance.

“We both work in the city, and this means we don’t have to run around to get a marriage license,” says Robert Rosenberg, a resident of Yardley who is marrying Kathleen Lockhart of Philadelphia. It seemed like a romantic idea.”

The ceremonies, which in the past have included a live rendition of “When I Fall in Love” by a two-man band, can last up to 10 minutes because Goodheart believes in individualized, not mass, marriages.

So he spends a few minutes talking to each couple, offering such advice as how to stay in love. Then the judge seals each certificate with a sticker, heart-shaped and ruby red.

Though divorced after 30 years of marriage, Goodheart is still romantic. But he is also pragmatic. So it may take more than a blood test to get past him.

“I’ve turned people away,” Goodheart says. “If they seem out of it in any way, whether it’s drugs or alcohol, I won’t marry them.”

A few couples may seem untraditional, dressing casually, as casual as jeans and sneakers. Yet “at least once a year, a bride is dressed in a wedding gown with a full train, and the groom wears a tuxedo,” the judge notes. “And they bring a wedding party.”

This year, John Miller and Melissa Gibson, both 21, will be that couple. Miller is planning to wear a tuxedo, in addition to a cast on the left foot he broke. His bride will wear a long, lacy gown complete with train and veil.

“She’s very excited about it,” says Miller, of Levittown. “I’m kind of normal about it.”

Goodheart admits to some satisfaction. “In what we do, there’s always one side that’s not happy--whether it’s the prosecutor or the defendant.” But this, he says, “is a time when both parties before me walk out happy.”

About 15 years ago, the judge’s diverse tasks--judicial and joyous--seemed to mesh perfectly when two jurors from Goodheart’s court asked to join the wedding ceremony.

“They fell in love while serving,” Goodheart recalls, “and I married them.” The irony? The man was a florist who skipped Valentine’s Day--the biggest day of the year for florists--to serve as a juror.

“Had he told me during jury selection, I would’ve excused him. But then he would’ve never met his wife,” the judge muses.

Goodheart’s middle son, Harry, a 28-year-old bachelor who has never attended the nuptials, plans to do so now.

“It’s hard work,” the judge tells him, “but it’s fun.”