For All You Do, This Bud's For You!

We’ve had many weddings at our B&B, and while all of them are different, one variable is guaranteed – high drama.
On a hot and humid summer day, a Navy Sailor called me from Pensacola, on station. He was was awkward and intimidated, young and not well spoken, but incredibly polite and respectful. I wanted to reach through the phone and hug him, but I could barely hear him over the din in the kitchen. He was exasperated in trying to tell me what he wanted, and finally, he blurted out, “I need a fairy godmother!”…… and I stopped on a dime.
My step grandfather was a Chief Petty Officer out of Pensacola. He accumulated vast wealth in rental property, and sailors were his tenants. I recalled the times we would go to collect rents on Saturdays, and he often brought diapers, hams, turkeys, or cash, to give back to his men. Grandpa Ray taught me how to be a “leader of men” in an honorable way. A generation later, with Grandpa Ray sadly deceased, I faced one of his men. The young man on the phone was one of those guys, Grandpa Ray’s sailors, pride of the US Navy. I felt instantly connected to this young man and willing to move heaven and earth, be the fairy godmother, to help him.
After hushing the staff, I moved into the butler’s pantry to hear him better and plugged my outside ear with my thumb. My sailor explained he joined the Navy right out of high school and fallen in love with a young woman from our town. In order to obtain base housing for married persons, they married secretly at a local court house, but both families did not know. He needed to stage a wedding for both extended families, who were deeply religious and highly traditional. He had to do the wedding fast, in August, as his time off was limited and his young bride was already pregnant. He also wanted to honor his new bride with the wedding she deserved. She already had her wedding gown, with a blue sash to honor his Navy service, but was unable to use it. My bottom lip fell, how sad.
My sailor only had a few moments to talk with me and communication with him would be difficult. We made arrangements for him to call me once a week at an appointed time for updates and questions we might have. He gave me a date, a credit card for a very limited budget ($500 was all he could afford), and put the rest in my hands. Understand, most weddings are lavish affairs costing tens of thousands of dollars. The facility fee alone was $1000. I was going to need a magic wand, pumpkins and mice, with only $500 to spend.
I walked out of the butler’s pantry with that “look of foreboding” on my face and the girls said, “What’s wrong?” I explained the situation. “He’s just trying to rip you off.”, “How are we going to pull off a wedding with only $500?”, “A wedding in August – it’s too hot” were the reactions from the staff. I told them the motives of the sailor were immaterial and we were GOING to do the wedding – we simply had to figure it out. Silence and grumbling…. we were thinking.
Weeks passed, we had a cake ordered, some minor hors d’oeuvres/coffee/punch settled/I ordered flowers to make the bouquets and boutonnieres myself, some of the staff agreed to donate time, and a severely limited guest list. The poor sailor was sending me $100/week, and his buddies were chipping in to help him. Yet, we had one major problem – the minister or judge who would charge $250. We had to have an official.
That’s when my Sailor said, “Well, since we’re already married, could you husband pretend to be the minister?”
The idea was delicious. My first husband as a pretend minister….. I chuckled to myself. I would have agreed to work the wedding for free just to see it happen. This was the guy who did 12yrs of Catholic School and whom I had to fight, to get him into a church for OUR wedding, let alone a funeral. He owned a construction company, had dirty fingernails, carried a weapon, was rough and tough…… as a minister? “I think it might be a possibility”, was my response.
It was the Thursday before the wedding. Husband came home, middle of the day, and we were moving furniture around, getting ready. He knew there was a wedding that weekend but did not follow the details of what we were doing. All the girls were here, we knew he had to “play” the minister role, and the moment was ripe to spring the idea on him.
Most of what we did at the B&B was done by my staff of girlfriends and a few high school aged guys. Every now and then, we needed husband help, help from his men, or to borrow big equipment. Of course, he would inevitably oblige but we had to fawn all over him for the help. No problem, we fawned well.
I can’t remember what I said, or how we told him he had to be the minister for a wedding, but I will never forget the look on his face as the idea washed over him. Then, came his objections.
“You want me to do what?” — re-explanation of the situation
“My blue suit is not cleaned” — it was back from the dry cleaner, shirt pressed, ready to go. We even made a boutonniere for you!
“Me as a minister? That’s illegal” — no, they were already married.
“God’s going to strike me dead in my own living room!” — No, the big guy would understand you’re being benevolent, helping your fellow man, doing a favor for a Navy Sailor, a young couple just starting out their life together….. It’s a charitable act, we insisted.
“If the guys find out about this, I’ll never live it down.” — It’s the right thing to do and you know it is. You’re the only one who can help us.
“I don’t even know what to say for a ceremony.” — Lisa stood up and handed him a printed out version of a ceremony and a small blue leather bound book of Psalms to hold. We were ready.
“So, you all have cooked this up and I’m the guy, right?” — Yep, you’re the guy.
Friday night before the wedding was a flurry of activity. Husband wandered into the kitchen and in his stern voice said to me, “Can I speak to you for a moment?” I was confused, “Wow, so formal”, I thought. We went into our small bathroom to talk privately. He said, “I’ve been going over the ceremony and think it would be proper to add a small prayer. I found one here”, he said, pointing to the page in Book of Psalms. “You think that would be okay?”, he said. I stifled my laughter. He was taking his role seriously, trying to do a good job. I was proud of him for rising to the occasion. “Yes, that would be lovely.”, I replied.
Saturday morning was easy. We fussed over husband, and he went upstairs to “calm the groom”. The bride was spectacularly beautiful. We kept the men, in their dress uniforms, in a separate location so they would not see the bride and her maids. The guests arrived and were all traditional, no incidents. We did have one talkative aunt to the bride arrive in a very short lavender dress. I was beginning to think we would skate. Families were situated on opposing couches in front of the parlor fireplace. Music started from a CD player. Husband walked into the room, with the groom, to perform the ceremony. We nodded at him, and all the girls were standing in back, nervous, waiting to see what husband would do….. and if he would blow his cover.
Husband did well. At one point, he looked directly at me and wrinkled his forehead, but none of us could tell what was happening. He kept his composure. Wedding done. Time to cut the cake. It was a little bit after 2:00pm and hot as hell outside.
Back in the kitchen, husband went straight to the beer fridge, grabbed a beer, peeled out of his suit coat, loosened his tie, and stood on the back porch to drink a beer. He came back in, grabbed another beer to ‘nurse it’, and was talking to the girls in the kitchen. We asked him about why he paused.
Husband explained. He was in the midst of the vows, staring down at his printed sheet, trying his best to be serious, but wondering how in the heck he got into this situation. From the corner of his eye, on the couch, the bodacious and extroverted aunt in her short skirt had her legs crossed. As a man, he looked at her legs….. and she had a perfectly formed devil’s trident tattoo, which started at her ankle – with a tail that went all the way up her calf and towards her thigh……….. He thought, if ever there was a moment “God would strike me dead”, surely, this was it…..
Husband was relating the story to the girls in the kitchen. He was shining in his moment of glory, with lots of laughter from the staff. We couldn’t believe he made it through the whole ceremony. I was standing in the utility room, when the mother of the groom wandered in, ready for the cake knife. She glanced into the kitchen at my husband, whom she thought was the minister, but turned abruptly. We both left to cut the cake.
A few minutes later, photographs were taken, speeches given. I was cutting and serving the wedding cake when I overheard the mother of the groom say to another relative, “I can’t wait to get out of the city (we have a population of 8,000), the ministers here…….They’re shameful……… They’re all beer drinkers.”
Oh my.