The marrying man

By Geoff Williams, Post staff reporter

She said yes.

 

Basic bliss

Wedding planners recommend a year of preparation for the big day. But if you're going the justice of the peace route, that's not exactly necessary. Here's what you need, in addition to a couple: The marriage license (which requires a state ID, or driver's license; or a birt h certificate for those 21 and younger). The fee - Stephen L.J. Hoffman of Covington charges $65, $125 for outdoor wedding s other than in his parking lot. His phone number? 1-877-Marry-Me.

And now they're here. The groom, Paul Summers, looks nervous. For starters, he doesn't know how to tie a tie, and his best man is nowhere in sight. Meanwhile, the bride, Jeanie Worley, looks anxious. But it's nothing to worry about, folks. Just the usual wedding day jitters.

Stephen L.J. Hoffman is in his Covington office, finishing his lunch. He doesn't look nervous. He shouldn't be. He's performed the ceremony hundreds of times. Maybe thousands. It 's almost 1:30 p.m. on a Saturday, and he has another wedding scheduled at 2 p.m. Only the day before, he started off the morning by marrying a couple at 8 a.m. - 8 a.m.? - and then he sprinkled several ceremonies throughout his afternoon.

Back in the Old West, a justice of the peace was most often a gunslinger, imprisoning and punishing outlaws.

But no longer. ''With this ring, I do thee wed,'' Hoffman says several minutes into the ceremony.

''With this ring,'' repeats Summers, ''I do thee wed...''

''I pledge unto thee my faith and my love,'' continues Hoffman.

The entire ceremony takes about 10 minutes. It's held underneath a trellis doused in white flowers and lights - in the corner of Hoffman's waiting room. There's only one glitch. In the middle of the ceremony, from the office, the phone rings. ''Wedding bells,'' jokes Hoffman.

But otherwise, the wedding goes smoothly. Summers and the new Mrs. Summers finish off with a kiss, and they are beaming. Summers, a 41-year-old landscaper, has just embarked on his first - and, he hopes, only - marriage; this is the second for Mrs. Summers, a 35-year-old cashier at Value City department store. The Elsmere, Ky., couple met five months ago.

''I've already had the big, formal wedding,'' Mrs. Summers said shortly before the ceremony, ''and I didn't want to go through that again. This is easier, and cheaper.''

With weddings on average costing $20,000, it's understandable why anybody would choose this route.

But perhaps because of the speed in which people can be married by a justice of the peace, not every wedding is as normal as the Summers'.

''Sometimes, it's just like you see on TV,'' says Linda Scully, also of Covington, who has had couples knock on her door at midnight, wanting her to wed them on the spot. In a pinch, her husband or kids can serve as the witnesses.

Once, ''a man called and reached my answering machine at 6 in the morning. He had met this woman at a bar the night before.'' By morning, he was convinced he was in love. ''I just have to marry her,'' he told Ms. Scully, who suggested a little self-control: ''Why don't you wait another night?''

The man never called her back.

''Of course, maybe he went somewhere else,'' Ms. Scully concedes.

Maybe the man went to Charles Derrick, who occasionally conducts marriages in and out of his Southgate, Ky., house. ''One couple wanted me to marry them on a Friday the 13th, at midnight, in a cemetery. 'Whatever turns you on,' I said. 'I'll meet you out there with a flashlight.' ''

Or perhaps the man went to Hoffman, who says he is the only one of the three Northern Kentucky justices of the peace who works at this full time. (He also operates a parking lot, across the street from his office.) Hoffman's been marrying couples for over 10 years; he has to win his election every few years, but the taxpayers don't pay his salary.

''I'm basically elected to be self-employed,'' says Hoffman. (Each Kentucky county is allowed to have three justices of the peace; they run for office every four years.)

Plenty of states - like Texas, North Carolina, Connecticut, Missouri - have justices of the peace. Some don't, like Ohio and Indiana. So with populations of three states to work with, Hoffman has plenty of clients coming in.

It's a job that Hoffman clearly relishes, and no wedding is quite the same, he says: ''I' ve gone to places where chickens have walked up to us during the ceremony. I did a wedding at the Ameristop in Covington. I've gotten people married on bridges. I've had people get married i n my parking lot before.''

Hoffman has married a Hatfield to a McCoy, not to mention football players and rock stars. (Like who? ''Well, I married Eliot Sloan from Blessid Union of Souls,'' Hoffman says, referring to the lead vocalist of the pop group.)

And last year, he unknowingly married Barbara Moore, a now three-time bigamist who is currently on Northern Kentucky's Most Wanted List.

There was no way of Hoffman's knowing this, of course. As long as the couple brings in their marriage license and the fee, then the justice of the peace's duty is to marry the groom and bride.

''All types have come in,'' Hoffman said. ''I'm not kidding you. It's not just the people off the side of the road. They're young; they're older. Some are close to dying; some are just getting their lives started. Gosh, I see the poor, the ultra-rich, the in-between. There's no set person who comes in here. I get doctors, lawyers, presidents of companies. I get the guys who take care of the streets. I get middle management. I get people who stock shelves. Unemployed people. Love is not just an issue for a certain group. Love is universal.''

Shortly after the Summers party departs - the bride, groom, best man and maid of honor - a much larger one appears: Robby Boone, 25, and his bride, Mary Deaton, 22, along with Ms. Deaton's parents, her three siblings and her two best friends.

Boone and Ms. Deaton have been dating for nine months. One week before, Ms. Deaton informed her mother that they wanted to get married in a week.

''They felt this was all they needed, for their vows to be said and their family to be here,'' said Mary Stidham, Mary Deaton's mother.

Also, ''it's something shorter, something smaller, something affordable,'' Boone explained.

''I want you to repeat after me,'' Hoffman told Boone after a solemn speech, reminding the couple that ''this is not something to be entered into unadvisably.''

Begins Hoffman: ''I, Robby, take you, Mary, to be my lawfully wedded wife ...''

The entire wedding party watches intently, particularly Deaton's mother, who had fixed up the bride and groom. If either Mr. Boone and the future Mrs. B were nervous, Hoffman has put them at ease. The man is - if you'll pardon the pun - engaging.

And a few minutes later, deja vu: From the nearby office, the phone interrupts the tranquility. But not for long.

''These wedding bells are ringing all over the place,'' Hoffman quips.