Three Years

Three years ago today, my husbear and I tied the knot.  Well, at least as much as we could at the time.  Shortly after Mayor Gavin Newsome made the front pages by ordering the staff in San Francisco to change “Bride” and “Groom” on the wedding forms to “Applicant 1” and “Applicant 2”, Paul and I began talking. 

 

“Ya know,” Paul said.  “San Francisco is just a quick plane trip north.” 

 

“Yes.”  I replied with hesitation.  “But, this isn’t gonna last.  I mean, they’re gonna get shut down any time now.”

 

“That is true enough,” he responded devilishly.  “But they haven’t shut down yet, which means if we hurry up, we can get our license.”

 

It seemed crazy.  I mean really – dropping everything to hop on a plane and fly up to San Francisco for an act of Civil Disobedience that would, btw, get us a marriage license.  But at the same time, it seemed cool – REALLY cool.  Kinda like eloping, only with a twist.  At the time I worked at a non-profit where several of the other staff were also gay.  Sure nuff, I wasn’t the only one purchasing plane tickets.

 

By the time we were able to contact San Francisco, they had changed the way in which they were conducting weddings.  Because of the sheer volume, they had gone from no pre-reservations to pre-reservations only.  With an hour left until we were to get on the plane, we had JUST received confirmation of our appointment for Monday the 8^th.  My heart was just racing.  I felt such a range of emotions – anxiety, fear, trepidation, but above all - excitement.

 

Packed up with some nice business suits and informal clothes, we boarded the plane for The City.  Staying at the Inn on Castro, I was still a bundle of nerves.  “What if they shut down ahead of time?”  I thought to myself.  “What if there are violent protests?”  Opening the door to the suite, we were surprised to find a gorgeous bouquet of flowers sent by one of Paul’s co-workers who, upon learning of our last minute escapade, decided to lend her support. 

 

Sunday morning, we made a trial run by hopping on the Muni to the City Hall so that we would know how long it would take.  Sure nuff, there were lines of protesters outside of the City Hall.  (WHY, I will never know since the Hall was closed on a Sunday).

 

On the morning of Monday the 8^th, I stopped by a local flower shop to pick up our boutenierre’s – green carnations, of course!  Donned in our suits, we strode hand in hand down the street to the Muni.  Apparently, people on the street knew where we were going.  We received applause and cheers of support.  Arriving at the City Hall, we were surprised to see no protesters.  Erugh?  Did the right wing all have to report to work?

 

We found ourselves in a line down a side corridor.  The overtired, and overworked employees processed us quickly, undaunted by the fatigue, empowered by the importance of this civil disobedience.  Our ceremony was conducted by a deputized agent in the central rotunda of the grand staircase.  It could not have been more perfect.  And in the end, we strode out of the City Hall with our license in our hands – Mr. And Mr. Cook-Giles.  Standing on the stairs outside, I called my mom to tell her I had just eloped.

 

Two days later, San Francisco same-sex marriage was shut down.  The 4,000 or so of us were left in a legal limbo until we were invalidated later on.  But the battle isn’t over.  Three years later, we’re still waiting for the court date to revisit the entire issue.  But while we’re waiting, our license remains framed up on the wall in our home.  As for us, we are still Mr. And Mr. Cook-Giles, and always will be.