Historic Columbia House in fire’s aftermath

So what if the church burned down the night before your wedding?  Would you find the nearest bar and go through with it anyway?

Had Westminster Abbey gone up in flames on the eve of William and Kate’s much-ballyhooed multi-million-pound-royal nuptials in 2011, do you suppose the prince’s backup plan was to look for the nearest pub with enough plastic glasses and cheap champagne for a raucous toast from the regulars?

And, oh yeah, you think the royal  couple would have told the Archbishop of Canterbury to take a hike and instead hired a Universal Life Church minister whose services can be had for a six pack?

But that’s what Ron and Lisa DeLacy did after a suspected arsonist, since arrested, torched the Columbia House within 12 hours of their planned New Year’s Eve wedding.

Well, it wasn’t really a wedding: It was a “ring ceremony,” a public celebration of their quiet Dec. 4 marriage at Sacramento’s City Hall.

And the Columbia House isn’t really a church. It’s a restaurant that has recently gone by a couple of aliases – the Black Bart and the Jenny Lind – before reverting to its historic name.

But the ring ceremony really was moved to the nearest bar, the Jack Douglass Saloon. And the newlyweds really did hire a guy – that would be me – who performs weddings for beer.

I was ordained with a couple of hundred fellow undergrads in a 1968 Universal Life Church ceremony at the Stanford student union. When it was over, the Rev. Kirby J. Hensley passed out free minister cards and said all we had to do was fill out our names in the blank above his printed signature.

Since then I’ve officiated at the weddings of maybe 20 couples, none of which, as you might imagine, took themselves (or at least their weddings) very seriously. The ceremonies have been short, fun and, so I’m told, legal.

But none has been as quite as much fun as Ron and Lisa’s.

When they got around to exchanging rings, their young marriage had already survived Dec. 21’s End of the World, a protracted fiscal cliff free fall, and the incineration of their chapel of choice. Not only that, but their relationship has also survived the birth and ongoing infancy of their 16-month old daughter, Lily, and a 21-year age difference  between bride, 47, and groom, 68.

I don’t pretend to know the keys to thriving in such a relationship, but I’m convinced a great sense of humor is a key ingredient. Love and a shared, somewhat quirky talent and taste in music no doubt help.

Consider this: Ron and Lisa began their ring ceremony by singing “Somethin’ Stupid,” Frank and Nancy Sinatra’s chart-topping, heart-throbbing 1967 duet.  The nearly 80 guests packed into the Douglass loved it – and that was before the cheap champagne was uncorked.

Next came the ring vows and, finally, the lines I had waited all night long to say: “The bride and groom may now give each other the finger.” “We’ve already done that,” laughed Ron. “Many times,” added Lisa.

And thus was revealed another secret to marital success.

Newlyrungs Lisa and Ron with Bateman, courtesy photo

I pronounced the couple “rung up.” Cactus Bob and Prairie Flower played a John Lennon love song, the bride and groom kissed, champagne was uncorked, toasts were made, cake was cut, snacks were shared and, of course, rumors about the Columbia House fire were traded, embellished, bunked, debunked and traded again.

Then Ron grabbed a guitar and, with a bunch of veteran musicians, played a New Year’s Eve Party that had also been moved over from the Columbia House.

Yeah, William and Kate’s wedding cost millions, was watched by hundreds of millions, and was rich in pomp, pageantry and puffery. But not once did the royal couple give each other the finger and didn’t have nearly the fun we had at the Douglass on New Year’s Eve.

Now I don’t know what the Archbishop of Canterbury got for his wedding – but my six pack was a better deal.

Chris Bateman, 66, is a longtime journalist based in Sonora, California, where over the past 40 years he has covered everything under the Sierra Nevada sun. Contact him at chris@seniorfan.com.  Better yet, comment below.

Copyright 2013, Friends and Neighbors Magazine

Murry Francois is talking a blue streak, words and memories pouring forth in a fast-moving torrent carrying the rich accent of his Louisiana roots.

Relaxing on the front porch of his La Grange home, he’s recalling the day he met his future wife, Beverly, at the Oakland care home where she worked as a nurse.

Murry was there to visit his Aunt Eugenia, mother of the late California Supreme Court Justice Allen Broussard. As he walked in, the receptionist asked him, “Do you ever go on a cruise?”

“No ma’am, I never do,” Murry answered.

“You see that nurse right there?” the woman asked. “She’s not married, and she doesn’t have any children. Why don’t you ask her to go on a cruise with you?”

Murry’s reaction: “How stupid do you think I am?” But a minute later, he walked up to that nurse, said hello, and saw her smile.

“I didn’t only look at her,” he remembers. “I gazed at her.”

Murry, then 79, was an Army veteran, former aircraft mechanic and 47-year trucker who returned to the road after his wife’s death in 2000.

He invited Beverly, then 52, to dinner, and left her with his phone number.

“I waited and waited,” recalls Murry, a father of three, “then one night my phone rang. It was Beverly calling Murry, Lord have mercy.”

Murry, who often refers to himself in third person, was impatient, even though the time between first meeting and first date was only a couple of days, Beverly says.

That date began with dinner at a restaurant, where they talked and talked – or, more accurately, Murry mostly talked. “The restaurant closed, and he kept talking,” she remembers. “They asked us to leave.” It’s characteristic of their opposites-attract relationship. He loves center stage. She’s a behind-the-scenes person. He launches into new friendships with abandon. She hangs back a bit, studies people to get a sense of their character.

Where they converge is their humor, strong faith, and shared belief that relationships require work and commitment.
“When I first met Murry, I thought, God I like that man, but he talks way too much,” Beverly recalls. “And God said, ‘Just leave him alone.’ So I watched him and saw his impact on people. People either love, love, love him or they don’t. And that’s just who he is.”

People often tell Murry he’s lucky, with a wife 26 years younger whose smile still dazzles him. He’s the first to agree, in characteristic form: “Murry J. Francois,” he says, “is a very fortunate man having a wife like Beverly.”

Beverly feels lucky, too. Even though her husband is 86, “He acts like he’s 50.”

“He’s a great man,” she says. “He’s funny, he makes me laugh, he’s got a great big heart, and he would never do anything to hurt anybody.”

They married in 2005 and moved to Murry’s home in Groveland, where he had lived off and on for 35 years. In 2010, the couple moved to rural La Grange. Beverly commutes to her Sonora nursing job, while Murry tends the home front and visits with neighbors who drop by to chat.

Marriage, both agree, requires work and a fair share of staying power.

“We knew there would be ups and downs,” Beverly says, “but we’re both committed to the relationship. Neither of us is going anywhere.”

They also share a strong sense of fairness, and tolerance for each other’s differences.

As Beverly puts it, “We don’t tread on each other.”

Murry quotes his mother, Elise, who lived to 100. Don’t judge a book by its cover, she’d say. Open the book and read it.

“Some people want it all, and they don’t want to give anything,” Murry says. “Give a little here and there, and someone is going to give you something back.”

© 2012 Friends and Neighbors Magazine