I read the most bizarre column in the New York Times today - a marriage ceremony by proxy, where neither the bride nor the groom needs to be present to exchange vows. Some State's have very strange laws indeed, and there's no shortage of people who'll jump at any opportunity to run a business. Here's the online version, it's quite amusing:  Ángel Franco/The New York Times HERE COMES THE CONTRACT Heidi Ulbricht, the judge, reviews paperwork with Dean Knapton, a lawyer, and the proxies, Sarah Knapton and Kyle Kirkland. Judge Ulbricht marries several couples in absentia most Fridays. Published: March 10, 2008 KALISPELL, Mont.  Ángel Franco/The New York Times Wedding certificates, signed for the brides and grooms by their proxies in Montana. The blushless bride wears a hooded sweatshirt of red, offset by a bored expression that says she’s done this dozens of times before. The distracted groom wears a sweatshirt-and-cap ensemble of matching olive, offset by his — not their — infant daughter, now fidgeting toward sleep just outside the cramped room where holy vows are about to be exchanged. The judge, wearing a white outdoor vest, takes her usual seat and exchanges nice-to-see-you-again pleasantries with the young couple, whom she hasn’t seen since the last time she married them, a week ago. The three principals get down to the business of solemnizing this marriage. And when they are done, they will have another to solemnize, and another, and another, and another, because this is Montana, the only state to permit that strange and sacred ceremony, the double-proxy wedding, wherein the presence of neither the bride nor the groom is required. “Ceremony No. 1,” says the judge, Heidi Ulbricht. That would be the marriage between two members of the Air Force far, far removed from this room in the Flathead County Courthouse. The real groom is 7,300 miles away, in Qatar, while the real bride is merely 1,700 miles away, in Kentucky. “We are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses to join in holy matrimony this man and this woman, who have applied for and received a marriage license from the state,” the judge says. Turning to Sarah Knapton, 22, college student and professional proxy bride, she asks: “Will you have this man by proxy to be your lawful wedded husband, and with him to live together in holy matrimony pursuant to the laws of God and this state?” “I do,” answers Ms. Knapton, elbow on table, chin in hand. “Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him both in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others keep you only unto him, so long as you both shall live?” “I do,” Ms. Knapton intones again. The judge now asks these life-altering questions of Kyle Kirkland, 22, mason and professional proxy groom, who is signing various marriage documents. He says, “I do,” twice without looking up once. By the virtue of the authority vested in her, Judge Ulbricht pronounces an absent military couple husband and wife, all in a Montana minute. The cost to the real bride and groom: $900, $50 apiece to the proxies, $100 to the judge, $150 to the lawyer (and witness); $53 for court fees; $14 for two certified copies of the marriage certificate; and the rest to a Pennsylvania couple who run a business facilitating proxy marriages. “Ceremony No. 2,” the judge says, and the next joining in holy matrimony, one between a soldier from Texas stationed in Korea and a woman living in Panama, begins. Kalispell morphed into a wedding chapel for absentees five years ago, when a soldier from Montana, serving in Iraq, wanted to marry his pregnant Italian girlfriend. The soldier’s family asked a lawyer named Dean Knapton to research a rumor that Montana allowed double-proxy weddings. The answer, to his surprise, was yes. It seems the law had been on Montana’s books for at least several decades, perhaps to accommodate soldiers during World War II. But its purpose became lost to time, like some once-urgent law banning bowling on the Sabbath — until its resurrection by Mr. Knapton. Instantly, this shambling lawyer — who works in a small office above a cleaning supply company, who has no law partner or secretary, who knows he has to learn to use this Internet thing, who wears zany ties on Fridays — became Mr. Love. News reports of the Montana soldier’s double-proxy marriage captivated that Pennsylvania couple, Sam and Barbara Geller. Seeing opportunity, they contacted Mr. Knapton with a wedding proposal of sorts: We’ll do most of the paperwork, and you take care of what needs to be done in Montana. Deal? Deal. The Gellers created a Web site called MarriageByProxy.com, which, among other things, advises men to “do the right thing.” Mr. Knapton, meanwhile, enlisted his sister- and brother-in-law as proxies, found an amenable judge, and treated the clerk’s office down the hall to chocolates now and then. Soon the business of Friday afternoon nuptials was booming, mostly for reasons of war, as reflected in the affidavits of those explaining why they could not attend their own weddings. “I am deployed in Iraq.” “I’m stationed overseas and unable to travel.” “Deployed to a remote location.” But some people complained that the law was too open-ended, essentially allowing anyone from anywhere to get married here. “We were getting calls from Turkey and the Middle East,” recalls Peg Allison, the tolerant district court clerk here in Flathead County. “From people who were definitely not citizens of the United States, and had nothing to do with the military.” Last year, the State Legislature amended the law to require that one party in a double-proxy marriage be either a Montana resident or a member of the armed forces on active duty; those marriages are recognized in every state but Iowa. Still, most counties remain so uncomfortable with the practice that they respectfully decline the honor of serving as host. But here in Kalispell, silent wedding bells continue to chime. Mr. Knapton’s in-laws eventually wearied of the Friday afternoon commitment, but he quickly replaced them with his daughter Sarah and her childhood friend, Mr. Kirkland, who often arrives at the courthouse carrying his baby in a portable bassinet. They have been “married” hundreds of times, and only once have they had to squirm through sugary vows written by the absentee bride and groom. “It was hard not to laugh,” Ms. Knapton recalls. Her father, who on this day is wearing a Seuss-ian tie evoking “Green Eggs and Ham,” is, as always, the lawyer, the witness — Mr. Love. He says he considers the fees to be modest, and likes to imagine that these double-proxy marriages ease the concerns of soldiers whose absence fills the tight room. “We all think about that,” he says. Ceremony No. 2 ends, and Ceremony No. 3 begins: the joining in holy matrimony of a 20-year-old woman from Boston and a 21-year-old soldier from Honolulu, now “stationed overseas.” In their name, the proxies say, “I do.” Online: An archive of Dan Barry’s columns can be found at nytimes.com /danbarry. |
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