Meet Me At The Days Inn
"Is this the preacha?" the thick drawl asked me over the phone.
"Yes, how can I help you?"
"This is Willie. I'm down at the Days Inn- that's between the Walmart and the Lowes."
I prepared myself to be hit up for cash.
"Are you the preacha?" he inquired again.
"Yes- what can I do for you?"
"Well, I'm looking for a preacha. I'm from Wilkes County, North Carolina. I'm stayin' in the sweet at the Days Inn. What are you doing at 12:38 tomorrow afternoon?"
The abrupt and specific request forced me to collect myself for a moment.
"I believe I am available. Is there some help you need?"
"Well, I'm down at the Days Inn and... are you the preacha?"
"Yes, sir," I reminded him, wondering if he was just having a hard time hearing me or if he was struggling with mental health.
"Well, preacha, I'm here from Wilkes County. Can you come down to the Days Inn tomorrow at 12:38 to marry me and Hannah? It's between the Walmart and the Lowes."
I had to take a moment. Was Willie asking me to perform a wedding at the Days Inn between Walmart and Lowes?
I didn't know if I could. I can read the Bible in Greek and Hebrew, explain the complexities of systematic theology, and recount tales of the saints of our past. Still, I don't recall the seminary class explaining whether or not I am allowed to perform a wedding—whether or not it's at the Days Inn between Walmart and Lowes.
As I imagined the possibilities, a terrible thought came to mind—who is Hannah? Is this some sort of child bride? I know I can't perform that wedding, so I clearly needed to get some more information.
"Well, sir, let me look into that for you. Can you give me some more information?"
We discussed the options, and I promised to call him back—at the Days Inn between Walmart and Lowes.
I first called my county seat. I asked if Mr. Willie had applied for a wedding license.
"He applied today. His license will be ready at 12:38 tomorrow."
Well, that's one question answered.
I had to ask, "What kind of verification have you done to confirm this is above the board? Is this a second (polygamous) marriage? Is the bride of legal age?" I think my imagination was getting a little worried.
"Everything is in order. He will come pick up his license tomorrow."
I thanked the clerk and called a fellow pastor.
He laughed at me.
"Be sure to ask for a good coon-dog as payment for your services. A good coon-dog is worth a lot of money!"
Setting aside the question of what on earth a "coon-dog" was, "But is this a service I can perform for them?"
"Yeah, sure. It's unusual but there aren't any rules against it."
Not long afterward, my wife casually called me to check in. As I regaled her with the tale of Willie of the Days Inn (between Walmart and Lowes), she clearly shared her perspective: under no circumstances was I to go to the Days Inn alone.
She was right, so I started to call the members of my session. Each laughed at me for getting into this and explained they could not assist.
I next thought about retired members of my congregation- and one, in particular, came to mind. I gave "Bull" a call.
"Should I come packin'?"
"Under no circumstances should this be any form of 'shotgun wedding.'" I clarified.
"Do I have to wear a suit?" We were a rural church, but our attire was casual. As I thought about it, I'd never seen him in long pants.
"I'll be wearing a suit, but you can come as you feel comfortable."
Bull agreed to come as my escort.
On my way to the Days Inn between Walmart and Lowes the next day, I picked up Bull at his home. He wore a sportcoat, slacks, and loafers—but no socks. He might be an older gentleman, but he was big enough that his jacket couldn't completely contain him—something I hoped I would not need.
"The wife made me dress up," he clarified.
As we drove to the Days Inn (between Walmart and Lowes) for our 12:38 p.m. appointment, Bull caught me up to speed: Our county, York, SC, was previously known to be the fastest marriage destination on the East Coast. It was a wedding destination for people hurrying to tie the knot. Even a few celebrities have come through to get hitched. Willie must have associated York with "gettin' married," so it was the obvious location when the time came.
But why did Willie call me? Then it hit me: after applying for the marriage license, he had spent his afternoon working through the churches listed in the Yellow Pages. Every pastor in York County must have rejected him—until he came to the churches starting with "L." I answered and didn't have the heart to tell him, "No."
We passed Walmart and entered the Days Inn parking lot, which is right beside Lowes. We entered the fine facility and went to the front desk.
"I'm here to meet Willie," I started- realizing I didn't know his last name.
"Oh, welcome! We're glad you're here. We've been expecting you! He's in our suite. Right this way."
As the front desk attendant escorted us to Wllie's suite, I leaned over to remind Bull, "Under no circumstances are we going to enter the room."
The attendant knocked on the door. As it opened, she introduced us, "Willie, the preacher is here."
"Come on in, preacha," he invited. We were immediately swept into the room to meet Willie.
He sat on the end of the bed, greeting us with his warm, toothless grin. He was shirtless but wearing black slacks (thankfully). A half-eaten apple was in his hand.
"Preacha, let me introduce you to my bride, Hannah."
He motioned to his left, and across the room, we met Hannah- an elegant, older woman in a smart pantsuit. She nodded her thanks for our coming.
"And this is Bull," I reciprocated the introduction. He's come to assist me today."
He ignored Bull.
"Should we step out," I offered- remembering that we were not going to enter his room, "so you can get ready?"
"Naw. Thanks, preacha. Have a seat."
He pulled his apple up, presumably to take another bite, when he pulled out a knife with his other hand.
I saw Bull quickly reach into his jacket.
Willie took the knife and cut off the next slice of apple. Gripping the apple slice between his thumb and blade, he placed it into his mouth and chewed it with his back teeth. It must be hard to eat an apple without front teeth.
Bull, relieved, removed his empty hand from his jacket and asked Willie, "So you're from Wilkes County? Do you know Junior Johnson?"
I didn't know Mr. Johnson- or why Bull asked- but Willie did.
"Yeah- we spent some time together in jail."
I looked to Bull for my next move, but he didn't flinch. Relieved, I changed the subject.
"So how did you meet Willie, Miss Hannah?"
Willie explained: they had both lost their spouses recently. While Willie's wife was dying, Hannah, a family friend, had come to help. Months later, they fell in love. They wanted to make it official in God's eyes, so they came to York County and found a preacher.
Reassured by this touching tale (that no legal barriers prevented these two from matrimony), I inquired, "Where would you two like to hold the service? Here, in the room?"
"Naw. Let's go outside by the poo."
Willie closed his knife, put down his apple, dropped his trousers, and put on his best white shirt. When he was ready, he ordered, "Preacha, let's do this," and we adjourned to the pool.
It was a warm summer afternoon when Willie and Hannah married at the Days Inn, beside the pool, between the Walmart and the Lowes.
"Willie, do you acknowledge this Woman to be your wedded wife, and do you promise and covenant before God and these witnesses, to be her loving and faithful husband, in plenty and in want, in joy and in sorrow, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?"
The frog in Willie's throat croaked as his eyes watered slightly, "I do."
"By the authority committed unto me as a Minister of the church of Christ, I declare that Willie and Hannah are now Husband and Wife, according to the ordinance of God, and the law of the State: in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."
They kissed. We signed the marriage license. Willie threw a $100 bill at me.
"That's so Wilkes County," Bull explained.
And if you don't believe this story, here's a picture (Bull was the wedding photographer):
