Having already decided to drive to Philadelphia in 1976 to attend a press convention, David and Katherine concluded, illogically they know now, that as long as they were going to drive that far, they might as well take a side trip to Pawtucket, R.I., to see the Daggett house. When it was built in 1685, it was in Massachusetts, but state lines were later redrawn and it wound up in Rhode Island.
Well, while they were there, they reckoned, wouldn't it be fun to advance the date of their wedding and have it there on the grounds of the old house.
Katherine called Pawtucket and found that the house was now in the middle of Slater Park, a city-owned parcel with the Daggett House as its centerpiece. So she had to clear their plans with the director of parks and recreation.
He was excited, to say the least. Though David and Katherine weren¼t very involved in the "Buy-centennial" celebration engulfing the county at that time, Katherine could almost hear strains of John Phillip Sousa in the park director's voice as he helped her make plans for the big day.
His plans were another matter. But more about that later.
David and Katherine and a journalist friend of hers who was attending the convention with them left Paragould, Arkansas, on Wednesday afternoon. They took turns driving and slept very little, arriving in Pawtucket at 4 a.m. Friday. The wedding was set fo r 11.
At 9 a.m., they went to the Pawtucket City Hall to do the paperwork to make things legal. The parks director came in, carrying a laminated proclamation signed by the mayor, congratulating them on their trek to the Northeast to be married.
The parks director let them in on all the plans and asked them if they would mind if there were newspaper reporters at the wedding. (How could they mind?)
On the way to the wedding, they stopped by a vacant lot and picked some wild roses which David wrapped in his handkerchief -- for a bridal bouquet.
Arriving at the park, they were met by the municipal judge who, as evidenced by his breath, had taken a nip or two to steady himself for his time in the limelight. On the grounds of the Daggett house were three young men -- the mayor¼s son among them -- stationed to steady the flags -- Old Glory, a Bicentennial flag and a hand-painted City of Pawtucket flag -- against the wind.
David and Katherine had written their own ceremony, so as the judge read over the pages Katherine had handed him, the couple mingled with the guests gathered for the event. The local chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution had turned out in f orce, and some workers from city hall had recently arrived at the park.
The ceremony was -- as one reporter later wrote -- "short and loving and the couple read their vows in their southern drawls."
After the ceremony, the DAR invited them into the Daggett house for a reception. As they were led into the antique kitchen, the president of the DAR greeted them with a neatly-tied package and said, "What's a wedding without a present?"
The photographers asked her to "hold it" so they could get the standard hand-over shot, but she must have thought they were television reporters, because she said over and over again, "What's a wedding without a present?"
When the couple left the house, on the way to Philadelphia, Katherine opened the present -- a linen tablecloth and napkins -- and the card attached to the gift. The card began "What¼s a wedding without a present?"
With or without the present, it was quite a wedding.