Mike Moser "I Say" Published Dec. 5, 2003

Preacher hollered at the chapel of love

Last Saturday a preacher hollered at me.

While it might have been unusual for me to be in the presence of a preacher on a Saturday, being hollered at wasn't that much out of the norm. Readers do that on a regular basis, especially when their names appear in the police reports.

But on this occasion no crime was committed. Well, let's hope not.

It was the occasion of my niece's wedding.

My only sister's only daughter was tying the knot.

It was to be one of those Magnolia state social events reserved for Southern gentility, but as planning for the gala event evolved into a never-ending saga, one of my niece's co-workers said, "Why don't you just get married in Gatlinburg? They will do everything for you."
And that is how it came to be that I would be hollered at by a preacher.

It always seems to work out that the person who lives closest is the last person to arrive at a designated time. I held up that time-honored tradition.

It wasn't all my fault.

We got up early enough on Saturday. But before we could leave the city limits of Crossville we first had to stop and fuel the car, stop and pickup up a quick breakfast, and then return home to retrieve the wedding card we had forgotten.

Once on I-40 it took us an hour and 15 minutes to reach the 407/Smoky Mountain National Park exit. The trip was uneventful with travel flowing freely and as we turned south toward Sevierville, we had one hour to get to the chapel in Gatlinburg.

We had anticipated the after-Thanksgiving holiday shopping traffic. We did not anticipate traffic at a dead stop two miles out of Gatlinburg. So there we sat as the minutes ticked away. What spewed from my mouth probably would have made a good sequel to "The Christmas Story."

I kept a steady eye on my watch as the line of traffic finally started inching toward traffic light 3 where I would turn and then travel some more miles to reach the chapel.

Twenty-five minutes later we were turning at traffic light three, three minutes before the ceremony was to start. I immediately fell behind one of those damned trolleys with nowhere to pass because of construction, and parked at exactly two minutes past the witching hour.

Now it must be noted that these ceremonies are timed to the second because the chapels book one wedding party in the front door while pushing another wedding party out the back door. It is a fast food, cookie cutter industry.

We rushed up the hill and threw open the door to find ... the bride's maid starting her stroll down the aisle and my niece arm-in-arm with her father, waiting to enter the chapel of love.
Sizing up the scene, I observed it would be a faux pas of the third-degree to try and enter the chapel as the first chords of the piped-in wedding march began. So I politely walked to the back of the foyer to stand out-of-the way until the bride-to-be completed her wedding march.

As I peered into the chapel searching for seating that would be least intrusive to the proceedings at hand, I heard a microphoned voice boom, "You in the back ... move away."

The congregation of just under 50, as if one, all turned their heads to the foyer to see who was the dirty rotten scoundrel trying to bust into the wedding scene.

I think it is funny that a crowd of people can't following directions, but let a preacher holler at someone and they all can turn their heads in one big unison swoop.

I looked up to see the preacher scowling in my direction, standing in front of the congregation that was all looking past my niece in her beautiful white dress, and staring at me as if they had seen my picture hanging in the post office.

I couldn't think of a witty retort so I ducked my head and quietly obeyed. What I wanted to do was die, but that would have really been a faux pas.

The ceremony from that point was a bit of a blur. It was the most subdued affair I have ever sat through. I think everyone was scared to smile. It was very artificial and synthetic. I do remember sitting through two informationals, brought to us by the preacher who gave the chapel of love's advertisement on time my niece had purchased.

We were told to sit while the newly-weds' pictures were taken by the chapel's official photographer, and sit we did. Not a word was spoken, except by the preacher who tried to sell us on how religious he was while plopping a shopping bag containing flowers and the unity candle on top of an open Bible.

I pray my niece and her husband have a long and happy life together and that contrary to anything else, the day was special for them, one they will never forget. I know I won't forget it, nor will they ever forget I was there. I am the one in the red face at the rear of the foyer being hollered at by the preacher to the strains of, "Here Comes the Bride."

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Mike Moser is the editor of the Crossville Chronicle. His column is published periodically on Fridays.