As Valentine’s Day nears, a visit to the New York City Marriage Bureau
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If you’re suffering from seasonal affective disorder, or just looking for a special way to celebrate the spirit of Valentine’s Day, my suggestion is to take a trip to the New York City Marriage Bureau on Worth Street.
Not to get married—though that can also be arranged, in 24 hours or less.
But simply to bask in the timeless atmosphere of the place. You’ll find people of every race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, age and circumstance celebrating that most human of triumphs—having found someone they feel excited about waking up next to in the morning.
And you might even get asked to be a witness.
Because based on my visit there Tuesday afternoon, some couples’ weddings are rather impromptu.
“All my classes were canceled,” explained Seth Kurke, who was about to get married to Boni Thompson.
“ ‘Shall we go to a museum? Should we go to MoMA? Let’s get married!’ ”
He and Ms. Thompson met two years ago at a nearby Belgian bar where he was bartending. The place no longer exists, but the City Hall area still breathes romance for the couple.
Going the unembellished marriage route also made economic sense. “We’d rather go to Europe,” the groom explained. “Do something with that money.”
And for those who believe that procreation is one of matrimony’s blessings, Mr. Kurke and Ms. Thompson already had that covered. Their modest wedding party included the couple’s well-behaved 4-month-old daughter, Amara, resplendent in a burgundy baby dress.
I don’t know whether Amara qualified as a witness. But Ms. Thompson’s sister, who was also present, certainly did.
And my photographer Steve Remich, or I, could have stepped in in a pinch. Mr. Kurke and Ms. Thompson graciously invited us to attend their ceremony in one of the Marriage Bureau’s two chapels.
As they awaited their turn, I also met Dr. Adrian Harrop and Daniel Ridley-Tyson, the couple on line in front of them. Messrs. Harrop and Ridley-Tyson are Brits who live in England. But they decided to tie the knot in New York City.
“I’ve got a lot of family that live on the Jersey Shore,” Mr. Harrop explained. The New York City area “is a very special and important place to me.
“It’s my mom’s 50th birthday,” he added, explaining that they’d broken the news to her only that morning over a brioche French-toast breakfast at Le Parker Meridien hotel.
“I’m just so overwhelmed,” Mr. Harrop’s mother, Alice Atkinson, said as she broke into tears.
They invited us to join their ceremony, too. So we all headed into the marriage chapel whereEdwina Townes, an officiant with the City Clerk’s office, presided.
I know from personal experience that your wedding can be something of a blur. But my hunch is that years from now, Messrs. Harrop and Ridley-Tyson will remember the officiant’s hair, a becoming shade of blue.
They approached the lectern.
“Talk to me,” Ms. Townes said. “Who’s Adrian and who’s Daniel?”
What the ceremony may have lacked in pomp, it more than made up for in the affection that flowed between the couple.
“You’re such a special, special beautiful person,” Mr. Harrop declared when Ms. Townes asked him whether there was anything he wanted to say to his partner. “And you accept me for everything I am and I’m not. I love you so, so much and thank you for giving me the opportunity to spend the rest of our lives together.”
Ms. Townes declared the spouses married by the powers vested in her by the state of New York, and Ms. Atkinson broke afresh into joyful tears.
Mr. Kurke and Ms. Thompson were up next. “How does this work?” Mr. Kurke said, perhaps wanting to add a late sprinkle of majesty to the ceremony, and breaking into “Here Comes The Bride.”
I offered to take Amara so that Ms. Thompson’s sister could use her cellphone to fulfill her obligation as the couple’s wedding photographer.
The ceremony concluded, as these things typically do, with Ms. Townes—who would preside over 26 weddings by 2 p.m. on what she said was a slow day—giving the couple permission to kiss. They took full advantage of the opportunity.
“We don’t need any more babies,” said Mrs. Kurke’s sister as I handed Amara back to her.
—ralph.gardner@wsj.com