It was Jan. 23, 1941. Our wedding day.
We were all very excited, except for me, I was worrying. You see, my husband-to-be was (and still is) a trickster. Both Phil and I were worried about some of his friends … fellows who had been the target of pranks he had done on their wedding days. I had to figure out a way to help us get away without any incidents from these guys, who we knew were scheming to get back at my husband-to-be!
We were supposed to take the train that night at 9 p.m. to start our honeymoon, and I was worried they would make trouble and make us miss our train. The wedding day was really busy and hectic and it was very hard to concentrate on anything. But I figured out a plan, and this is the story of how it all worked out.
We were getting married at the First Methodist Church (back then it was at Ninth and Columbia). We spent the day getting ready, making plans for how we would get to the train after the ceremony. We didn’t tell anyone what we were planning to do, not even my parents. The wedding was to start at 7:30 p.m. The bridesmaids consisted of my sister, my friends and Phil’s sisters.
The wedding started on time. Everyone was excited and chatting happily. We were sure it was going to be a very wonderful wedding. Just as I started to walk down the aisle with my dad, the strains from the organ started the “Wedding March,” played by organist Eleanor Whipple. I was wearing a borrowed veil from a dress, and I was worried I was going to tear it or get it dirty — and that was about as much as my mind could take. I was so nervous I almost dropped my bridal flowers! The wedding progressed without a hitch. We were as excited as we could be.
Afterwards we went to the basement of the church for the reception. Everyone was greeting everybody else and especially us. Then it came down to cutting the wedding cake. We were just putting the knife on the cake when the door of the room opened, and there stood a policeman dressed in his full regalia. Everyone stopped talking and looked at him.
“Is there a Mr. and Mrs. Philip Arnold here?”
People sort of gasped and my mother started to cry. The officer strode over and laid a hand on each of our shoulders — and said, “You’re under arrest.” He escorted us out of the reception and to the police car. The minister’s daughter followed us, crying and saying, “They didn’t do anything, officer, they are just getting married.” We passed by Phil’s friends, standing by each door of the church waiting for our exit — many of them victims of Phil’s previous pranks. Then the policeman put us in his car and he drove to the police station at Eighth and Columbia. He drove into the police garage, and the doors closed behind us. We transferred from the police car to his private car, and then unbeknownst to anyone he drove us to his home where our clothes were stashed (we had taken them there earlier). We quickly changed into our traveling clothes and headed to the train station.
Back at the church people were so shocked, they didn’t know what to do. A lot of them got in their cars and started driving around town looking for the police car. They were unaware that we had changed cars.
Rumor has it that after a while the people who had tricks planned for us figured out that the “arresting” policeman was Harry Wood, a neighbor of mine, and they took to the highway to see if they could intercept the train. But by that time we were long gone — my friend the officer had gotten us to the train on time. When we got into Seattle, we met up with friends there and spent about an hour or so before we caught the ferry for Victoria, B.C., where we had a nice honeymoon. We were delighted that all our escape plans were successful. We had a great time in Victoria and also at Butchart Gardens. We even went into the Empress Hotel and wrote letters on the stationery there to our friends back home.
My wedding dress was made of slipper satin and was a sample dress from Meier & Frank in Portland, which they sold to me for $25. It is still as beautiful today as on my wedding day.
We now enjoy telling the story to our grandchildren and great-grandchildren as a bedtime story, and frequently they want to hear it over and over again. It has become a bit of legend, but every word of it is true!
