Man proposes; God disposes. It's the first part that interests us, because St. Louis suitors have come up with so many ways to pop that particular question. By giving a woman a lush new bathrobe ... with her new initials already monogrammed. Rigging a parish Trivia Night game. Using a tractor to carve "Will you marry me?" into a cornfield, then hiking up to the river bluffs with her. Slicing open the ol' Cracker Jack prize, inserting a diamond ring and resealing the box with hot wax. Climbing to the top of the outer dome of the New Cathedral ("Please don't encourage this idea," begs the priest who co-conspired).
Of course, there are always idiots — like the ex-fiancé who gave "shotgun wedding" a whole new meaning by wrapping up a gun as his beloved's Christmas present and hiding a diamond ring in a box of shells. But there are far more romantics — like Christopher Boyce, who took Amanda Ball to a tiny lakeside town in Austria. On New Year's Eve, "The shoreline was an absolute sea of people, down on their knees in the snow, shooting fireworks," she recalls. "Chris went down on one knee, and little by little, people started to notice. Just as I said yes, the clocks started chiming midnight, and everyone was cheering!"
Scriptwriter Paul Guyot emptied his bank account to buy Kelly McCarthy an engagement ring — "and my bank account being what it was in those days, you needed a microscope to see the diamond," he says ruefully. "Then I showed up at Kelly's apartment and told her to pack a bag." They were both living in L.A. at the time, and she assumed they were driving to a bed-and-breakfast someplace in Southern California. Guyot pulled into the Van Nuys airport and escorted her onto a beautiful old airplane flown by a guy named Corky, whom Guyot had met working on the film Congo. "We settled in for what Kelly now thought was going to be a 40-minute flight up the coast," Guyot says. "But Corky made a right turn after takeoff, and we headed toward the Pacific. I had wine and a nice tray of cheese and fruit to keep Kelly's attention away from the windows. I'd been planning the timing of all this for weeks and had no idea if it was going to work, but just as our plane was cruising over Santa Catalina Island and the sun was setting into the ocean's horizon and Kelly was peering out the window wondering where we were, I got out of my seat, went down on one knee and pulled out the tiny ring. Kelly turned back to me, stunned, and I asked her to marry me.
"I figured I needed the plane and the view and the sunset to get her to drop her guard long enough to say yes," adds Guyot. "She did."
Elaborate proposal strategies often require a little help from your friends or relatives. Entertainment lawyer Emmett McAuliffe emblazoned his proposal to Martha Barduniotis across a hot-air balloon and floated it outside her office window at Saint Louis University Medical Center. "The balloon was tethered across Grand from the hospital on a little patch of green," he explains, "and her 12th-floor window faced east." A perfect plan — except that Barduniotis, busy in her role as director of health-information management, wasn't gazing out the window. Finally, her co-workers, who'd seen it, suggested she ... er ... adjust her office blinds. She looked out, then down, to where McAuliffe was waiting with a ring box. By then, the sight had caused a traffic jam on Grand, and two TV film crews were on their way.
Jay Knight met an Australian nurse, Robyn Vaughan, on a mission trip to Haiti. They continued their relationship long-distance until Knight couldn't stand it anymore. He was going to send flowers and then call, but his mother pronounced that "boring" and talked him into proposing on video, with tiny stuffed koalas in the background. His future mother-in-law then entered the scheme. She told her family she'd rented a movie, pressed "Play," then surreptitiously dialed Knight's number and set the phone on the table. When Vaughan saw the video, she cried and screamed, and Knight, groggy at 5:30 a.m. his time, heard it all.
Nothing softens the heart like plans gone awry. SLM senior editor Jarrett Medlin planned carefully: He'd take his girlfriend, Jackie Janus, to the winery where they'd first admitted their love and walk to that same spot, overlooking the river. Medlin alerted the maître d' that they'd have to be finished with dinner at 6:05 p.m. to catch the sunset, recruited his brother to set the stage outdoors and asked the manager to seat them away from the window so Janus couldn't see his brother at work.
When they arrived, however, the host promptly escorted them to a seat next to the window. Aghast, Medlin raced to the chair with the best view, nearly knocking Janus aside, then apologized and held the other chair for her. She gave him a look; rudeness wasn't typical. Nor was it for him to spend dinner furiously texting his brother ("Abort! Wait until dark!") as he watched a beautiful sunset pass. To get away from the window, he suggested eating dessert near the wine bar. "Why move?" she asked. "Er ... so we can taste different wines with dessert." When she finally went to the ladies' room, he texted his brother: "Go!"
By the time Janus suggested a stroll to their favorite overlook, Medlin was calmer. Janus noticed the luminaries, commenting that it was considerate of the winery to line the path. Then she found the rest of the props Medlin had created — including a ring box with a Fruit Loop inside, which she'd once joked was all she required as an engagement ring. By then, Medlin was down on one knee reaching for the real ring box — which was empty. The ring had somehow dropped out. He cursed and crawled around in the dark, using his cellphone as a flashlight, and finally found it. But she'd already given him the answer he wanted: "Of course, you idiot!"
Then there are the pragmatists. "Romantic my ass," tosses back graphic designer Jeanne Liston Barnes. "After living with [photographer Fred Barnes] for about a year and a half, I said, 'I think we oughta get married.' He said, 'Sure, when?' I said, 'How about August?' He said, 'Fine, I'll be there.'"
They celebrated 35 years in August.
When you propose, you reveal more than you realize about who you are, what you care about and how you envision marriage and your life together. But few guys are as candid about their warning flags as ad man Bill Kiburz, who proposed at a sports car race. "I'd known what his first love would be from the start; no grounds for annulment there," travel agent Joan Kiburz says dryly. "On one of our first dates, we'd stopped to grab a bite to eat at Parkmoor. We were eating those delicious hamburgers in his Porsche when suddenly Bill shouted, 'Get out, quick!' I thought the car was on fire. Turned out, I had dropped some relish on the upholstery. 'Sorry,' he said, 'but relish does bad things to leather.'"
This year's their 49th anniversary — and Bill still cleans their cars with Q-tips.
Kim Wasserman and Steve Weindorf had been dating for three and a half years, they'd bought a house together and Kim ... was starting to get a little anxious. Then, one Sunday morning, their neighbors across the street left a voicemail — Wasserman heard it — inviting them to go to the zoo. Weindorf had friends in town and the neighbors had a new baby, so everybody went off to the zoo; Wasserman didn't even bother to fix her hair. "We came to the elephant house, and the show was about to begin. They said, 'C'mon, let's go watch.' I said, 'Oh, I've seen one of these before, I'll just sit on the bench and watch it from here.' They said, 'No, no, you've gotta come with us.'" Thinking nothing of it, she came along, and at the end of the show, she was standing at the fence with everybody else when the elephant carried around the traditional "Thank you for coming!" sign. Except ... this time it said, "Kim, will you marry Steve?" The audience burst into applause, and Wasserman was still trying to register what was going on when she turned around and saw Weindorf on one knee, holding a ring. The neighbors got it all on videotape.
By the time poet Richard Newman proposed, his girlfriend, Kara, had jewelry all over the top of the dresser in his bedroom. So he bought her a couple really beautiful jewelry boxes, and inside one of the drawers, he put a little box containing an antique white-gold filigreed ring. She loved it instantly, as he had. "We like to think that whoever wore the ring before Kara also had an interesting story or two regarding their marriage," he says.
Dianne Dunning-Gill of COCA was living in Chicago when Brian Gill proposed. They often took their dog to Montrose Beach to run, so Gill arranged to have a friend place a blanket, picnic basket and champagne along the path. Lincoln, the pup, ran ahead; Dianne hurried after him and came upon the romantic props. She stopped dead in her tracks, confused — then slowly took in the fact that Brian was down on one knee, ring in hand, and Lincoln, unattuned to the moment, was squatting perilously close to the blanket to answer nature's call. "Very romantic!" Dunning-Gill chortles, adding that Brian did wait for her reply before cleaning up Lincoln's leavings.
In 2002, Matthew Roeder spent a semester studying in Prague. On his second weekend there, he decided to take a weekend trip with two friends to the concentration camps outside Krakow, Poland. On March 1, while they were waiting for their train, one of his friends heard a group of girls speaking English, so they walked over and introduced themselves. They, too, were studying in Prague. "Little did I know that one of these girls, Lynette Oliver, would become my wife," he says. "We all hung out the entire semester abroad, then kept in contact when we got back to the States. Lynette and I went our separate ways, finished college but kept in touch via phone, email and weekend trips. A year or so later, Lynette took a job in St. Louis." On March 1, 2006, they went out to dinner, then stopped in Kirkwood for ice cream. He steered Lynette toward the train station and pulled out a letter he'd written for her. When she looked up from reading it, he was on one knee with a ring in hand.
Perhaps the most gallant proposals of all are those uttered in a rush, to repair the mood. Audra Aholt had asked photographer Katherine Bish to come to her family's farm in Okawville, Ill., to take pictures: boyfriend Josh Galliano, executive chef at Monarch, in his chef's whites, and Aholt with wine for her professional sommelier pictures. Galliano saw his chance — but told no one. They set out for the shoot: "It was cold, and I was nervous and uptight and had no idea when I was going to ask," he recalls. "Then, not exactly by a stroke of luck, Audra broke her wine glass." She was upset, and Bish said something about them needing to turn their luck around. So right there, in the middle of a bean field, Galliano pulled out the ring and proposed. "You should've seen the look on Audra's face," Bish says. "Josh is not a flashy kind of guy, and this was really out of left field. It took me about 2½ seconds to recover. And then I started shooting like a machine gun."
David Ryan is in the car business, and sure enough, he wound up proposing in the front seat of his car. "He picked me up after work one day," Susan Ryan recalls, "and we were going to go to the Clayton pool and swim. I'd had the worst day ever at work, and I was crying my heart out. He decided to stop at his house, said he'd forgotten his towel. He came back to the car, with me still hysterical, and whipped the ring out from underneath the towel and asked me to marry him." She gulped, stopped crying and wailed, "How can you ask me to marry you when I look so bad?!"
Amy Blouin and Joe Squillace met on a blind date. She was a divorced mom with two young boys; he'd just changed his mind about studying for the Jesuit priesthood. They met at Rigazzi's; the next day, they decided to have a picnic at the duck pond at Tower Grove Park. Two and a half years later — they were taking it slow because of the kids — Squillace decided it was time. To be romantic, he'd ask her that Saturday at the duck pond.
The night before, they parted irritably; Blouin had asked Squillace who he was going to vote for (this was the 2000 election), and when he said Nader, she lit into him, saying that would torpedo Al Gore's chances. On Saturday as they set out on their walk in the park, Blouin suggested a trip to Iowa, to be with her family, at Christmas. Squillace hedged, thinking Christmas would be a great time to do the wedding planning — but because Blouin didn't know why he was being evasive, she got annoyed. The more evasive he got, the angrier she got, and the faster he walked — trying to get to the duck pond to propose romantically.
Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. Standing in the middle of one of the park roads, he blurted, "The reason I'm not answering is because I [expletive] wanted to ask you to marry me once we got to the duck pond." Blouin's eyes filled with tears, but she yelled back gamely, "Well how was I supposed to [expletive] know that? It's been 2½ [expletive] years! I didn't think you were ever going to ask!"
Then we have this story from Jess Dewes:
"My husband, Mike, and I had been living together for a year in my rented apartment when we fell in love with a little two-bedroom bungalow on the Hill. Even though we'd only been together for a little more than a year, we decided to take the plunge and buy property together.
The day before we were set to move, I was busy packing and fretting about closing on the house. Mike told me that morning that we had to go out to Montel Winery to have lunch with his new boss and his wife. He also added that the boss wanted me to take a portrait of them (I'm a professional photographer), so I should bring my camera. I was enraged! How could they expect me to drop everything the day before the biggest move of my life and take their stupid picture? Didn't he understand how colossally huge this undertaking was? However, I agreed, since it was a new boss and Mike needed to impress him by dropping everything and carting his camera-toting girlfriend 30 miles out to wine country the day before the big move. Begrudgingly, I dressed for the lunch date.
Once we arrived at the winery, there were dozens of Harley bikers swarming, but no sign of the boss and his wife. We sat on a rock wall at the edge of the parking lot and waited, and I fumed. The winery didn't even serve lunch! I was going to have to endure worky chitchat and crackers when I had tons of packing to do at home! My rage swelled. Mike, on the other hand, was nervous. I thought he was edgy because I was so irritated.
Then I heard a puttering sound, distant at first, then growing louder as it neared. I looked up and saw a small biplane plugging through the sunny autumn sky over a nearby field. 'What idiot would be crop-dusting in the fall?' I wondered, still cranky. But as the plane got closer, I noticed it was towing a banner. 'Only a fool would advertise anything in the middle of nowhere,' I announced. And then it was close enough to read: 'Jess, will you marry me? Mike.'
It felt like the air was sucked directly out of my lungs. I looked over at him and he was on his knee, ring in hand. I was frozen, embarrassed by my horrible temper that morning, shocked that he would go to such extremes to propose, stunned by the timing of it all. My face froze, eyes locked into his. The bikers stared at us, full of anticipation. I took that ring, hugged him hard, buried my tear-streaked face in his big shoulder and said a muffled, 'Yes, yes, of course.'
After a minute or so of hugging and giggling, Mike said, 'Get out that camera, I only paid for him to go around three times!' I snapped a few photos, the bikers congratulated us, and we got in the car to go home and pack. No boss, no lunch, just a very clever and romantic ruse."
But for all-around drama, we'll take the story of Steven Straub and Jennifer Mackey. They'd always talked about getting married in a location neither of them had visited, so when he was ready to propose, Straub knew he needed more than a domestic flight. In August 2007, they left for the Far East: Hong Kong, Macau, China, Singapore, Malaysia and Thailand. "While flying over the International Date Line, I woke her to ask if she would love me for all time," he says. "She said yes." Assured, he waited until they reached Phuket, Thailand. "Jen told me that morning that she wanted to see monkeys and elephants in the wild." They rented scooters, explored the island and happened upon a Gilligan's Island sort of bar. "A couple of monkeys were belly up to the bar," Straub says, "and not far away were elephants that we walked with through the forest. Her wish had come true." The next morning, he woke Jen before sunrise, and they walked down to the beach. "The only light was from stars, the only sound from the ocean. We went into the warm ocean water and watched the sun rise, and I asked her if she would marry me."
She said yes. A few months later, they learned that Straub had a brain tumor. The next months were a white-knuckled hell of research, doctor appointments and surgery. But as soon as Straub recovered, they eloped to St. John, Virgin Islands. A place neither one had ever been.
