Lisa Antley-Hearn and Tim Hearn met in a dungeon on the Internet. The Templeses met at church. Bob and Sandy Rawlings met in the assistant school principal's office.
With more ways for boy to meet girl and vice versa, romance seems more complicated than every.
But the good news is that for two willing and wanting people the goal remains the same: "a love they can count on everlasting," clinical psychologist Peter Kilman said.
Everlasting love is a tall order -- maybe even an impossible dream for fallible mortals. But as Kilmann said, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained."
So on Valentine's Day, we celebrate the venturers and asked them how they met. They also offered some advice.
Most claimed they weren't looking for love but they weren't unprepared when it came their way. Shared moral standards, shared religious convictions and shared family goals were the non-negotiables.
The rest, like country music or a fear of possums, was optional.
That's how Margaret Gunter and Danny Hodges felt. Columbia matchmaker Susanne Currier, who is as much a therapist as a date maker, is a friend of Hodges, 62. About a year after his wife died, she introduced him to Gunter, 50, whose husband had died three years earlier. Currier liked them both. "It was a freebie," she said.
Neither of them was "looking for anything -- just company," Gunter said. Said Hodges, "We hit it off right away. We had a lot in common." Friendly hands of poker or rummy and visits to the Comedy Club suited them. "We're also scared of possums, scared of rats, and scared of mice," Hodges said.
Conversely, she likes to hunt and he doesn't. "I can't kill anything," he said. But he loves her venison chili.
Their philosophy for a good relationship is "show each other respect, don't be jealous and be friends first," Gunter said. "Don't go jumping on the bandwagon right off the bat," Hodges added.
Like Gunter and Hodges, Joel Temples and his wife, Linda Temples, were friends before they were sweethearts. Linda Temples, 34, said she wasn't looking for Mr. Right seven years ago when she joined the singles club at First Baptist Church of Columbia. She wanted to strengthen her faith and she considered Joel Temples, 44, who led her Bible studies class, a good friend.
"I wanted to get a girlfried to date him," she said with a laugh. When he invited her to a cookout and put his hand on her shoulder she concluded, "This is a date. It took me by surprise."
"Our first date was like an interview," she continued. "He wanted to know my likes and dislikes, how I felt about children, whether I thought I would live here all my life."
She also acquired a taste for what she thought was country music that her guitar-playing husband liked. "Actually, it's more folk music -- like Gordon Lightfoot" he said.
Lydia Durham was empathetic about not looking for love when she met Coy Durham. An earlier relationship had ended and she wanted time on her own. And if she went looking again, love, respect and consistency would be at the top of her list.
"I placed an ad in the personals for a friend at another friends insistence," Durham said. She kept a copy of the ad to prove it. When Coy Durham called, he asked about the person in the ad and felt they wouldn't be compatible. But he kept talking to Lydia -- for about five hours.
"I didn't expect to change my name either, but I did it for love," Durham said of their eventual marriage. "We back each other up."
Lisa Antley-Hearn knew the stories about being wary of whom you met on the Internet. She exposed a friend for misrepresenting herself. But her view is that anywhere you meet someone can be risky. There are not guarantees, she said. Besides, the USC library science graduate student was on the Internet to play Multi-User Dungeons (MUD), a popular game, not to meet someone.
Another player caught her attention and they started doing more chatting than gaming.
The e-mail led to long-distance phone calls between San Antonio and Columbia, and finally a visit from Tim Hearn. Mutual interest in Renaissance history and miniature schnauzers help cement the relationship of a Web master and a Web mistress. They married and have their own Web page, which includes wedding, Renaissance weekend, and schnauzer photos.
The McNairs, Hawkridges and Rawlingses met in more old-fashioned but not necessarily conventional ways. Stephen and Jennifer McNair were USC students but didn't meet at school. On Valentine's Day weekend a few years ago, McNair and a friend were skiing at Beech Mountain in North Carolina. McNair spotted a pretty and somehow familiar face.
He struck up a casual conversation and figured he might ask her out when they returned to Columbia. McNair's father wanted his son to prolong a visit home on the weekend of the date but his son declined. He didn't tell his father that he felt sure that the girl he just met was going to be his future wife. "I didn't want to jinx it," McNair said. He added that their similar backgrounds and interests and the timing of their meeting seemed right to him. Jennifer agreed.
Bob Rawlings had to show a bit more patience with Sandy Rawlings, who was a widow with three daughters when he met her. Rawlings, divorced and now retired, was an assistant school principal in Irmo when he had a parent conference with Sandy regarding her 16-year-old daughter.
He felt an instant attraction but Sandy thought the meeting was just a friendly one. Rawlings asked the daughter if her mother was dating and, like any self-respecting teen, she told him he could ask for himself.
Rawlings made a dinner date but Sandy Rawlings got cold feet. "Here I was in my 40s and I'd be dating again," she said. Her daughters nearly pushed her out the door and Sandy Rawlings spent and uncomfortable, self-conscious evening adjusting to the idea of a date.
She thought she blew it when he didn't call back. Rawlings thought she needed time to adjust. Then he called again. Eventually he proposed. "Sandy will you marry me? Go Cocks!" was on the banner towed of the USC stadium five years ago.
Happily-ever-after may or may not be in their future but the couples
would agree, better to have loved and lost than never to have loved
at all.