Florida legalized same-sex marriage in January 2015. Months later, on June 26, the Supreme Court, in a landmark decision, made gay marriage legal everywhere. As Pride Month comes to an end, Atrium tells the stories of three Alachua County couples who knew their love was eternal but were barred for years from saying, ‘I do.’
Donn (left), 50, and Melvin Smith-Lopez (right), 36, have built a community of compassion and support in which their children will grow. Each couple builds the foundations of their relationship differently. Read on to discover the love that flows through these three stories. (Photo courtesy of Magnolia Lane Photography)
June 26, 2021 | By Julia Mitchem and Avery Lotz
Stanley and Clayton: Through sickness and in health
Stanley Szelazek stood alone on the cold tile floors of Martin Emergency Center at St. Lucie West in 2012. Streams of nurses slipped by his bubble of isolation, and families milled throughout the hospital. They spoke softly, held hands and awaited news.
But no news came for Stanley.
Minutes before, he had rushed then-boyfriend Clayton Booker from their home in Port St. Lucie to the hospital. Stanley, a nursing student, immediately recognized the immobility in Clayton’s left side as a stroke. In the car, he tried to stay strong through silent prayer. It was a way to mask his fear.
At the hospital, Stanley grew anxious but could not see Clayton, the man he had loved for nearly 14 years. Stanley was unable to hold Clayton’s hand or reassure him. They were not married and as such, the state of Florida did not see them as life partners. The state saw Stanley as a friend who had no legal rights when it came to Clayton.
“Nobody wanted to talk to me,” recalls Stanley, now 56 and a registered nurse. “So, I had to really bully my way around the nurses to be a part of his care.”
Separated by physical doors and legal barriers, a buzzing hive of what-ifs manifested in Stanley’s mind. For heterosexual married couples, not hearing from nurses after an unexpected hospital trip would be an unimaginable nightmare, but for those in same-sex relationships, the silence was common.
The stroke left Clayton, now 63, unable to walk or speak normally until he underwent nine months of intensive rehabilitation. That day in 2012 marked the first of many hospital trips for the pair — and the beginning of Stanley’s fight to marry Clayton.
“There were times I didn’t know if he’d come home,” Stanley says. “But I don’t dwell on it. I just keep pushing forward.”
Their love story began two decades ago in Lighthouse Point, Florida. Stanley had begun working at Lighthouse Orthopedics and immediately noticed Clayton, the manager. He was tall, broad-shouldered and had sand-colored hair.
They first locked eyes in a nondescript office and both felt a strong connection. But Clayton had a problem. He thought it was unethical to date an employee.
That night Stanley thought about things. And he prayed. The next day, he had a simple answer. He would quit. Stanley’s resignation marked the first day of forever for the pair. They moved in together.
“It just got stronger every day,” Stanley says. “I think he hung the moon, and I tell him that every day.”
As a nurse in Rockledge, Florida, Stanley (left) spends the weekends away from his husband, Clayton (right), until he treks up the East coast to reunite with “lots of happy smooches.” The two have suffered the longing of physical distance between work trips and hospital stays, but they say their love has only grown stronger. (Photo courtesy of Stanley Szelazek and Clayton Booker)
While their love persevered, the couple faced another challenge — Clayton’s health. After his stroke in 2012, Clayton subsequently had another. He was later diagnosed with cell death in his gallbladder and was given a dual-chamber pacemaker in June 2019.
“The worst part of his being hospitalized is the fear in his eyes,” Stanley says. “But I tried to get him through it and get him home again.”
That year, 2012, brought both hardships and realizations for Clayton and Stanley. Their relationship was fortified, but the legal disparities between heterosexual and same-sex couples became overwhelmingly prevalent through Clayton’s time in and out of the intensive care unit.
Three years before the couple first experienced discrimination at the hospital, a Florida lesbian couple made national headlines after 39-year-old Lisa Pond died from an aneurism in Miami’s Jackson Memorial Hospital. Staff barred her wife and children from entering the room where she lay for eight lonely hours. Despite public uproar and a lawsuit against the hospital, no specific legislation was passed.
Stanley, like many other members of the LGBTQ+ community who dealt with a partner in the hospital before the legalization of same-sex marriage, was forced to seek out power of attorney — a costly process — to hold the shaking hand of his life-long love in a time of need.
Three years later, the pair moved to a blueberry farm in Earleton, Florida. They raised goats, pigs, donkeys and miniature horses, among other furry companions. When they heard the outcome of Brenner v. Scott, the court case that led to the legalization of same-sex marriage in Florida, their cheers were accompanied by the barks of their dogs and clucks of their seven chickens.
Clayton faced his boyfriend, and his joy turned to ambition. He proposed that the two should get married on the day of marriage equality.
“Oh, no,” Stanley replied. “I don’t want to be on the news.”
But they were making history, and journalists snapped photos of their union.
Ultimately, the unwanted press attention didn’t matter. Joy trumped nerves.
The pair married on January 6, 2015, at the Alachua County Courthouse. They were among the first 28 same-sex couples to be married in the county on the first day gay couples could marry in Florida.
“This is really happening,” Clayton whispered to Stanley, their blue eyes locked and awash in joyful tears. Four couples had married before them, and a line of others followed behind with eager smiles and tested patience.
At about 9 a.m., they exchanged well-worn commitment rings, said two long-awaited “I dos” and kissed to make their 16-year partnership a legally bound marriage.
Now six years later, Stanley cares for the elderly at Orchid Cove nursing home in the Brevard County city of Rockledge. Every Sunday night, he makes the hour-long journey from Rockledge to the couple’s new home in Daytona Beach. His hands rest on the smooth steering wheel of his car; his light eyes stay focused on the line where the cracked, charcoal road meets the sleepy rose-colored sky. And Clayton’s voice fills the silence. The two talk the entire length of Stanley’s drive, until they meet in one another’s arms.
Pam and Carol: Finding love in unexpected places
Pam Smith, 76, and Carol Barron, 72, met later in life, when each of them had already been through love and loss. The prospect of another serious relationship, let alone marriage, seemed implausible.
But as mature women, they knew that in a way, life was just beginning. They met in 1991 when Pam, 46, was buying a building for her acupuncture practice in Gainesville. She was looking for someone in the contracting scene.
Pam had an idea of exactly what she wanted to do, but Carol challenged her. Funnily enough, this is what much of their relationship would look like. They would both equally challenge each other and help each other grow.
Carol described herself as a “wild hare” when the pair first met. She could fix anything she set her mind to. She had her own sailboat and lived in a house with lesbians in Melrose, a small town west of Gainesville. She thrived on adventure.
Early on in their relationship, Carol first bared her mischievous spark. She came to Pam’s apartment with a gift.
“I just got us tickets to Costa Rica,” Carol announced.
She had sold her sailboat and wanted to go on their next adventure.
This is who Carol was. She valued spontaneous experiences and exploration. But Pam was not so keen on the idea. She liked to plan and save for the future. She kept herself clean and polished while Carol was always covered in paint and dirt from her latest project. She just wasn’t sure things would work out with Carol.
Pam’s gentle hands (left in both photos), steady and smooth from her years as an acupuncturist, rest against the working fingers of Carol (right in both photos), dusted with paint and toughened by calluses. While their juxtaposed hands mirror their differing paths, they walk together in love. (Photos by Julia Mitchem)
But they discovered common ground through the passion and consistency that built the foundation of their relationship. They also grew closer over where they both could find peace in their own ways — in nature.
The couple bonded by canoeing in sparkling blue Florida waters and gazing up at birds who effortlessly soared in tandem.
Pam, who sees herself more as a city girl, taught Carol to savor the now instead of constantly powering ahead. In return, Carol provided Pam structure and security through her constant support, cooking and repair skills.
They have now been together for 28 years. They celebrate their anniversary on June 12 — symbolizing when Pam left her previous relationship to be with Carol.
On June 11, 1993, Pam was teaching in Miami when she decided to take a chance on her and Carol.
“OK,” she thought to herself. “I’m going to do this.”
After a class, she sat in her rental car, about to head to the airport and catch her flight back to Gainesville. She felt awful. But she looked up and saw a big rainbow in the sky.
On the plane, the tears were still flowing from her eyes. She looked out the window at the ocean below and caught yet another amazing sight: an entire pod of dolphins playing in the waves.
And then fireworks over Orlando. It was a sign that she was meant to be with Carol.
“I get the message,” she told herself. “I’m on the right track.”
But the relationship was not easy. Neither knew what the future would hold, whether they would find acceptance.
But they did.
Pam and Carol wanted to get married, but because they could not do so then in Florida, they traveled to Maryland, which legalized gay marriage in 2013. The two were married at a courthouse in Ellicott City on May 27, 2014.
Pam (in front in both photos) and Carol (toward the back in both photos) have grown together since they first met. In the photo above on the left, the pair enjoy their company earlier on in their relationship. In the photo above on the right, the two enjoy time together as two wives on their wedding trip in Maryland. (Photos courtesy of Pam Smith and Carol Barron)
They have loved married life ever since, especially calling each other their wife.
“It feels so natural,” Pam says, grinning. “It feels a bit like a political act.”
They found a rhythm in their companionship. The COVID-19 pandemic reminded them to enjoy their time together.
Each morning, the alarm rings at 7:30 and Pam and Carol drink tea, read and talk about their dreams while enjoying a slow start to their day. They relish their shared history, commitment to each other and deep friendship. They hold onto the simple moments and to the things in nature that drew them together in the first place. They pull each other outside to watch whistling ducks fly over their home. Or to simply gaze at the moon.
Donn and Melvin: ‘I’m here on bended knee’
Donn Smith-Lopez had fought for years to legalize gay marriage. He channeled his spirit of activism through the United Church of Gainesville. The church community quickly became a part of his family.
As an activist, he knew it would only be a matter of time before same-sex marriage was legalized. But Florida enforces a mandatory three-day waiting period, which means couples must wait three days before their marriage license becomes effective. For many gay couples, that three-day period was filled with anxiety.
Donn and his boyfriend, Melvin Smith-Lopez, knew they fought hard for their love; Donn wanted to fight for others, too. He wanted to find a way to eliminate the three-day wait.
“What can we do for these couples who have been waiting 20, 30, 40 plus years?” he asked.
He knew that the state waived the waiting period for couples who agreed to a four-hour marital counseling session. Donn and a team of ministers devised a plan: They would set up counseling sessions for gay couples. Such sessions provided an alternative and relieved couples of the waiting period.
If they could organize a mass marriage counseling session before the first day of marriage equality in Florida, then the couples’ unions would be secure, and the waiting period could be sidestepped.
So, they did just that. The church filled with eager unmarried couples.
On the morning of Jan. 6, 2015, Donn rose with the sun, called the city of Gainesville and issued a warning: Today’s the day — be ready.
“Our ministers will be there on the courthouse steps marrying people,” he told the city representative on the phone.
Starting at about 8 a.m., LGBTQ+ couples began filing into the courthouse. In all, there would be 28 couples that day.
Donn and Melvin stood on the sidelines, cheering with the members of their church. Former Clerk of the Court Buddy Irby led the energized crowd.
Some had feared retaliation, but on that day, there was none. Instead, the couples were met with a long sheet cake and bottles of sparkling grape juice for celebratory sweets.
When the steady flow of newlyweds trickled to a stop, a manila folder of marriage documents landed in Donn’s hands. He passed the papers to Irby.
“I would like all of you to make sure that all of these are 100% accurate,” Irby told the line of deputy clerks. “I want there to be no reason why these documents could not be seen as legal today.”
Donn recalls releasing the documents from his hands and seeing Irby make them official.
“That was an incredible moment,” he says. “It was just so special.”
But even though Donn had played such a crucial role on the first day of gay marriage in Florida, he had yet to get married himself.
He met Melvin on an October day almost a decade ago. Donn was drawn to Melvin’s worldliness and Melvin, to Donn’s vibrant personality.
When they first started dating, Melvin was stressing over dental school and Donn would visit to check on him. Donn did their laundry and began grocery shopping and preparing home-cooked meals after he saw Melvin’s almost empty refrigerator with only a few frozen chicken patties, expired milk and leftovers.
Melvin always knew he wanted forever in the form of marriage, especially because family had been such an important part of his upbringing. He had come out to his family by introducing them to Donn while they were visiting for his dental school ceremony in 2012. His immediate family reacted well, despite their religious inclinations, but the couple still had to have some tough conversations throughout their relationship.
Eventually, the couple knew they wanted to settle down together. And despite Melvin’s high regard for marriage, it was Donn who took a knee. At the end of a special church service, Donn stood up on stage and recited a poem he had been practicing for weeks. He had even driven around with the poem placed over his tachometer on his dashboard and let the words dance across his lips each time he drove.
“… But I know a man who’s not as strong nor perfect as can be,
but he loves a man with all his heart – well gee – that sounds like me.
So, though I’m not a perfect man, I’m here, on bended knee, with this question that my heart desires: Will you marry me?”
Donn stumbled over the words as he said them in front of everyone. But his message still shone through.
Melvin and his family were beaming, and Melvin, uncharacteristically, started crying. The poem became their special thing.
After a year-long engagement and months of planning, Donn and Melvin’s love story culminated on an October day in the same place it had grown — at their beloved church. Just months earlier, on June 26, the Supreme Court had decided a landmark case that legalized same-sex marriage in America.
The proud grooms were surrounded by family and friends as they made their union official, though some relatives from both their families did not attend because of their religious beliefs. But they harbored no resentment.
“We didn’t skip a beat,” Melvin says. “It’s not about them; it’s about us.”
Donn asked the minister to weave in quotes from the Supreme Court ruling into the sermon preceding their vows. At the reception, the two held each other close and shared their first dance to an unorthodox genre of choice: country. But the words Chris Young sang spoke to their growth and time together: “A better man is who I am with you.”
Donn and Melvin have been happily married since and are now co-parenting with another same-sex couple. The two couples raise Devin, 3, pulled from a mix of Donn and Melvin’s names, and Alyssa, 2, who goes by Aly.
When Donn came out in the ’90s as a young man, the idea of marriage sounded like a utopian dream — but never a possibility. Now, he and Melvin lead a life of laughter, family and community with their co-parents and children by their side. (Photo courtesy of Magnolia Lane Photography)
Donn had never expected his life to be this way. As a 50-year-old man who came out in his 20s, things were different for him.
He has been intentional about his involvement in the civil rights movement for the LGBTQ+ community, especially when it came to fighting for younger gay people nationally and globally. When he came out in the ‘90s, AIDS was still very much a public health crisis. Many fought for their lives, partners and jobs.
“Just looking at the equality that’s happened throughout the world in the last 10 years,” Donn says, “the movement that’s happened in such a short period of time is incredible.”
Avery Lotz is Atrium's co-Editor in Chief and Print Editor. She has written for CNN, WUFT News, The Independent Florida Alligator and Her Campus UFL. In her free time, she enjoys surfing, painting and exploring the Sunshine State.