Couples' enduring love stories don't always follow a script

In honor of Valentine's Day, the stories of John and Patrice Goodwin of Eastport and Dennis and Gail Preston of Edmunds, two couples whose relationships have endured through the decades, are shared.

Creating a life and a home

John and Patrice Goodwin's love story began almost a half century ago in an unlikely location: a seminary. Patrice explains, "It was a second career, and I was in my last year of a three‑year master's program. I met John when I was part of the orientation committee for new students." John was 34, having done a tour in the Army followed by a career as a case‑worker for foster children before answering a call to the ministry. They immediately hit it off. "Most of the male students were 21‑22, right out of college. My women friends and I were all older, in our 30s, so John started hanging out with us. He'd come down to the women's floor in the dorm and cook for us, our personal chef. We started going together, but we really only had one real date. We were always hanging out as a group, eating dinner, going to ball games. Everybody said, 'There goes John's harem.' We had such fun."

She continues, "I had an internship north of Philadelphia. One day coming home, the transmission went out of my car. The next day John came down to the lounge in our dorm with his savings passbook. He sat down beside me, opened it up and explained that he had enough money and, if I married him, he could pay for a new transmission. He did add that if I didn't agree to marry him, he could still pay for the transmission, but would appreciate it if I would consider it a loan. That's an offer I couldn't refuse. We met in September and were engaged by Thanksgiving."

They married on May 30, 1981, six days after Patrice graduated. They both went on to serve as ministers in, as Patrice reports, 25 churches. They always lived together but never served in the same church. It was not always easy. Hours were long. Money was tight. They adopted two daughters with special needs. Patrice calculates that they lived in seven different parsonages throughout the Northeast.

When the time came to think about retirement, Patrice wanted to return home to Maine. She had been to Eastport in the 1970s, and they decided to visit.

A series of events led them to arrive in the island city close to midnight with no reservations and no cell service. As they decided they would have to spend the night in their car, they heard a voice calling, "Can I help you?" Heidi Reidell, who was to become a close friend, was just returning from a trip. They ended up spending the night on air mattresses on her dining room floor. "Can you imagine? She took two strangers off the street at midnight," marvels Patrice.

The next day someone suggested Ruth McInnis at the Todd House. She had a room but did not accept credit cards. "Don't worry, dear," she said. "Just mail me a check when you get back home." That afternoon, they parked downtown near the fisherman's statue before going on a whale-watching tour. Concerned about parking time, John asked a man working at the pier if it would be OK to leave the car for three or four hours. The man replied, "You could park in the middle of the street for 10 minutes and no one would honk a horn." That was it. John looked at Patrice and said, "This is the place."

Patrice notes, "They say you don't choose Eastport. It chooses you. I believe that."

And so it was that they found a house in Eastport, the first in their married lives that was actually theirs. They settled in and found friends. Both substitute preached and were mentors for new pastors. They created a life and a home. Eventually, John's health began to fail. On New Year's Eve, he collapsed, and Patrice called 911. He was transported to Calais and then Bangor. Patrice drove with a friend through a snowstorm to be with him. John was awake but his heart was failing. He said was ready to go. He was able to speak with their daughters and his sister. As a pastor prayed with him, John passed away peacefully the morning of January 2.

Patrice sits in the living room of the only house they ever owned, surrounded by mementos and photographs. Her loss is recent but her memories are precious as she recalls 44 years of marriage. "It was meant to be."

Changing your outlook on life

When asked how Dennis and Gail Preston met, he says, "You go ahead and tell him." Gail explains that he and his friends were hanging out on the Eastport breakwater. "It was the spring of 1970, and I was just pulling up. His friends razzed Dennis and bet him $10 that he couldn't get me to go for a ride. He came up, and, before I knew, he was driving my car around Eastport. I didn't know it at the time, but he got his $10. A year later we were married."

Neither remembers exactly how it came about. Gail remarks, "It kind of snuck up on us."

Dennis says, "I bet 95% of the people at our wedding reception thought that ain't going to fly. For the first five years, we didn't know, either. I was dealing with Vietnam syndrome crap. I was not an easy person to get along with."

He explains, "I was in the Navy for six years, joined a Special Forces unit as a gunner on a river patrol boat. I intended to stay in the military, but I got hurt pretty bad. I promised God when I was in Vietnam that, if he got me out, I'd never leave home again. I pretty much kept my promise."

Gale notes, "He was older. Vietnam made him older. He was ready to settle down. I had never left my mom and dad's house until I was married. I had no idea about handling money." Dennis interjects, "She was so naive."

Gail continues, "We don't even have hobbies in common. I'm inside reading. He's outdoors. He took me fishing one time. I stood on the bank and swatted the flies. He said, 'Fine, we're going home.'"

Dennis reports, "We had an argument per day." Gail adds, "At one point Dennis told me, 'We're married now, and you have to agree with what I say.'"

They settled into professional lives. Dennis became a park ranger at Cobscook Bay State Park. Gail fulfilled her lifelong dream of being a teacher, getting a position at the Edmunds Consolidated School. "I was so happy to have that classroom. I was there even in the summer."

And then things changed. Dennis says, "We got to know each other. Heidi," their first child, "came along, and that changed my outlook on life. It set the stage of me digging my feet in and making the marriage work. I changed. I finally understood what my role was. At first I wasn't focusing on us as a family. My thought process changed from being less about myself and more about them."

Gail adds, "For both of us. I had wanted to be at the school all the time. It was my life. We thought we wouldn't make it through that first year. And then we snapped our fingers and it was our 50th anniversary."

This year, on June 5, they will celebrate their 55th anniversary. Living in the log cabin Dennis built, with a mantel full of family photographs, they are visibly proud at the close relationship they have with their family, hosting weekly Sunday dinners. "Anybody who can, shows up" says, Gail. "Sometimes we have 16 in here." There are two daughters, eight grandchildren and eight great‑grandchildren. When someone has a birthday, they get to pick what they want for dinner. There are annual get‑togethers such as a fish fry or time at the family's camp on a lake.

As the conversation winds down, their phone rings. Dennis answers briefly and hangs up. It's a friend wanting to know "how their honeymooners' interview" is going. Dennis ponders a moment, then says, "Write this in the paper. Tell them not to laugh too much when they read this."