Most tombstones show the date of death. Many tombstones record the date of birth. But there aren't too many tombstones showing a third date.

This tombstone for Jennie Hardaway McBride, found in Newnan's historic Oak Hill cemetery, demanded a little research. And not because there are no oaks or hills anywhere in sight.

It turns out that "Jennie" isn't even Mrs. McBride's real name. Before she was Mrs. "Jennie" McBride, wife of Newnan merchant and Scotch-Irish society member William Cardwell McBride, she was Virgina Rebecca Hardaway, daughter of Isora Burch. In 1903, Isora Burch organized the local chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution, named in honor of her great-grandmother, Sarah Dickinson Simms. Jennie would eventually succeed her mother as regent for the DAR Sarah Dickinson chapter. But that doesn't solve the question of why she has three dates on her tombstone.

The death certificate for "Mrs. W. C. McBride" of 14 Robinson Street in Newnan, Ga, lists the cause of death at age 50 as "acute uremia." The internet tells me that uremia is typically caused by kidney failure. In this case it wasn't a surprise to anyone when she died; the certificate notes that she was diagnosed with "uremia" six months before it killed her. However, that still doesn't account for the third date on the tombstone.

The father of Mrs. McBride was Robert Henry Hardaway, descendant of a boy "kidnapped" onto a ship bound for America in 1685. It turns out that daddy also has 3 unusual dates on his grave: "December Twelfth, 1837, - 1869, February 11, 1905." Robert Hardaway was born in 1837 and died in 1905. So what did he do between those two dates? He stayed busy. For one thing, Hardaway was a Confederate States Army soldier in Company B of the 1st Georgia Calvary. For a time afterwards, he was a member of the Georgia State General Assembly. And he was also a partner in the merchant firm Hardaway & Hunter in Newnan where he met Isora Burch and was married on December 12, 1869! Ah, ha!

The historical record states that Jennie R. Hardaway was married on April 18, 1894. Mystery solved. At least two generations of the Hardaway family of Newnan liked to put their wedding dates on their tombstones. Who knows why, exactly, but if I had to guess, I'd suppose they died a little those days. They don't call spouses "balls and chains" for nothing. Marriage: it's a life sentence.

[For the record, Jennie Hardaway McBride shares a common ancestor with my mother. Sarah Dickinson Simms, Mrs. McBride's 2nd great-grandmother, was my mother's 4th great-grandmother, making her my 5th great-grandmother. What can I say? Newnan's kind of a small town.]

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Every comics blog has mentioned it. ABC, CBS, CNN, and Fox consider it newsworthy. Highbrow magazines such as The Atlantic Monthly have devoted column space to it. Even The Times of India has reported the story that Archie Andrews is planning a wedding. The Toronto Globe and Mail has told me that where I stand on the Betty vs. Veronica debate describes my political proclivities. And, of course, wedding planning sites such as weddingbells.ca and onewed.com are very excited. Me? Not so much.

This smells to me of a sales gimmick. Not that Archie really needs one. His Double Digest sells well enough in toy stores, drug stores checkout aisles, and direct mailings to sit alongside X-Men comic books sold in more distinguished "direct market" outlets. Archie has, for the 68 years of his existence, played the roll of empty-headed teenager perpetually enrolled at Riverdale High. His biggest problems have always been which flavor malted to buy and how high to cuff his jeans. That's his niche, and it's why reader flock to his stories.

Marriage would mean a whole new paradigm for Archie: supporting a family, fretting about house payments, and struggling with his golf game. Change of this nature is not the sort of thing that the Archie audience (or the American audience, for that matter) typically wants when they tune in for fun and frolicking high school stories. Personally, I can think of only one instance where a a long-running, fitful courtship/love triangle has sorted itself out and maintained audience interest: Superman and Lois Lane.

Superman and Lois Lane were married in 1997 following 60 years of courtship. Superman's problems have always been more mature than Archie's: saving Metropolis from organized crime, preventing volcanic eruptions from obliterating villages, and traveling through time to repair the course of history are not even in the same class as remembering to keep your fly zipped after a bathroom break during the spring formal. Marriage is exactly the sort of real-world danger that confronts a Superman but is avoided by an Archie. If a man who can trim the hedges with heat-vision, listen to how his wife's day went from 20 miles away, and bring an entire milking factory home on his way home from the office still has a hard time keeping his rocky relationship with his wife afloat, what hope does Archie have?

Archie has more in common with Spider-Man than Superman, and Spidey's marriage to Mary Jane Watson was such a dead-end for stories that Marvel spent decades trying to separate the two, eventually resolving the problem by having the Devil annul their marriage. Could Archie end up one day performing satanic rituals to undo the terrible decision he's made? Could be. Stranger things have happened.

[Sorry for the delay on this post. Internet was down. Again. It's a very inasupicious beginning for Superman Month.]

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This weekend I learned how to put snow chains on my car tires. I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I had to pay someone else to put them on my rental car. I'm so cheap, I avoid valet parking because I don't want to tip the valets a dollar, so paying thirty bucks for someone to put chains on my tires was like willingly participating in state-enforced highway robbery. But I watched the guy like a hawk, and should the ridiculously unlikely events of The Day After Tomorrow ever come to pass, I'll be ready!

The drive into Tahoe was easily accomplished. There wasn't any snow on the ground then. No, California likes to make sure it has you in its mitts before it tries to screw you over. The whole reason that I was in South Lake Tahoe in the first place was for the wedding of one of my oldest friends. I once swore that I would never again A) return to California or B) drive in the snow, both of which I violated for the wedding. If I've never mentioned it before, let me stress my disapproval of snow here now: it sucks. It's cold, it's wet, and it makes travel impossible. Sure, it looks pretty, but like most pretty things, it's just not worth the hassle. Some way, some how, I'll get Jason back for this.

Despite eating my own words (which, unfortunately, I've done more times than I can count), it was an otherwise eventful weekend for me. I gambled in a casino for the first time (and lost my seed money, all 50¢). I had a Coca-Cola Slurpee made from fresh, real snow (better than you can imagine). I attended an informal bachelor party with a table full of lawyers and teachers (but no strippers. It was commented that no stripper was hired because one couldn't be found who knew how to play chess). And, of course, I got to play in the deep, powdery snow with Chere. (Who goes to a wedding without a date?)

That's two weddings I've attended in three months on opposite sides of the country (Panama City, Florida and Lake Tahoe, Nevada), with another one coming up in May in New York City. Even though I don't care for the outdated and unnecessary concept of marriage, I do like free food and road trips. So it all works out in the end. Also I'm pretty sure it won't be snowing come May.

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