A Little Thanksgiving Love Story

Thanksgiving my favorite time of the year. Well, at least it's been my favorite time of the year for the past five years. Because it's about this time, five years ago, that Bruce Brockenborough Googled me and found me in San Francisco. And exactly three years ago today that he married me and brought me back to Western Kentucky for good.

We love to tell our little story whenever anyone asks. But I've never written it — surprising, since I am a writer and all. So today, in honor of our third anniversary, and because I'm still quite the love-struck newlywed and intend to remain so — I'm writing it now.

The Columbia Connection
Some folks might know that Bruce Brockenborough and I dated briefly in college. Bruce is a fifth-generation Paducahan, and he went to the University of Missouri in Columbia. I'd gone to high school in Mayfield and enrolled in Stephens College, an all-women's college, also in Columbia.

In the fall of 1982, Stephens was short on students and long on dorms. So the campus rented Hillcrest Hall to the University of Missouri. When Bruce Brockenborough received his housing information and recognized some awfully good odds, he signed up for the one air-conditioned dorm at the women's college. And that meant that he and the other 30 or so MIzzou students would have their meals in the Stephens cafeteria, typically filled with about 800 women at any one time.

One of those women, and we can't remember who, knew that Bruce was from Paducah and I was from Mayfield. And in the spring of our sophomore year, 1984, she introduced us. We dated and kept in touch over the summer, and dated again when we returned in August for our junior year.

A few months passed, and I don't remember the reason now, or even if there was one, but I broke up with Bruce Brockenborough.

I remember it as if it were yesterday. I didn't realize how much he really liked me until I saw the most pained expression of hurt that I've ever seen in my life. I truly thought, "Oh, wow." In fact, it makes me a little teary now just thinking about it.

Please Take Me Back
A month or so passed again, and I'd still think about him. I finally decided to leave him a "please take me back" note. By this time, Bruce was living in an apartment. So I borrowed a friend's car and left my note on his doorstep, thinking to myself that there was a good chance he'd never find it because 1) he was living with two other people, and 2) he's not this way now — he's neat as a pin — but back then he was a total slob.

I just figured I'd leave it to fate.

Clearly, fate wasn't on my side because, unbeknownst to me, the "please take me back" note ended up under a pile of dirty laundry that wasn't uncovered until seven months later. We'll revisit this in a bit.

In the meantime, I never heard from him and we never crossed paths, which was unusual in a smallish college town.

It wasn’t until late May 1986, the night before we graduated from college, that we both happened to be at Harpo's, everyone's favorite Columbia hangout. We talked for a while, a bit uncomfortably, and neither of us mentioned the note. And that was that.

Chicks, Cheers & Charity
We went on with our lives — Bruce lived in a few spots before settling back in Paducah. I ended up in San Francisco, where I established a fun corporate communications career, built up a nice circle of friends and, a lá Carrie Bradshaw, invested in quite the cute shoe collection.

I dated quite a bit, but I wasn't much interested in finding someone to marry until I was in my mid-30s, at which point I thought I might give it a whirl. So I put my mom (left) in charge of my love life — she thought I'd been going about the whole dating thing all wrong anyway — and I agreed to follow her directions in hopes that she could lead me up to the altar.

Her first suggestion: Join the Rotary Club. Hum. Fine. I joined the Rotary Club. At that time, it was mostly old men. But I joined it. And that actually comes into play here in just a bit.

I also joined all sorts of other groups, plus several girlfriends and I started a 501c3 fundraising group called Chicks, Cheers & Charity (C3). We held quarterly happy hours where we raised money for good causes. Although, frankly, we were mostly interested in meeting men.

And it actually worked. In fact, it was so successful that we disbanded it a few years ago. It was a great group, and I still keep in touch with many of the Chicks.

Quite by Coincidence?
After our C3 Holiday Party in December 2003, I went back to my apartment and started going through my mail. There it was. A card from Paducah, Ky.

"Why would someone in Paducah send me a holiday card?" I remember thinking.

I opened it.

"Mary," the card said. "I came across your Chicks, Cheers & Charity Web site quite by coincidence and thought you could use a donation."

I couldn't make out the scribbled signature but I recognized the name on the $50 check: Bruce Brockenborough!

Coincidence? Hardly. Bruce Brockenborough eventually 'fessed up to Googling me and found the Chicks Web site and the Rotary Web site —Mom knew what she was doing! — and enough other things to convince him that the Mary Thorsby he dated at Stephens College was the Mary Thorsby he found in San Francisco.

He had enclosed his business card, so I called to thank him, and during that month of December, we struck up a phone/email friendship. Which was fine, except that I wasn't looking for a phone/email friendship. I was looking for a husband.

The Funeral and The Date
In January, my good friend Leslie Newman from Henderson, Ky., lost her lovely mother, Virginia, and I felt compelled to go to the funeral. Because I knew Bruce Brockenborough would take me out to dinner, and I figured it was high time we met. Again.

My first call was to Bruce: "How would you like to take me out to dinner Thursday night?"

His response: "I'd love to."

My second call was to Leslie: "Leslie, I am so sorry about your mother. I'm coming. I wanna show my support."

Leslie: "Oh, Mary, that's so nice. You don't have to do that. You've never even met my mother."

Me: "Oh, I'm coming. I'm coming."

So I flew from Oakland to Nashville and drove up to Henderson, bee-bopped into the funeral happy as a clam and kept looking at my watch wondering when we'd get this funeral started so that I could get back down to Nashville for my date with Bruce Brockenborough.

But was it a date?

That was the question in Bruce's mind. He was thinking, "This is just two old friends getting together for dinner." But just in case it was a date, he washed his car. And just in case it was a date, he wore something nice. And just in case it was a date, he made reservations at The Acorn, one of Nashville's hottest restaurants.

So when I called him on my drive back to Nashville and asked, "What time are you going to sweep me off my feet?" followed by my hand slapping my own big, embarrassed mouth shut, he thought to himself: "It's a date!"

And a date it was! We sat at the table for a good hour before we even thought about opening a menu, talking as old friends do, but with a major spark of…something.

To be honest, I'd forgotten all about the "please take me back note," until Bruce told me that night that he'd found it — all those months later. "You'd already dumped me once," he joked. "I didn't want to call to find out you had a new boyfriend and have you dump me again!"

WHEN Are You Going to Marry MEEEEE?????
That night at The Acorn was truly the best date of my life, and I had absolutely no doubt that Bruce Brockenborough was going to marry me. And I was determined to make it so.

In fact, I wanted to marry him so badly that the first time he came to visit me in San Francisco, I had my friend Eddie (left) completely renovate my apartment. Walls were repainted, practically ever piece of furniture was replaced. New artwork. New glassware. New dishes.

I even bought a new car. I wasn't messing around.

I was traveling most of that time, so Eddie would call in with updates. "Kitten," he said. (He calls me Kitten.) "Kitten, I bought you Science and Nature magazines for your nightstand because we want him to think you're really smart. And I bought you Oprah, too, so he can see your softer side."

Evidently, my grand plan worked because Bruce and I spent all of 2004 flying back and forth, with many of our evenings ending with my saying, OK, pleading, something like: "You KNOW you're going to marry me." Or "WHEN are you going to marry ME?" Or "Who ELSE are you gonna MARRY? It's GOTTA be MEEEEEEE!!!!"

Blinding Fred Thompson
OK, I know all that sounds pretty pathetic, and a few martinis generally preceded my proposals. But the truth is, I had absolutely no doubt that we'd be really happy together. So I kept on with my full-court press, proposing no less than 36 times, confident that Bruce would eventually propose to me. And if he didn't, then, well, I'd just made the wrong call on the whole thing.

Finally, on January 1, 2005, at precisely 7:20 p.m., at The Hermitage in Nashville, Bruce Brockenborough proposed to me, right in front of my friends Leigh Anne and Jeff Preston, who were celebrating their third anniversary.

"Oh, he's doing it NOW," I remember Leigh Anne squealing. He'd given her a head's up beforehand.

The four of us went to The Acorn for dinner, with me flashing my ring to everyone we came across. In fact, former senator and presidential candidate Fred Thompson was the ninth person to know. He was sitting at the next table over and we happened to make eye contact. OK, maybe I was staring.

"I'm engaged!" I whispered loudly, holding up my ring finger. "It's blinding me! It's blinding me!" the Law & Order actor teased, shielding his eyes with his hands.

Happy Anniversary, Baby
We were married three years ago today, at 4 p.m., in the chapel next to Calvary Presbyterian Church on Fillmore Street in San Francisco, just a block and a half from my renovated apartment. It was a beautiful black tie wedding. Eddie planned the whole thing with me, and wore a huge flower on his velvet jacket and was almost as excited as I was.

Leigh Anne was my matron of honor, and my nieces Sarah Bynum (Happy Birthday, Sarah!) and Katie Thorsby were my bridesmaids. Keith Wilke was Bruce's best man, and my nephews Hobie Bowman and Matthew Bowman were his groomsmen.

My dad, who's played the cornet most of his life, played a beautiful Ave Maria before walking me down the aisle. And my mom looked even more beautiful than I've ever seen her.

We always hear the saying, "better late than never." We were 41 when we married — I guess that's late, but it's not so unusual these days.

Bruce will tell you that when things weren't so great in his personal life, he'd often have one of those Sliding Doors moments — that maybe things would have been different if only he'd found the "please take me back note" sooner and called.

For me, I'm just thrilled that he came along when he did. And I'm so very thankful that I waited. And I'm very thankful for Google.

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