Lve unlcked

What Tampa Bay couples left behind in Paris

Designed by ALEXIS N. SANCHEZ

Thursday, July 2, 2015

They started unlocking the love in June, after the bridge collapsed and the locals complained and the city’s leaders said no more.

No more initial-engraving or selfie-taking or memory-making with the 45 tons of padlocks permanently affixed to Paris’ Pont des Arts bridge, a picturesque lookout on the world’s most romantic city.

Since 2008, the bridge has been a destination for tourists flocking to the City of Lights, a place to lock up love stories with global origins and throw away the key into the Seine below, a grand gesture wrapped in sickeningly sweet symbolism appropriate only for this place.

But no more.

The locks are coming down, from the Pont des Arts and surrounding bridges, replaced for now with local art installments and later with plexi-glass panels. Some lockers say it’s no big deal, that they assumed the locks were cleared periodically, that they never expected their love would live there forever. But for others, the locks meant much more, a reminder of their commitment, of happenstance and that fuzzy feeling Paris seems to create.

Told here are three tales about moments on Paris bridges and what brought the lovers there.

Karin and Tim Schultz pose with their lock on the Pont de L’archeveche bridge in Paris.Photo courtesy of the Schultz family

Karin and Tim Schultz

location: Tampa

Karin and Tim Schultz

When she stumbled across his name on Facebook during a search for former classmates, Karin thought the man she excitedly decided to message was a different Tim.

“Hey stranger, it’s so good to see your name on here,” she typed. He wrote her back, then sent her a friend request. She found his profile pictures, and in them a face she did not expect.

This Tim, Tim Schultz, was indeed a former classmate, but not one she’d ever spoken to. They’d gone to school together at Safety Harbor and Countryside — elementary, middle and high school — but their paths never crossed.

Tim was excited about the whole thing, a pretty single lady chatting him up. Karin was “so mortified.”

For two years they remained cyber friends, commenting on each other pictures, Tim attempting to flirt, Karin oblivious to it all. Then they began emailing, but always communicating from a distance, she in Orlando, he in St. Petersburg. In 2010, after years of revolving-door dating, Karin decided to give up on men and take up photography. Her Facebook friend Tim, she knew, was dedicated to the craft. She asked him for advice on lenses and bodies and shutter speeds.

A photo the Schultzes took of their lock the day they placed it (top) hangs on the wall of their bedroom with a photo a family member took years later (below), their lock rusted.Photo courtesy of the Schultz family

They finally met in person. She assumed it was a casual meet-up. He thought it was a date. She served back the sarcasm he dished out. She was witty. He was hooked. “I knew I’d found my match,” Tim says.

Within a year, on Nov. 11, 2011, they married. Karin picked the honeymoon destination of Hawaii but promised Tim he could choose their first anniversary trip. He wanted Paris.

When it came time to pack their bags and cameras, Karin sneaked in a five-pound heart-shaped padlock she’d ordered on Amazon. Throughout the week they wandered. Several times they passed the bridges, covered in locks, heavy with love. On their anniversary she unveiled their lock, her gift to him in his favorite city.

They latched it on the Pont de L’archeveche bridge, snapped pictures and took it all in, the idea that before them were so many stories, woven together in this place.

Then they were home with only their memories; a photo of the bridge on the bedroom wall, next to an Eiffel Tower wall hanging, close to their lock’s extra key, which Tim gave Karin, framed, on anniversary No. 2.

It was these tokens that kept Karin going each time the test came back negative, when the doctor told them the treatment didn’t work, again. That they still weren’t having a baby. You see, beside Tim’s photo of their lock is a picture — almost identical — taken by a family member months after the Schultzes’ Paris trip. Of all the bridges and all the locks, an estimated 1 million, she’d stumbled upon theirs, heart-shaped and rusted, still labeled “Tim + Karin.” So it hangs on their bedroom wall, Karin said, to remind her that one in a million is possible.

Jody Fletcher and Marcella Potts-Fletcher, married 22 years, spent their 20th wedding anniversary in Paris.Photo courtesy of the Fletcher family

Jody Fletcher and Marcella Potts-Fletcher

location: Germany

Jody Fletcher and Marcella Potts-Fletcher

It was her bum he recognized first, moving to the beat of what was most likely a Pearl Jam song inside Joe Dugan’s bar in Clearwater, the last place he wanted to be that night in 1993.

Jody Fletcher’s friends had dragged him out but promised they wouldn’t take him to Dugan’s. Then, of course, they did. Marcella Potts was there with the ladies for a 21st birthday celebration.

It had been about seven years since Jody and Marcella graduated from Largo High School, and just as long since they’d seen each other. They never dated back then, but she first knew she loved him in cooking class. It was the pie unit, and her kitchen had forgotten their filling. He really loved filling, especially cherry, and had brought in an extra can. He handed it over, saved the day.

The Fletchers’ lock, which reads "I luv my Bunny 20," Jody’s nickname for Marcella.Photo courtesy of the Fletcher family

Now they live in Germany, with their four kids, on a military base for Jody’s job with the Department of Veterans Affairs. She loves adventure, he’s laid back. Their wedding was small, on the beach. Marcella says their first song was Welcome to the Jungle, but now Jody sings her You Are My Sunshine. Not well, but who cares.

For their 20th wedding anniversary, they visited Paris. He was clueless about the bridge tradition, but she’d read about it and was intrigued. So they did it — bought a lock, borrowed a Sharpie from a street vendor, latched it on and tossed the key.

Marcella’s not too broken up about them coming down. She understands the concerns. For her, the gesture was romantic but not worth superstition or fret.

“We’ve been together 22 years now,” she said, laughing. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Arlynn Haarer and her husband Brad latched a Tampa Bay Lightning lanyard to a bridge when they were out walking in Paris without their intended lock.Photo courtesy of the Haarer family

Arlynn and Brad Haarer

location: Tampa

Arlynn and Brad Haarer

The Haarers aren’t sure how well their love lock has weathered since they latched it on in the spring of 2011. Their token was a little unconventional.

They’d seen mentions of the Paris bridges and locks on TV and in travel guides and thought it’d be fun to take part. They bought a lock so they’d be prepared.

Then they got to Paris, with its winding streets and disorienting charm, and got fairly lost. While out walking one day, they stumbled across one of the bridges but didn’t have their lock. They worried they wouldn’t be able to find their way back if they waited, so Arlynn started digging through her black leather purse. She surfaced with a lanyard in hand, bright blue for the Tampa Bay Lightning.

There was some laughing, some shrugging, some ‘well, why nots.’ “We loved our team, we love each other,” they thought. “Let’s just put this on the bridge.”

They reckon theirs is probably the only hockey-themed love story locked onto a Paris bridge.

Arlynn and Brad met on a blind date in Indiana, at a bowling league tournament in a seedy joint where a guy got into a fight and put a ball through the wall. Not the most romantic first date, they admit, but something worked. They talked on the phone every night that next week. They married within a year.

And their intended Parisian love lock?

“I’m pretty sure it’s hanging on our storage unit right now.”