Copyright Charleston Post and Courier
FOLLY BEACH — The rain had been falling for hours, soaking the fishing pier planks above while churning the soft sand below into a thick slop. Still, it was the closest thing to dry land anyone could find in a pinch. And love does not wait for clear skies. Trudging through it all in his seersucker suit and bow tie, the wedding officiant, Folly Beach Mayor Tim Godwin, made his way to the pier, squinting into the storm and trying to keep the day from slipping too far off course. His phone rang. The bride changed her mind about the pier, the wedding planner said. She still had her heart set on a beach wedding with the ocean at her back. “Tell me where you want me to go,” Goodwin said as he took refuge beneath the fishing pier. “Because if she’s willing to stand out there and get soaked, then hey, God bless her, we’ll do it.” With a quick nod, the longest-serving mayor of Folly Beach hung up the phone and stepped into the downpour determined to make this wedding everything the bride had always imagined, even in a monsoon. “We all looked like drowning rats when we got off the beach,” Goodwin said. “But she got married.” Side gig Until now, Goodwin’s recurring role in matrimony has been largely unknown to the public. But for more than a decade, this has been the mayor’s other job, a side hustle steeped in the business of love. He handles his officiating work through his company, C&T Services, so there’s no line item spelling out his wedding work on his ethics reports. Even many of the couples are oblivious to his status as mayor — sometimes not until he signs their license as a notary. By his own estimate, Goodwin officiates about 60 weddings a year around Charleston. The first was in 2012, two years into his tenure as mayor. Since then, he’s stood on sandy beaches and beneath live oaks and under gazebos and in plantation gardens and even on a private island as he shepherded hundreds of couples through one of the most memorable days of their lives. “You try to make them feel good,” Goodwin said. “And if it means getting drenched, so long as it’s not thunder and lightning, then we’re going to get wet. It won’t be the first time. Probably won’t be the last, especially now.” Love over politics At 73, Goodwin isn’t running for reelection this fall, calling his decision to leave City Hall “an open secret” on the tight-knit island. He flirted with walking away once before, in 2022, but changed his mind at the last minute and filed to run again. This time, his wife, Charlotte, left no room for hesitation. “My wife told me if I signed up she would not only vote against me, and she would campaign against me,” Goodwin said. He laughed when he said it, but there’s a real truth to it. When Goodwin started out on the planning commission, he and Charlotte had only been married for about a year and a half. By 2002 he was on City Council, and by 2010 he was mayor — meaning nearly their entire marriage has played out alongside his political career. Now, after four terms as mayor, Goodwin is ready to walk away from local politics for good. But Goodwin confirmed his wedding work will continue. And couples keep flocking here to say “I do.” In 2024, Charleston County issued 6,786 marriage licenses — generating roughly $339,300 for county coffers, according to probate court data. While it’s hard to capture the full economic impact of the wedding industry, the Charleston area has become a go-to destination for couples. According to the Wedding Report, an independent wedding industry research firm, couples spent nearly $230 million on weddings in the Charleston area last year. Even in times of economic downturn, weddings here have remained strong, said Chris Campbell, a spokesperson for the tourism marketing agency Explore Charleston. “It’s not recession-proof, but it is something that has proved to be more of a stronghold, more resilient,” Campbell said. In that way, love endures. And so does Goodwin. Wedding planners say he’s in high demand — not because he’s the mayor, but because of what he embodies. Completing the picture Standing 6-foot-1 with thick white hair and a round, ruddy face, Goodwin carries himself with the easy air of someone who has seemingly spent a lifetime on front porches. He wears wire-frame glasses and smiles easily. When he speaks, sentences stretch and breathe. And in a voice marked by a slight, friendly twang, Goodwin has a special knack for delivering a well-timed joke that can soothe a jittery groom or calm an anxious bride. Plus, he has an affinity for wearing bow ties. “If someone says they want the quintessential Southern gentleman, I look no further than Mayor Tim Goodwin,” said Gena Buff, a Charleston wedding planner who has worked with Goodwin the longest. As the owner of b Wed Charleston, Buff specializes in elopements, small weddings and vow renewals. She serves all couples, including same-sex couples. Goodwin, however, does not officiate same-sex weddings. “That’s not my belief,” he said. “But God bless you. If you want to get married, somebody will marry you.” By the time couples reach Buff for her services, many already have a vision in mind for their version of a Southern wedding, whether it’s the grandeur of “Gone with the Wind” with verandas and plantations or trying to replicate the intimacy of “The Notebook” with vows exchanged beneath live oaks by the water. “And for them, they just kind of want to complete the picture,” she said. Buff said her wedding officiants charge between $150 and $250 per wedding. And her couples often want “simplicity, simplicity and no stress,” she said. Goodwin, for his part, has a library of scripts for weddings, whether a couple is looking for something religious, nonreligious, personalized or standardized. After an initial email, he talks to them by phone or over Zoom and works with them to shape their vows and ceremony. As a wedding planner, Buff will never show up in a wedding photo. The same goes for other vendors like a baker or florist. But the officiant is the one who will be front and center in all of the photos, she said. It's not something every couple brings up, but about half do. And when they do, she said, the ask is almost always the same: “Can we get someone that looks like they belong in a Southern wedding with the Spanish moss hanging over his head?” “And yeah, Tim makes them very happy,” Buff added with a laugh. “He shows up looking a little bit like Colonel Sanders. He's just got the perfect look.” Goodwin admits there’s an irony to it all. He’s been married three times himself. Maybe that’s what gives him such calm authority when brides or grooms get nervous. Practice makes perspective. And after officiating hundreds of ceremonies, Goodwin has learned to expect the unexpected. The mayor at the altar When Goodwin stands before a bride and groom on their wedding day, he focuses on one thing: getting them through the process. Does he think about his own wedding to Charlotte? The one that his brother, an ordained minister, officiated? “Ain’t no time for you,” the mayor replied. “You don’t want to let your mind wander.” His job, he added, is to keep things steady and moving — and sometimes that job comes with unusual tests. Like the time at Brittlebank Park when a massive dog showed up unannounced, bounding through the trees during a ceremony. Despite the owner’s repeated calls, the dog did not budge. It settled itself between the bride and groom as they exchanged vows, a goofy, tail-wagging witness to the proceedings. Goodwin has seen nerves, joy, chaos and calm — often all in the same hour. But it’s the quiet, small moments that he seems to enjoy the most. Before the ceremony begins, Goodwin said he takes a few minutes to talk with the bride. When the groom walks up, Goodwin likes to give him a little wink and asks him, “You ready boss?” “It’s always fun to watch them at ring time, especially when they’re trying to figure out which finger to put the ring on,” Goodwin said. “Sometimes I’ll chime in — ‘Hey, she gave you a clue. She left her engagement ring on.’ And some of them just get confused. “You calm them down, slow things down, tell them, ‘Repeat after me.’ And some of them are bawling, crying, and you just tell them, ‘It’s not that bad.’” It’s these little moments — a wink, a quiet reassurance, a well-timed joke — that Goodwin has added to his own repertoire over the years. He’s also learned to step out of the picture when the bride and groom share their first kiss. Despite his prominent role in their weddings, Goodwin said he often does not see or hear from couples again, unless they have a question about when their marriage license will reach them. But there are exceptions. One evening, a couple emailed him after their wedding saying they wanted to meet his wife, Charlotte. She does not typically join Goodwin at the weddings. The next day, the Goodwins found themselves sitting in a McDonald’s with the brand-new couple for two hours, having coffee before they had to catch their plane. “You never know what’s going to happen,” he said. Sometimes, weddings leave a heavier mark. On the night of April 28, 2023, a bride named Samantha Miller was killed on Folly Beach after a drunk driver crashed into the golf cart she was riding in with her new husband and two others. Goodwin did not officiate the wedding, but he recently found himself thinking about the young couple. When his granddaughter got married in Atlanta, he saw her and her husband riding in the back of a golf cart to their reception. That simple, joyful moment immediately reminded him of the tragedy on Folly Beach. “It’s going to be there forever,” he said. Now the soon-to-be former mayor is simply a man who has seen a lot of life unfold in front of him. Because of that, he said, he tries to keep the important moments in perspective. And because each couple is unique, Goodwin said he’s not worried about getting burnt out. He laughed when he recalled how he wove in a few “Forrest Gump” movie quotes for one couple and slid in a vow about a family dog named Max for another. But it’s also a privilege, he said, to bear witness to these couples as they pledge their love and devotion to one another. For Goodwin, he has a clear idea of his next steps. He’s just Tim: part-time wedding officiant. And Charlotte’s husband.
