Brought together by Steve Martin, they still like to make each other laugh

Chris had a new job in state government, a dial-up connection to this still-novel thing called the internet, and a hope that the latter might help him find what he lacked: a girlfriend. Preferably one that shared his quirky sense of humor.

In early November 1997, Chris searched the AOL member database for single women who lived in Harrisburg and liked Steve Martin, The Simpsons, and Mystery Science Theater 3000. Paula’s profile was the only result. He sent a short email. Subject: “Hey, somebody’s trying to hurt those cans!” Message: “Somebody doesn’t like those cans!”

Paula, an accountant, did not know who this message was from, nor even that AOL profiles were searchable. What she did know: These were lines from one of her favorite movies, Steve Martin’s The Jerk.

She answered with lyrics from a song Martin sings in that film:

“I’m picking out a thermos, for you

Not an ordinary thermos, for you

But the extra-best thermos

that money can buy ...”

She wrote out the words as best she could, admitting she’d likely messed up a few. “I’m assuming you’re a Martin fan ... so you won’t think I’m a ‘jerk’ … heh-heh … get it?”

After a few more enjoyable word volleys came an unexpected geography lesson: Chris, who grew up in Mayfair and graduated from Temple, lived in Harrisburg, Pa. Paula lived in her hometown, Harrisburg, N.C. — 500 miles away.

Chris decided he didn’t care. Paula decided it didn’t matter — they were just some new, electronic version of pen pals, after all, even if their long emails were often the highlight of her day.

“What was your favorite Christmas gift growing up?” was one topic. “What do you have in your refrigerator right now?” was another. Amid the witty banter, they covered important things, too.

“We talked about our families, our upbringing, our pets, and the two different worlds we lived in,” Chris said.

In hopes of gently nudging the conversation toward dating and romance, he told Paula the true story of plans that were canceled by a would-be date, who told him she was sick.

“I was jealous, and I remember thinking how silly that was of me,” remembered Paula.

“I would never get sick on you,” she typed to Chris.

In January 1998, they each sent the other the one digital photo they had of themselves. That March, Chris asked Paula for her phone number. He loved the way she pronounced his name with two syllables. She loved how just hearing his voice could calm her down after a day of working for her family’s plumbing and HVAC business. Later that month, he flew to her Harrisburg. He paid for his airfare. She paid for his hotel.

Paula had a guitar that she was learning to play. Chris picked it up and began strumming something by the Eagles. “At the end of the song, I put the guitar down and asked if I could kiss her,” Chris said. “She said yes, and so I planted one.”

That definitely clarified things, said Paula.

A month later, she flew to his Harrisburg. By October, Paula had sold her house in North Carolina and purchased a fixer-upper in Lower Paxton Township, Dauphin County, with a big fenced-in yard for her dog, Oscar, and plenty of room for Chris and any future children.

“We would have taken our time had we been in the same Harrisburg,” said Paula. But she wasn’t worried, and she had the blessing of her parents, Erlene and Tom, from the first time they met him. “My mom helped me move up here. They just loved him.”

Chris knew his parents, Jim and Joan, would love Paula. He was a little worried what the Southern Baptist he loved would make of his people: a huge lot of Philadelphia Irish Catholics who loved to get together for drinks, smokes, and boisterous good times. It was a little overwhelming, Paula said, but she loved them all.

Chris mostly stayed at the Lower Paxton house, which he and Paula fixed up together, but he kept his own apartment. “As a bookkeeper, I was annoyed by that,” said Paula. “Why were we paying rent and a mortgage?” That irritating capital outlay ended with the couple’s engagement in 1999.

Paula had been dropping hints about the kind of ring she wanted to Chris’ then-boss in the Senate Republican Communications Office, who advised him on the purchase. Chris, who is now 57, still works there and is assistant director of communications.

“I knew he was going to propose when I came home and saw candles lit, but I didn’t let on that I knew,” said Paula, who is now 52 and an accountant for the Pennsylvania Restaurant and Lodging Association.

It was a Sunday night — which then as now meant they were going out to dinner. But before they left, Chris walked up to Paula, knelt on both knees, and made a speech that neither remembers. The important thing: She said yes.

On Nov. 11, 2000, the couple were wed in a Catholic ceremony at St. Cecilia’s in Northeast Philly. Chris’ best friend, the Rev. Matt Guckin, married them. “He talked about the statistical odds of me and Paula finding each other — we lived 500 miles apart, we had to be the product of all of our ancestors — it was a statistical long shot, so the hand of God had to play a role in it,” Chris remembered. “That put it all in perspective quite nicely.”

Their reception for 150 was held at the Best Western Plus Concordville Hotel in Concordville. “I had wanted to elope, but my husband wanted a wedding,” said Paula. “I wanted to save the money, but he insisted, and I am so glad he did. It was one of the best days of my life, up there with the birth of our children.”

The couple took dance lessons to be at their best for “How Sweet It Is,” by James Taylor. “I tried not to lead, but I did,” Paula said.

Chris and Paula raised two children, Danielle, 21, and Carson, 18, in the Lower Paxton home where they still live with Lena, a 13-year-old orange tabby cat, and Shadow, a 12-year-old collie/shepherd mix.

When their kids were young, Paula was a Girl Scout leader and Chris was a soccer coach. Danielle and Carson are both in college now. Paula sings with the Charlton United Methodist Church choir. Chris is a Lower Paxton Township supervisor. They plan to take a few cruises one day but find plenty to do at home.

“We watch our murder shows, like Dateline NBC, and we watch our comedies,” said Paula. “We like to laugh, and we like to see the bad guys get caught.”

They still laugh at Steve Martin, and not long ago saw him and Martin Short perform live in Wilkes-Barre. They also hope that one day, people will laugh at them. They have started a podcast, “Laughing at Chris and Paula.” It hasn’t gone live yet. “We’re recording test episodes where we do the same thing we were doing with those emails 25 years ago — riffing off of each other, freestyle,” said Chris.

They’ve riffed about Paula’s battle of wits with the squirrels who steal from her bird feeders, and why she likes birds more than squirrels, anyway. They’ve laughed until they cried about the living room ceiling that collapsed when water got into their attic, and even about Paula’s week in the hospital with COVID-19.

“Probably, nobody will listen to it,” Paula said. But she doesn’t care, because it’s fun.

“I still just want to make her laugh,” said Chris. “Nothing makes me happier than to do that.”

Love isn’t just about marriage, and love stories don’t stop at the wedding: We’re looking for stories about all kinds of love from parents and children, best friends, siblings, newlyweds and to-be-weds, and couples with experience. To be featured in a Love column, please send an email to love@inquirer.com with your names, a few sentences about your story, and the best way to reach you. Please include your email address.