(From events that occurred on 3/11/1988)
I grew up in Fern Creek, a small town outside - but pretty much considered part of - Louisville. Life in Fern Creek was pretty boring. I worked at the Putt-Putt Golf and Games on Bardstown Road and it was there I met my friend Frank. Frank was 2 years younger than myself (I was 18) and I had more or less hooked him on John Mellencamp's music the previous summer. For some reason I can't recall now, Frank did not go to the Louisville show that previous December. Needless to say that show was a mindblowing experience for me and he swore he'd go to the next show that came around. I seem to recall the tickets went on sale during a snow emergency in Louisville, so friends of mine in Dayton, OH, secured our seats for us.
Mister state trooper, please don't stop me
We met at the Putt-Putt and left for the show in my dad's Honda hatchback. I normally drove a VW bug, but its history was that it was an undependable car and I didn't want to be stranded in the middle of nowhere. We were on the Gene Snyder Freeway for about 3 miles when I was pulled over for "excessive" speeding. The police officer was a jerk about the whole thing. He said he got me doing 79 mph in a 55 mph zone. I told him I was just keeping up with traffic. He said it took me 3 miles to catch up with traffic. Maybe he was right, who knows now? Frank's laughing as the cop walks away (at me, not with me).
This was a very traumatic thing for me. I never had a speeding ticket before (in a VW Bug? Yeah right.) so I was a little shell shocked as we drove the rest of the way to Rupp at 53 mph. The whole way I was trying to think how I was going to tell my dad what happened. I also wondered how it was going to affect my insurance. At least we left early enough that the ticket did not make us late.
We met up with Chris Wettle and Richard Higgins from Dayton (I went to high school in Louisville with them) and saw a freaking incredible show. During the break Richard and some other guy from Dayton moved up to the seats that John's brother vacated as he left for back stage. Unbelievable seats. I was definitely jealous.
We leave after the show and I'm heading down Main Street that meets up with I-64 in Versailles. It's all 55 mph with only 2 lights. Now of course I'm not going to be speeding because I had a ticket just 4 hours earlier.
Trooper hits his party light switch
I'm cruising along at 53 mph when the trooper hits his lights.
"Cop!" shouts Frank.
"But I'm not speeding," I respond as I look at the gauge. "He must be after someone else."
Yeah right. Buford T. Justice pulls us over and I get a sickening feeling in my stomach as he peers in my window with a look on his face that says "You're my puppy now." I saw the movie "Deliverance" - you get the idea.
"Registration and license, please." He holds his hand over his gun; I guess in case I pull a gun out.
"Is there a problem officer?"
"Registration and license, please."
I open the glove box and hand it to him. It was on top of all the of the stuff in there because of my previous ticket.
"I caught you speeding."
"That's not possible officer. There's no way I was speeding."
"Are you boys from around here?"
"No sir, we're from Louisville."
"Do you go to the University?" I assume he meant the University of Kentucky.
"No, I go to Bellarmine College in Louisville. We're from Louisville." Maybe I said that last sentence in the wrong tone - as in "Weren't you listening 2 seconds ago?"
"Step out of the car, boy." The jerk calls me "boy", but with that southern twang that makes it a two syllable word - Bo-ay. Frank is giggling hysterically at this point. Every time he tries
to stop, he starts up even harder.
The cop is looking me right in the eye.
"You been drinkin', bo-ay?"
"No sir. Do you want to smell my breath?"
At Buford's request, I breath into his face. Since I didn't have anything to drink, he got a whiff of nothing.
He holds his finger up. "Follow my finger with your eyes." So I oblige. Then I made mistake number one (or two counting the "We're from Louisville tone"). I spoke when not spoken to. Never ever offer information unless asked for it.
"Officer, in case you didn't notice, I have a slight lazy right eye, so if it didn't follow your finger, that's why."
"You been doin' any drugs, bo-ay?"
I hear Frank giggling louder through the open driver's window.
"No sir."
"Are you willin' to take a blood test?"
Now at this point, I'm not thinking too clearly. I've already received one ticket, saw an incredible show, and am fearful of a second ticket. I thought he was talking about administering the test himself and I knew the blood would need to be drawn by a needle. I'm not scared of needles, as long as a trained physician is doing the handiwork.
I simply answered him, "Is it going to hurt?"
Frank has lost it. I admit I failed to see anything funny about the situation at the time. Looking back on it, Frank thinks it was my deadpan responses to his questions that made him lose it.
"Get in my front seat, bo-ay."
I'm in it deep now, is all I could think.
I get in the front seat.
"I clocked you doing 71 mph in a 55 mph zone," Buford tells me as he's filling out the rest of the ticket.
"That's impossible." For Chrissakes I had a ticket four hours early, so I know I wasn't speeding! I didn't say this to him though. I do put my foot in my mouth.
"How do I know this was really me you clocked and not the previous person you pulled over?"
After I said it, I realized it was a mistake. He gave me a sharp look and I thought for a minute he was going to hit me upside the head. The sad thing was I was serious and not really thinking straight. I’m glad he didn’t knock my teeth out or beat me senseless.
"I ran a diagnostic on it before I clocked you so I know it's correct," he growls (I swear he growled this!)
"How much will it cost me?" I ask.
He pulls some sheet out and shows me the fee chart. It was something like $72.50 US that I could just mail in to the Scott County Treasurer.
"I don't think you've been drinkin'," he says to me, "but I think you've been doin' drugs."
OH SHIT! Flashes through my mind.
"But you're OK to drive," he finishes.
I'm speechless. No one to this day can explain this logic to me.
"But your buddy ... he's really messed up."
It wasn't until a few days later that what Buford was referring to was Frank's uncontrollable giggles at my predicament. He thought Frank was flying high on something.
I looked Buford straight in the eye and said, "He's not messed up. His nose just looks that was from a car accident." Frank was in a bad wreck the previous summer when someone hit his mom.
In retrospect, I can see why Buford maybe thought I was on drugs.
On the way home, the alternator went out and we made home on battery power as the headlights slowly dimmed to almost non-existence as I finally pulled into the driveway.
The Judge was Mean John Brown
The next day I call Chris's mom, a paralegal who works for the prosecuting attorney in Louisville. Chris's mom is the funniest person I know. Years ago I called her Mrs. Wettle and she commented that she did not marry her father. I replied, "This being Kentucky, you must've been able to outrun him." So from that day on in high school I always addressed her as Chris's Mom.
"Hi Chris's mom, this Bryon."
"Hello Chris's friend."
I told her the story about the first ticket.
"When is the court date?"
I tell her.
"Is that a Tuesday?"
"Yes."
"OK, I know who will be prosecuting you and he wants me for my body, so I'll talk to him," she says with a laugh.
"I like you a lot Chris's mom, but I don't want you to go that far to get me out of my ticket."
"Bryon Jordan! That's NOT what I meant!"
"I know. Um, I also had this other problem coming home."
I told her about the second ticket, still adamant about not speeding. I told her I thought the cop was a jerk, etc. She told me to go fight the ticket and try and plead defective equipment. Tell them I took it in, had the speedometer checked, the mechanic fixed it, and show some receipt for service.
She thought perhaps Buford was hoping to cage a DUI and that was the reason for the harassment because she could not explain how I could've been doing drugs, but was OK to drive. I’m going to have to ask a physician sometime if this is possible, but I think I know the answer.
The first ticket was knocked down to 14 mph over the limit for which I received traffic school (15 mph was the max allowed for attending traffic school). It was $15 + court fees. It came out to $63 + no record of the ticket for the blood sucking insurance company.
For the second ticket I went to the Georgetown Hall of Justice (and skipping my Economics 102 class) and saw the rest of the cast of "Deliverance." The ticket was dismissed when the judge realized that Buford never wrote down how fast I was going on the ticket.
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