My Night in Court
by Mary Leonard

“Do you know why I pulled you over? You were doing 48 in a 30!”

I was in the state of shock. My heart had already skipped a beat when I saw the red lights flashing behind me. I pulled over on 199, right past the Red Hook High School, and five feet from a 40-mile an hour sign. But I knew the village had a 30-mile-an-hour speed limit. I was speechless, defenseless and just handed the cop all the papers.

But officer I am 60 and I have been driving since I was 16 and I have never had a ticket for anything, Well a parking ticket. My kids call me Driving Miss Daisy because I am so slow.

Did I say any of this? Of course not. I was totally intimidated. I was hot and tired, after teaching all day in the 95-degree heat and having driven all the way from Great Barrington. I had also passed safely through other village speed zones, in fact, paying more attention to the varying speeds than to deer lurkings, and the inevitable car that stops at green. It’s a jungle out there and I was almost in civilization—Ulster County!

When I arrived home and cooled off, I decided to plead not guilty to my speeding ticket and go to court. On the night of the event, Red Hook town court was packed, mostly with drivers about 40 years younger than me, accompanied by their fathers. I guess most senior citizens don’t want to show up in court. They either pay the fine or drive under the speed limit. A number of policemen showed up and pulled the young offenders into a back room. What was going on in that back room! My cop did not show. This could be good, I thought. I would be free and clear. But he came late with an expression that said, I would rather be out with the boys.

Finally I was called to the back room, and the cop said: “I’ll make it a A41852437A.” But that did not sit right with my 44 years of no speeding tickets. I tried my rehearsed lines: I‘ve been driving since I was sixteen and have never had a speeding ticket. My kids call me Driving Miss Daisy because I drive so slowly. He didn’t seem to hear me nor did he smile at my attempts at humor. He just repeated the long number. An older cop took pity and said, “Lady take the A41852437A. You will only get two points instead of four and you don’t want your insurance to go up!” I nodded and returned to my seat.

The judge was in good humor, asking pleasantly how each Twenty-Something was that evening and if two weeks was enough time to pay the fine. He even let some kid go for a too-loud muffler since the defendant brought in a receipt for the new muffler that had arrived that day. One young man with a shaved head and earrings was accompanied by his father, who was pot-bellied, bearded and pony tailed. The judge said, “Are you the father?”

“Doesn’t he look like me?”

The judge answered very diplomatically, “He doesn’t have a beard.”

“He will soon,” the father answered.

However, real drama emerged when another Twenty-Something, unaccompanied by father, decided to protest his ticket, saying that he had driven 70 miles to plead not guilty. The judge said, “I hope not 70 miles an hour!” That line got a chuckle out of the packed courtroom. The young man told the judge that he would lose his job if he got this speeding ticket because he was a traveling salesman.

“What do you sell?”

“Vacuum cleaners and medical supplies.”

The courtroom snickered but the kid continued. He was up in Dutchess County on a landscaping job with his father and his father usually drove but that day the son drove but didn’t see the speed limit signs. His argument was getting away from him. It was growing into the grasping at straws category. He knew it and the judge knew it. It was hopeless, but the kid would not stop and returned to the please take pity on me because I will lose my job argument. The judge finally talked him into accepting the reduction, and the poor kid slumped away. But the judge did say to his audience, “He’ll make a good salesman someday.”

A very good looking man, in his 40s, came in late and sat next to me, whispering that he too had been caught in the Red Hook speed trap. I commiserated. He told me he had only been up in the area for three weeks when he got the ticket and then he was so scared to drive that he kept on pulling over to let others pass. I didn’t tell him about my going the speed limit the day after my ticket, doing a 40 in a 40—I was learning cop-speak-—and having the driver behind me pass and give me the finger. I did ask, “Where do you live when you’re not upstate,” expecting him to say, “The city.”

Instead he said, “Paris.”

Bonanza! “Paris! I bet you wouldn’t get a speeding ticket circling the Arc de Triomphe!”

He smiled. But then I never did get to hear about his night in court because I was called up and pleaded guilty to the 41852437A. The judge did not give me two weeks to pay my fine, but I didn’t protest. I was glad to be out of court, and I intend to find another route to Great Barrington.

As I left, I heard the judge enjoying himself some more, “Looks like the entire village is here tonight!” It was very entertaining for him, but personally, I would have rather stayed home and watched Reality TV.