For the last three weeks, I have been riding around with a pink slip hanging from my visor- a reminder of an unfortunate wrong turn I took back on March 4th which resulted in a ticket for disobeying a posted traffic sign (in this case, No Left Turn) to the tune of an $88 fine and 3 points assessed against my license. It was a maddening mishap because I had really been trying to drive more carefully (and more slowly, especially) but all it takes is a split second’s worth of stupidity to undo all the best intentions in the world.
Left up to me, I would have just paid the fine and suffered the points and been done with it, but my legal team (meaning my wife) felt strongly – and I had to agree – that it made sense for me to show up in court, since putting in an appearance typically causes the court to reduce the fine and points at least a little bit. But deep down I think my biggest reason for showing up in court was in order to experience a little taste of the Scared Straight Syndrome that one hears so much about.
The ticket said that my court date was today at 8:30, and my plan as of 7:30 this morning was to show up at about 8:29. . . just in a nick of time. . . but then my WGTD colleague Dave McGrath pointed out that a number of people have been given that same exact date and time and we would be processed on a first come first serve basis. And since I had a phone interview scheduled for 9 or shortly thereafter, I was anxious for my time in court to be short and sweet. . . or at least short. So I whipped downtown right away and found myself standing outside the locked door to the courtroom by 8:10 – the one and only person there, which made me feel a little self-conscious. But by the time 8:25 rolled around and there were more than 20 people behind me in line, I was glad I had taken Dave’s advice so seriously. (Of course, I had a book with me- a cheerful little tome titled “Superbug: The Deadly Peril of MRSA.” )
As the door opened, the bailiff checked us in by asking us for our name- and then our plea. I had already been coached by Eric Carlson (another legal advisor in my inner circle) to plead “No Contest” – and as I overheard quite a few people after me asking forlornly to have the verdict options explained to them, I was glad I knew as much as I did. Then I took my seat on the front bench, and by the time the judge entered the chambers about five minutes later, there was not an empty seat in the place.
By the way, when I first got to the building, I stepped into the circuit court office just to make sure I knew exactly where we were supposed to line up – and there on the door was this name: Judge John Neuenschwander. I know him because he has been a faculty colleague of mine at Carthage as well as a guest of mine on the morning show- and suddenly the prospect of standing before the judge looked like it was going to be a moment of supreme embarrassment for me. (And for someone who has been embarrassed as many times as I’ve been in my life, that’s really saying something.) But when I took a seat in the court room, there was a different name adorning the judge’s bench, and indeed a different judge. So I let out a big WHEW at that point, relieved that I didn’t know a soul there and no one there seemed to know me. (I could be wrong- one should never judge a book by its cover – but I have a feeling that none of my fellow ticket holders were NPR listeners nor season ticket holders to the symphony.)
The judge came out (we did not stand up, interestingly enough) and explained how things would proceed from there. And then, much to my surprise, my name was not called- but rather the name of a woman. She stepped up to the podium and listened quietly as the charge against her was read aloud. . . Driving while under the influence of an intoxicating substance. You could hear a pin drop in that room- from the moment the charge was read to the when the judge announced that she would be having her license suspended for 21 days and would be responsible for paying a fine of more than $700. GULP. Then someone else’s name was announced – and essentially it was the same thing- a DUI charge, license suspended, big fine (that guy stood before the judge in the garb of a house painter.) I am not trying to use a pun or spin irony when I say that it was remarkably sobering to be in the room at that moment to witness these two strangers suffer the consequences for their actions.
I began to have the sinking feeling that the First Come First Serve thing was just a myth and that I was going to be be spending all morning there. But fortunately, the next name announced was mine . . . and almost without even consciously deciding to do so, I was up on my feet and standing at that podium- just wanting it all to be done. The charge was read – the judge asked for my plea, and I replied “no contest” – and then he asked me if there were any extenuating circumstances he should consider in my case. I don’t even remember exactly what I said, but I know the words “dumb” and “stupid” figured prominently in whatever I said. . . and not in describing the sign I ignored nor the cop who pulled me over, but rather my own stupidity. And although I was going out of my way to sound and look contrite, the fact is that in fact I was completely stupid to do what i did- especially when I had noticed a policeman stationed not far from that very exit earlier that very day. But in my haste to get away from campus and down to Tremper for a rehearsal, I neglected to add 2 and 2. . . and ended up with 88, as in an 88 dollar fine. So I said I was stupid- and meant it – and the judge kindly reduced my fine by 12 dollars and my points deduction from 3 to 2.
By the way, I said something earlier about how I was fairly sure that there weren’t any public radio listeners or symphony patrons in that crowd- but as I look at those words on the screen, they sound really pompous. The fact is that this experience was one of the most humbling of my life. I realize that our legal system is not a perfectly level playing field and the wealthy or well-connected are often at more of an advantage than they should be. But today, in that no-frills circuit court room, it did not matter one little bit that I’m a college professor, possess a master’s degree, host my own radio program, compose my own music, and am good friends with the new bishop of the Greater Milwaukee Synod. Nope. All that mattered in that room was that pink slip. . . and sitting on that bench, I was no better or worse than anyone else in that room. It was humbling- and gratifying- and exactly as it should have been. And that’s why I’m glad I was there. Every so often it’s good to feel Small.
pictured above: the circuit court room right before the judge entered. I made sure to ask permission of the policeman present if photos were permitted. He looked at me like I was nuts for wanting to take a picture, but said that it was fine. By the way, I walked out of there at 8:45 and was only three minutes late for my 9:00 phone interview.