But Judge....

Traffic court is fun.  It's like a box of chocolates.  You never know what your gonna get.  (She nods to Forrest Gump).  But before you get to the courtroom there has to be a ticket, and before the ticket is the alleged violation.


So flash back to about six weeks before court.  I'm driving around town in my mobile crime fighting platform, minding my own business.  The radio comes alive with the dispatcher calling me.


"Go ahead"...


"Signal four, code two.  Main and Lemon."  (a car crash, no injury-no need to rush).


Upon my arrival I see a huge compacting style garbage truck and a large semi-compacted Buick.


The two black guys from the truck are standing on the side, drinking coffee from their thermos.  (I mention their race only because it comes into play later).  They were familiar to me because the police cars get serviced occasionally at the City garage and we use the gas pumps there.  They greeted me and I them.


The Buick driver, an older black lady (I only mention her race because it comes into play later), is still sitting in her car.  When she sees me she alights the vehicle and approaches.  She was a very large woman, over 6 feet tall, not fat although I bet she weighed in at about 250.  Her head was huge and it was all the more imposing due to a full, poofed out style wig.  She was just big and tall, a nice lady - very pleasant in her demeanor. 


She was dressed like my old third grade teacher, a navy dress with white polka dots and a while collar that ended in a huge white bow at her cleavage.  She wore black patent leather pumps, the top of her feet was puffing out over the top like muffins. (either the shoes were a half size too small or she needed a water pill).  And she carried a huge double handle patent leather pocket book.  The kind Fred Sanford got smacked with by Aunt Esther.


He said She said went into the telling of events.  Bottom line the garbage truck as going down Main Street under the speed limit minding its own business when the Buerick emerged off the side street,  after dutifully stopping at the stop sign, then attempted a right turn----into the side of the truck.


I issued a citation for violation of the right-of-way to Aunt Esther and we all went our separate ways.


I was a bit surprised to get the subpoena for traffic court on this case.  At the scene Aunt Esther seemed to comprehend that it was her fault.  Alas, her son, a local community 'spokes person', decided it was police harassment and insisted she contest the charge.


So the players in this non-drama were reassembled for the traffic hearing.  Add the know-it-all son and his over confident attorney. 


The case (which was and still is a very common scenario, heard thousands of times in courts across the nation) was presented.  First I had to present what I found, the areas of damage, the traffic control devices that were there to regulate who was supposed to do what and my observations of the damage.  You are not allowed to say what the drivers told you.  That's hear-say.  But the drivers were next to tell their stories.


The attorney did his best to paint me as a racist, just picking on Aunt Esther because she was black.  When I pointed out that was silly because the garbage truck drivers were also black, he countered that I was just cutting them a break because they and I were all city employees, thus my prejudice.  Whatever.  Attorneys will grasp at anything to distract the trier of fact from the facts.  Sad to say, after a while you get used to being called everything under the sun.


Finally the attorney gets around to addressing the actual circumstances of the wreck.  He goes into a long Q & A of me regarding the design of the intersection.  What is the legal definition of an intersection.  Isn't it true that the collision occurred outside the boundaries of the  legal definition of the intersection. Blah, Blah, Blah.  Even the judge finally called him for badgering and repeating.


The truck had indeed completely passed through the 'intersection' when Aunt Esther pulled out, smacking into the right rear of the truck about half way thru her right turn, and about 10 ft east of the eastern imaginary line of the 'intersection. The truck driver caught a glimpse of her emerging off the stop sign and swerved to his left to make more room for her but to no avail.


(Basically an intersection is the area within the imaginary lines that could be drawn from all the sides of the road, looks like a tic-tac-toe game, the 'intersection is the middle square).  Aunt Esther and the garbage truck ended up in the middle/right 'square'.


The judge (a man I admired immensely and who swore me in as an officer) pronounced Aunt Esther had committed the violation.


"But Judge!,  she (pointing at me) wrote my client for violating the statue 'right-of-way at an intersection'... this collision did not occur within the intersection.  Thus the wrong statute was used and my client did not commit the infraction."


"Mr. Crane"  (I'll call him after Denny 'the name is on the door' Crane, though this guy couldn't wipe Denny's shoes).


The Judge,  "Mr. Crane, I find that your client did commit the infraction.  The infraction occurred within the intersection, the collision  occurred outside the intersection.  She is not charged with colliding, she is charged with violation of the right-of-way.  My decision stands."


"But Judge! That's not the way I interpret the statute!" Bemoaned Denny.


"Yes, Mr. Crane, but"


at this point the judge slipped one finger into the neck of his robe and tugged at it as he spoke-
" that's the way I interpret the statute."

I bet it cost Aunt Esther a thousand bucks to fight that $25.00 ticket.  And I think she wouldn't have said boo about it but her son would argue with the po-lices even if the officer said the sky is blue.


Believe it or not, some times we actually know what we are doing.