Fond Memories: Living Under a Lucky Star!

Or another title for this segment could be "How Bettse had a Run-in with the Law!"

May has passed, and many graduates of all ages and distinctions have received accolades. So it isn’t uncommon for me to remember a nerve-wracking-yet-fun situation after my high school graduation. 

I was fresh out of high school and feeling the life of a “free” teenager with an entire summer to look forward to, while searching for a job as well.

My nearest nephews, who were only six and eight years younger than I, were pretty much my favorite playmates. I babysat with them and hung around with them all the time, even though they lived in Basehor, which was many miles away. But that didn’t bother me. And on this particular day, I didn’t think anything would bother me.

We had a plan this particular day to go out and do some “aluminum can hunting” to make a few dollars. It didn’t bring a lot, but it was enough to have a quick meal at McDonald’s (completely different these days with the fluctuation of prices!). My Dad promised to help me flatten them when I came home with the cans, so my entire day was set.

I don’t remember where my Dad found this particular vehicle for me, but it was a literal rust-bucket Datson Honey Bee. But to a young girl eager to explore life, I loved it. Unfortunately, it didn’t have a speedometer, mileage gauge, gas tank gauge, or radio. In other words, the entire dashboard functionality was not working, and no air-conditioner either. And I think the lights were out in the trunk, and I am not sure it had a rearview mirror.

Another interesting fact about the Datsun Honey Bee is that it was a stick shift, and when it would not start, you could see me several times, once on State Avenue. I would have one foot out the door, and slowly, inching the car down the street, endeavoring to get it started. Yes, like a scooter!

Nevertheless, there was something else the car apparently needed … but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. (smile)

But none of this bothered me!

I was a carefree girl with my hair in a ponytail and white t-shirt flying down Parallel Parkway. My pocket radio was playing my favorite station, and Mickey, my cocker spaniel, was seated in the passenger seat, her head out the window, going along for the ride to pick up my nephews.

I reached K-7, paused at the intersection, looked around, and carefully pulled my Datsun Honey Bee to the other side. There were no signal lights there at that time, and Victory Junction Restaurant was on the corner, which was one of our family hangouts because the food was so delicious!

As soon as I reached the other side of K-7, I immediately heard a siren. I stopped and waited patiently for the police officer to come to my window.

“I clocked you at 60 miles an hour,” he quietly said. Parallel Parkway was a 40 mph zone.

“Oh, I’m sorry, officer,” I apologized. “My speedometer doesn’t work.”

Yes! I said that, not knowing that was probably something a person should not voluntarily mention.

The police officer asked for my license and went back to his car. 

Of course, I was nervous. I had never had a police officer pull me over before. I did not know what to expect. But I decided to play it pretty cool and just played my radio and petted Mickey, who had crawled over on top of my lap. 

After several minutes, the officer came back to my window. 

“Go slower,” he said, handing me my license back.

I thanked him and left, continuing my pathway down Parallel Parkway. This time, I drove slower, not because of the warning from the law, but because it was a gravel road from there at that time. 

The rest of the day was pretty much as scheduled. I picked up my nephews, and we headed to Wolcott, using a different route to avoid the police officer. My Dad introduced me to a place down there where wild drunken parties would happen every Saturday night, and the place was littered with aluminum beer cans. Where he got this information, I don’t know, but I always felt my Dad knew everything growing up.

We filled up the trunk with the cans and headed back to my home, where Dad was waiting with the backhoe to crush the cans for us. I don’t know how much we made for this haul. The entire adventure was just something fun that my nephews and I could do together to avoid the boredom of being stuck at home.

Later that afternoon, sitting around the table, I told my parents about what happened with the police officer. Both of their faces were a bit shocked, which surprised me. 

“You are lucky he didn’t run you in,” Dad said. “You have switched tags on that car!”

Switched tags? What were they? 

I mean, I knew there were times when Dad had asked me to switch the tags from one car to another, but I didn’t know it was against the law. Yikes!

Growing up “redneck” and broke, sometimes my Dad, and many others, had to “bend” the law once in awhile to make do. Never for very long, though, and Dad had many police officer friends, so I guess life was good.

Although after this experience, I never switched tags again and kept my license current. 

But with all the violations the police officer could have racked up against me and my little Datsun Honey Bee, especially the switched tags, why didn’t he?

A couple of us thought it was because by the time he could catch me, I was out of his jurisdiction. Or he had other, more important criminals to apprehend.

However, part of me wondered if he saw what I was that day: a carefree girl, fresh out of school, and out for a fun ride in my rust-bucket. I was not a real legal threat to anyone. 

At any rate, I thank that officer for stopping me to slow down and also for not “running me in.”

Oh, another “wonderful” item regarding the Datsun Honey Bee was that when it got up to 50 miles per hour, the back seats and backend would sway back and forth. Quite an unusual car that was one of my favs!

Of course, it had to go through the family about how “How Bettse had a Run-in with the Law!”