Neither Speed Nor Judgment

Published February 24, 1983. It all began last summer it was late in the afternoon, and I was in my office at BYU, in a good mood, and the phone rang. It was my wife Susan, and she was upset.

“Brent,” she said, “You’ll never guess what just happened. I got a ticket for speeding.”

“Were you backing out of the driveway?” I mused.

“Don’t be funny.” she said with a quiver in her voice. “It just wasn’t fair.”

“Where were you when you got the ticket?” I asked.

“On 8^thNorth and 13^th East in Orem,” she said.

“What wasn’t fair about the ticket?” I inquired. “Weren’t you speeding?”

“I was going 38 miles an hour,” Susan replied, “but the officer said I was in a 25 mile per hour residential zone. But, Brent,” she continued, “there are no houses around. There is a fruit orchard for two blocks on one side of the road and the Orem City cemetery on the other side. Would you call a cemetery a residential area?”

“Not really,” I replied with glee, “but I do know that people are dying to get in there.”

“Knock it off,” Susan came back. “The fine will be nearly $40.”

“Why don’t you protest,” I suggested, “plead innocent and take it to court.”

“But if I am found guilty,” Susan replied, “and will not pay the fine, I could go to jail.”

“Don’t worry.” I assured her, “I’ll bring the kids down during visiting hours.”

“But, Brent,” Susan gasped, “you watch the late night television shows. You know what happens to women while they are in prison!”

“Well, you’ve been saying you needed a few days away from it all. Now this is your chance,” I chuckled.

“Please be serious.” Susan pleaded, “It’s the principle of the thing. The residential zone is deceptive. As you are going north on Eighth East there is a steep hill ahead. I would challenge anyone to make it up that hill going 25 miles an hour.

Being my legalistic self I asked, “Are there signs that indicate the speed limit?”

“Yes,” Susan replied, “it is well marked.”

“Well, the law is the law,” I reasoned. “You’ll either have to pay the fine or go to jail.”

“But, Brent, it’s the principle . . . ”

“Yes, yes, I know,” I again chuckled. “We believe in honoring, obeying, and sustaining the law according the dictates of our own conscience.”

“This is the first traffic ticket I’ve ever had.” Susan said. “It is just so humiliating.”

“Yes, I know the feeling,” I bragged, “I haven’t had a ticket now in nearly 24 years of driving. But that is life, Susan. You’ll just have to face up to it.”

There was a pause as I glanced at my watch. “It’s about time to come home,” I said. “What’s for dinner?”

There was another long pause, and then she replied, “You’ll get half a pork chop,” and hung up.

To make a long story short, Susan decided against any form of civil disobedience and paid the fine.

Weeeell, last week I was late for an appointment. I was going north on Eighth East in Orem when I noticed some flashing red lights in my rear view mirror. The traffic officer pulled me over at 13^th North; 42 in a 25 mph zone. “Residential zone,” he said. And of all days it had to be on Valentines Day.

It really is not too funny. The same citation on the same street, in the same spot and probably by the same officer. And by the time this article is printed, I will have had my day in court. I am going to protest, and Susan might have to bring the children down to visit me. If next week’s column is missing, it may be because they do not allow inmates to have typewriters in Orem City jail.

I remember reading, “Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged." How true it is in marital relationships.