That will be either $17 or three days in jail

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It was Christmas Season of 1958 and Mary Doris McNeer was traveling to Davenport in her new shiny little blue Volkswagen Bug loaded with all kinds of clothing and gifts for boys and girls at the St. Vincent’s Orphanage. She headed up that part of the Ladies Sacred Heart Society at our church here in Newton for a good many years.

Mary’s stories of her childhood days walking to church each Sunday, rain or shine were reminders of those lean years when many parents including hers did not own a car. Her memories of finally riding to Church in a comfortable 1934 Chevy acquired in the early 1940s made quite a change in their lives. She also liked to tell about her dad’s dedication to mowing the grass at the church every summer and his early walk during the spring, fall and winter starting the coal furnace to keep the congregation comfortable. It was his extra contribution.

Mary started singing in that church choir as a teenager. When I started climbing those stairs to the choir loft in the old church uptown in 1948, she was already a member. I used to glance across and notice that beautiful young lady (an upperclassman) and think how nice it would be if she would glance over my way. We both joined the CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) in 1952 and to make a long story short, we were married July 17, 1954.

But I am digressing from my story of the $17 fine, which was levied against my dear wife while returning from her 250 mile goodwill pilgrimage to Davenport back on the cold and windy day more than 50 years ago. She was meandering along on Highway 6 just outside of West Liberty in a rather long string of traffic, still feeling so good about the great visit to the Orphanage when a traffic cop pulled her out of the line. He issued her a summons for exceeding the speed limit, directing her to the police station in West Liberty to pay her fine. There was absolutely no feeling for her explanation of “going with the flow” of all the other traffic. It was another of the speed traps, which were so famous in that area.

By the time Mary got to the police station, she was still very much shaken up. She had never received a summons in her life and $17 was also a heck of a lot of money back in those days. As Mary put it, “That officer at the police station just looked at me with his cold steely blue eyes and blurted out “$17 or three days in jail.” Nothing she said made a lick of difference. It was merely their unlawful way of enhancing the coffers of their town treasury.

Let me tell you, my dear wife and mother of our first son Tom, born July 23, 1958, was fit to be tied. She cried some big tears on and off all the way home and nothing I could say seemed to console her. She related how she had told them she would gladly spend the three days in jail, but she was still nursing her new son Tom and had to get home post-haste. Otherwise, I truly believe she would have taken that lock-up time while she filed an official protest with the state. We learned later that the West Liberty moneymaking scheme was put to a halt.

This was the one and only ticket that my “Honey-Bear” ever received. End of Story!

Olden Days appears on Wednesday. Contact the writer at mcneer@pcpartner.net

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