Good Old Fashion Policing On My Trip To New York City
After traveling a couple of more miles toward our destination, Gertie did notice another flashing light and alarm — the light-bar and siren of a police car.
The Garden State Parkway was completed in 1957. It’s rumored to have paid for itself in the 1st year of its existence. The Parkway is a controlled access road named after New Jersey’s nickname, the “Garden State”. I know there are those if you out there that may think of more appropriate labels for the state that can also be viewed from that other famous New Jersey road — the Turnpike..
The Parkway stretches the length of New Jersey (172 miles) and brings easy access to New York from the Jersey Shore.
I was home on Christmas break from college when I overheard parts of a conversation my mother was having talking to one of her friends on the phone.
“I know, I know we have tickets Gertie but he’s home for break, I don’t think I should go.” Pause. “Ok, I’ll ask him. I don’t think he’ll want to,” mother seemed to speculate. More conversation ensued but I didn’t listen.
That night at dinner.
“You know, Friday is the afternoon that Gertie and I have tickets in our play group to see Bye, Bye Birdie on Broadway.. Would you like to come? We probably can get you a half price ticket in a booth in New York when we arrive,” my mother stated and asked and stated.
Nothing better to do during that week with most of my Jersey Shore friends still at their respective colleges until the following week — I accepted the invitation to ride up to New York City with Gertie and mother to see Bye, Bye Birdie.
Friday came as Fridays eventually do and I found myself in the back seat of Gertie’s Plymouth Valiant, a largely silent passenger, listening to nonstop conversation between mother and Gertie. I relegated myself to reading my paperback until we reached New York. How little I knew what was in store for the 3 of us.
Back in the 1960s the Garden State was somewhat different from the way it is now. The route hasn’t changed and it’s still usually jam packed with traffic.
However, the method of extracting your money in payment for its use has changed. Back then, there was no EZPass, no tokens, no cameras; just the traveler ,the toll collectors and the cops.
And, Oh!
There were new exact change coin machines in which you tossed your toll as you slowly proceeded through the booth. They were getting quite a bit of play for those travelers who had quarters to pitch, time to save and the lack of desire to greet and be greeted by a human toll collector. Tolls were 25 cents at each booth — manned or machined.
Mother, Gertie and I got on at Eatontown and were “Welcome to the Garden State Parkway” by a wholesome, upbeat toll collector.
Gertie had saved a bunch of quarters and was going to try out the new automatic collection buckets as much as she could. Besides, we were running a little late and it supposedly saves time to use them.
After successfully negotiating a couple of the automatic collection machines with her quarters, we slowed for the Union Toll Ramp Toll Plaza.
Mother and Gertie had not slowed their conversation however, not one bit. As Gertie applied the breaks a little to coast on through the toll plaza she tossed her quarter into the machine. I looked up from my paperback to see a jolly toll collector with a smile on his face and his hand out fully expecting a quarter to be politely handed to him and be cheerily greeted by the commuter.
I saw his bright look fade as Gertie’s quarter hit him on the forehead and bounce back, ricocheting off the car then roll up the Parkway for a few feet. Gertie must have run over it, not yet noticing her mistake, so engrossed was she in conversation with my mother. She also failed to notice the flashing light or the alarm blasting at the toll booth.
After traveling a couple of more miles toward our destination, Gertie did notice another flashing light and alarm — the light-bar and siren of a police car.
Totally befuddled as to any reason any policeman would have interest in two women and a college kid driving to see the matinee of Bye Bye Birdie; Gertie did the most reasonable thing that she could think of — -she asked my mother — who didn’t know — a rare event.
The officer was very polite when he ask to see Gertie’s license and ask us all to step out of the car for a breathalyzer test. Gertie couldn’t find her license. She said thought she must have left it on her bureau at home when she was cleaning out her pocketbook for the trip to New York.
We all DID pass the breathalyzer.
When Gertie offered to pay the 25 cent toll to the officer, he shook his head sadly and told her to make sure she carried her license whenever she was out driving and hoped we all enjoyed the play.
I must say, 60 years later, I remember the journey much more than the destination.