Page 07 - Stop Sign

Stop Sign By Edwin R. Ellis

 My parents retired to their dream home on the far side of the apple orchard in Wrightwood, California. Wrightwood is a small town of no more then two hundred residents located high in the San Gabriel Mountains east of Los Angles.

We knew everyone in town and everyone knew us. We had a local Sheriff, Doc Martin who enforced the rules in his own way. He was responsible for keeping us out of trouble as he watched all of us grow up from young punks to adults.

Downtown Wrightwood had one wide street with a couple of real estate offices, fire station, community building, gas station and grocery store. We had a coffee shop, the Pine Manor, and the semi upscale bar and restaurant known as the Blue Ridge Inn.

 

Our street, located on the far side of town beyond the apple orchard, drew little traffic. We were in the boonies along with the apple orchard. There was only one road that went back as far as our street.

 

After Dad retired and we all left home for the greener pastures of the Los Angles job market. Mom and Dad headed downtown to enjoy their first anniversary dinner without a bunch of kids around. The Blue Ridge Inn was the only choice.

 

After their dinner they jumped in Dad’s car and headed home through the apple orchard as usual. Dad had made the trip countless times. I am sure the Dad had something wonderful on his mind for when they got home. He had a bottle of Mom’s favorite wine in the trunk.

It was a moonless night, black and dark as a coalmine. The stars were so close to the ground you could reach out and grab one. If you happened to strike a match the light would be sure to blind you.

About half way through the orchard was one of the two stop signs within a thirty-mile radius. Dad had a lot of practice as the cross street was at an angle. While making a right turn he had a good view of any traffic on the road day or night. I guess that over the years he had gotten a little sloppy with his rolling stop.

Dad slowed to a roll and proceeded to the right as always. It was not long before they were jolted by the red and blue flashing lights of a patrol car lighting up the inside of their car. Mom and Dad, startled by the lights, jumped up in their seats. They knew that it was not Doc. Doc knew Dad’s car and would not pull him over for a rolling stop. He would just come by the next day and have a chat with Dad.

It turned out to be a California Highway Patrol Officer who was sitting in the orchard with all his lights out waiting for someone to run that stop sign in the middle of nowhere.

There was no way that Dad could talk his way out of a ticket. I’m confident that getting the ticket broke up the mood. Mom, being a frugal German woman, was furious. Not at Dad, but at the Highway Patrol Officer. Dad figured the wine would be of no use and saved it for another occasion.

Mom decided to write a letter to the Governor of California questioning why the state had so much spare money as to station a highly-paid Highway Patrol Officer in the middle of an apple orchard in some small drink-water town as Wrightwood. Was there not better use of his time and talent? Mom wrote. In addition, Mom wanted to know why that Officer was picking on senior citizens.

 Mom’s letter was forwarded down to the local Highway Patrol Commander in Victorville and he made arrangements to drive the forty plus miles to Wrightwood. He wanted to address the residents at the community center. 

Word spread around town like wildfire. Almost every senior in town was at the meeting. The community building was packed to the gills. This was considered a major event.

Doc introduced the Highway Patrol Commander. The Commander started his presentation assuring the residents of Wrightwood that it was not the intention of the California Highway Patrol to single out senior citizens. He went on, not really explaining what the Officer was doing in the orchard with his lights out.

Doc was sitting on a chair behind the Commander trying his best to hold back his snickering. 

Dad stood up and interrupted the Commander in mid-sentence and announced. “I’m Mr. Ellis. I am the reason you are here tonight.” Dad went on. “It is now 8:45 PM,” looking down at his watch. “If I’m not home by 9 o’clock sharp my wife is going to rent out my room.”

The look on the Commander’s face was worth a million dollars. He was at a loss for words.

Dad paused for just a moment to let the laughter die down.

Looking at the Commander straight in the eye, “Sir, I must leave right now because I have two complete stops to make on the way home.”