As if the Blizzard Wasn't Enough, I Ended Up at the Norwood Police Station...
Previously, Part 11: Snowbound, Let's Sleep in Today... (Blizzard of '78)
By 1978, it had been four years since I graduated high school, four very unproductive years. I dropped out of college in January of '76 after attending three schools: Norwich University, Boston University, and Bridgewater State. The in-law apartment on Pond St. was my eighth address. I was on my seventh car, a red '71 Plymouth Barracuda, and working my eighth job. I had just become a dedicated shoe-dog selling men's shoes at Filene's in Braintree. I was no Billy Mays, but I wasn't Al Bundy either. I was selling a lot of shoes.
The only thing consistent in my life at the time was my girlfriend. I hurried down Depot St. to the train station just over a mile away to meet her, thinking only about her beautiful smile as I high-stepped my way through snow drifts, some more than three feet high…
When I got to the train station, only a few others were waiting impatiently like me. We talked about the storm and our fear that our loved ones would get stranded in Boston or, worse, on the train…
The train was over an hour late, and the waiting was gut-wrenching, but I was never so happy when I heard that whistle blow. I hurried toward the platform and eagerly watched for her to get off the train.
She got off the train with a big smile on her face. She smiled 99.9 % of the time. She was a happy, well-adjusted person with great parents who provided her with a great childhood. Everything in her life was consistent, and if I was gonna keep her, I'd have to get my shit together. Unfortunately, that was a lot of shit, and they didn't make a bag big enough to carry it all…
After I gave her a big hug and a kiss, I grabbed the small suitcase she was holding, and the two of us began the two-mile trek back to her house on Harold St., three houses down from Gunhouse Street and a quarter mile from the public beach at Lake Massapoag. It was a close-knit, working-class neighborhood, but because of its close proximity to the lake, it was desirable.
Typical house in Sharon during the Blizzard of '78
Photo courtesy of The Sharon Public Library
When we got to her house, her father, Irv, was shoveling the circular driveway around his plumbing van, and I immediately grabbed another shovel and started helping him. Susan went inside to be with her mother, who was so happy to see her home safely.
Once the roads were being plowed, because Irv was a plumber and considered an essential worker, he was allowed to drive on them. My friend Peter was married and lived in one of his father's bungalows in town, and he called to invite us over. He had a wood stove, plenty of firewood, and some good weed. We asked Irv if he could drop us off at Peter's house, and he didn't mind dropping us there. Peter's father installed septic systems in town, and he and Irv worked together a lot.
Peter's bungalow was small, and the wood stove kept the place toasty warm. Peter turned on a boom box and brought out some weed. We got high, and it was great being inside, out of the snow, with friends.
After a while, we all had the munchies. Peter went into the kitchen, pulled a gallon of milk out of a Styrofoam cooler, and poured himself a tall glass. Then he reached into the cupboard and grabbed an unopened package of vanilla creme-filled sandwich cookies. The cheap no-name brand. The kind you get twice as much for half the price. When he got to the living room, he put everything on the coffee table in front of us, and we prepared for a feast…
But then something odd happened… Pete wasn't sharing his cookies with anyone. He pounded down cookie after cookie, savoring every bite while making it clear they were just for him and no one else, not even his wife. I thought about asking him if he was gonna share the cookies, but it was obvious he had no intention…
At one point, I couldn't watch any longer; it was utter torture. That's when I considered offering him cash for cookies, but I didn't want to embarrass him or me. When he had one stack gone and had his fill, he closed up the package, took the last gulp of milk, and put everything away without the least bit of concern for his starving guests. What a selfish prick! Who does that?
After that, we called Irv, and he came and picked us up. The second we walked in the door, we went right into the kitchen and started pigging out on everything in sight. Fuck Peter!
Many people, including myself, missed two weeks of work because of the blizzard, and the governor declared a State of Emergency. Anyone missing work for more than a week was entitled to unemployment and, if they qualified, food stamps. I got both.
I went to the Norwood unemployment office and stood in a long, slow-moving line. By the time I was at the front, it was getting late, and I had to get to Braintree. I got my check and $50 worth of food stamps and left quickly.
I figured I'd go through South Norwood to East Walpole, past the boarding house, stop at Dunkies on Route 1, and then jump on the highway to work.
The roads were clear, down to pavement, but the snow banks were high, some as high as ten feet. As I was driving away, a little old lady jumped out from behind a snow bank and walked right into the road without looking. I couldn't see her until the last second. I stomped on my brakes and missed hitting her by mere inches.
She was feisty and gave me the unadulterated version of what for. I let her have the moment, even apologized, and then proceeded on my way. No crime, no foul…
Suddenly, a black '67 Ford Galaxy 500 appeared behind me. He got up on my bumper, started flashing his high beams, and when I didn't stop, he sped up alongside me in the oncoming lane. He had his left hand on the wheel and pointed at me to pull over with his right. "Who the fuck is this guy?" I wondered. Was he trying to make a citizen's arrest because an elderly woman walked out into traffic without looking?
The faster he went, the faster I went, and I outran him. I didn't stop for coffee, and by the time I got to work, I'd forgotten all about it.
I got home from work, had supper, and called Susan, who was back in school. While we were on the phone, there was a knock at the door. It was the guy in the black Ford Galaxie. I recognized him by his jet-black hair and dark eyes, but now he was wearing a police uniform, and behind him in the driveway was a marked police car…
He identified himself and told me to go to the Norwood police station immediately. I asked why. He said because I almost hit an elderly woman and then failed to stop for a police officer. He claimed he was holding his badge in his free hand and showing it to me. I said, "Policeman? You weren't in uniform or a police car, and you never showed me a fucking badge. For all I knew, you were some lunatic trying to make a citizen's arrest, and maybe you had a gun…"
All he said was, "Get your ass down the station, now."
He was pissed, and he had an obvious hard-on for me…
I'd left the phone on the shag carpet, and Susan heard some of it, and I filled her in on the rest.
When I got down to the station, they threw the book at me. They wrote me up for speeding, passing in a restricted area, failure to stop for a police officer, and driving negligently.
If I wanted to keep my driver's license and my job, I needed a fucking lawyer!
Heavy Metal Magic!
To be continued…
*All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental…