Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, March 31, 1994 TAG: 9403310286
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: A-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: By KATHLEEN WILSON STAFF WRITER NOTE: Above
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
WHEN I heard they'd tracked down Betty Jo Anthony's 95 parking tickets in some computer, I knew it was only a matter of time before they discovered me.
I had to be in there.
It didn't take our intrepid reporter Ron Brown long to find that I am the person who had to pay the most money in fines and penalties after being summoned to court for not paying my parking tickets on time.
The 18 parking tickets I logged last year don't sound like much.
But the $320 - $290 on the 16 summoned tickets - I wound up paying was.
(That's 56 pairs of pantyhose.)
Taking parking tickets lightly is what got me into this mess.
It was only a parking ticket ...
See, I moved here from Manhattan. Who has a car in New York City?
Never had a parking ticket.
Grew up in the suburbs of Pittsburgh. Ever hear of anyone getting a parking ticket in the suburbs?
Doesn't happen.
So last year when I first started finding those Pepto Bismol pink tickets on my windshield, it didn't seem like such a big deal. Heck, you just stick five bucks inside and mail it.
That is, if you remember to.
Most times, I didn't.
And besides, it was only a parking ticket ...
Somehow in the course of my Catholic upbringing and parochial education, I learned to rank the wrongs of life.
Some sins are mortal, like murder.
Others they called venial.
Like parking tickets.
As an adult, I guess I assumed parking tickets were like chewing gum in class.
No big deal.
But, unlike chewing gum in class, parking tickets can become a big deal. Real fast.
Each ticket I received was on the block on which the Roanoke Times & World-News is located. Half were amassed during a one-month period: August. That's the month I coordinate the newspaper's fall fashion section.
By the time the fashion section was finished and I sat down to take a look at my parking ticket collection, $5 tickets had turned into $50 ones.
My mailbox was filling up with notices from the court alerting me that I was nearing my final date to pay a ticket before I'd have to go to court.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
It was only a parking ticket.
No. It was only eight parking tickets. In one month.
With eight different payment deadlines.
And, ultimately, eight different court dates.
It soon became an organizational problem of biblical proportions for me.
For the traffic court clerk as well. She finally managed to get me into court to take care of the whole lot in December.
This wasn't the first time I'd faced Judge Julian Raney in traffic court. Yes, I've had speeding tickets. Yes, I forgot to get my car inspected once.
In other words, I'm a regular.
``Kathleen Wilson,'' the clerk called.
As usual, Judge Raney was shaking his head silently, thumbing through my voluminous parking record.
``Miss Wilson,'' he finally said with a long, drawn-out sigh.
``Yes, sir?''
``Is there anything you'd like to explain?''
Did Judge Raney really want to know all about the trials and tribulations of the fashion section?
Did he really want to hear about the long, late hours I worked and my worries about the security of a car filled with thousands of dollars of clothing borrowed from local stores?
I figured he probably didn't.
The one thing I did explain was that the reason I had failed to pay the tickets had not been intended as an act of belligerence on my part.
``There was just so much paperwork,'' I told him. ``I couldn't keep track of it.''
Judge Raney told me he had no interest in punishing me beyond the huge sum of money I already owed.
He asked me to help him determine a reasonable period of time I could pay off my parking fines. And once I gave him a date, he added two additional weeks.
As the deputy walked me to the clerk, he had a question. The same question the police had when they issued the summonses. The same question judges had asked in the past. The same question lawyers who know me had asked when I'd been in court.
``Don't they give you a parking space over there?''
They do. Now.
Kathleen Wilson is relieved that her neighbors in Salem will now know that when the police have shown up at her door, it was only to issue a summons for parking tickets. She writes the Mingling column for this newspaper.
by CNB