The decades-long public debate over Cold Spring’s “parking problem” has produced mindsets ranging from denial, frustration and anger, to analytical, resistant and satisfied.
Call me peculiar, but in my experience, when I hear the P word I think of humor, adventure, education, creativity and the supernatural.
Channeling Joni Mitchell, I can say I’ve looked at parking from all sides now.
First, a confession. I’ve written about parking for The Current more times than countable. So recently, while in Gananoque, Ontario, I had no excuse for not looking around, not noticing a kiosk four spaces away and not paying. So, I have no excuse for the $25 ticket. It was humbling, bordering on funny. I’ll be less critical of visitors to Cold Spring now.
George Carlin opened my eyes to parking’s humorous side when he asked why we drive in a parkway but park in a driveway.
But back to my unmetered parking world:
In my early teens, my friends and I would camp out on weekends at an abandoned gravel pit near Lovers’ Lane. During tomato season, we’d acquire a basket of well-ripened fruit, sneak up on the unsuspecting parkers, bombard the car with considerable accuracy (we all played baseball) and run like hell. Until writing this column, I never pondered whether the car windows were open.
A few summers later, I found myself working at the local drive-in theater. When the second movie ended, it was my thankless task to approach the three or four cars parked at the back to inform the occupants that — on the screen, at least — the show was over. Without exception, clearing the steam off the driver’s window proved educational.
A typical teen, I was nervous about going to get my driver’s license, though I was relieved when the mustachioed, English-accented examiner said there would be “no tricks” during my road test.
He immediately had me drive to a side street saying, “Park here.”
When I refused, he rather assertively asked what I was doing. “I can’t park here, sir; the signs say, ‘No Parking Any Time,’” I replied, confidently.
He raised his voice, repeating, “Park here!” to which I replied much less confidently, “I can’t, sir; that’s illegal.”
Red-faced, he had me drive around the block to the same spot, screaming, “Park here!” Flustered, I left the front wheels the wrong way and forgot to set the parking brake. Back at the testing center, he reminded me, loudly, of his promise of “no tricks.” I bit my tongue. Parking was my only mistake. I got my license.
A couple of years later, after a Saturday night movie date, my girlfriend Margaret asked what I’d like to do before taking her home. I suggested we go parking and was delighted when she agreed. As I turned down a backroad outside her hometown, she asked me to pull into the corner gas station, which was closed for the night.
“We can’t park here!” I said. Margaret replied that she was fine with parking but not on that road, because she was experiencing a vision: a small car, painted two colors and occupied by two men who frightened her. I peered intently down the pitch-black road. With no moon and from under a bright yard light, seeing anything was impossible.
About five minutes later, a small green Datsun, with its driver’s door painted brown and two middle-aged men in the front seats, appeared from down the road. The car stopped. The men looked right at us. Margaret’s family had certain skills I had doubted until that moment. Our parking plan was abandoned.
While attending the University of Windsor part-time, I didn’t buy the expensive student parking pass. Instead, I parked on a side street under a “No Parking” sign. I got caught about twice a week, but tickets were only $2. My strategy worked well until I went to renew my driver’s license and had to pay off $84 in tickets.
Later, in the full-time world, a colleague told me about a Dodge Aspen that Chrysler somehow lost track of after it was parked in a storage yard. I bought the “brand-new,” three-year-old car with zero miles for a song.
The point of all these nonfiction tales?
Park at your own peril, and when someone suggests parking is a simple subject, don’t believe them.
OMG, Mike Turton; you are so gifted and funny. I loved the number of times, while sitting alone at my kitchen table, I laughed out loud while reading this article. So human, so humble and so beautifully done. Parking is a very important subject. Thank you for reminding us of its many layers. With gratitude.
Michael, this is your pièce de résistance.
Foley is the Cold Spring mayor.
Once again, this column has delivered an outstanding article. “Beyond Parking”, by Michael Turton is a story, as well as an informative column. He builds a story, develops the content and concludes with a wonderful end, all the while dealing with an issue we, as readers, live with. Not all news has to be dry. Kudos to the writer.