Parking Tickets: Part II

By John Mickman

In last week’s Part I of ‘Parking Tickets, I was stopped by a police officer named Robert for a broken tail light lens. When he did the license check, he found that I had some warrants because I hadn’t paid some parking tickets…

Upon our arrival at Apache Plaza in the squad car, Robert and I both spotted the big, dark paddy wagon sitting in the shadows beneath a dim, overhead parking lot light. The scene was pretty ominous as I looked out the window of the squad car. Robert pulled up and met the two awaiting cops who were smoking while leaning against their paddy wagon. “Now John, I need you to sit still in the car while I talk to these guys”, Robert instructed. “I’m going to see if I can make this a little easier for you.”

Because we had parked so close to the paddy wagon, I could hear what was being said. Robert explained to the other two cops about the parking tickets, and told them they were not going to have any problem with me. At that point, one of the other cops took out some handcuffs and started walking toward Roberts’s squad car. “You won’t need those cuff’s”, Robert said. “You aren’t going to have any trouble with this kid.”

“Well you know the policy”, the cop said. “All prisoners that go into our paddy wagons have to be cuffed. That’s it”, and he stopped talking. At that point, Robert walked up real close to the cop with the cuff’s and said, “I’m not taking this kid out of my squad if you don’t put those cuff’s away. He doesn’t need to be cuffed. He won’t be a problem. Put the cuff’s away”, Robert directed in a way that I thought was just about right – not necessarily confrontational, but in a way that meant there would be no compromise. The three cops discussed this issue for what seemed to be five minutes or so. It was a lively discussion, but Robert flatly stated that at this time I was his prisoner, not theirs, and he simply would not turn me over to them until they promised not to handcuff me.

Robert won.

When Robert finally opened the door of his squad car I got out and was told by the two other cops that “if I don’t make any trouble”, they won’t put the cuffs on me. I agreed in as amiable a tone as I could muster, and stepped into the paddy wagon, smiling to myself that maybe this wouldn’t be too bad after all. “Thanks for all your help officer”, I said to Robert before the cops closed the paddy wagon doors. “You’re welcome John, and good luck”, Robert said with a big grin on his face. I thought I could hear him softly laughing to himself as he walked back to his squad car.

I was locked in the back of the paddy wagon by myself and was transported to the Minneapolis Police Station; the Big House. After arriving, each of the cops held me by my arms and led me into the cold, stone building. ‘My’ two cops stayed with me through all the processing and I never had handcuffs put on me, although all the other prisoners were cuffed. I was fingerprinted and had mug shots taken; front and side. Was this really necessary for Parking Tickets? I guess so.

After being processed, I was put in a holding cell with a bunch of drunk guys, some of whom were passed out. I just sat there on the wooden bench; no one had really explained what was going to happen next, or when. After three or four Marlboro’s, an hour or so, one of the jail keepers came to our cell and announced my name. “That’s me, John Mickman”, I responded as I jumped up and headed for the cell door. As he unlocked the door he said, “You’ve made bail son. Come on out of the cell”.

Wow, I made bail; I wonder how that happened. And by whom?

After signing some paperwork which included a court date a month down the line, I was brought into another room where my dad was waiting. ‘Oh man, this is going to be unpleasant’, was my first thought. But, dad didn’t say a word. He just opened the door and gestured for me to go through it. I did, and then followed him to his pickup truck. He hadn’t said anything to me yet.

After we had ridden for a minute or so I said, “I’m sorry this happened dad. It’s all my fault for not paying some parking tickets”. Nothin’; he didn’t say anything. He was REALLY mad. But, I wasn’t too worried because I knew he needed me to go pine cone picking and eventually I knew I would get on his good side again. But he didn’t say anything for most of the ride back home.

Not far from our house he finally spoke up. “I suppose you’re wondering where I got the $200 cash to bail my son out of jail”, he asked. Actually, I wasn’t wondering about that at all. I was thinking about how tired I was and if he was going to want me to leave for the Black Hills at 6 o’clock in the morning – just a couple of hours away.

But, at least he was talking. “Yeah dad, I was wondering where you got that money. Where did you get it?” I asked in a sincere way, anxious to break the ice and start a conversation. My grandma and grandpa were complete tea-totalers, and my dad very rarely ever had a drink. When he did, it was a small glass of Mogen David wine at Christmas or Thanksgiving or some other big occasion. He did not drink, and as far as I knew, had never seen the inside of a bar.

“I had to go to a bar and cash a check. A bar! I never thought I would have to go to a bar to get money to bail any son of mine out of jail.” He was really disappointed in me. I apologized again and that was the end of that conversation. He never brought this incident up again. Ever. Neither did I.

When we arrived home, dad said I was still leaving at 6 o’clock, on schedule, and I should get some sleep. At 6:00 AM, I left for the Black Hills with my brothers, Jimmy and Chris and sister Jody. Over the next three weeks in the Black Hills we picked all the pine cones dad would need for the upcoming Wreath Season. We, Mickman kids, were some of the foremost Pine Cone Pickers in the country, and although young, we were an integral part of the family Christmas Wreath Business.

Actually, we had picked more than one load of pine cones and dad brought our mom and my girlfriend Helen out when he arrived at our campsite at the Hart Ranch. Dad then returned to the Twin Cities with everyone except Jimmy and Helen because we needed to pick just a few more gunny sacks of cones before our load was (over) full. One night as we laid on some big stacks of field hay, the three of us watched the Perseids Meteor Shower. The night was crystal clear as hundreds of ‘falling stars’ were streaking across the night sky for hours. Pretty cool.

After finishing the pine cone picking project, I decided to go to the Minneapolis Court House and see if I couldn’t take care of the ‘Parking Ticket Problem’ before going back the University; school was starting in a few weeks and my court date was going to interfere with some of my classes.

So, with my tail light repaired and everything else on my MGB working pretty close to 100%, I drove down to the Minneapolis Court House, and after explaining my situation with two or three police officers, I finally convinced the last one to let me talk to a judge. This was not an easy sell, but I was finally led upstairs to the office of a judge. After being handed a bunch of paperwork by the officer, the judge asked me to sit down opposite him at his desk while he looked through my file.

After he got himself up so speed with my situation, the judge looked up at me. “So tell me Mr. Mickman, how does a person get 32 Parking Tickets and end up with 32 warrants for his arrest? You understand if you had paid these tickets, it would have cost you $3.00 each or $96.00. But now with these Warrants, these tickets will cost you $30.00 each. You now have to pay $960.00.”

With that, I began the tale beginning with my volunteer work at The Whole Coffeehouse, putting myself through the University and picking pine cones for the family wreath business. I also told him about Officer Robert and his fine treatment of me, along with the story about the handcuffs and the other two cops that accompanied me through my booking at the jail. The judge seemed to be quite interested, so I told the story with lots of detail. He was amazed. I concluded by telling him that I was here at the courthouse hoping to get resolution to the problem so I wouldn’t miss any of my upcoming classes at the University.

After finishing the story, the judge looked at me for some time then asked if I had money to pay the complete fine, $960. “Well, no sir, I don’t have that much, but I did make some money picking pine cones and I could pay some of it”, I explained.

“It doesn’t work like that Mr. Mickman”, the judge said. “You have to pay the entire amount of the court’s levy. $960.00”.   

“Well Your Honor, I don’t have that much and I don’t know how I could pay it all now. Could I make some payments over time?” I asked.

“No you can’t make installment payments. It doesn’t work that way”, the judge said. Then after thinking for a few moments he asked, “Did you earn enough picking pine cones to pay the original amount of the Parking Tickets; $96.00?”

So that was it; I ended up paying $96.00 and walked out of the Court House five minutes later, a free man.

I believe that to this day, my fingerprints and mug shots are locked away in the bowels of the Minneapolis Police Station somewhere, probably with a footnote stating that I didn’t pay my parking tickets.

I also began putting money into the parking meters behind Coffman Union.