Texas
traffic stop only a pretext
By Richard Orr
(Editor's note: This is an updated version
of something that happened to Richard Orr and his late wife in
November 1998 as they were on a trip from Texas to visit family
and friends up north. As it turned out, it was the last visit
Orr's wife was to take. She died in August 1999 of cancer. Richard
Orr is a renowned journalist with a large Texas newspaper.)
You're minding the speed limit. All your lights
are working. And you're properly buckled up. Suddenly, there's
a police car with flashing lights behind you, and you wonder
what in the world you've done wrong.
"You were drifting, sir," and Officer
Friendly is just checking to see if you're okay. Welcome to the
club. You've just been the victim of a growing desperation tactic
in the losing war on drugs: the pretext stop.
It happened to my 73-year-old, cancer-stricken
wife and me on a three-week trip from Texas to visit family and
friends up north that we hadn't seen in years. It was dark and
cold, and we were somewhere outside Springfield, Illinois being
scrutinized by a state trooper who, though polite, seemed sure
we were up to no good. The car was ours, no warrants hanging
over our heads, and there was no evidence of drugs, alcohol or
other nefarious activity.
Maybe I had drifted a time or two; it was
windy, and the car tended to sway a bit because it was loaded
down with three times more stuff than we'd wind up using. I certainly
wasn't weaving from lane to lane or causing anyone to take evasive
action. Follow anyone long enough, and you're going to find some
minor infraction or other. Even cops.
He glanced around the interior and started
to write a warning ticket when he made some remark about the
car riding low. So I volunteered to let him look in the trunk
where the first thing he wanted to see were the contents of a
locked briefcase sitting atop a garment bag. He appeared to be
a rookie, and I was beginning to get the picture.
He had spotted a low-riding car with Texas
plates heading into Yankeeland during the height of the marijuana
smuggling season. What's more, it was occupied by older people
drug dealers sometimes employ as 'mules' to throw off the narcs.
The guy was expecting to find bundles of dope or something.
Instead, all he found was a loaded .38 revolver.
Not knowing what the gun laws are in other states, I start to
get a bit nervous. He makes me stand in the headlights as he
trains a spotlight on my wife - who had been asleep in the backseat
- and calls for backup. Another car pulls up shortly, and I'm
thinking they're bringing in a dog or are going to haul us off
separately as the aging reincarnation of Bonnie and Clyde. It
turns out to be the guy's supervisor in a suit and tie.
After consulting with his boss for what seems
like hours, the trooper starts poking through the trunk and interior
of the car as the supervisor questions me and asks my wife to
"step from the vehicle, please." In what evolved into
a shivering, hour-long ordeal, the trooper went through our car
three times without finding any contraband. He even patted me
down and went through her purse.
He appeared to be starting on a fourth round
when my wife - a retired adult probation director - got indignant
and told the supervisor that she had just been released from
the hospital. She bluntly told of her remission from cancer,
that she's going blind from macular degeneration and that we
were on our way to see kids and grandkids for what could very
well be the last time.
By the time she finished, tears were welling
in his eyes and he told the trooper, "Let 'em go - now."
Having once lived where there was no police protection, I have
a profound respect for the job cops do. So I really didn't blame
the trooper for pulling us over even if it was a pretext stop.
At that point, he had no idea but that we might be smuggling
drugs or guns.
Yet when three searches produce nothing, and
he seems to get more agitated each time he comes up empty-handed,
I began to worry that the trooper might plant something just
to keep from looking foolish in front of his boss. The only thing
they had against me was a gun that would have been legal if it
hadn't been loaded. But since it was secured in the trunk, they
let us go.
All's well that ends well, I guess. But I
can't help but think how much time, money and talents are being
wasted in a war that will fail just as Alcohol Prohibition did.
Meanwhile, long mandatory sentences for non-violent users and
laws allowing the confiscation of private property need to be
scrapped. They deny due process and simply serve as an incentive
for the state to go on fishing expeditions that turn up contraband
a mere 5 percent of the time.
Ruling on a case originating from Iowa, the
Supreme Court recently took a big step in the right direction.
Not long after what my wife and I endured that night, the justices
ruled unanimously that police have no right to search people
or vehicles because of simple traffic violations - real or trumped
up. In deference to officer safety, Chief Justice William Rehnquist
wrote for the court that drivers and passengers could be ordered
from cars. But even then, he said, that "does not by itself
justify the often considerably greater intrusion attending a
full field-type search."
I wrote the head of the Illinois State police
and got a complaint form to fill out on the trooper. I wrote
back saying my problem is with laws that allow "profiling"
and pretext stops, not the cops who enforce them.
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