Jim had a Bug.
That’s important, to start. Not a computer virus, or a stomach flu. A Beetle, to be precise. His earliest driving lessons took place in his father’s VW bus, which were not considered complete until he could practically take the thing apart and put it back together again. It stands to reason that a version of brand loyalty was involved and very soon after, Jim was in possession of his current pride and joy: a 1966, red interior, white exterior, VW Bug. He can remember it to this day. It ran like a dream, pristine and impressive. A real find to be sure. That Beetle faithfully carted Jim all across the Kansas City area. He drove it from play rehearsal, to work at the shop, to the yellow house with a circle drive, to Aunt Emma’s house where his cousins were surely up to shenanigans.
It was a stick shift, which is obvious but also relevant to our story.
The night was snowy and cold. Jim was on his way home, just east of Swope Park. It wasn’t unusual for one of the cousins to keep good company in the passenger seat, and this time Ray took a turn. This was meant to be another mundane trip home after a long day. It was quiet, and they were alone on the empty roads. Even as a young driver, Jim’s instincts were pretty good on icy streets. Slow, but not slower than necessary. Try to anticipate slipping, but don’t panic. Take into account the temperature on bridges and exit ramps, and adjust. Be aware, but don’t hesitate. Certainty was your friend. This was Ogden’s boy, after all.
Unfortunately, black ice shows no mercy. Especially on a traffic circle.
The slick patch appeared out of nowhere, rising from its mysterious home to hunt it’s latest victim. It caught the tires and they immediately lost traction, thrusting them into a curve earlier than anticipated. Jim tried to adjust, but there wasn’t time. He only had seconds before they’d hit a curb and go tumbling into the grass. Alarmed, he took the worst course of action and hit the clutch on accident. The engine died. In turn, the two eerily cast straight into the traffic circle with a thin swish of tires and wide eyes. Jim tried everything he knew to do. He grabbed the wheel. He didn’t hit the brake too hard. He said all the prayers, and thanked the stars that at least there was no one else around.
….there was no one else around…right?
That’s when Ray looked up in horror and spied the red glow of unmistakable brake lights. A police car, dead ahead.
Some silence is a cathedral. Warm, peaceful, almost like a prayer among the ancient saints. It secures a person as they wait in the embrace of their surroundings and consider all realms of thought. This was not that.
No, no—this was the silence of panic. Humid and strained. Twisted and grappling. A tight quiet gripped the car as the two boys slowly grasped the enormity of what was happening. The Bug slipped into the chaotic slush of Meyer boulevard. They were quickly approaching their worst nightmare, and there was not a single thing they could do about it.
O Fortuna should have been playing in the background, if the universe had a better sense of humor.
Here’s the thing about 1966 VW Beetles…their engine was in the back. This one difference meant that instead of sliding straight, the car swung to the side. Ray’s passenger door was headed straight toward the police car’s taillights. Hell hath arrived, and it came in the form of an impending crunch that no self respecting young adult man could possibly explain.
Seconds seemed like an eternity and a half but eventually, they started to slow just a little bit. The tires finally found their friction on the pavement, tightening the space between the Bug and the policeman. It turned into a crawl—shambling closer, and closer, and closer. Jim shut his eyes as he tried to find the brake.
Everything stilled. Certain that he missed the inevitable scrape of metal against metal. Jim opened his eyes. Ray looked ahead of them in disbelief. Neither of them dared to say a word.
In front of them were the brake lights—exactly one inch from the side of their car. If they got out, the couldn’t even put a flat palm between them.
The boys remained frozen, waiting. Silence hung in the air like smoke, anticipating the worst. Surely the officer would get out any second. Moving even a muscle would turn them into wanted men. Any sound at all would be a dead giveaway, and the stakes had never been higher. They scanned the back window for any sign of movement, any shift of weight, any tilt of the head.
No one breathed.
And yet—nothing.
They looked at each other, then back to the police car. Surely they did not just sneak up on an officer in the middle of the night, undetected?
Somehow in his shock, Jim found the will to reach for the key with trembling hands and turn it as delicately as humanly possible. As it turned over, Ray locked eyes with the silhouette ahead of them. Glancing down, Jim softly pushed the car into drive. They dared to glance at each other again, questions all over their faces, all while Jim creeped the bug forward. Without an inhale or an exhale, they eased out of the traffic circle, tensing every muscle.
And then they drove past the police car, turned left, and down the boulevard toward home.
Miracle of miracles—the officer never even knew they were there.
There was no ticket, no arrest, not even a scrape or scuff to validate their tale. The expectation to hear sirens faded with every mile the boys put between the Beetle and the traffic circle. They didn’t even know if he’d noticed at all. When Ray mustered the courage to make a sound, he turned to Jim and said:
“What do you think would go through his mind…if he got out and saw…you know…random, chaotic tire tracks right behind his car?”
They burst out laughing. That question would remain unanswered to this day.
There the story lived, dormant until it was resurrected one day while Jim was teaching his daughter how to drive in the snow.
It’s necessary to learn how to slide properly, after all. For safety.
Anyway, that’s the story of how my Dad and Uncle Ray once evaded the cops.
