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Serving Northern St. Louis County, Minnesota

It’s New Year’s...stay outta the Big House!

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I can hardly believe it’s almost New Year’s Eve. I’ve been appreciating the holidays and leaving my recent hospital experience in the past. I have had no more symptoms of heart agitation and no conclusions were ever given in regard to the “spell” I had. For me, however, I concluded that it was time to make some changes.

During this past month I have been taking much better care of myself. I’ve been getting more sleep, eating healthier, taking some vitamins and did I mention I decided to stop drinking? It’s been an activity that has brought both the best and worst of times. I haven’t hoisted a “bev” since just prior to my hospital stay and I am feeling rested and clear! Although the holidays can be a tough time to quit the liquid cheer, the still-fresh memories of that jet flight to Duluth...through freezing rain, the scared faces of loved ones, and using my first bed pan, have made quitting a breeze.

I don’t anticipate New Year’s Eve, one of the biggest drinking days of the year, to be a stumbling block. People don’t go out like they used to. The days of bar hopping from place to place to join friends are largely gone. The most threatening factor to those of us who used to enjoy our holiday booze cruises is that big “brush with the LAW.” Yes, getting a DUI.

It’s an increasingly common scenario with stiff consequences, yet it happens to people in all walks of life. Circumstances can easily catch a festive holiday soul off guard and before ya know it you’re all “cuffed up” in the back of the squad knowing your party is over and you’re headed to the BIG HOUSE! Call it jail, the slammer, clink or cooler. To me it’s the BIG HOUSE. You guessed it, I’ve got the DUI experience under my belt, too.

It was back in January of 2012; I’d rung in the New Year in traditional Iron Range fashion and was still ringing it in two weeks after the New Year’s ball dropped in Times Square!  I’d driven myself and a girlfriend to a birthday party at a bar about eight miles southeast of Ely in Lake County. The cozy fireplace and tinsel decorations had everyone’s spirits elevated. There was karaoke too, and in usual fashion it took little coaxing for me to pull out my “cheap lounge act” and sing some favorite Patsy Cline tunes like “Sweet Dreams,” “Walkin’ After Midnight” and ending with “Crazy.”

As the clock was striking 1 a.m., I heard the bartender holler “last call,” Oh geez, what a kill-joy! Yet, I knew I’d had my share, and probably someone else’s too! There was an exchange of goodbyes as we all left the bar.

My girlfriend and I got into my van and began the drive back to Ely. We chatted as we drove about a mile, passing the little county sheriff’s station located on the right side of the road. I saw a squad car parked out in front with its lights on. I sat up straighter. As I drove on, the squad moved out to follow me. WOOSH.. came that cold, sinking feeling as I realized I was being stalked. The cop followed me for over half a mile before he hit his flashers and pulled me over. We were in Lake County, just about 200 feet from the St. Louis County line. In my life I’d been lucky up until this night. I’d had a few traffic tickets, but now I knew my time on the hot seat had come.

I opened my window as the cop approached and leaned down to speak to me. Oddly the vapors that rolled out from the front seat of my car, where “Thelma and Louise” were seated, should have knocked him over but didn’t. He told me my left tail light was out, then asked me if I’d been drinking. I admitted yes, knowing that to withhold truth or become belligerent would not be in my best interest at this time. After giving him the requested documentation, he asked me to get out of the car. Well, I knew it was sobriety test time. I’d dressed up like a biker chick that night but was as polite as a vicar’s wife (although in Harley boots-somewhat unsuitably dressed for the part). I hoped the cop would let me go on my exemplary behavior. I’d blown a .08 and did okay on my roadside tests, yet the cop took me into custody. Since I had been arrested in Lake County we were going to be going all the way to Two Harbors. “For real?” There I was, a former Bible school student, an alto in the Catholic choir, a seamstress and a bread baker, in cuffs! Good heavens, what would mother say? Well, I wouldn’t tell her. After all, how many judgments could one daughter endure in a lifetime? 

It was bad enough I was a divorced, single parent, swore and never made my bed! I had a long car ride in the back seat of a squad car to consider my plight and how I would deal with it. At some point, I must have drifted off to sleep during the low-key conversation that the officer and I were having on that bumpy frozen highway, headed through the isolated January blackness. I was awakened when the squad came to a halt at the Two Harbors Courthouse.

Once inside, the officers on duty were stoic and I was keenly aware my freedom was gone. The stark white block walls, tile floors and muffled silence were the backdrop for all that rushed through my mind. I knew I was just going to have to move through their process in a quiet cooperative manner. I stood against a wall while my mug shots were taken. “Mug shots,” I thought, glancing at my photo, wondering if it looked a little like Leslie Van Houten or maybe Bonnie Parker? I dismissed the consideration as we moved on to the next activity, “ah..finger painting!”  No..it was finger printing. After activities, they handed me an army blanket and escorted me to a 15-foot section of hallway between two locked steel gray doors. The cop said the cells were full so I’d be here in this hallway until my estimated 9 a.m. release. It was quiet, which I found to be a bonus, and aside from the staff I never saw anyone else. I was feeling chilly and in need of a jacket and I was hungry and tired. “Suck it up buttercup,” was my lullaby phrase; you’re in the BIG HOUSE now. 

I looked at the flimsy vinyl mattress on the floor wondering how many other hardened criminals like myself had slept on it. Likewise, the drab army blanket would have stories to tell but I repressed all imagery, knowing my tenacity could overcome the platoon of bacteria I’d be spending the remainder of the night with. By this time it was already around 5 a.m. so I laid down, pulled the skanky blanket over my head to imitate privacy, closed my eyes and moved through my remaining hours of incarceration feeling quite confident I would awaken intact.

At 9 a.m. a loud male voice jarred me into reality, from a speaker overhead. He said it was time to get up; I was going to be released. A friend met me outside the courthouse with coffee, donuts, fruit and a nice warm jacket. Despite it all, I was going to be just fine. As this New Year’s Eve approaches, my plans will be restful. I hope you all have a great New Year’s Eve! Celebrate with friends and family, enjoy laughter, perhaps share a great meal, raise your glasses and toast freedom. Do it all...but remember there’s a set of cuffs ready in some squad car out there and New Year’s Eve is no fun if it’s spent in the BIG HOUSE!

Lynn O’Hara can be reached at scarlet@frontiernet.net