Alumni
Report from Julia Sensenig
The police radio crackled as the officer called in reinforcements for an incident along a busy highway in Lancaster County one cold fall evening. He had stopped a motorist who was driving erratically. The officer was convinced that she was intoxicated.
Now you may or may not remember me in high school. I was kind of in the background, a conscientious student and a straight-laced teen who consulted Bible teachers David Thomas or Norman Kolb whenever I had questions as how to keep on the straight and narrow way.
So how did I go from that LMH student to that motorist stopped recently on the highway for erratic driving? That is the story I am to be telling you tonight – or at least an abbreviated version of it.
I have followed a career as a nurse, spending six years in Africa with my husband and three sons. More recently, I am a nurse educator at a community college. Even outside the college, I have earned a reputation as one who "preaches" against smoking and alcohol consumption and junk food. I supervise nursing students as they get experience in teaching patients who come to a health clinic. On this particular day, I reviewed with them the health hazards associated with alcohol consumption. I was not speaking from experience – having never touched alcoholic drink in my entire life – not even when my son teasingly tried to get me to enter into the festivities at a 21st birthday party. Anyway, after all the others had left the clinic, I remained and organized things. Then I went to my car and carefully cleansed my hands with a disinfectant wipe that puts alcohol to one of its good uses.
No, it was not the ancient scourge of alcohol that was my undoing on that evening. Rather it was a much more recent invention – the cell phone. I like to make good use of my driving time by carefully using the cell phone. I stay to the right and stay well below the speed limit.
Now here I was – stopped along a major highway with flashing lights behind me and a strong white light shining directly on me. I did not know why I had been stopped.
"You veered over to the right four times in the last mile, even driving on the fog line," the officer said in an accusing tone. "I need to see your driver’s license, car insurance, and registration paper."
The police officer looked over the documents carefully and then confidently declared, "I smell alcohol." He was so sure of himself that it was scary.
"I have no idea why," I said, equally confidently. I had forgotten about the hand wipes I had used.
"Where are you coming from?" the officer asked me.
"I am coming from a clinic in the city," I told him and then added hopefully, "where I teach on the dangers of alcohol abuse."
"I definitely smell alcohol," he said emphatically, "and I’m calling in assistance so that we can do some sobriety tests on you."
"Is my breath really that bad?" I worried to myself.
After what seemed like a long time, the second officer arrived. They ordered me out of the car. I was wearing a light jacket and stood shivering on the shoulder of the road which sloped downward for drainage purposes.
The first officer explained the test: "Hold your foot up – with your hands at your side – and count ‘one-1,000, two-1000, three-1000, four-1000’ and so on until I tell you to stop. Do you understand what I am telling you to do?"
"Yes."
"Do you have any questions?"
"No." I said. I was nervous, almost panicky. Furthermore, I was shivering from the cold. And there was a stiff wind blowing. And the road sloped down.
"One-1000, two-1000, three-1000, four-1000," and then I started to teeter and lost my balance. I tried to laugh good-naturedly and asked whether I could try that again. He said that I could. I got to six on the second attempt and that was it. The two officers walked a short distance away and conferred with one another about my performance. Then they came back to me and said a second test was needed.
Again, the rules were explained carefully to me. I was to walk for 9 steps, heel to toe and then turn around with heel to toe and walk back to where I started. This too was tricky. I was worried about the results of the previous test and I was shivering from the cold. And there was a stiff wind blowing. And the road sloped down. I did fairly well for the first 9 steps but turning around – that was impossible. The officers again walked a distance away from me and conferred. Had I passed that test?
The police came back to give me the final and definitive test. "Now we need you to blow into this tube. Do you see the three zeros? This apparatus is able to detect alcohol on your breath. It gives us the authority to arrest you. Place your lips tight around this tube and blow out as hard as you can. Do you understand what you are to do?"
I understood. Before doing the test, I indignantly told the officer, "I do not drink alcohol. I’m a grandmother." He replied, "You might be surprised what grandmothers do." Then I blew out hard on the tube. The officer showed me the reading: 0-0-0.
"I want you to do it again. Blow out as hard as you can," he said. Again I was shown the reading: 0-0-0. The officers appeared to be very puzzled.
"You can’t argue with those numbers," I cheerfully told them. They grudgingly admitted that I was right and was free to leave. But the first officer got the last word, "But I caution you not to use your cell phone when you are driving. It is best to pull over to the side of the road to use the phone."
I reported this story by e-mail to each of our three sons, all of whom have inherited my husband’s sense of humor. As I expected, each of them responded within the next few hours.
Andrew, a research scientist in College Park, studies the motion of insects under the microscope. He simply wrote, "Mom, the next time you see that police officer, just give him a little weave."
Victor and his wife Michelle work in Indonesia with Mennonite Central Committee. Victor, an English instructor in a university, must have recently re-read Huck Finn. He wrote to me: "Mother, I told Michelle that it reminded of the good old days when you used to chase us around the cabin with a knife screaming, ‘I’m gonna kill you little devils.’"
Finally Peter, a seminary student in Philadelphia who knows something about Mennonite culture, wrote, "Mom, that police officer either knows a LOT LESS or a LOT MORE about middle-aged Mennonite women than I do."
So that’s all the time I have to tell you my life story.
Submitted by Julia A. Sensenig
LMH Class of 1972
January 6, 2008
