One day last week, I and three others arrived at the same time at the four-way stop at the intersection of German and Duke. It happens. Not often. But it does. It was awkward.
We all feint a move and then squint across the intersection at each other like it’s high noon at the O.K. Corral.
HA! Good one!
The O.K. Corral. I’m Doc Holliday.
Who draws first?
Oh, wait. Not so funny. West Virginia allows open carry, so there’s a 75 percent chance one driver has a finger on a trigger and is muttering, Go ahead! Make my day!
I remember less stressful times.
When I arrived in Shepherdstown in 1974, there was no four-way stop. There was a traffic light. The pride of Shepherdstown. We had the only traffic light within a 20-mile radius. Sharpsburg had none. Kearneysville had none. For years it hung staunchly, swaying in the breeze.
Shepherdstown was a small village then, surrounded by farmland and orchards. Everything you needed you could get in town: hardware, lumber, art supplies, medications, milk and bread, butchered meats, pizza.
You had your choice of six gas stations, six churches, and six bars, all protected by one policeman named Lewis “Buzzy” Carroll. He had a whistle. I’m not sure he had a gun.
Anyway, there I am at the four-way stop, musing on old times and not remembering who goes first.
I think the car on the right goes first, but then which car doesn’t have a car on its right? Or is it the left?
I’ll wait. Someone else go first. I don’t want horns blaring at me—or some gunslinger shooting at me.
I continue musing.
I remember the time a town worker stood atop a garbage truck and strapped a black trash bag around the traffic light. It was on the fritz—again—and the mayoral candidates were debating whether to repair it or put up stop signs. Stop signs won.
I once saw old Tom, a wrinkled, sunburned farmer, roll through the intersection in his battered pickup without stopping. When I saw him at Betty’s Restaurant the next morning, I asked him about that.
Yeah, it’s true. I didn’t stop. I never stop there. Them damn signs were put up for tourists.
Those were the days, my friends. We weren’t worried about saving democracy.
A horn blares behind me.
I roll on through.
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See Paula’s photo on the home page. Posted June 2, 2024.
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