Siren Call

This incident happened near a small town in Eastern Washington in 1963. The changing times dictate that it will never happen again. 

One Friday evening, we started out with our English friends, Reg and Daphne, to find a warm place to water ski for the weekend. We were towing a boat that we rented in Seattle. By the time we crossed the mountains, the sky was dark. On a lonely stretch of road, about ten miles from our destination, we blew a tire on the trailer. After an exclamation of, “Blimey!” followed by some unprintable words, then a few more unprintable words, sans the accent, we pulled the rig off the highway to assess our situation. 

As luck would have it, a police cruiser whizzed by, turned around and came back to help. After some consultation, it was decided that the tire, my husband (Jack), Daphne and I would ride into town in the patrol car. Reg would stay with the boat because as the policeman said, “Boats and trailers have a way of vanishing when they are left unattended.” Daphne and I would be dropped at the motel, Jack would go with the officer and get the tire fixed. Jack would then be returned to the site of the incident to put the tire back in its rightful place. Done—paid for—thank you. 

Ah, but there was a twist of fate: Daphne and I went to sleep in our respective rooms. Reg dozed in the front seat of the car and Jack with the officer got the tire fixed. They started back to retrieve Reg and the boat. 

All of a sudden, a voice on the patrol car’s radio started chattering excitedly about an accident on the other side of town. Another patrol car was in the vicinity so Jack, tire in hand, was given one car while the officers went to the scene of the accident in the other. 

Just imagine the joy in the heart of a young man at the wheel of a police car, alone, late at night on a long straight stretch of road. You guessed it: He couldn’t resist speeding by the boat with the siren howling full-bore. Up popped the head of an Englishman, followed by a veritable dive into the bushes. 

The trailer was restored. Reg drove the car and boat to the motel. Jack drove the speed limit and kept his hands off the siren and returned the police car. When he got to the motel, it was nearly dawn. He said, “You won’t believe what happened. I’ll tell you in the morning.:

That was fine with me.

This photo of Pat D’Amico, longtime contributor to Northwest Prime Time, was taken the day of her 70th high school reunion. “I kept my mom’s house in Bellingham and the renters are wonderful. My daughter snapped the picture while I was looking around with great pleasure,” says Pat