Street Sign Scandal

A few members of my immediate family have had a rather inappropriate relationship with street signs. It all started with a stray orange cone, ostensibly left behind from a road construction project. Or perhaps it was lifted off the ground from an ongoing project to be yanked through the window of a moving vehicle. Why split hairs?

The criminal mastermind trio that perpetrated this abduction will not be identified except to say one was the mom of the other two. Let’s call them Beatrice, Jesse and Paula.

The street cone was a proud addition to the family. They all giggled and smirked about their feat of property redistribution. And that was that. No sirens, no escalation of thrill-seeking. Their life of crime may have come to a stop right there, but for a chance circumstance.

The family moved to a new apartment and what should greet them as they explored the large attic above the second floor? Real honest-to-goodness, government-issued street signs! Both “STOP” and “DEAD END” would be displayed prominently on bedroom walls. The latter even appeared in the family’s photo history in a shot of a bleary-eyed friend waking in the top bunk in Jesse’s room. These were joyous times and seemingly innocent since the family had not had to perform any illegal acts.


Amusing as they were, these signs began to inspire covetous feelings. Jesse dreamed of obtaining the “Do Not Walk on Wall” sign by the stone bridge across the Chadakoin River. Beatrice and Paula admired a sign they often saw while on marching band carpool duty. One night, they could no longer resist its siren call.

After dropping off the other band kids, Beatrice and Paula looked at each other and knew it was time.

“I’ll keep the car running. You grab the sign,” Beatrice carefully orchestrated.

“Okay” was Paula’s eloquent response.

The car doors were unlocked, engine idling as Paula approached the “ROAD CLOSED” sign. The size of the bright white wooden sign was overwhelming. Paula grabbed it off its stand. She was relieved it was unattached, but quickly realized it was HUGE. On end, it was just as tall as she was at a strapping five feet. There was no time to contemplate further as she began shoving and heaving it into the back seat of a Ford Escort. Then there was actually a little more time to think as additional shoving and heaving was required. Was it already mentioned it was HUGE?

Finally, the car doors were shut. Paula was in place in the passenger seat dutifully clicking her seat belt. Beatrice began to drive. It was not long before they realized…the road was closed. “How could we have known?” Beatrice surmised. “There was no sign!”

Laughing nervously, Beatrice turned the car around. It was just in time to pass a police car driving the other way. The other way in this case being…down the closed road. Beatrice remained calm and drove quite sanely away, turn signal blinking, stopping properly at the intersection. Somehow nothing happened. By chance or by design (neither could remember later), the reflective surface of the pilfered sign was angled facing downward and they escaped free and clear.

The thievery ends there, but not the story. The family learned their lesson and went on the straight and narrow, (well, somewhat). Then one day, a few years later, young Jesse had a party. Neither Beatrice nor Paula was around. Yearbook signings indicate the party was a resounding success until the cops showed up. Finding underage drinkers, they searched the host's bedroom and located "STOP" and "DEAD END". Jesse spent a lovely evening in jail and was eventually charged with two counts of possession of stolen property. Ironically, this was for the signs the family did not steal. Fortunately, he was not scarred by this and everyone lived happily ever after.

I remind various government authorities that all of the above occurred in a stormy and tempestuous past. It is a tale relegated to another time and such actions should now be forgiven as outside the statute of limitations. Besides, you can’t prove anything!