The Power of Positive Parking

This country has got enough real troubles without having to deal with imaginary ones. We are referring specifically to the so-called "Parking Problem" which has been getting the big play lately, especially in the metropolitan newspapers. We have been reading that in one major city alone over eight million dollars is collected annually on parking violations, the reason being, of course, that most of the large cities simply do not have enough legal curb space to accommodate the driver and his auto. The small car trend and the increased number of motor scooters on our streets are attributed in part to the Parking Problem, and the urban driver is supposed to be a hunted man, parking miles from his destination if he can park at all, and paying out hundreds annually in garage fees and parking tickets.

To read these pieces and hear all the talk that's going around, you'd think the majority of Americans were forever standing in the violator's line at the Court House or the Motor Vehicle Bureau, $15 in one hand and a parking summons in the other.

The alarming part of it is, they are. The Parking Problem is the Number One civic headache in America today.

Why this is so, frankly escapes us, because we have proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Parking Problem is a myth. God knows how it ever got started – probably a Communist scare story. In any event, it's spurious, yellow-journaled rot! Emerson said that "an institution is the lengthened shadow of one man." Well, in this case it's two men (the fearless authors of this philippic) and the institution is to restore a measure of creativeness and sportsmanship to the Nation's Curb Cravers. For seven years we have parked our cars conveniently and, hence, illegally, in the big cities of this country – from San Francisco to Chicago to New York – and we have never gotten a parking ticket. We went inside the Parking Problem and did what a generation of mayors, city planners and traffic experts have so conspicuously failed at: we solved it. And we believe that a country that spawned Fulton, Edison and both Wright Brothers can come up with a citizenry inventive enough to hoodwink a traffic cop. The following is intended as a guide to parking violations, based on our rich experience in the field. If you are going to be a Public Offender, be a Successful One. The right attitude will put your car where you want it and when you want it there, providing convenience and requiring no monetary output. Somehow you gain more than these, a deep sense of personal accomplishment.

Garages and parking lots in the conventional sense are out. They are expensive, usually staffed by the surliest men that can be found, and certainly unsporting. The prospective Parksman must begin by realizing that the entire city is his garage, every available incorporated square foot of it. No place is taboo, no violation too brazen, and the more outrageous you can manage to be the better, as commonplace violations are by far the most detectable. Suppose you're in a big hurry in the downtown area and don't see anything immediately available except a bus stop. Use it, but use it properly. Most non-Parksmen ease timidly into the rear of the bus stop, allowing plenty of room for the bus to reach the curb beyond. All wrong. Pull well forward, making it impossible for the approaching bus to do anything but stop in the middle of the street. This will (1) somehow make it appear that the bus is at fault, (2) force the bus to act as a blind to Eyes of Blue across the street, (3) eventually cause a traffic snarl well to the rear that will require the attention of all policemen in the area.

The general rule of thumb is to commit the worst possible parking crime that is open to you at the moment. You see, the mind of the average policeman has been conditioned much in the manner of Pavlov's dog. Give him a new situation that his reflexes cannot account for and it will tend to have a numbing, or stunning, effect. He will usually wander distractedly away from the scene of a flagrant misdemeanor shaking his head and trying to forget about the whole thing. It's too much, it's crazy, and he doesn't want any part of it.

Sheer crust by itself is good; but add (continued on page 72)Power of Positive Parking(continued from page 39) just the right so-called "Safety Symbol" and you've got an unbeatable combination. A Safety Symbol is anything in, on or about your illegally parked car that justifies its being there. There are two main kinds: the first indicates that you are parked illegally, against your will, because of mechanical failure, and it works like so:

The Parksman's job is to portray a breakdown so sudden and drastic that he has had to hustle into the first available space (or double space) so as not to obstruct traffic. Leaving your car at a forty-five-degree angle to the curb with lighted emergency railroad flare tied to the rear is invariably effective, at least for the life of the flare. Jacking up one wheel is tricky. Many cops know about this, see through it immediately. But two jacks on parallel wheels – or better, on diagonal wheels – will present a teetering, incomprehensible, and totally convincing scene of chaos to all but the most sophisticated policemen. Raising the hood is another chestnut which must be garnished with care. A garage repair emblem of some sort is good; better yet, a handy collection of tangled wires, odd bits of metal, and sledge-hammered alarm clocks placed on the engine block. Again mystical to the average policeman, again convincing. The breakaway tow chain is an equipment must. In this case a seemingly stout chain is fastened to your bumper and to the rear bumper of the nearest available car – not only had you no intention of parking where you are, but you have been towed there. Naturally, this chain disconnects from the "towing car" under the slightest pressure.

If you are a young, vigorous fellow with the proper equipment, the immobility gambit can be used frequently, and is second to none. But what about the man who is incapable or unwilling to spend all this time and effort? What's he supposed to do – stand there with egg on his face and tickets in his hand while the auto-athletes are beating the game? Not a bit of it. Through sheer guile and cunning the sedentary Parks-man will be able to park anywhere in a city, free of charge, and he will do it by careful, clever use of the second set of Safety Symbols, i.e., parking illegally because of special prerogative or justifiable circumstances.

Let's begin by realizing that Èhe guy in blue with the shiny badge who hands out tickets, beckons imperiously, and barks at intersections is not some kind of demoniac mechanical man–he is a human being. He has his hopes and fears, his enthusiasms and emotions, just like the rest of us. The astute and unscrupulous Parksman can turn this realization into a series of potent Safety Symbols. For example, most everyone has an inborn respect for the Men of the Cloth, and Medical Men. Is there any reason to suppose that the policeman is any different? Of course not. One Parksman, an actor, safely leaves his car double parked on busy, midtown streets by indicating that he is a Medical Man on a Mission. His device is brilliant in its simplicity. He drapes a long white coat over the back of the front seat and closes the door on his Little Doctor Danny Stethoscope (available at any high-type toy shop) so that most of it dangles prominently on the outside. Then, since his license plate does not read "M.D.," he tapes a hastily scribbled note on it saying "Dr. Harley Willis – Borrowed Car," and wanders over to his favorite bar for a Scotch. Once he actually returned to find a policeman waiting, dummy stethoscope in hand, which he had obligingly pried loose from the door.

"Thank goodness, Officer," the actor said, "I thought I'd lost it." The policeman then explained where he had found it, they enjoyed a polite chuckle together, the actor started his engine, thanked the policeman again and received a courteous, "You're welcome, Doctor" in return.

Representing yourself as a member of the clergy is perhaps more difficult, since it requires a certain amount of taste on the part of the Parksman. However, a neatly folded cassock in the back seat, or a Roman collar discreetly draped over the rear-view mirror will elicit profound respect from traffic cops, especially religious ones. Appropriate accompanying notes are left to the reader's discretion, in the faith of his choice.

Another type of Safety Symbol derives from the well-known fact that many cops are a hell of a lot fonder of animals than of people. Animals don't talk back or hold up drug stores and, most important, they don't drive cars. Leave a note on your windshield saying that you have taken your little boy to the doctor's and the policeman will snarl and attach a note of his own – but leave a note saying that you are rushing Rover to the vet's and he will leave you alone. "Anybody who doesn't love dogs is a rat," is imbedded somewhere deep in his subconscious, whereas he can probably think of a half-dozen kids that drive him up the wall. In fact, one of the best and surest Safety Symbols is a simple printed sign placed on the inside of the windshield, reading: "A.S.P.C.A. Volunteer Emergency." The passing cop will imagine helpless creatures in all sorts of desperate situations: cats in rain-spouts, puppies in coal chutes, and tired pelicans on church steeples. He will see you risking your neck to save these unfortunates and shake his head with respect and admiration.

There is a strange camaraderie among the functionaries of big cities. It cannot be pinned down, exactly, but it is there. The Sanitation Worker, high on his truck, waves to the passing Postman, or you see an empty Patrol Car standing outside a firehouse. These men may be wearing different uniforms, but they are marching in the same ranks – they are On The Team.

So is the Parksman.

A powerful set of Safety Symbols is designed to show the passing policeman that you are on his side – show him, in fact, that you are out to get violators of all sorts as much as he is. Again, large printed signs are the medium. Since signs of this sort are never used by official departments that the cop knows about, they must be completely unfamiliar areas of inspection. Yet they must be convincing enough so that he will not bother to check, or meaningless enough so that he will not know whom to check with. Such "official" Safety Symbols as Parking meter repÈir, Leakage squad, bus Clearance squad, Taxi medallion inspector, Traffic survey count, and white line maintenance, have just the right tone of sententious vagary, and should be regularly alternated with other Safety Symbols. (Warning: don't try to represent yourself as a fellow cop. Policemen are a fiercely competitive, backbiting lot, love nothing more than catching each other.)

The last Safety Symbol we're going to mention is the most risky and daring of the lot. For this reason, again and again the seasoned Parksman attempts it, stimulated and fired by the very danger of the thing he does. He is like a matador working terribly close to the horns. Its name: The Famous Athlete Variation, and its success depends on whether or not the cop that comes along is a sports fan. Simply leave a note under the windshield wiper saying something like this:

"Officer – having lunch with Casey, back in an hour. Mickey Mantle."

If he is a real fan, he will actually feel privileged that Mr. Mantle has parked illegally on his beat, steal the autograph for his kids and hurry away. The danger is, of course, that he will hang around to catch a glimpse of the famous sports figure, and if you don't look like Mickey Mantle, this can be tricky.

A word of caution: don't overplay your hand. Safety Symbols are for use, not misuse. If, for example, you open your hood, jack up a wheel, tie a railroad flare to your bumper, strew medical equipment all over the front seat and exhibit a printed sign saying, "Subway Motor Maintenance," the thing simply will not go over. The cop will think you are trying to make a fool of him and he (concluded on page 101)Power of Positive Parking(continued from page 72) will give you a ticket. He may even put you in Bellevue.

Every organization is bound to attract a few crackpots. A Parksman Emeritus we know is an unfortunate case in point. In the early days, innovation and daring were his constant companions in the earth-bound Space Race. He was the first to use abandoned horse stalls for parking places, and still stands as the only theatregoer in history to park backstage during a performance. He crossed the line between imagination and lunacy when, attempting camouflage, he bought a gray car and painted a curb on it. However, he did come up with a workable concept: one of the best ways to safeguard your car against tickets and summonses is to hide it. At first glance this seems impossible in the city without resorting to a garage. But what about the public parks? Find a luxurious clump of shrubs and trees, reasonably near an exit, to park your car;

"A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! –"

To make it wholly hidden, add concealing boughs and foliage as the season dictates. At this writing, there are at least twelve autos known to be safely bivouacked in Central Park in New York City.

As everyone knows, parking meters are popping up all over large cities like poison ivy spots on the "let's-take-a-walk-in-the-woods" set at college dances. And like this poison ivy, the parking meters can show up in the most embarrassing and improbable places – like where you want to park, for instance. Actually putting money in the thing violates the first requisite of the Parksman, which is: completely unrestricted, absolutely free city parking. (Incidentally, there's one exception to this which we'll discuss in a moment.) Still, if your meter barks out "expired" to the passing gumshoe you're bound to catch a ticket. A Southern friend of ours figured the way around this impasse, which he calls the "Ku Klux Klan Ruse." By means of a canvas bag and some stout string, securely hood the meter. The cop naturally can't see if it's expired or not, he can't remove the hood to find out without a great deal of effort, he doesn't know if he ought to remove the hood in the first place, and since it is much easier for him to give you the benefit of the doubt (tickets must be paÈnstakingly printed out in duplicate) he will go on about his business. Leaving the hood in place, even when you depart, will save the spot for next day, as hooded meters mean strictly No Parking Allowed to the average city driver.

One thing about a city like New York is that everybody is always leaving it, for vacations, weekends, and frequently business or pleasure trips of longer duration. To the prospective Parksman traveler, this presents a thorny problem: what to do with his car if, say, he is going to be out of town for two months. Parking as he has been, free and easy, anywhere in the city, he is certainly not going to break down now and garage it. He has his pride. However, none of his usual devices can possibly be relied upon for this length of time. Operating outside the law, he must find a comfortable temporary home for his iron buddy, far from the madding cop's ignoble strife. How? By charging, full tilt, into the camp of the enemy – by parking in a Tow-away Zone.

Here's how it works: suppose the Parksman is going to Europe for the summer. He throws his bags in the back seat and drives out to Idlewild International Airport on Long Island, about forty-five minutes from where he lives in the East Fifties. He stops directly in front of the Pan American loading and unloading area, plainly marked "Positively No Standing – Tow-away Zone." Quickly he unloads his bags, puts the car in neutral and closes the door.

An hour later he is zooming over the Atlantic, a glass of champagne balanced between his fingers. The second stewardess is very attractive. The skirt of her uniform is tight, very tight. He thinks of this for a moment and then he thinks, with not a little nostalgia, of his parked partner in crime. The tow-away-truck boys have got it by now, he supposes. It's on the long haul back to the city, where it will be safely impounded at the police open-air lot at 125th Street, Manhattan, about ten minutes' drive from his apartment. Rookie policemen will unwittingly care for it. In shifting it about they will run the motor from time to time, thus avoiding the dead batteries and rusty plugs of long, immobile storage. It will be ready to roll when he returns to pick it up. And the cost? Our aerial Parksman allows himself a quiet chuckle at this. The ticket, plus the towing charge, plus the weekly police impounding rate will, over a period of two months, actually amount to less than if he had left it in a midtown garage. This, then, is the one exception to the requisite of "absolutely free parking." The Parksman only pays the cops when they give him a better deal than anyone else.

Now if you think we have been kidding, if you have any doubts about the validity and positive constructive value of these secrets of city parking, listen to this:

Police Commissioners of major metropolitan cities, here is our card. We are throwing our gauntlet down and our hat in the ring. We have parked illegally on your streets for seven years, and we challenge you to produce one single recorded parking violation against us.

Those are strong words. We realize that as soon as they are read by the authorities the jig will be up for us. Our cars will be like hunted animals, driven remorselessly from one end of the country to the other, desperately hiding out in abandoned warehouses, dingy dock areas, or parked furtively on obscure side streets – kind of mechanical public enemies number one. But it will be worth it if, once and for all, we have dispelled this senseless Parking Problem myth. It simply doesn't exist for the bold, inventive driver. Keep telling yourself that, over and over: it's all in your imagination. And pretty soon, if you are a reasonably balanced person, it will disappear as mysteriously as it came.

Gentle reader, if by any chance you should still get a ticket, please mail it to us. We won't pay it, we'll frame it. We've never had one before.