Some of you may remember that our gold Volvo stationwagon broke down in January on the approach to the George Washington Bridge.

The car suffered engine failure and we were towed from the Palisades Parkway to Summit Avenue in Ft. Lee right across from the Econo Lodge. I called a local car service and we were ferried home. The car service driver gave us the name of a local garage that would tow our car.

In the subsequent days, we had to figure out what to do with our disabled Volvo. Finally, we decided to tow the car to a Ft. Lee garage. But then I got a call from the tower, "The car’s not there."

"What do you mean the cars not there?"

"The cars not there," he said again solemnly.

Seems that the Ft. Lee Police authorized another local towing service to take the car to a local garage. We’d been towed.

Later that day, I went to that garage where they took the car and gave the car to the owner there. It was sad to say adieu to 20-year-old Goldie. We’d had it for ten years. Hepcat loved that car. So did I.

A few days later I received a summons about a court date. A court date? What did we do wrong?

CAR ABANDONMENT I was told when I spoke to someone at Ft. Lee Boro Hall. And according to the summons, I’d already missed my court date—a mandatory court date.

Car abandonment? I almost fell over. Well, the court date was rescheduled for 5 p.m. on March 4th.

Yesterday, a family friend drove me to Ft. Lee and we got to the seemingly empty courthouse at 4:45. We followed signs to the Prosecutor’s Office and found ten people already on the queue—all with 5 p.m. appointments.

At 5 p.m. more than 40 people lined up behind us.

"What time does the courthouse close," I asked a cop trying to gage how long I might be there.

"Until the court is finished. You should be here for about an hour. Tops."

I felt faint. It was hot, the florescent lighting was getting on my nerves, there was nowhere to sit, aggravation about the whole thing, why wasn’t Hepcat with me, agitation, anxiety…

People with lawyers got first priority. That was irksome. I made friends with the couple in front of me, who were summoned for not using a turn signal.

"I think the cop was following us because we were in a 2008 Cadillac," the African-American woman with stunning dreadlocks told me.

Finally I saw the prosecutor. He did a double take when he saw the charge on my paperwork.

"I’ve never seen this before," he said. I began to tell my story. "Well, our car broke down…"

"Your car broke down, that’s not abandonment," he said decisively. "These charges are dismissed. Go into the courtroom and the judge will dismiss these charges."

I said no more. At least there were seats in the courtroom where proceedings moved quickly. When I was called up the judge explained things to me.

"Your car broke down?" he said.

"Yes," I replied.

"All charges are dismissed. But I want to give you a little history. Car abandonment is a very serious charge that carries a $1,000 fine and results in an automatic suspension of your license for one year."

He explained the harsh penalties: years ago there was a national Teamsters strike. The Teamsters were threatening to abandon their trucks on the highway. New Jersey instituted a law that such an action would result in automatic suspension of your license for one year and a $1,000 fine.

That put the kibosh on that. The penalties are still on the books.

"Now you can go through that door, go home and pay no fine," he said.

I said: Thank you.