A speeding ticket led me to Ronald Reagan's hometown and a deeper understanding of America's president

Fox News

8 hours ago

My wife, four daughters and I were driving a rented minivan from Chicago to St. Louis for my cousin's wedding when I suddenly became aware of a police car behind me with flashing lights, signaling me to pull over to the shoulder of the road.
A clean-cut, very young and very nice police officer looking to be in his early 20s approached my window and asked me if I realized I had been driving in a construction zone where the speed limit was 45.
I told him I could swear the sign had just said 65. He acknowledges that the speed limit was 65 awhile back, but it had most recently been 45. It wasn't until later that I figured out that I was the latest victim of a speed trap, and I would be charged with driving 20 miles over the speed limit.
As the officer filled out the ticket, I noticed his hands were shaking. Must be new on the job, I figured and, sensing his weakness, I tried to see if he wouldn't let me off with a warning. He said he couldn't and noted I must appear in court in a month.
"But I'm visiting from California," I pleaded. "There's no way I can come back in a month."
He urged me to call the court and see if they'd speed up my court appearance. It was only then, as he finished writing the ticket that I looked at it and noticed that the jurisdiction in which my "crime" had been committed was Dixon, Illinois, the hometown of Ronald Reagan.
As I tried to process this information, I was reminded of what my mother, who was just as devout as Reagan's mother, often said, that there is a Divine Plan, and that nothing is random in a universe where God orders the steps of His children. Which in my case meant that I was being led to Dixon, against my will, perhaps for a reason.
But I still had details to attend to: Following the officer's suggestion, I pulled over and called a clerk at Dixon City Hall to explain my predicament. She agreed I could come and see the judge – but not until the next day. So, I announced to the family, we were spending the night in Dixon, Illinois.
We exited the highway at downtown Dixon and settled into the Holiday Inn. After eating some pizza, we decided to see the sights. I've never been to Dixon and had no idea this trip was going to take me by it, but as long as we were there, I decided to make the most of it and learn as much about Reagan as I could.
We went to a gas station and asked for directions to two places I feel I needed to visit to better understand Ronald Reagan: the Rock River where he saved 77 lives as a lifeguard, and one of his childhood homes on Hennepin Avenue.
We drove down a dusty trail to get to the river and spent nearly an hour looking for the famous log that Reagan was said to have carved a notch in for each life he saved. But of course, there was nothing to be found.
After a relaxing afternoon explaining to my kids the significance of the Rock River, visiting the edge of its stony banks, and playing there as kids are wont to do, we piled into the car.
Next stop: the home on Hennepin Avenue and more insights into Reagan.
The home was white and small, and I stopped in the kitchen and in the upstairs room to think about what the scene looked like 75 years earlier when Reagan's mother Nelle busied herself making a meal while her son did his homework. I also stopped to purchase some poems which had been written by Nelle – nothing fancy or even bound, but just a clump of papers which had been stapled together.
After taking some pictures in front of the home we were off again; back to the hotel to get ready for my encounter with the judge the next morning.
As I passed through the metal detectors with my wife and four young daughters in tow, I quickly found my public defender who told me what I needed to do. I could go to jail, he said, but most likely I'd just have to pay a fine so long as I pleaded guilty.
When I explained that I had been merely traveling at the speed of the car in front of me and that there were cars behind me, he just smiled and said I should tell it to the judge – and in a few short minutes I did just that.
In fact, I also had video footage shot on my cellphone which showed what happened when I tried to go at the speed limit after my citation. Not only were cars honking at me from behind, but one driver sped around my right side and showed me his middle finger. I had the whole thing on tape to prove to the judge that 45 mph was an unreasonable rate of speed.
"How do you plead?" he asked as I stood before him.
"Your honor, I'd like to show you some footage I took to show you what happened when I drove at the speed that was posted," I said with a hopeful tone.
"Son, I'm not going to watch your video," he says. "Now, how do you plead?"
I thought about the public defender's warning about the possibility of jail and my four young daughters who needed their dad to stay a free man. I quickly replied: "Guilty, your Honor," and with that I was on my way to the clerk to pay a hefty $500 fine.
The nice lady at the window listened to my story and then looked down at her clipboard. She noted that I was the 19th case that day, and without exactly saying it, something about her smile left me with the strong impression that this was how Dixon kept their city services funded. Nineteen people at $500 a head, hey, that would keep a lot of services funded, I thought to myself.
The fact that I fell prey to this speed trap ultimately didn't matter much because when I got back to California, my Aunt Jeanne, who had heard about my predicament, had sent a check to cover the ticket.
And, I had come to understand that there was purpose in what had happened and that my trip to Dixon was part of what Reagan would call the "DP" or Divine Plan, for me to better understand a man whom I thought I understood.
Excerpted from "Making Reagan: A Memoir From The Producer of The Reagan Movie" by Mark Joseph. The Reagan film is available on DVD/Blu-Ray and at Amazon and iTunes.