And then there was the time I was almost arrested for trying
to get a driver’s license…
I
finally launched. College and graduate school were behind me. It was the
mid-1980s and I landed a fantastic job with an aerospace company in Huntsville,
Alabama working on Ronald Reagan’s Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI) or as
some called it, “Star Wars.” Specifically, I was on the team developing neutral
particle beam weapons that might someday be used to identify and then destroy
incoming nuclear missiles. Heady stuff. Among the first things my employer did
was have me apply for a security clearance. I was going to be working on
stuff that was “secret” and had “implications for national defense.” Cool.
When
you apply for a security clearance, they want to know everything about you,
your immediate family, friends, and employers. They ask if you’ve ever been
arrested, joined the communist party, or smoked pot. You must list every
foreign country you’ve ever visited and the names of all non-US citizens with
whom you’ve had contact – in your entire life. You must list every place you’ve
ever lived without any gaps. The list goes on. And on. Once the paperwork is
complete, you are interviewed by a field agent as are your family and the
friends you listed on the form. It is a thorough and exhaustive process. If
there was any dirt in my background, then they were going to find it. And if
they found anything questionable, I would not get a security clearance and lose
my job. While the background investigation was in process, I was working on
‘unclassified’ parts of the project.
I
was also desperately trying to fit into the adult world and not let everyone
discover that I had imposter syndrome – in my professional life as well as personal.
After all, I had just left the academic world and was green behind the ears at
work, wondering if I could do the complex math and analysis my job would
require. I was also new to the whole ‘adulting’ thing – getting an apartment,
signing up for utilities, finding a church, buying clothes appropriate for work
(at the time, this meant dress shoes and pants, oxford cloth button-down dress
shirts, and a tie), etc. Life can be complicated!
As
part of ‘adulting,” there was an election coming up and I wanted to be able to
vote in my new home state. That meant I had to officially become an Alabamian
and register to vote. Voter registration requires proof of residency, like my
apartment lease, and an Alabama driver's license. It was the latter I didn’t
have, so I went to the downtown municipal building and picked up both the
application materials and a study guide for the Alabama driver's test. A few
days later, after reviewing the study guide, I asked my boss if I could have a
long lunch to drive downtown and take the exam. He, of course, agreed. Off I
went in my coat and tie to take the next big step into the adult world.
The
Huntsville and Madison County Municipal building is about what you would
expect. Built in the 1960s, it was functional and could have been in just about
any other city in the USA. I found where I was supposed to be, then took and
passed the written exam. Next, I stood in a line filled with excited teenagers
to get the coveted license. When it was my turn to speak with the attendant, she
asked for my old driver’s license, the one I had been using from my home state
of Kentucky, and began clicking and clacking away entering my data. It is
useful to remember that this all happened at the very beginning of the personal
computer age. The city was not using Macs or Windows machines, the latter had
not yet been invented, and there was no internet anywhere except DARPA (but
that is another story).
After
she entered my data, a puzzled look crosser her face and she said, “Mr.
Johnson. I can’t give you a license. The system has your name flagged.”
“Flagged?
What does that mean?” I probably asked.
“It
means you will need to go upstairs to see Corporal Byers. He is my supervisor
and will let you know what you need to do,” she replied.
I
looked at my watch and noted that my lunch break was already long over. I was
new to my job and still in that ‘first impression’ phase. I didn’t want to take
too-long a lunch break and have my employer think I was going to be ‘one of
those’ employees. But the time was already invested, so I followed her
directions up the stairs to see Corporal Byers.
As
luck would have it, Corporal Byers was out of the office and I met instead with
his assistant, Corporal Smith*. After introductions and me explaining why I was
there, she began clacking away at her computer terminal, once again entering
all my data, and viewing whatever came up on the screen. Her facial expression
noticeably changed after a few moments and then she looked away from the
terminal and back at me.
“Mr.
Johnson, I am a bit surprised to see you here today,” she said.
I
don’t recall if I said anything or just sat there with what I am sure was a
puzzled look on my face.
“With
the outstanding warrant for your arrest after skipping your court appearance in
Jasper (Alabama), this is the just about last place I expected to see you,” she
said with that serious look only a police officer can make.
I
was dumbfounded. Arrest? Skipping a court appearance? Where the heck was
Jasper? My mind was racing until I finally answered, “I have no idea what
you are talking about.”
She
studied me carefully, likely noticing that all the color had left my face and I
was now likely so pale that she feared I might pass out on the spot. I
certainly felt like I might.
“It
says here that you have been arrested multiple times, the most recent of which
was for a DUI near Jasper. Your court date was just over a month ago and you
are listed as no show. I should just arrest you right now,” she said.
“I
have no idea what you are talking about,” I said and then explained my
circumstances – about my recent move from Nashville, my new job, and just
wanting to become a resident so I could vote, etc. I also mentioned that I had
never, not even once, been arrested or even pulled over for a traffic violation
in Jasper or anywhere. My driving record should have been completely clean.
At
this point, I think she was starting to believe me. But she had to ask more
questions to be sure.
“Is
your name First. Middle initial. Last? (I am omitting my full legal name
for privacy reasons)?”
“Yes,”
I said.
“And
were you born on Month. Day. Year?”
“Yes,”
I reluctantly said.
“It
sure looks like you are the one we’re looking for,” she said.
“But
wait. Does this guy have an Alabama Driver’s license? What about his social
security number?” I asked.
“We
have his license number on file, but not his social security number,” she
replied.
“That’s
not me. I’ve never even heard of Jasper, Alabama!” I exclaimed.
She
paused and then replied, “Mr. Johnson. I believe you. But I have no way to
provide you are not the man we’re looking for unless I get a copy of his arrest
report. That will have his photograph and fingerprints so we may prove you are
not him. Once we do that, then we can give you a license.”
“When
can you get it?” I asked.
“In
about a week,” she replied. You should come back then to meet with Corporal
Byers and we can get this all cleared up. You are free to go.”
I
was relieved. She wasn’t going to arrest me and cause me to lose my job.
“Thank
you,” I said. “May I have my Kentucky Driver’s License back?”
“No,” she said. “We need to
keep that until we have proof you aren’t the man we’re looking for. You should
not be driving.”
At
this point, my panic began to return. At the time, Huntsville had no mass
transit system and there was no way for me to get around, to or form work,
church, or the grocery store without driving, let alone home back to the office
from the downtown municipal building. Explaining my plight had no effect on
her. I am sure she was used to hearing sob stories.
“Wait
a minute,” I said. “My license was issued in Kentucky. Shouldn’t they be the
ones to pull it if there is a problem? This is Alabama.” I was grasping at
straws. I had no idea if they could legally confiscate someone’s license from
another state, it was just all I could come up with on the spur of the moment.
I could tell from her reaction that she was considering what I said, so I
continued, “Please call the Kentucky Department of Motor Vehicles and check my
record. If there is anything even remotely like what this other guy is charged
with on my record, then I will gladly let you keep it and go on my way.”
“Okay.
I’ll contact them now. Please wait outside,” she said.
After
a few minutes waiting in the hall, which seemed like hours, she called me back
in.
“I
made a few calls and your Kentucky driving record is clean. You can have the
license back. Just make sure you come back soon to meet with Corporal Byers so
we can get this cleared up,” she said.
I
thanked her and went back to work – late.
While
I was driving back to my office at General Research Corporation (GRC), I began
to ponder the implications of what had just happened and had almost just
happened (being arrested). I knew the arrest record would clear my name, but
what if the same information popped up while I was being investigated for my
security clearance. Would I be able to get the clearance? Was my career over
before it ever really began?
When
I returned to my office at GRC, I stopped by my boss’s office to explain why I
was late and what happened. My boss, Steve Kosovac, had recruited me from
Vanderbilt and had been mentoring me as I learned the work culture and what was
expected. His usual smile and welcome demeanor vanished after I finished
telling him my story. His response was something like this, “What happens in
your personal life is not my concern unless it affects your ability to get your
work done here.”
That
wasn’t what I wanted to hear. But in retrospect, he really did not know me that
well yet and had no way to discern if I was telling the truth or if I was
really the guy who skipped out on court appearance. I now felt even less
secure. Just great.
That
evening, I called my sister, an attorney, to get her advice. She said I was
doing the right things, not to worry, and just follow up with the police after
the arrest records arrived.
It
was a long week.
On
the appointed day, again during my lunch break, I went back to the municipal
building for my meeting with Corporal Byers.
Byers
greeted me with a smile and immediately tried to put me at ease. He ushered me
into his office and did the usual clacking thing on the computer terminal
before he opened a file folder that was on his desk. I surmised it was my
doppelganger’s arrest record.
“This
arrived from Montgomery yesterday,” Byers said, with his Alabama accent
highlighting and prolonging the pronunciation of the first syllable, ‘mont.’ He
held up the paperwork, first looking at the record and then at me, then back
again.
“Nope.
You aren’t him,” Byers said, putting down the file. “I’ll clear the system so
you can have your new driver’s license.”
“Thank
you!” I said, with what I am sure was a big expression of relief crossing my
face.
Byers
noticed that I was new to the whole ‘criminal justice system’ thing and that I
was still very unsure of myself adulting.
“Mr.
Johnson,” he began, “I want you to have my business card.” He picked up a card
from the stack that was on his desk, grabbed a pen, and wrote something on the
back of it before handing the card to me.
I
shook his hand, thanked him again, and placed his business card in my wallet where
it remained for at least the next ten years.
Welcome
to Alabama!
To learn more about me and my
writing, please visit my website: www.lesjohnsonauthor.com
*Not her real name – I don’t
remember it!
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