COLUMN: Crawl cautiously through Society Hill

We see where a speed trap sign has been erected in the greater metropolitan area of downtown Society Hill.

Society Hill has long been known for strict adherence to its posted speed signs.

This columnist has prided himself on his safe driving record. He learned at an early age the value of driving safely.

The writer’s late father was the worst driver in the universe. He had an artificial right leg, so he had to have a special left foot accelerator placed in the cars he bought.

He bought Oldsmobiles from the time they came out with the first automatic transmission in 1940. Before that he drove a straight drive. Thank the good Lord above I wasn’t alive to ride with him in a straight drive.

My father was an impatient driver and took chances galore behind the wheel. He would pass on two-lane roads where angels feared to tread.

The writer took a road trip with him to see my grandmother (his mother) in Connecticut in 1952. My mother was ill at the time and couldn’t go.

He scared me so bad that I wouldn’t ride with him again by myself for six years.

That is why the scribe promised himself if he ever got a license, he would drive the speed limit and never take chances.

But there was the time I owned a 1965 target red Oldsmobile 442. It had a 400-cubic-inch engine, four on the floor and dual exhausts, hence 442.

The columnist and five other fraternity brothers from the University of South Carolina were en route to another fraternity brother’s wedding in Rock Hill in 1968.

The scribe got stopped by a highway patrolman outside Fort Mill. He was exceeding the speed limit.

I told the patrolman that I had never gotten a ticket before. His tart reply: “Son, that’s the way I like to get them.”

Back to the Hill.

Some years ago I was taking two of my sons to a golf tournament in Cheraw. We passed through the Hill and I saw a city cop pulling into a secluded area just inside the city limit.

The writer dropped his boys off and came back. The speed limit was 55 going around a curve that went down hill and then all of a sudden it was 35 at the city limits.

The same cop nailed me because the writer didn’t have time to slow down. He wrote me a ticket.

Less than two months later, the scribe was covering an event in Society Hill. He went the back way to Darlington after the event thinking that was the safest route to avoid the Hill’s finest.

The same cop was parked in another hidden location and snared me again for 10 miles over the speed limit.

His words as he looked at my license then smirked at me: “Mr. Danner, haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

Long story short. By chance, the attorney I went to had represented the cop. He talked to him and the tickets were dropped.

But don’t ever get behind the scribbler in Society Hill because he has crawled through town ever since.