Mugger: Baby, You Can Drive Your Car
Last week, as my wife was driving the family to a local bowling alley, we had yet another close call at a dangerous intersection. Proceeding north as the stoplight turned green, a speeding minivan ran the red light, slammed on the brakes and caused several cars to swerve out of harms way. It wasnt late at night, and the perpetrator certainly hadnt just emerged from a two-drinks-for-one happy hour; rather, it was, in the parlance of political shorthand, a soccer mom who was ferrying five uniformed children to this or that sporting event. Yet she might as well have been soused, for the lack of remorse shown when the other imperiled motorists honked horns and hurled a few well-deserved barbs her way.
The problem, as you may have guessed, is that this middle-aged lady, probably an otherwise upstanding citizen who pays taxes on time and could be a member of a neighborhood watch committee who calls the cops when a menacing man appears to be casing a house, was yakking on a cell phone. She had one hand on the steering wheel, the other clutching the device that allowed her to gossip with Mabel, plus the distraction of the kids in the back seat.
As we left the scene and continued the journey, I immediately thought of an August 5 Los Angeles Times op-essay written by Gregg Easterbrook that, at least to my mind, was the most significant article published by that or any other newspaper this summer. There have been scores of opinion columns that Ive clipped or printedmostly on the subject of national and local politics, the absurd hostility directed at Barry Bonds or the ravings of Paul Krugman who, it appears, wont be happy until a more presentable version of Hugo Chavez occupies the White House. But all of these articlessome of lasting significance, others trivialpale in comparison to Easterbrooks broadside against this countrys apparent what, me worry? attitude toward the hazards of taking even a short trip in an automobile.
Easterbrooks opening paragraphs ought to be required reading not only for adult drivers, editors and legislators (the latter two of whom could actually have an impact on this ongoing problem), but teenagers as well. He writes: Suppose 245,000 Americans had died in terrorist attacks since Sept. 11, 2001. The United States would be beside itself, utterly gripped by a sense of national emergency. Political leaders would speak of nothing else, the United States military would stand at maximum readiness, and the White House would vow not to rest until the danger to Americans had been utterly eradicated. [That further attacks since 9/11 havent occurred on American soil is in and of itself an improbability that almost no one wouldve predicted almost six years ago, but well leave that for John Edwards and Hillary Clinton to ponder.]
Yet 245,000 Americans have died because of one specific threat since 9/11, and no one seems to care. While the tragedy of 3,000 lives lost on 9/11 has justified two wars in which thousands of U.S. soldiers made the ultimate sacrifice [another digression: Easterbrook, a fellow at the liberal Brookings Institution, doesnt note that the soldiers volunteered for the military], the tragedy of 245,000 lives lost in traffic accidents on the nations roads during the same time period has justified pretty much no response at all. Terrorism is on the front page day in and day out, but the media rarely even mentions road deaths. A few days ago, the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration announced that 42,642 Americans died in traffic in 2006. Did you hear this reported anywhere?
Ive wondered for over a generation about how people in, say, the year 2075 will look back at this ongoing carnage on highways and small roads, and whether the prevailing opinion will be one of amazement at how stupid their grandparents and ancestors were. Such mass barbarism might be considered the way we today think, in equal measures of shock and bewilderment, about the seemingly incredible fact that hundreds of thousands of Americans died of the flu earlier in the 20th century.
Ive had my own brushes with mortality while driving a carback in the days when I sat behind the wheeland realize how fortunate it is that Im still alive to tell the tale. One night when I was 18after consuming several pitchers of beer while visiting friends at Princeton UniversityI poured myself and a companion into my mothers Dodge sedan and, about 10 minutes later, hit the side of a bridge on the way home. No one was hurt, although the car was totaled, and when I awoke the next morning, worse for wear, suddenly remembered the incident and had to face the parental music. It wasnt pretty.
Nevertheless, it wasnt until the following year, after a lazy day of playing poker and drinking can after can of Schlitz beer, that I understood that even healthy young men and women can be wiped outkilledin the time it takes to light a cigarette. This time, I was a mere passenger, with one of my roommates (now in the CIA) woozily driving his restored 64 Mustang on the way to a campus dance. Rounding a corner, the car hit a piece of loose pavement and spun out of control, barely missing a utility pole and ultimately winding up about 10 feet in front of the picture window of a suburban split-level. Restitution was made to the justifiably irate homeownerthe manicured lawn was ruinedmy friends Mustang was history, and I first began to comprehend the concept of vehicular homicide. This was back in the 70s, when the drinking age was 18, before Mothers Against Drunk Driving received its media spotlight (reprised whenever a high-profile tragedyusually involving affluent youthsoccurs) and some progress has been made in the battle against drunk driving.
But using cell phones while driving, at least for now, can be just as lethal as a fifth of vodka. As a rule, Im strictly against governmental regulation aimed at crimes that involve no potential victims other than the individual. So, its fine with me if marijuana is legalized or at the very least decriminalized, and certainly prostitution and gambling fall into the same category. Ill admit that it still seems mighty strange to walk around city streets and see every other pedestrian talking on a cellI dont remember at the 64 Worlds Fair in Flushing roaming through any exhibit of the future that predicted such a phenomenonbut then change itself is often strange. Can any writer, professional or amateur, even contemplate a return to the days of using a typewriter with whiteout on the desk?
The advent of the designated driver has chipped away at this huge, and as Easterbrook convincingly argues, ignored cause of automobile fatalities and injuries. Now its time to throw the book at drivers who insist on talking while navigating traffic.