Dans Papers - May 25, 2007 - Boys Will be Boys

Last Wednesday, at 7 p.m., I was driving west on Hampton Road, heading toward the center of downtown Southampton, when an illuminated sign on the right side of the road flashed a number to tell me how fast I was going -- 32 m.p.h. Now, I'd never seen one of these signs here before. Must be something new.

Ordinarily, when you come upon such a sign, it is there as a warning because of a neighborhood complaint about motorists driving too fast. The cops come in and set up one of these things. After a week or two, they take it down. In this case, it is not coming down. It is permanently affixed to a metal pole in the same way a traffic light is.

As I went by this sign, which is just a little to the west of the Range Rover dealership, I began to wonder why this particular sign was placed where it was and how it might have the opposite effect from what is intended.

This part of Hampton Road is the corridor road for all ambulances coming to Southampton Hospital from Water Mill, Bridgehampton, East Hampton and Montauk. It also has a firehouse on it. On occasion, fire trucks will come charging out onto it. Obviously, this sign is not intended to slow either of these types of vehicles. They have to move fast. Lives are at stake. If anything, the hope is that motorists on these roads will be going slow enough to easily move over to the shoulders as these emergency vehicles come roaring through. My guess is that it is for this reason that this illuminated sign has been put up.

But think about it. Think of human nature. And think particularly about the police officer driving New Jersey governor John Corzine 91 miles per hour on the Interstate to get him to what? A meeting between Imus and the Rutgers Girls' Basketball Team? All boys love speed. Everybody knows that. And Corzine was the goddamned governor.

Now, lets think about volunteer ambulance drivers and volunteer firemen, young men with quick reflexes, a love for adventure and no pay. They are charging down Hampton Road and the sign -- which is not meant for them -- flashes them their speed.

"77 m.p.h.," it might say. Wow. This is a gift from God.

"Almost," the co-pilot might say. "The record was re-set last Thursday at 79, I think."

"The ambulance record?"

"I think so. But it might have been the fire truck record."

There are going to be guys from Montauk, Amagansett or East Hampton -- you're not going to pin me down on this one -- who, having picked up somebody in desperate need and hurtling westward toward the hospital, will be wondering what it's going to be like on Hampton Road up ahead. He gets there. And there is no traffic on it whatsoever. There's the sign off in the distance. A thrill goes through him.