Two Hours at a DUI Checkpoint Prove Eye-Opening

The drunk driver crossed the double-yellow lines, striking my then-girlfriend's car head-on in the darkness. Minutes later, she couldn't even cry on the phone. She was glad to be breathing.

We'll leave out her name and save her the embarrassment. I mean, I wouldn't admit dating me.

That was years ago. On Saturday night, Hopatcong's police department set up a drunk-driving checkpoint on Lakeside Boulevard. They didn't want what happened to my ex happening to the people of our community.

The checkpoint lasted from 10 p.m. to 3 a.m. I spent the first two hours with the officers, hoping for two things: to learn how a sobriety checkpoint works and to see some drunks get cuffed before they did serious damage.

I only got the former. The police didn't bag anyone on a driving-while-intoxicated charge while I was around. In fact, they tested just two guys, each passing with relative ease.

By night's end, however, police nabbed two alleged drunk drivers and checked more than 400 cars of the about 1,000 that rolled through, according to Patrolman David Kraus.

But that was enough. The experience was eye opening.

Two officers stood in the road—one on each side—distributing drunk-driving pamphlets and selecting which cars would be inspected. Another eight waited at the Civic Center, checking inspection stickers, insurance cards and headlights— and trying to pick out who might have made the mistake of getting into a thousand-pound wheeled machine while impaired by alcohol.

Finally, two patrols cars waited near Brooklyn-Stanhope Road, looking to catch those trying to dodge the checkpoint.

The scene down on the road alternated between ho-hum and intense. Most drivers bit their tongues when Patrolmen Ryan Tracey and Gerald Mancuso told them to turn into the Civic Center for inspection. Others got a little more up in arms.

At the inspection area, things were equally serious, but somewhat looser. Turns out, some police officers actually enjoy laughing. Sgt. Michael Houtz played lead comedian, occasionally poking fun at the officers.

I was walking back to the street when a patrolman pulled a man from his car, sensing he could have been under the influence. So, of course, I doubled back and watched from behind a parked patrol car.

The man looked cheating-on-the-SATs nervous. He hands quivered at his sides. He repeated the officer's instructions back at every chance, making extra sure he knew what to do.

He passed the balancing-on-one-leg and counting portions with relative ease. But his coordination looked iffy when the officer asked him to walk heel-to-toe for nine steps along a painted white line. But the patrolman was satisfied; he let the driver go.

A coupleof  minutes later, another young guy got tabbed as a potential drunk driver. He passed, too. But judging by his outfit—shorts well above the knees, a tight black band T-shirt—he probably did most of his drinking in front of the mirror.

Around midnight, out of either extreme generosity or sheer brilliance, a Quick Check gas station attendant appeared on his bike, offering me doughnuts. He must have thought I was a cop since the officers made me a wear a reflective jacket with "Police" on the back.

I explained I was just a peasant reporter. He moved on, asking officers if they wanted big, chocolate ones. Eventually, one policeman broke down, shoved his hand inside the box and stuffed his face.

We'll leave out his name, too.