Brooks Peterson

Monday, Apr. 12, 1999

Mean streets have gotten seriously scary

   Every now and then, someone asks me why I've hung around Corpus Christi so long.
   For sure, it's not the weather. It's probably just my imagination, but it seems to me that each summer is hotter and more oppressive than the last. And when you crank in the fact that I am seriously - how should I put it? - hurricane-averse, you've got yourself one uneasy camper.
   However, there are compensations - plenty of 'em. Perhaps the single most endearing thing about the place is its laid-back approach to life.
   This is just a pleasant, unpretentious place to live; it has a nice sprinkling of amenities; and for the most part we manage to get along reasonably well with each other.
   So why is it, I wonder, that some Corpus Christi drivers, once they slip behind the wheel, turn into borderline psychos?
   Don't take my word for it; just look at the numbers. In a story out of Washington March 9, Jessica Wehrman of Scripps Howard News Service reported that easy-going, do-your-own-thing Corpus Christi leads all other Texas cities in deaths-per-capita caused by aggressive driving - "road rage," if you will. That takes in deaths attributed to drivers who do such things as run red lights, drive recklessly and/or violate speed limits.
   An outfit called the Surface Transportation Policy Project ginned out the study in question: It found that in 1996, Corpus Christi had 11.38 deaths attributable to aggressive driving per 100,000 residents. By comparison, Dallas-Fort Worth had 7.33; and Wichita Falls, the lowest-ranked Texas city, had 4.84.
   Now, granted, the study had its critics. Mike Cox, a Department of Public Safety spokesman, said the researchers went "overboard" in attributing all the deaths to belligerent driving styles.
   But even stipulating that, I suspect (reluctantly) that the study's authors may be onto something. Just look around you the next time you venture into traffic.
   Friend, it's getting scary out there.
   The Crosstown and Padre Island Drive have never been what you'd call a pleasure cruise, but these days you see behavior that borders on the berserk: abrupt lane-changing sans signals of any kind; tailgating; high-speed pursuits (I've seen jokers out there playing tag at 80 or even 90 miles per hour).
   And by the way, is it just my imagination, or does the aggression factor rise in direct proportion to the extent that a pickup's suspension is jacked up to accommodate those big monster tires?
   In fairness, I should note that there is another dangerous element: the individuals who get in the fast line and insist on putt-putting along at 45 mph.
   Ah, but my favorite worry-inducers are the characters who blow through red lights like they don't even exist. When I began driving a long, long time ago, this just didn't happen. Note well: Did . . . Not . . . Happen. Oh, sure, some errant yahoos may have run a few reds, but your average citizen-motorist would no more think about running a red light than he/she would consider driving the car into the garage without opening the door.
   And now? Happens all the time. Hear me well: I'm not talking people sneaking through on the yellow and getting just a couple of microseconds' worth of red-light exposure while crossing an intersection. Nossir. I'm not even talking boneheads who enter the intersection with just a wisp of yellow remaining. I'm talking about the galoots who blast on through well after the signal has gone red.
   And the really maddening thing about this is that there seems to be no way to nail such characters. What are you going to do? Stake out prime intersections? First, the offenders would probably spot the police cruisers lying in wait for them; second, officers chasing a red-light runner would perforce have to run the red light themselves, setting off who knows what sort of unpleasantness.
   What else? Surveillance cameras? A bit Orwellian, wouldn't you say? And besides, you'd have no way of knowing who was driving at the time. Two-car observation-and-pursuit teams? A little heavy on the investment of time and effort. Tar and feathers for those luckless enough to get caught despite the odds? Hm.
   Think it over. In the meantime, when you venture forth from your driveway . . . be afraid. Not necessarily terrified, understand - but until we get all these malfunctioning psyches recalibrated, you want to be careful out there.
   (Peterson can be reached by phone at 886-3772, or by e-mail at petersonb@caller.com.)