Spanking For Driving

Spanking For Driving
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Weird History: Judge sentences boys to public spanking
Weird History: Judge sentences boys to public spanking
WATCH: Students surprise crossing guard for 50 years on the job
Roosevelt Elementary School students in Pennsauken walk en masse to thank Laura Mason, a crossing guard who helped kids cross the street for 50 years.
No-nonsense South Jersey municipal judges administered law as they saw fit during the 1950s and '60s.
In April 1963, for example, an Atlantic City judge sentenced three teenage boys to a public spanking after they admitted to larceny and receiving stolen goods.
The Vineland Times Journal reported the boys bent over a desk as "each father moved up behind his son and the smack of open hand against rump resounded through the courtroom."
Of course, not everyone suffered such levels of indignity during that era of high conservatism.
Such was the case of a 20-year-old Franklinville man summoned to court in 1959 for necking with his girlfriend while driving.
"All I could see was the back of a lady's head," said the serving official. "As the car came closer I saw an arm around the driver's neck."
After a spirited defense, the reckless driving charge was dismissed. The man was found to be an innocent victim of his passenger's "irresistible impulse."
It seems she just couldn't keep from planting one on her blond-haired beau after he said "something cute" while driving.
Perhaps South Jersey wasn't the place for nurturing young love in those days.
Two years after the kissing couple caper, Municipal Court Judge Daniel J. Grasso cracked down on teens using the Vineland Acme and Kress parking lots for after-hour rendezvous.
"These parking lots were never intended to be a dating center," he scolded.
Tales of passion aside, another report, published in 1960, told of a Vineland judge ordering one young defendant to get a haircut, and another to shave off his goatee.
"You're not trying to be one of those beatnik fellows, are you?" the judge asked.
"Whiskers" was sentenced to a six-month curfew for stealing an automobile part from a local junkyard. He was also ordered not to associate with friends who might be a bad influence on him.
Curiously, the 11 p.m. curfew was suspended on nights when the defendant attended drive-in movies.
Perhaps the judge didn't consult local listings before reaching that decision.
Among the many flicks shown at Vineland's Delsea Drive-In during 1960 were, "Cover Girl Killers," "Female and the Flesh," "The Wicked Go To Hell," "Teenage Zombie," "Bewildered Youth," "Party Girl," "The Lovers" and "The Devil Strikes at Night."

Quote:May I ask where you originally found this at? I got this from MR. poll. it is a place where you can do polls. Polls on EVERYTHING. and I ran accross this one. and I will post some of the comments here , and you can see. Some on here are non Godly though.
Quote: I am 20. My husband is 35. He whips me when I do something I shouldn’t. He uses a strap 2 and a half inches wide, a paddle, a switch, or a belt. He makes me remove my clothes and either lay across the bed, or he puts me over his lap. I am whipped until I am crying very hard. He often leaves marks, welts and bruises. I know I deserve the whippings he gives me. I just wish he would not whip me so hard. Quote:I’m sorry, Melissa, but if you know you deserve the whippings, they need to be severe in order to break you of your naughtiness habit. I’m glad that at least some of your punishments are administered across your husband’s lap. That’s precisely where a naughty girl deserves to be put when her bottom requires disciplinary attention.==========
Quote: Posted by melissa on 2001-06-06 14:59:12 I don’t consider what my husband does as abuse. I was raised in a home where the husband was the head of the house. What Dad said went. He spanked my Mom for her misbeahvior. When my brothers, sister, and I dosobeyed, he spanked us with his strap or a switch. My husband just spanked me last night with a strap because I came home later than I told him I was. He spanked my bare bottom until I could not sit. I promised him I would never do it again. I can’t sit today because of the bruises and welts. I guess if it is ok with me I should not worry about what other people think.
Quote: I am 40 years old and married to a wonderful man who I love and respect. He is never unfair to me when it comes to my punishments and I don’t blame him for the times he has corrected me. Once was for bounced checks. Once was for driving home so loaded I couldn’t walk and once was for comming home 3 hours late and not calling. Let me say that there was a 24 hour waiting period each time because he never spanks me in anger. Each spanking was consentual. I was spanked unil I cried. Once with the yard stick, once with the belt and once with the plastic spoon. I have to be completely naked as to be vulnerable and accepting. I am put in the corner afterwards to think about what got me there and I am always forgiven. I am not spanked over every little thing and he never yells or calls me names. I am quite content in my marriage and my life and I am glad I am married to a man who is able to protect me, even if it’s from myself!!!!
Here are a few. Now let me say there were a few against this too. They said it was abuse, and these women were being treated as children, or unfairly etc. Some people said these women had self esteem issues etc. The majority of the poll was for it though. This got me thinking. So I posted this.
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I found this while going through my morning emails from CafeMom and I had to share. It just gave me a huge headache and I am not sure how to feel about this. I know that I am against a husband spanking his wife but I know that there are some people who don’t see a problem with it but I just can’t believe what I was reading. Do these women have self esteem issues? Are they taking the bible out of context? Is someone misleading them? See these are things we always have to worry about because these days and in the past, powerful people have misused their powers and lead many of there believers to death. Read these post below and tell me what you think please share with me.
Nickida is a first-generation Trinidadian American wife and mother of four. She enjoys sharing recipes from her childhood growing up in Trinidad with her readers. Nickida has a son with Autism and shares posts around traveling with a child with special needs to help other families like her own. She loves television, movies and is a true 80's baby.
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This recollection was originally posted on the Yahoo Group ‘Paddled at School’ and is published here with the express authority of the author, Megan Lowry.
In the spring of 1993 I was an eighteen year old high school senior in the Sandhills region of North Carolina. Our school district issued a parent/student handbook each fall containing some rather vague references to corporal punishment but with nothing clearly spelled out beyond its availability as ‘a disciplinary option’.
Some years before, the county school board had voted for some modifications in their paddling policies, largely in response to a 1981 incident in which three girls were severely paddled, some would say abusively, by a male staff member. That affair led to a lawsuit against the district which, though unsuccessful, focused a good deal of unwanted media attention on the ‘paddling in schools’ issue.
One significant change to come about was the implementation of a same gender rule, i.e. that girls were to receive licks only from a female administrator or teacher. It is interesting to note that our school district still authorises corporal punishment, but its current policy (as of 2007) no longer makes reference to any such same sex requirement.
Although I was aware that licks were authorized, the possibility of actually getting paddled myself was not something I had ever seriously contemplated, save once. In middle school I was an active combatant in what certain of my classmates humorously (and otherwise) named ‘The Great Food Fight of 1989’.

This messy affair was sparked by ill will between two opposing student cliques, and began with verbal taunts in the lunch line that rapidly escalated into all-out confrontation during which Yours Truly fired a cup of apple sauce. The gooey projectile failed to strike its intended target and sailed through the double doors into the hallway where it splattered against the lockers. While several belligerents were rounded up and marched away to face summary justice in the principal’s office, my role somehow remained undetected.
I passed three of the most anxious hours of my life until the bell mercifully rang at 3.20, fearing from moment to moment the intercom would buzz with the dreaded order to go report to the office. It didn’t, a fact for which I was sincerely grateful to whatever kindly providence had spared my backside.
Paddling was not a subject much discussed by anyone at school, maybe out of embarrassment, but some of the guys who had found themselves on the receiving end laughed it off as a joke. While paddlings were probably a comparatively frequent occurrence, at least a few per week, it appeared to me that many infractions resulted in detention or a simple reprimand.
I began smoking at age 16, a habit I acquired from my friend Amanda. While my mom never actually forbade me to smoke, she disliked it and missed no opportunity to say so. Mom was a lifelong non-smoker and was equally disapproving of my dad’s pipe. So, wearying of her maternal admonitions against the evils of tobacco, I let her believe I had quite when in truth I hadn’t, and continued to sneak the occasional puff in my room.
In May of my senior year we were enjoying some very warm spring days, and during the lunch hour everybody congregated outside on the lawn or in the parking lot. Amanda and I were sitting at a picnic table on the west side of the building when she made the gesture of pulling on a cigarette and exhaling. She nodded towards the building, and I understood her to mean we should go to an upstairs washroom for a quick smoke, something we’d done before without problems. I didn’t refuse, although a couple of weeks before I served a 120 minutes detention for smoking in the parking lot.
We went through the doors and up the staircase. The second floor washroom is just to the left as you come up, and we were glad to find the hallway entirely empty. Marlboros were my brand of choice, and I had a pack with three cigarettes rolled up in my pocket. We hung out for fifteen minutes before it was time to head back downstairs. But as luck would have it, just as we were going an old hag art teacher, Mrs Gilly, pushed open the door and confronted us: “Are you girls smoking in here?”
Busted! There was no way to deny what we were up to because, first, the smell made it obvious, second, a few blue wisps of smoke hung in the air catching the sunlight, and third – most damning of all – the red and white Marlboro pack was conspicuously in my right hand. She confiscated this contraband and hauled our sorry hind ends down to the assistant Principal’s office.
Entering the school’s main office, off the central corridor, to the far left there’s a door marked ‘Assistant Principal’. Through this door is a small waiting room with a window to your right and a few office chairs. Directly in front of you is the door to the AP’s real office, which we walked through.
Amanda and I sat on chairs in front of the Assistant Principal’s desk. She was a woman in her mid thirties named Jessica Dodd who was in her first year with the district and was someone I didn’t know well. She listened to what Mrs Gilly had to say and took the incriminating Marlboro pack from her, causing me to lose a perfectly good cigarette on top of all else!
Once Mrs Gilly left, Ms Dodd asked to hear our side, and with such favourite adolescent monosyllables as “um” and “yea” we effectively conceded our guilt.
Ms Dodd lectured us on smoking: “Don’t you realize it’s bad for your health?” and “Didn’t you know this campus is smoke free?” (We couldn’t plead ignorance on No. 2 – the student handbook clearly did say as much). Neither of us offered much in reply. Ms Dodd stood up from her desk and walked to the grey metal filing cabinets in the corner. Taking out two manila folders, our student files for her office, she returned to the desk and began paging through their contents. Finally laying them to one side, she looked at us and said she saw from our records that this was the third violation that quarter for each of us.
This was so. As mentioned before, I was caught smoking in the parking lot and also skipped a day in early March. Amanda had skipped with me and had another violation I don’t recall. Ms Dodd then said that under the policies adopted by the county school board she had the “option” (her word) of using corporal punishment in lieu of detention or OSS for a third violation.
It occurred to me that if this was, in fact, the official policy, it was not clearly spelled out in any information ever provided to me. What she said next gave me the feeling of an electric charge in the pit of my stomach: “I think you ladies could benefit from a paddling. I’m sorry, but I really do.”
Opening a desk drawer, she took out two orange slips of paper. These were Parental Consent Forms whose use was only recently mandated by the Board. She handed one to each of us, said to have mom or dad sign it and to bring it in to her at 7.30 the following morning.
The rule in 1993 was that parents had to indicate by checking the form and signing whether corporal punishment could be administered for a violation, and in-school suspension was automatically assigned if permission for licks was denied. (Today, a single form is returned at the beginning of each school year.)
Ms Dodd told us to get ready for our next class at 12.45 and we walked out into the hallway. Once out of the office, Amanda was nonchalant: “Don’t worry about it. I got it in the 9th and it wasn’t too bad.”
I assured her I was not worried in any way because “My mom will *never* let this happen!” I was 100% sure of that too.
Mom hit the ceiling when, at 4.00 that afternoon, I ‘fessed up about what happened. We engaged in verbal sparring for the better part of two hours, and she was really torqued off. First, she was upset at more trouble in school when I’d just pulled detention for skipping, plus the revelation of my having also served detention for a previous smoking incident, something she hadn’t known.
Mom also felt I’d lied to her, having led her to think I’d quit smoking when I hadn’t. To cut to the chase, she said she’d give her permission for licks because, quote: “You have to learn that sometimes when you break rules there are going to be consequences you don’t like!”
Duhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, mom! Thanks for that lesson in logic. I guess I’d never have figured that out otherwise, now would I?
It made no difference how I tried to talk, plead or whine my way out of it. She wasn’t listening and I gave up arguing.
That evening I had some English homework on ‘The Merchant of Venice’ and I remember the movie I was trying to watch when my boyfriend, Jeff, stopped over at 7.30. The flick had Johnny Cash as a sheriff in the 19
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