The Lollipop Guild

By Patricia Winton

Munchkinland isn’t the only place with a Lollipop Guild, but Italy’s Lollipop Guild isn’t here to welcome you; they’re here to stop you. Italian police use the paletta del poliziotto (which resembles a giant lollipop) as a signal for drivers to stop. The paletta is a metal or plastic circle, about ten inches (25 centimeters) in diameter mounted on a stick; one side is red, the other green. Police keep them handy, attached to the doors of squad cars. Spiffy motorcycle cops tuck the lollies inside their boots, making them easy to grab. I’ve seen bicycle troops with the paletta sticking out of saddlebags, and while I haven’t seen them, I suspect the Venetian version of motorcycle patrols use them as well.

Italian motorists, and even pedestrians, know the paletta means stop. Squad cars, sirens wailing, swoosh through intersections with a cop holding the paletta out the window. To the uninitiated, that little circle of red may go unnoticed, but you ignore it at your peril. The police officer with the lolly has the right of way. Fortunately, the sirens are a better signal for most tourists to Italy.

There can be perils for the police, as well. A couple of years ago, a police officer saw a motorist trying to pass another car on a dangerous stretch of road where passing was prohibited. The officer stuck out his paletta to stop the car. It was traveling too fast, and the side mirror of the car struck the paletta, wrenching the officer’s arm and breaking his elbow.

The paletta is also sometimes used in crime. Thieves armed with a counterfeit paletta target cars with foreign tags. In one recent case, such a thief stopped a French man driving a camper. Once the driver opened the window, the thief ordered him to open up the back of the van, which he planned to strip of its valuables. This tourist was lucky. Real police officers came upon the incident. The thief tried to hide his paletta falsa under his jacket, but he was apprehended and the French man went on his way.

In another case, two men impersonating police officers stopped a van carrying three Hungarian tourists, using a counterfeit paletta. One of the tourists became suspicious and asked to inspect the police credentials. This trio enjoyed good fortune as well in that Caribinieri came along in time to interrupt the thieves and take them into custody.

Genuine and Counterfeit Palette

The genuine paletta has a band of white reflective material around the rim with the name of the issuing agency (municipal government, defense department, state department, etc.) with the agency’s seal in the center. Many counterfeits don’t have any identifying marks. So if you’re in Italy, respect that lollipop if you encounter one, but be wary as well. That is, “trust, but verify.”

Please join me on alternate Thursdays at Novel Adventurers. Next week I'm writing about one of my favorite Italian treats.

What Is in a Name?

     Google Alerts delivered this message two days after my first blog post: Patricia Winton Police Blotter. I read “blogger” instead of “blotter,” and a bubble of joy filled my chest. I thought my blog had made some list and I’d have readers beyond friends and family. I clicked and saw: Patricia Winton Arrest. The bubble burst and bile rose in my throat. I clicked again and saw: Patricia Z arrested in Winton, California.

     This is the second time in four months that Google Alerts has delivered news of Patricia Winton’s arrest. Back in December, on Rome’s coldest day this winter, I had two hours to kill between appointments. I wandered into a department store where I walked the aisles, fingering candles and pajamas and soup pots. Anything to pass the time in a warm place.

     Everywhere I went, I saw the same two guys. One looked like store security in his spiffy suit and shiny shoes. The other, a muscular guy in raggedy track suit and tattered sneakers, looked like he was there to rob the place. They were in house wares; they were in lingerie; they were in handbags. I lingered in handbags to buy a wallet.

     As I left the store, I noticed a little beep, but nothing alarming. Suddenly, the burly guy I had seen earlier leapt into my path and showed me ID. He was store security and the little beep I heard was in fact an alarm. “Signora,” he said. “Did you leave without paying?” As I began searching the two bags I was carrying to locate the wallet and receipt, he kept peppering me with questions. “Did you just forget to pay?” A crowd gathered. The questions continued. The crowd grew larger. The more questions he asked, the more agitated I became. I fumbled with zippers. I rattled paper. Just as he was reaching for my arm to take me who knows where, I found the wallet and receipt. He examined them both, glanced at me and said, “You’ll have to take these back to the cashier.” No smile and no apology.

     The very next day, Google Alerts delivered the news that Patricia Winton had been arrested for shoplifting. You can’t imagine the emotions that roiled in my chest that time, especially since the woman was my age and in my home state of Tennessee. The coincidence is uncanny. I come from a law enforcement family: my father was a sheriff and my sister worked for the FBI. It’s a weird feeling to have my name on the wrong side of the law.

     So I’m wondering, is it a good thing or bad for a mystery writer to share a name with jailbirds? I hope you’ll leave a comment with your thoughts on the question.