We lived in Westfield, NJ, from 1980 to 1996, affording us the opportunity to enjoy the wonders of New York City whenever we had the time or inclination.

Westfield is a qtuiet bedroom community for people who work in the city, just 28 miles from midtown Manhattan and within an hour by car, bus or train.

Although we generally stuck pretty close to home when I wasn't on the road, we did occasionally take advantage of having the big city practically on our doorstep for special occasions and when we entertained out-of-town visitors.

One year, when our kids were in their early teens, Judy and I decided to introduce them to Broadway.

We loved going to plays in the city, although the expense did keep us from doing it as often as we would have liked. And, though we had lived in Westfield for a decade by that time, we had never taken the kids to a Broadway show.

Wednesday is matinee day on Broadway and the kids were on their spring break from school. Both of them were enthusiastic about seeing a show, although there was nothing playing that appealed to all of us.

I suggested we just go into the city and go to the half-price ticket booth in Duffy Square (located near Times Square and right in the heart of the theater district.) and just see what was available. Everyone agreed.

We wound up seeing "I'm Not Rappaport," a dramedy starring Judd Hirsch and Ossie Davis, a pair of very fine actors. The play revolves around two old men sitting on a park bench and talking about their problems. Lots of dialogue, no action.

Judy and I enjoyed it greatly. The young ones didn't, although they were nice about it. They even thanked us for taking them.

We decided to have an early dinner in the city before returning to New Jersey and wound up at a Brazilian restaurant in Midtown owned by a friend from racing. It was a great lunch and it raised everybody's spirits.

As we walked back toward the Port Authority Bus Station, we passed the tickets booth, which had just opened for that night's shows. There was no line and I said to Judy, "Maybe we could find something the kids would enjoy more."

The booth was cash only and we counted up what we had. Considering we already had our return bus tickets, we had just enough cash between us for another round of Broadway tickets.

This time we chose a musical, "Chicago," starring Ann Reinking. It's a good show and everybody enjoyed it.

As we walked toward the bus station following the performance, Tory said, "I wonder how many of the kids in my school can say they went to two Broadway shows in one day?"

I don't know about those kids, but I never had. And I haven't since, either.

A year or so later, Judy's friend Vicki was visiting from Indianapolis with her three young teenage kids.

We decided to take a drive into New York City in our midsize station wagon. We cruised the streets for a while, pointing out some of the sites to Vicki and the kids. Her two boys got the biggest kick out of counting limos and spotting women they were sure were prostitutes (they were) on Eighth Avenue, near the bus terminal and Times Square.

Judy asked if we could show Vicki the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, where we had stayed numerous times for NASCAR awards banquets. As we drove toward the hotel on Park Avenue, Judy said, "Pull over by the hotel. I want to show Vicki the lobby and the jewelry store."

Like a good husband, I pulled over in a no parking zone near the corner, away from the hotel doorman, and waited with the five kids, who grew increasingly bored as the ladies did their tour of the Waldorf.

Suddenly, I spotted Judy running toward the car in the road, looking extremely excited. Behind her was a very tall man in some kind of fancy uniform and wearing a tall hat.. He was grinning from ear-to-ear as he walked slowly toward the car.

Judy ran up to the driver's side window and, when I put the window down, she said, "There's a ringmaster and some clowns that need to get to Madison Square Garden for a performance and the cabs won't stop for them because they're in costume. Can we give them a ride?"

I looked over my shoulder at the gaggle of kids behind me and said, "Where would we put them?"

Judy shrugged and said, "We'll figure it out. Okay?"

Again, being the dutiful husband _ and knowing Judy always gets her way _ I said, "Okay."

Judy ran back toward the ringmaster, who signaled behind him and what seemed like a hoard of clowns of all sizes suddenly appeared. It turned out they had been performing at a luncheon honoring the owners of the Barnum & Bailey Circus at the Waldorf and were running late for their afternoon performance at MSG.

I was amazed as Judy directed the seating, with Vicki and the ringmaster in the front seat, next to me, Three full-size clowns in the back seat, with a small clown diving across their laps and Judy climbing into the back of the car, joining the five teenagers stuffed in that compartment.

We got some strange looks as we drove crosstown. And, at one point, the too-heavy car scraped one of the city's awful, uneven roadways and tore off a hanger holding up the muffler, which began to drag noisily, The ringmaster apologized profusely, saying the circus would pay for any damage.

But I just laughed. I knew I was going to get my money's worth out of this story.

Just before we got to MSG, the car was quiet and Judy said, "Are any of you Jewish?"

There was a long, somewhat pregnant pause before one of the clowns from the backseat said, "I am. Why do you ask?"

Judy said, "Next week is Passover. Do you have any place to go for a seder?"

He lit up and said, "That would be great. We're here in the New York area for another couple of weeks."

We got them to Madison Square Garden in plenty of time for their performance and exchanged phone numbers with the Jewish clown, whose name was Scott. Turns out he also taught at the clown school in Sarasota, FL, in the winter and was a very personable guy.

A week later, he joined us for our first-night seder in New Jersey and nearly gave Judy's mom a heart attack.

First, although he was out of costume, he entertained the kids by teaching them how to pretend to walk into doorways, a feat that did not sit well with Mom.

Scott behaved himself until dessert was served.

Judy was in the kitchen when her mom burst into the room and sputtered, "The clown ... the clown."

Judy rushed into the dining room and saw that Scott had taken possession of the big fruit bowl, holding it to his chest and pretending to eat out of it.

I saved the day, saying, "Now Scott, that's not nice. You need to pass the fruit around the table."

He made a face, like he was ashamed and, with great laughter erupting in the room, made a big show of passing the bowl to Lanni, who was sitting next to him.

Judy turned to her mom and said, "See. Crisis averted."

Mom said, "I guess so. He seems like a nice boy."

Later that month, as the circus was performing on Long Island, Scott invited us into the city and gave us a tour of the circus train, where he lived while they toured the country.

We kept in touch for a few years, but that was the last time we saw him.

It was a great adventure - thanks to Judy's kindness and her complete inability to realize you can't fit 10 pounds into a five-pound sack.