Ever since my wedding in 1962, I have been spending Thanksgiving with my wife's family south of the Mason-Dixon line in the friendly state of Maryland.

The feast this year sat 57 people, 16 of whom were under the age of 10. It was a noisy, raucous wonderful meal. One must always remember the cardinal rule of a Thanksgiving meal, don't get involved in an interesting conversation that will cause you to lose track of the taste of the food you are devouring.

The worst time was a few years back when I engaged in a political argument while eating and I couldn't recall the delicious turkey, cranberry sauce, pumpkin with marmallow, ratatouille, stuffing with onions and apple and pumpkin pies.

One must concentrate even during a delicious meal!

As a born New Yorker who loves New York traditions, I sadly admit I have never attended a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade as I have always traveled south to Maryland.

The trip, which usually was on the Wednesday before the big Thursday, has varied. It has taken five hours and once it took nine hours. The New Jersey Turnpike is not a fun place, even though this year the trip was hastened by using E-Z pass ( a bit of New York culture).

I was reminded of an incident that happened about 25 years ago on a trip to a Maryland Thanksgiving. I had reached Elkton, MD and I noticed my gas was getting low. It was about 11 p.m. and it was hard to find a gas station.

A bright idea occurred to me from something I had read. There is always residual gas left in the lines of the fuel pumps. I decided to go into a closed gas station and go from pump to pump to get a few extra gallons.

I entered a closed gas station and in my stockinged feet (I always take off my shoes on long trips), started emptying the lines of the residual, remaining gas. I was busy, and Lorraine and the three kids were dozing. I didn't notice the Maryland State police trooper (with his Smokey the Bear hat) quietly pull into the station. He confronted me with a gas pump in my hand in my stockings. "What the heck are you doing?" he inquired, as he looked into the back of my car.

"I ran out of gas, and no stations were open," I stammered shyly. He looked first at my family and then at me and concluded I was no major criminal from New York. I was just a homeless nut out of gas with a strange idea. If not for my wife and kids, I might have spent a night in a Maryland jail.

He led me to an open gas station and advised me that what I attempted was not such a good idea.

As I said, the people in Maryland are real nice.