On March 28, a sunny Saturday in southwestern Utah, Jack Hoopes and his wife, Lorna, brought their homemade signs to the local "No Kings" rally.

The couple joined a crowd of 1,500 or so marching through the main picnic area of a park in downtown St. George. Their signs — cut-out words on a black background — chided lawmakers for failing to stand up to President Donald Trump and urged America to "make lying wrong again."

After about an hour, the two were ready to go home. They got in their silver Volvo SUV, but before pulling away, Jack Hoopes decided to swing past the demonstration, which was still going strong. He tooted his horn, twice, in a show of solidarity.

That's when things took a curious turn.

A police officer parked in the middle of the street warned Hoopes not to honk; at least that's what he thinks the officer said as Hoopes drove past the chanting crowd. When he spotted two familiar faces, Hoopes hit the horn a third time — a friendly, howdy sort of honk. "It wasn't like I was being obnoxious," he said, "or laying on the horn."

Hoopes turned a corner and the cop, lights flashing, pulled him over. He asked Hoopes for his license and registration. He returned a few moments later. A passing car sounded its horn. "Are you going to stop him, too?" Hoopes asked.

That did not sit well. The officer said he'd planned to let Hoopes off with a warning. Instead, he charged the 71-year-old retired potato farmer with violating Utah's law on horns and warning devices. He issued a citation, with a fine punishable up to $50.

Hoopes — a law school graduate and prosecutor in the days before he took up potato farming — is fighting back, even though he estimates the legal skirmishing could cost him considerably more than the maximum fine. The ticket might have resulted from pique on the officer's part. But Hoopes doesn't think so. He sees politics at play.

"I've beeped my horn for (the pro-law enforcement) Back the Blue. I've beeped my horn for Black Lives Matter," Hoopes said. "I've seen a lot of people honk for Trump and for MAGA."

He's also seen plenty of times when people honked their horns to celebrate high school championships and the like.

But Hoopes has never heard of anyone being pulled over, much less ticketed, for excessive or unlawful honking. "I think it's freedom of expression," he said.

Or should be.

St. George is a fast-growing community of about 100,000 residents set amid the jagged red-rock peaks of the Mojave Desert. It's a jumping-off point for Zion National Park, about 40 miles east, and a mecca for golf, hiking and mountain-bike riding.

It's also Trump Country.

Washington County, where St. George is located, gave Trump 75% of its vote in 2024, with Kamala Harris winning a scant 23%. That emphatic showing compares with Trump's 59% performance statewide.

St. George is where Hoopes and his wife live most of the time. When summer and its 100-degree temperatures hit, they retreat to southeast Idaho. The couple get along well with their neighbors in both places, Hoopes said, even though they're Democrats living in ruby-red country. It's not as though they just tolerate folks, or hold their noses to get by.

"Most of my friends are conservative," Hoopes said. "Some of the Trump people are very good people. We just have a difference of opinion where our country is going."

He was speaking from a hotel parking lot in Arizona near Lake Havasu while embarked on an annual motorcycle ride through the Southwest: four days, a dozen riders, 1,200 miles. Most of his companions are Trump supporters, Hoopes said, and, just like back home, everyone gets on fine.

"Right?" he called out.

"No!" a voice hollered back.

Actually, Hoopes joked, his charitable road mates let him ride along because they consider him handicapped — his disability being his political ideology.

Hoopes is not exactly a hellion. In 2014, he and his wife traveled to Africa to participate in humanitarian work and promote sustainable agriculture in Kenya and Uganda. In 2020, they worked as Red Cross volunteers helping wildfire victims in Northern California.

Virtually his entire life has been spent on the right side of the law, though Hoopes allowed as how he has racked up a few speeding tickets over the years. (His career as a prosecutor lasted four years and involved three murder cases in the first 12 months before he left the legal profession behind and took up farming.)

He's never had any problems with the police in St. George. "They seem to be decent," Hoopes said.

A department spokesperson, Tiffany Mitchell, said illicit honking is not a widespread problem in the placid, retiree-heavy community, but there are some who have been cited for violations. She denied any political motivation in Hoopes' case.

"He must've felt justified," Mitchell said of the officer who issued the citation. "I can't imagine that politics had anything to do with it."

And yes, she said, honking a horn can be a political statement protected by the 1st Amendment. "But, just like anything else, it can turn criminal," Mitchell said, and apparently that's how the officer felt on March 28 "and that's the direction he took it."

The matter now rests before a judge, residing in a legal system that has lately been tested and twisted in remarkable ways.

As he left an initial hearing earlier this month, Hoopes said his phone pinged with a fresh headline out of Washington. Trump's Justice Department, it was reported, was asking a federal appeals court to throw out the convictions of 12 people found guilty of seditious conspiracy for their roles in the Jan. 6, 2021, insurrection.

"We have a president that pardons people that broke into the Capitol and defecated" in the hallways and congressional offices, Hoopes said. "Police officers died because of it, and yet I get picked up for honking my horn?"

Hoopes' next court appearance, a pretrial conference, is set for July 15.

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