DRIVING ME TO DISTRACTION

(My restricted driver's license, 1963)

The summer of 1963 I enrolled in an 8-week driver education class, and Mr. Lawrence Hall, (Larry to his friends, but Mr. Hall to his class), embarked upon trying to teach me how to become street legal. I was a challenge.

I did not have the experience that many of my friends already had received. All the farm kids had been driving for a year or more, and even most of my townie pals had been driving around with their parents. Not I. Until I begged and whined and cajoled Mama Bore into taking me out into the country with our 1958 silver and turquoise Pontiac Chieftain 9-passenger station wagon. "I'm gonna be the ONLY one in driver's ed. who's NEVER driven before and I'll be at a BIG disadvantage if you don't take me driving!!"

The guilt trip worked. A week before class started, she took me out on the country roads northeast of town in the Pontiac. And I don't think we'd gone a mile before MY driving was driving HER to a nervous breakdown and her teaching/criticism was totally pissing me off. I finally skidded the car to a stop, swung open the driver's door, stormed out, and dramatically slammed the door---on my right hand. Sonofabitch!! Hell, I couldn't even shut the car door correctly, let alone drive the damned thing. (Can you sense that I'm still a bit upset about this, 48 years later?)

So, it was up to Mr. Hall to put his life on the limb and teach me to drive. Remember, this is before seat belts and air bags. All he had to defend himself with was a passenger brake. And to make matters extra tense, we took lessons in groups of three or four, so a backseat full of so-called friends were always along for the ride to make fun of the driver.

And I gave them a lot to make fun of. During my first attempt at making a right turn, the inside tires jumped the curb. Then there was the time a dog came dashing across the street in front of the car, and Mr. Hall had to apply his passenger brake because I was just going to mow over the dumb mutt. The backseat gang lurched forward and practically ended up in the front seat. I was usually afraid of doing something wrong, so I'd stop at stop signs about a half-block before I got to them and wait around until there were no cars in sight before I took off again. No confidence at all.

Somehow I got through the class. The bookwork was a cinch, but my driving continued to be hesistant. Still, I had a slip of paper that said I could "pass go" and mosey down to the driver's license office to get my restricted license. So, that's what I proudly did. --And I promptly failed the vision test. "What??!!! I can't see?? How can this be?? Well, maybe that explains why I'm such a lousy driver!"

Eventually, Mama Bore rounded up the money for some eyeglasses, and I was totally amazed at the new world before me. I'd never realized how horrible my eyesight was. Still, even with the glasses, I rarely got to drive the Pontiac and depended on friends for rides all through high school. Anyone who had been my driver's ed. buddy obviously preferred it that way. We were all safer. And so were the curbs.