My First Driving Instructor

In the winter of 1961-62 I was 13 years old. My family lived in a rented house on the main street, "Lincoln Highway", of DeKalb, IL.

Across the street, next to the one-brand Pontiac dealership, lived a Mormon family. They were slightly ostracized by the neighborhood, but I liked them because they had a driveway full of cars. Their kid, Jimmie, was a big brother figure to all the block's kids.

On his 16th birthday, his generous father gave him a gift.

Not an electric train or a new bike. A 1951 Ford two-door with a flathead V8, 3 speed stick shift on the steering column. What a swell Pop.

The shifter on those cars was designed with frugality in mind, it would bend if speed shifted. There was a little white ball on the end, but Jimmie soon replaced it and the hubcaps with aftermarket items from the J. C. Whitney Catalog. Yeah, an eightball and Baby Moons.

After having his license for a couple weeks, Jimmie spies me getting home from Junior High on my bike. He crosses the street.

"Wanna go fer a ride?"

"You bet."

So we drove out to a narrow blacktop between black fields of corn stubble and melting snow.

"Now watch careful."

He pulled that skinny shifter down into one, ran up about 2000 rpm, and popped the clutch. We were off with a lurch. Jimmie wound every gear to the top, where the flathead's valve train hit its limit, I'm guessing maybe 3900 rpm, before slamming the shifter to the next gear.

In about sixty seconds we were bouncing along at the 10 year old Ford's top end, 98 mph, as farms, fields, and the occasional vacant crossroad flew by.

Finally, he stood on the brakes, taking almost as long to stop.

Did he just say "You wanna drive?" I couldn't believe my ears.

We switched places, and I fearlessly duplicated his maneuver, with maybe a bit of wandering over ninety.

"Good job, now you know how to drive."

For many years, that was exactly how I drove, hammer down all the time.

Four years later, at a rural Illinois blacktop intersection, 20-year old Jimmie was killed. Pranksters had removed all four stop signs from a four way stop.

Forty five years, thousands hours of professional driving instruction both as a student and then instructor, and almost one million injury-free commercial vehicle miles later, I am still grateful to my first driving instructor.

End My first Driving Instructor, go to Sitemap for Navigation