THE DRIVING LESSON

You notice I said another attempt at learning to drive.

Mom was what was called, in those "I think she may need to be medicated" times, a little high-strung.

"I can't practice on the street" Mom tried to assert.

By then, Dad had already figured out that it was way too dangerous to practice on the streets. Especially with a "high-strung" woman like Mom behind the wheel.

He decided that a parking lot was the best place for the driving lessons. A very large parking lot.

And where was the largest parking lot around? Santa Anita Park race track of course.

"It's the largest parking lot in the world" Dad spoke with the utmost authority "Must be a square mile or more."

"But Chuck..." Mom tried to interject.

"Besides, the racing season is over" anticipating her objection Dad continued without acknowledging my mother "We'll be totally alone."

Whether or not is was the largest parking lot in the world, the Santa Anita Park race track parking lot was non the less very large, especially to a kid.

One evening after dinner, we set out for the track for the first in an expected series of driving lessons.

Jumping into the back seat of that huge old New Yorker, I assumed my typical traveling position. I loved to stand on the drive shaft tunnel and rest my elbows on the back of the front seat. That way I could look straight out the windshield. Otherwise, sitting down in the back seat barely allowed me to peer over the window sill. It was a habit that annoyed Dad to no end I might add.

You could actually see the track off in the distance from the street in front of our house up on the mountain side. Well, that was when there wasn't any air polution, which was about 1 day in 365 in those choking smog filled days of chrome plated V8 luxury. Otherwise, you could barely see the light pole just down the street.

The track appeared a lot closer than it actually was. Driving down to Pasadena took about 20 minutes

Soon, with much anticipation on my part of seeing this parking wonder of the world, we arrived at the race track.

Dad and Mom swapped seats and the lesson began.

We drove in large circles around the otherwise empty parking lot as Mom sharpened her driving skills in preparation for taking the test to get her California driver's license and achieve her independence.

"I'll be able to go shopping by myself and everything" Mom would say.

There I was sitting, or more properly standing, at my usual vantage point in the back seat of the Chrysler sedan. As I said before, hanging there at Dad's shoulder drove him nuts. That fact coupled with Mom's nervousness probably had Dad in a fit in no time.

Dad tried to remain calm as he made suggestions to Mom as she drove around the parking lot.

"Chuck, stop it!" Mom pleaded "You're making me nervous."

"Jimmy, would you please sit back" Dad pleaded "you're making your mother nervous."

Pretty soon, Dad had had enough driving in circles. He decided that Mom should practice something a little more challenging like stopping without stalling the car.

The track itself was surrounded by a wall with a hedge on top separating it from the parking lot. Mom was told to drive along close to the wall and pretend that she was going down a narrow street lined with parked cars. Where the wall ended, she was to come to a smooth stop as though she had come to an intersection.

"Take your foot off the gas" Dad directed "Brake gently and clutch just before you stop."

We did this a few times and of course the tensions inside the car grew with every new circuit and each direction from my father as he critiqued Mother's performance.

As the big old boat pulled up to a stop at the end of the wall, Mom put the car in neutral and stepped out.

"What are you doing?" Dad queried.

"I can't do this!" Mom threw her hands up. "I just can't drive with you sitting there watching me. "You know how nervous it makes me."

By now, My mother had walked around the front of the car and was standing at the passenger's side door. As she reached for the door handle, Dad beat her to it and locked the door.

"Get back in and drive me over to the edge of the parking lot" he told Mom after rolling down the window a crack "I'll get out and let you practice by yourself."

"Jimmy, you get out and stay here with me."

We stood at the edge of the lot and watched Mom drive off.

I grew restless of watching Mom make lazy circles around the large expanse in front of us. I guess Dad did too as I soon found myself sitting on a low wall next to him talking and not paying too much attention to Mom.

Mom must have felt that she needed more practice on narrow streets. She began those cycles of driving along the wall and stopping just at the end of the wall.

She did this for a while and I guess she figured that she was an accomplished smooth stopper. She was no longer stopping at the end of the wall, but going beyond the end of the wall and cycling back to make another pass down the pseudo narrow street.

As I said, Dad and I were talking and not really paying attention. Something he apparently saw out of the corner of his eye suddenly caused him to jump up and look towards where Mom was practicing her narrow street routine.

"No" I heard him say almost under his breath.

"No" this time a little louder.

He began to run toward where Mom was driving along the wall. She was totally oblivious of the other car speeding along the wall toward her at right angles to her path.

As the cars got closer, Dad began to run faster and wave his arms.

"Noooooooo" Dad moaned as the cars reached the corner of the wall on their fateful courses.

"Shit, my beautiful car" I heard Dad say as he slowed his pace realizing the futility of his efforts.

Crash! The two cars met in a loud crunch of heavy gage steel and chrome. They met perfectly at the corner of the wall. It was almost as if it were by the course of some giant child's hands bringing two toy cars together in mock motor vehicular mayhem.

By the time we got there, there were three people standing beside the cars examining the twisted metal. Mom, another woman and a man.

"I am so sorry" the woman was saying "It was all my fault."

"No, no" Mom returned " It was my fault, I wasn't watching.

The lady began again "No, it was my fault." "my husband is teaching me to drive and was just warning me about driving next to the wall like that."

Dad's eyes rolled back.

There we stood in the middle of the world's largest... well, never mind.

Neither car was seriously damaged but I suppose it could have been a lot worse considering the speeds.

The front fender of Dad's beloved Chrysler was now rubbing on the tire. It was decided that we would drive slowly across the street to a repair shop to have the fender pried off the tire.

Adding insult to injury, the tire went flat just as we limped into the repair shop parking lot.

Dad's ego suffered more real damage than his beautiful car did that evening. It must have as he took immediate and definitive action.

The next day he got some graph paper and fashioned a sign that read in big block letters "HELP STAMP OUT WOMEN DRIVERS".

The sign was taped to the battle scarred front fender.

This statement on my father's part drew mixed reactions from the motoring public. Sitting at stop lights the reactions were usually high signs from men and glares from the women.