Sandy E., Stamford, CT
I have fond memories of the farm but not of driving farm tractors, the way Adrienne D’s father has. I was about 5 years old when the farm became a memory. I do seem to recall sitting behind the steering wheel on my Uncle Jake’s lap as he drove me around the farm yard. Perhaps at that time my Uncle George already owned a White Motor truck dealership, so big vehicles were definitely in the family history.
My first driving experience was on a 1947 Ford. My brother determined it was time for me to learn to drive. Manual shift was all that there were in those days. I must have been 15, or there abouts. There is 26 months between us. The legal age for driving was 16. Mom must have thought it was so nice that brother and sister were going out for a drive together. He took me on a straight, little driven, dead end road. There I learned to manage the clutch, accelerator, and brake – no need to worry about steering - the road was as straight as an arrow, and level. We must have visited that road often. I don’t exactly remember, but I do remember the first time he let me leave the straight away and try to negotiate the turns on the local streets. Not so easy – is my memory. Oooh! and the hill in the Bronx, when I later had my license, and went to visit my Grandmother? It was as steep as Mt. Everest and it had a light at the top, which was always red when I got there. Never mind, I was nervous every time, because there was always a car too close behind me, but I managed never to roll back!
I took driving lessons and easily mastered the double parking technique. I pride myself in being able to slip into any spot barely bigger than the car I happen to be driving. I passed the driving test the first time out. I drove anything that was around and felt in command of any automobile in whose driver’s seat I sat; stick or otherwise.
Around the time I was officially learning to drive, my brother came into the house to announce that the ’47 Ford had a flat tire. We’ll fix it he said to our mother, pointing to me. That was my first time fixing a flat tire – rolling the tire down the hill to be repaired and then back up the short hill to be replaced on the car – by me – with my brother insisting that I needed to learn how. It went along with knowing how to drive, he said. Little did I know that he had let the air out of the tire, in order to stage the event. The gas station man never let on. In those days, pre cell phones, I had two flat tires. One I could have called for help, but fixed with my younger brother. The other one was on a deserted road, near Kennedy Airport at 1 AM, I was glad I knew how.
So at 68 how do I drive? In an air conditioned, automatic drive car, with a cell phone at my side and AAA to back me up, but with great confidence because of my early road experiences. I think learning young has more to do with confidence and ability – but no doubt the manual shift ability is special and a stick shift gives a sense of power.