Chapter 28

Chuck

Mom signed me up for the full course; Defensive, Bodyguard, Embassy and Racing. The racing included five laps at full throttle in one of several BMW mid-engined M1 Procar race cars the school had for lease to wealthy Saturday racers.

She took a test drive with an instructor ... she failed.

“Ma’am, in the words of Ralph Nader, you are unsafe at any speed. You don’t watch the road, your situational awareness stinks. You ride the clutch, pay no attention to your mirrors, over-rev the engine ... You really need the class.”

He took over and ran the course so she could see the difference. She signed up.

The school cars were tricked out BMW M 535i four door cars of various years. Fast enough but nowhere near the WOW! of the M1.

The first day behind the wheel, I had no idea what to do.

“You’ve never driven.” Not a question ... a simple statement of fact.

“Nope.”

“Good! I don’t have to break you of your mothers bad habits. Adjust the seat to fit. You’re what? Six two?”

“I guess. The last time I was measured I was Six one. I’ve grown since.”

So ... I learned.
Don’t ride the clutch,
Don’t clench the wheel,
Don’t fiddle with the radio,
Don’t engage the passengers in idle conversation.
Do be comfortable in your skin,
Do constantly watch your mirrors,
Do look ahead.

I learned the passengers are in my care.

I learned to drive in water, dry pavement, sand, mud.

Skids, off-camber corners, blind hills, hidden access, power turns ... change a flat ... high-speed reverse, police turns, feather a corner, how to get out of a submerged car.

Shake a tail, tail another car, wash a car, clean the interior, perform simple mechanics ... change the oil, filter, spark plugs, add windshield washer fluid, charge a battery, tune a radio, clean seat belts.

Driving was serious. A car was as much a weapon as a loaded gun.

Mother was NOT in my classes.
Mother was having a very difficult time.
Mother was one of the Crazy Drivers.
Mother was invited to stay an extra week.

She did.

While she was learning, I was learning how to take care of my passengers as if I were a professional Chauffeur.

The school put me through a shooting course...”Don’t tell your mother.”

I learned where the Royce had hidden compartments and how to get into them...”Don’t tell your mother.”

I learned that several of the hidden compartments were armed and ... indeed ... dangerous...”Don’t tell your mother.”

I learned that one of those hidden compartments contained a pair of unnumbered US Army Model 1911 silver-plated and hand engraved presentation Singer Sewing Machine made short barreled and short slide pistols similar to post war Colt Commander pistols with four numbered magazines each...”Don’t tell your mother.”

Because of the SSMco pistols I learned the history of the General who had owned those pistols ... and I didn’t tell my mother.

The five laps in the M1 were astonishing.

Back on the road I could tell mom was a much better driver.

Close to Erie, Pennsylvania I asked if we were going to be anywhere near Dayton, Ohio.

“Not really,” said mom. “Why?”

“The Air Force Museum.”

“Where is that?”

“Wright-Patterson.”

“Is it within a hundred miles of 90?”

“Nope.”

“Nope.”

“Heck.”

“And shuckydarn,” said mom. “We will, however, be visiting the site of the Cleveland Air Races. Your dad was seven and there for the last Air Races in 1949.”

That turned out to be a bust. Hopkins Airport may have been the airfield but all the good stuff was at Burke Lakefront airfield. The Air Show field.

Mom, good old mom, checked us into a hotel ... for a week.

“What are we going to do in Cleveland ... for a week?” I asked.

Her answer totally ruined my life.

“We ... you and I ... are going to learn to dance.”

“Dance?”

“Yes. Ballroom dance.”

“M ... AH ... M!”