After completing the classroom text, workbook and simulator portions of driver’s education, and spending a month of intensive road preparation with both of my parents, and passing the road test with several feet of snow on the ground one might think that I needed no further instruction. Of course, that’s wrong. Actually today one would probably not be able to take the road test without first passing a certified road course administered by a state approved institution. Such was not the case in Wisconsin when I was learning to drive, and so that spring I took the mandated behind the wheel portion of the driver’s education course nearly two months after receiving my license.
Unlike the private courses that have replaced the ones previously taught by school programs, my instruction took place for three hours after school for one week and was taught by a teacher from another school whose name I have forgotten, but will refer to as Mr. Matthews. All the automobiles for the program were brand new and donated by area dealers. My group drove an Ambassador by American Motors. While only a small group of Milwaukeeans actually owned American Motors cars, they were a source of pride because they were built right next door in beautiful Kenosha as local dealers reminded us in numerous television commercials and billboard ads. My family was the exception since we owned three of them over the course of several years.
The two students in the car with me could not have been more different. Cathy was a quiet and reserved student I had failed to notice even once during my year and a half at Marshall, and who practically faded into the beige upholstery once she sat down in the backseat. On the other hand, Gerhardt, who like me already had his license, but also owned his own car, a well polished Corvair, boldly raced down Capitol Drive in the right lane passing cars in order to get from Riverside High on the eastside of town to 64th and Fiebrantz Avenue where we sat waiting for him.
The first day he pulled up, crushed a cigarette in the ashtray, and had smoke billowing out of his mouth as he asked with a heavy German accent if he was in the right place. When Mr. Matthews indicated he was his instructor he pulled the car over and started walking in our direction his shirt wide open and his hip huggers slung well below his navel. Mr. Matthews told him he was in a no parking zone and he would wait for him to move the car, but Gerhardt just shrugged, buttoned the shirt and climbed in the front seat.
Each day Mr. Matthews would have Cathy drive first while Gerhardt and I sat in back and visited. Turned out his father was a well-known Volkswagen mechanic but being a rebel Gerhardt bought himself a Chevy, at least that’s what he called it. My turn came next and I could hear him chuckling because he knew I was going to accelerate gently and never exceed the speed limit.
When it was his turn he liked to punch the accelerator to get a reaction out of Mr. Matthews. It only worked the first couple times, because he soon realized like Cathy and I that Gerhardt despite rolling down and sticking his elbow out the window kept his hands at the prescribed ten and two position and conscientiously applied defensive driving tactics. In the end we all passed the course and Mr. Matthews breathed easier.
Do you recall your behind the wheel class? Tell us about it in the comment section.
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