My Driving Experiences
When I acquired my driving license, the day became an exciting event rather than a regular experience. I reported to the DMV, Department of Motor Vehicles, for my test. The examiner checked the car for condition. I had to turn on the windshield wipers, the directional signals, the brake lights, backup lights, the headlights, and beep the horn. After I completed and passed the check, I was on my way.
The examiner gave directions for the maneuvers I was to perform. I completed the hill climb, where I stopped on a hill, turned the ignition off, put the emergency brake on. Then I started the car again without going backwards. Next, I successfully parallel parked.
Before leaving the parking spot to continue my driving test, I immediately applied the brakes, blasted my horn, and stopped my car. A young child was frozen in place about six feet from my front bumper. He had run into the street and stopped. I beeped my horn again, and he ran to side of the street. After I determined he was okay, no accident, plenty of crying, snuggled in the arms of his mother, I was ready to continue on my way.
The examiner had quieted down after this excitement and directed me to return to the DMV. I thought my exam was over. Once back at the DMV, he went directly into his office without a word. A few minutes later, he returned with my signed paper license. As he handed it to me, he congratulated me on my quick action and saving the child’s life. My permanent license was sent from the state at a later date.
Once I had earned my license, I had a variety of hairy experiences. For example, my college roommates and I were to spend a vacation at the lakes of New Hampshire. I had just driven onto a divided highway near Keene, New Hampshire, when I suddenly had a tire blowout. I left the highway and bounced my car into a culvert. My car was a Desoto and drove like a military tank so luckily there was no damage, other than to the tire. All I had to do was change the tire, and we continued on our journey.
Another time: Regardless of having less than 10 months left in the service, a pregnant wife and two kids, the army assigned me to Viet Nam. Two weeks after I arrived in country, I was ordered to drive four senior officers to their quarters. It was after midnight, and I had MP escorts in jeeps, front and back. At that time in Saigon, sniper attacks were a way of life on the streets. That night, I drove into a sniper attack. The MPs took care of the military action while I drove my officers up to the door of their quarters. We jumped out of the Jeep and urgently ran up the stairs to safety. When we arrived inside, everyone dispersed to other parts of the apartment, and I was left alone in the parlor. While all hell was breaking loose outside, an officer, other than those I drove, calmly met me with a cup of coffee and asked if I wanted “cream and sugar.” The absurdity of the situation did not escape me. I remained at the quarters until the MPs gave the “AII Clear Signal.”
And one more: When I taught high school, one of my students was addicted to alcohol and drugs. One night, I went to his home and removed a rifle and a pistol (and 700 rounds of ammunition). I enrolled this student in a rehab center about 70 miles from my high school. The school had no funds to take him to the center, so the job fell to me. Heavy snow had fallen the night before. Since the highways were cleared of snow, I decided to travel to the center with my student.
We left from the high school and drove to the entrance of Interstate 95, heading north to Presque Isle. On this section of 1-95, the highway is divided by wide swaths of grass and trees and the exits are far apart. Therefore, there are roads cut through these divides for use of authorized vehicles to turn around South to North or vice versa. About a mile beyond the entrance, I saw a plow leaving such a road pushing snow from one side of the highway to the other. But it had left a two-foot high pile of snow across the road. Because I was so close, I could not stop in time and hit the mound of snow. I performed a triple donut and slid off the road. The car was not harmed, so I hired a wrecker to haul me out, notified the administration, and was given permission to continue.
I had over twenty-five weird driving experiences like this. Then I moved to Seattle. That year it rained for forty days, and I had made little progress in building my ark. My last experience was driving to Las Vegas to see the sun. In 2000, I had a stroke and my driving came to a halt.
Jack Hansen is a retired Head Master, Elementary Principal, Special Ed Teacher and Librarian, and Viet Nam vet who moved from Maine to Seattle in 1995.
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