First of all let me clarify. I didn’t really learn to drive on Guam. I saved that to my junior year in high school. Still, I did make the attempt.
When I was a kid on Guam, you could get your learners permit at fourteen, so when I turned thirteen Dad started trying to teach me how to drive.
The first time out was on an unused navy runway which was then Orote Naval Air Station. Dad drove me, my brother Richard, and my sister Susan over there one evening and sat me down behind the steering wheel. He walked me through the process of starting the car, using the clutch, shifting the gears, steering, and so forth.
For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about when I say using the clutch, in those days automatic transmissions were hardly more than a gleam in some engineer’s eye. We had 1938 Plymouth sedan. It looked somewhat like a Volkswagen Bug only larger – much larger. It had a manual transmission (maybe you’ve heard the term “stick shift”) with three gears. The gear shift lever was on the steering column. Oh, and it had bench seats front and back. That meant Dad could sit next to me.
With several false starts – killing the engine, grinding gears, etc. – I started driving up and down the runway. I was beginning to get the hang of it when flashing red light showed up behind us (This was long before light bars with blue flashing lights and stroboscopic headlights). “That’s the shore patrol,” Dad told me. “The red lights mean you need to stop.” Actually, I don’t remember his words, but I suspect I cleaned them up a bit.
Apparently some navy brass had seen our lights running up and down the runway and decided we didn’t belong there. Fortunately Dad was able to be civil, but we were told politely to leave and not show up there again. I didn’t get to drive us home.
My next time out was in the housing area. I’m pretty sure it was a Saturday morning. Dad drove Richard, Susan, and me over to the perimeter road and put me behind the wheel again. I should mention that the old Plymouth was like driving a tank using a steering wheel.
After a quick hands-on briefing Dad sat down beside me and gave me the go-ahead. I pushed in the clutch, pulled the shift lever down and toward me into first gear. I eased out the clutch, and we were off. I got into second without killing the engine or doing much damage to the gears. Then I shifted into third and reached the speed limit, 25 miles per hour. I made the turn at the bottom of the hill without any major problems, drove across the south end of the camp, and successfully turned up west side road.
I was starting to feel pretty good about myself. I hadn’t made any big mistakes and I was headed for home. About half way up the west road it happened. Over the hill coming the opposite direction was the first car I had seen all day. Back in those days I was as straight arrow as they came. I knew I wasn’t old enough to be driving on a public street. I panicked. I threw up both hands and yelled, “Aaah!” The car drifted across the road onto the left shoulder. At which point Dad grabbed the steering wheel, and I put on the brakes. Fortunately, Dad kept us from going over the embankment which dropped about ten feet into the boondocks. Unfortunately, when I put on the brakes, I neglected to push in the clutch and killed the engine.
We were stopped dead on the wrong side of the road. All I could do as the other car drove around us was … smile and wave. Boy, was that embarrassing. And Richard and Susan got to witness the whole thing.
Funniest thing, Dad never did try to teach me how to drive again – ever.
Sonny,
– Dad let me steer out on that airfield — but, he had also let me steer some weird jalopy we had for awhile in Forest Hill. Seems like it was open air, and maybe had a rumble seat. Do you remember what it was?
– Also, Dad must have improved as an instructor when he was teaching me to actually drive (not just steer). I think of him as teaching me to be really careful — I think he taught “defensive driving” before it became popular.
Rich –
Maybe Dad learned his lesson with me.
As for the jalopy, I don’t recall any of our cars before the Plymouth. I’m beginning to think your memory is better than mine.
– I don’t remember most of the details that you do — just here and there I remember things.
– Back to a previous post. I think that I was in love with the same Ann. Did she live right next to us in our second house? I was more in love with her closest friend, but I can’t quite remember her name…
– Margot Livsey, across the street asked me to kiss her at the movies that night. We were riding around on our bicycles, and Susie was either on the back of mine, or on her own, so I told her that she couldn’t tell Mom and Dad. She said that she wouldn’t — but the first thing she said when we sat down for dinner that evening was, “Guess what Richard’s going to do!”