If it were never again necessary for me
to operate a motor vehicle, it would be too soon. Unlike the average American
male, my masculinity is not dependent on sitting behind the wheel of an
automobile.
Perhaps this is an odd observation for a
child born to parents who were both lifelong car owners and devotees of
vehicular freedom. My father, at the time he married my mother, was immersed in
flying. Airplanes that came out of World War I were the latest toys for young
thrill seekers. And like many others, he was also heavily into motor racing
(those gigantic vehicles of the late ‘teens), and he also went about on
motorcycles. I still recall my first ride with him on one of those monsters.
I also recall the spacious elegance of
those pre-Depression motor carriages with plush seat coverings, polished nickel
plating, window straps, and all. While my father’s exploits as a ‘pilot’ and
race car driver soon vanished after my birth (my mother’s insistence that he
remain alive for the good of his family), he never lost his interest in flight.
He went on to become an aeronautical engineer with his teenage chum John
Northrup. As for my mother, she continued to drive until she was bedridden in
old age.
Both my parent encouraged me to drive
and both attempted driving lessons; unfortunately, tempers easily flared with
my efforts. They gave up and left me content to be driven around. Of course, this
led to embarrassing moments as I entered my late teens; nevertheless, I was always
able to find peers who had mastered the wheel at an early age There was no
problem with double dating, for someone else always had a car.
The whole business of my driving was
somewhat delayed. Living in New York City and Washington, D.C. did not depend
on owning a vehicle. There were never any garages around and besides, there was
no place to park. Of course, I had begun driving and had my own vehicle by the
time I went away to college, but I was never wedded to any car and only had to
keep one when I finally settled down in California.
I have driven ever since,
and I am to this moment a good driver. I am also convinced that the Department
of Motor Vehicles and car insurance companies have given me all manner of
little discounts for not running over people or crashing myself repeatedly. I believe
I also receive a discount for being very, very old and not being a menace on
the highways!
My antipathy toward driving resulted
from my so-called career choice. In 1959, I embarked upon a career as a
monologist. A public speaker necessarily has to do some traveling. Along with
all the stage equipment and four or five boxes of Historical Figures, I
traveled from one side of the country to the other several times. Eventually,
most of my gigs were in California, and I found the back roads of this great
state fascinating ....perhaps not at the moment I was driving them, but later
on.
The peak speaking season for the clubs I
worked was late September to late May and, as a result, involved significant winter
driving. My sole goal was to get to the next engagement on time and with all
the gear intact. I had no time for stopping at national parks or other forms of
diversion; I just needed to get to the next town as soon as possible.
Historical Figures traveled first class between gigs. |
For several years, I drove a magnificent
hearse that was purchased for its “load space.” It required special snow chains
for the big wheels and always a protected garage at the destination. I’ll never
forget the horrors of those winter drives. Gas shortages required carrying five
extra five-gallon tanks of gas. (Try not to run into anything...think of the
explosion...) I once had to cross the Columbia River far above The Dalles, with
its great rapids. There was no bridge at that time, so my big car was hauled by
cables on a tiny raft across the roaring February floods of that river. I can’t
remember when I was so terrified.
Another time in late winter while I was driving
from Chicago to Grand Rapids, Michigan, the motor began to falter as I rounded
the bottom of Lake Michigan. My fear of being marooned in the winter wilderness
kept me in a state of panic until I limped into a Grand Rapids garage late that
evening.
On another occasion I did run out of gas
between Seattle and Spokane, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. This was a
huge dilemma. I feared to leave the Figures and hitch a ride to the nearest
town. I tried to stop a truck for some extra gas, only to be reminded that the
truck ran on diesel. Naturally, I had no phone to call the Auto Club, but
finally I gave in, hitched a ride to the nearest settlement, filled my gas can,
and hired someone to drive me back to the hearse.
These types of experiences happened all
the time on long winter trips and were nerve wracking. Furthermore, I knew that
all that sitting and the greasy meals at the end of the days would turn most
men into lard buckets, but in my case, I was down to 178 pounds. Just a few
seasons of this routine with worry about wrecks, worry about the Figures, worry
about being late...all this and more put me off driving forever.
By the end of my thirty years as an
itinerant speaker, I was hiring a driver and a rental van. I had several
drivers in those final years, all pretty good men. They doubled as assistants
in setting up for the show, so this was a big load off my mind and energies.
I always enjoyed the speaking and
showing the Figures, but I hated the traveling. As it was, I never saw any of
the wonderful sights that our country is so rightfully proud of. It was always
eyes on the pavement or what glimpses I could get being driven to the next
location. I was probably a backseat driver as well. I’d done so much of it, I
knew better. Somehow it never came to blows, and we always got to our
destinations in one piece.
Nowadays, I just turn the driving over
to whoever is at the wheel. Of course, I do select the drivers with some care.
If I never get behind the wheel again, it will be too soon. So far, so good!
- G. S. Stuart
- G. S. Stuart
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