When I was a teenager, itching for a learners permit, I painfully remember my grandfather's driving.
In my opinion it was horrendous. Ank would down shift to neutral a quarter mile from a red light and creep to the light while drivers behind him beeped to wake him out of his 5 mile per hour slumber. When questioned about this technique, he would scowl and mumble something about saving gas and brakes. If a speed sign posted a thirty five mile per hour speed he would get to twenty five and that was it. In his baby blue 55 Pontiac coupe, turn signals were a new option that Ank used rarely. He preferred to thrust his big arm out the window or simply turn without any signal. Sometimes he'd forget his turn signal was on and we'd spend an afternoon alerting everyone behind us of an upcoming left or right hand turn.
I always had to sit in the backseat because Ank chewed tobacco. In those pre cup holder cars of the fifties he nailed a big tin to the floorboard where he could spit his tobacco chew spit. The front passenger seat was therefore not a pleasant spot. In warmer weather the backseat directly behind Ank wasn't much better when he decided to spit out the window. Also, he had two snarling little dogs which were his darlings, Pee Wee and Bucky. They sat on his shoulder and displayed toothy growls to anyone else in the car.
Ank's technique of parallel parking was incredibly slow but sure. Before power steering, turning the wheel was hard work and he maneuvered the steering wheel slow and steady which always slowed the traffic. It wasn't unusual for him to see an old Navy mate at a stop signal in the car next to us and strike up a conversation which might last a minute or two beyond the light tuning green. He waved off impatient drivers behind him who wanted to move.
Despite having a radio and heater I can't remember him using them very much. He considered them luxuries which weren't necessary and would run down the battery or use extra fuel. In the rain and snow the one speed windshield wiper was used sparingly, while his big hand and rag served as the front window defroster.
Later when I learned how to synchronize the gears and clutch, parallel park, and mastered all the "rules of the road" I got my drivers permit. I shunned every old guy driving technique of Ank and his old buddies. Happily I sped up and down the roads, screeched to stops, and layed down rubber the instant the signal light turned green. I blasted the radio. Bought a handful of those hang on plastic cup holders so my friends and I could careen down the road with our colas and brews safely saddled nearby. My first cars were bugs and fastbacks. When our baby came along it was station wagon time. Now it's an SUV, convertible, and family sedan in the driveway.
In the last five decades I have gotten a few traffic citations, endured a few scratch and smash boo boo's, and probably driven a million miles. I forgot about Ank's painful driving habits until recently. In the last year or so the alarm for my turn signal has reminded me more than a few times that I made a right hand turn fifteen minutes earlier. The rude hand gestures and stares from other drivers have alerted me to the fact my speed was 55 on a 70 MPH expressway. Often, I find the radio talk shows and music a bit too distracting, and enjoy cancelling cruise control when approaching a stoplight to see the miles per gallon clicker jump to a more efficient number. I marvel at all the new modern gizmos and gadget setting, and occasionally have to be reminded by the drivers behind me that the light has turned to the go position. My grandson reminds me of the same irritating driving habits that I observed and dreaded when I was his teenage passenger. While I have never been a tobacco chewer or dog person, I must confess that as time goes by, I am becoming an Ank driver.
. FRANK "ANK" BURKET
In my opinion it was horrendous. Ank would down shift to neutral a quarter mile from a red light and creep to the light while drivers behind him beeped to wake him out of his 5 mile per hour slumber. When questioned about this technique, he would scowl and mumble something about saving gas and brakes. If a speed sign posted a thirty five mile per hour speed he would get to twenty five and that was it. In his baby blue 55 Pontiac coupe, turn signals were a new option that Ank used rarely. He preferred to thrust his big arm out the window or simply turn without any signal. Sometimes he'd forget his turn signal was on and we'd spend an afternoon alerting everyone behind us of an upcoming left or right hand turn.
I always had to sit in the backseat because Ank chewed tobacco. In those pre cup holder cars of the fifties he nailed a big tin to the floorboard where he could spit his tobacco chew spit. The front passenger seat was therefore not a pleasant spot. In warmer weather the backseat directly behind Ank wasn't much better when he decided to spit out the window. Also, he had two snarling little dogs which were his darlings, Pee Wee and Bucky. They sat on his shoulder and displayed toothy growls to anyone else in the car.
Ank's technique of parallel parking was incredibly slow but sure. Before power steering, turning the wheel was hard work and he maneuvered the steering wheel slow and steady which always slowed the traffic. It wasn't unusual for him to see an old Navy mate at a stop signal in the car next to us and strike up a conversation which might last a minute or two beyond the light tuning green. He waved off impatient drivers behind him who wanted to move.
Despite having a radio and heater I can't remember him using them very much. He considered them luxuries which weren't necessary and would run down the battery or use extra fuel. In the rain and snow the one speed windshield wiper was used sparingly, while his big hand and rag served as the front window defroster.
Later when I learned how to synchronize the gears and clutch, parallel park, and mastered all the "rules of the road" I got my drivers permit. I shunned every old guy driving technique of Ank and his old buddies. Happily I sped up and down the roads, screeched to stops, and layed down rubber the instant the signal light turned green. I blasted the radio. Bought a handful of those hang on plastic cup holders so my friends and I could careen down the road with our colas and brews safely saddled nearby. My first cars were bugs and fastbacks. When our baby came along it was station wagon time. Now it's an SUV, convertible, and family sedan in the driveway.
In the last five decades I have gotten a few traffic citations, endured a few scratch and smash boo boo's, and probably driven a million miles. I forgot about Ank's painful driving habits until recently. In the last year or so the alarm for my turn signal has reminded me more than a few times that I made a right hand turn fifteen minutes earlier. The rude hand gestures and stares from other drivers have alerted me to the fact my speed was 55 on a 70 MPH expressway. Often, I find the radio talk shows and music a bit too distracting, and enjoy cancelling cruise control when approaching a stoplight to see the miles per gallon clicker jump to a more efficient number. I marvel at all the new modern gizmos and gadget setting, and occasionally have to be reminded by the drivers behind me that the light has turned to the go position. My grandson reminds me of the same irritating driving habits that I observed and dreaded when I was his teenage passenger. While I have never been a tobacco chewer or dog person, I must confess that as time goes by, I am becoming an Ank driver.
. FRANK "ANK" BURKET
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