Learning to Drive

It was in a 1949 red Ford pickup truck that I first learned to drive at the age of 15 while living in Willows, California in 1960.   Under the supervision of my mother she would let me drive it to the dump with a load of garbage.   It had a three speed manual transmission and the big challenge was letting the clutch out without killing the engine.  It took about two or three trips to the dump and a few lessons around the driveway to master this.   

Every spring my dad would have two or three large trucks filled with rice seed parked in the driveway of our home.  The seed had to be soaked in water by sprinklers for a day or two before it could be dispersed by plane over the flooded rice fields.   It was necessary to have the seed heavy enough by presoaking to make it sink to the ground and not float on the water.   When it came time to drive the trucks to the landing strip south of town, he would have me drive a truck while he would drive one and mom would drive the car to bring us back home.   These trucks had five main gears and two speed axles for a total of 10 speeds.  It was all done under the trial and error method as I don’t remember too many instructions from my dad.   All I remember him saying is, “just follow me.”   He must have thought if I can drive the old Ford pickup I should be able to handle these trucks.   At the time this was done under a learner’s permit and considered a driving lesson under your parent’s supervision, except nobody was in the truck with me.  

By the age of 16, I passed the driving test and received my license.  A  day later while driving the family car to town I failed to make a complete stop at the stop sign at the junction of Villa and Sycamore Streets.  After making a left hand turn I noticed a California Highway Patrol car with the red light on behind me.   I pulled over and the officer asked to see my license.   He noticed I had just received the license and issued me a citation that required a visit to the local judge.   My dad went along with me to the court house.   As we sat in the office of the judge my dad and the judge got to talking about things that had nothing to do with my citation.    I don’t recall what was said between them, but it could have been about duck hunting, farming or local politics.   No fine was paid and nothing was ever said to me about it.  I learned later my dad had made a few appearances with the judge about driving under influence of too many beers.   Back in those days it was required by the officers of the law to visit a doctor in the hospital to determine if you were intoxicated.   The doctor usually on call and my dad were friends and that doctor was known for his own enjoyment of alcoholic beverages.   This doctor would tell the officer, “This man is not under the influence,” and the case was closed.   Maybe my dad would buy the good doctor a beer afterwards.

About 25 years later while driving back home on Highway 101 from a school function north of Gold Beach, Oregon I was pulled over by the Oregon State Police for speeding.    The officer informed me I was going 10 miles over the posted speed limit of 65 mph and had the option to pay the fine of $105 by mail or make a court appearance and plead for a lesser amount.  I went to court and pleaded guilty hoping to get a reduced amount since $105 was a lot of money in those days with a young family.   The judge noticed no previous violations on my driving record and he said, “Let’s keep it that way,” and asked if I could pay a $20 fine, which I said, “yes your honor,” and no violation was recorded.