Evening star., 1942-01-14


driven half of
Henry NeLeners. the road by
beardlecs s-year-old Barney Oldfield.
scorching along the highway in an
effort to get to primary school on
time.
Neither was it any novelty to play
tag on the roads with cars driven
by ladies OF such an age that they
remembered Molly Pitcher as q girl,
nor by old gaffers who had come
down for q touch Of the sun and to
celebrate their safe return from
the first battle Of Bull Run.
Also, perfectly welcome on the
roads were those just learning to
drive. The fact that many Of them
didn't bother to carry a teacher
along made for many thrilling and
interesting jousts with ears going
in the opposite direction.
~
Then some alert LEGISLATOR heard
Of the drivers tests used in other
States. and now Floridians have to
pass one. Having been out Of the
State when this law went into effect
one Of the first things I had to do on
coming down this winter was to take
my examination. The fact that
have driven q car since the days
when a Saxon roadster was the
smartest job on the roads. and have
driven across this country so many
times that the Continental Divide
calls me by my first name, didn't
make any difference. The inspector
said he wanted to see for himself
how I handled a machine and how
well I know the rules Of the road.
All have to say is this: There is
no better way to find out whether
you are a man or a mouse than to
take drivers test with one of those
cynical. critical, hard-boiled inspec-
tors sitting beside you and watching
your every move as If you were an
escaped lunatic playing with bomb.
might as well admit that I
turned out to be mouse. I'm
telling you that If a cat came into
this room right now he would make
. bee line for me and, after rolling
me on the floor between his paws,
call in all the cat pals he was obli-
gated to for the biggest, If not the
best banquet, they had ever enjoyed.
The only person who could have
been proud of my performance dur
ing the test would have been Lucky
letter Of the Lucky letter He'll
Drivers. Circus. You know. the
gents who turn cars over. run them
together head on. and generally
drive like the average Los Angeles
motorist.
I would have sworn when I STEP
ped into the car for my test that
there weren't five better automobile
parkers in America than myself.
But with the inspector glaring at me
went half way up on the side
walk and narrowly escaped side
swiping a batch of innocent tour
lists playing shuffle board.
The inspector himself began to get
nervous after I had stalled the car
on one OF the bridges crossing the
Halifax River, and when I all but
ran over q Greyhound bus in an
effort to demonstrate how easily and
gracefully I could turn around on
thoroughfare. he placed his hand
on the door handle and kept it there
for the remainder Of the test.
If he passes me, it will be only
because he is afraid that If he
f1unks me he will draw the assign.
ment to give me another chance.
AS q man who has driven in
Florida a great deal, I was sur
prised to find that the drivers test
did not include a demonstration
Of how to avoid hitting cows that
walk on highways. Every one who
drives in this State should be a
master of that phase of driving.
The Florida COW has a strain of
hitch-hiker's blood mixed in it. 1t
will scorn the lushest pasture to
stroll On asphalt and concrete, and
tess its horns at you as If asking
for q lift to Palm Beach or Miami.
They are friendly souls, too, and
If you blow your horn at them they
take 1t as an invitation to get in.
1t requires a particular kind Of skill
to swerve around them. Novices
often finish their journey through
Florida with the front of their car
resembling big game hunters
trophy room, with a fine set of COW
antlers on one fender. q ra1orback
hog tusk on the other. and a brace
Of wild roosters and hens decorat-
ing the radiator grill and hood.
Come on down. You'll have a
sporty trip.
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