This part actually wasn't a requirement; you simply had to state you had ten hours behind the wheel. Dad washed his hands of it though. I couldn't blame him. When Parker went for his permit, I did the first tour of duty in the car and was scared half to death, even though we were barely breaking 20 on deserted country roads. I crawled out of the car white faced and white knuckled, and Marilyn took over all further driving lessons. It got worse - Parker was the serious child, Maggie was the wild and crazy one! I never even attempted teaching her to drive!
Classes started next week. The curriculum was broken into ten one hour chunks, each on something different, so as long as you hit each of the lessons once, you got your certificate.
The driving itself was amusing. It had been, effectively, about five years since I had driven myself, but it's just like riding a bike or sex, once you learn, you never forget how. The biggest problem I had was remembering that in 1971 'right on red', the ability to turn right at a red light if the traffic was clear, wasn't legal yet. It would come about later in the decade, although they were already starting to debate it in the state assembly. Ultimately it would be passed, and then delayed six months while they implemented it. The joke at the time was that the delay was so they could paint enough 'No Right On Red' signs.
After the first fifteen minutes of driving, the instructor looked over at me and asked, "Just how much bootleg time do you already have?"
I tried to look innocent and said, "Sir?"
He snorted, and pointed me out of the suburbs and onto Dulaney Valley Road. We spent the rest of the hour driving up and around Loch Raven and around some of the busier streets. It felt very good to be back behind the wheel.
The next two months moved along much too slow for my taste. I wanted to get the car under my belt before tackling my next big project, college. This semester I was taking high school physics at an accelerated pace, so I could finish it by the end of the semester. My plan was to take a semester of calculus and a semester of physics in the spring over at Towson State. Then, next year, I would somehow cram in freshman chemistry, another semester or two of physics, and at least another couple of semesters of calculus over at Towson State, and maybe an English or humanities elective as well.
Most colleges require about 120 credits to graduate with a Bachelor's degree. This splits up to about 30 credits a year, or 15 credits a semester. That works out to 4-5 classes each semester, depending on whether they are 3 or 4 credit classes. If I loaded up now, I could conceivably earn 35-40 credits from college and graduate from high school with Towson High footing the college bill. If I was able to overload in college, I could graduate in two years or less.
Or, and this was my plan, stick it out for four full years, overloading all the way, and graduate in four years with a doctorate. This was one of my biggest mistakes back in the day. I had been a chemist and at the end of the four years I knew I wasn't going to go to grad school for chemistry. I went and got an MBA instead. Great for business, but only a Master's degree. If I ever wanted to teach at the university level, I would need a PhD; the Master's only allowed me to teach at a community college level (which I had done.) I wanted to get my doctorate in either math or computers, and I figured I should be able to do it easily, if not in another four years at my final destination, then in five.
Both Mom and Hamilton were still sulking about my driving. Mom wasn't happy that I was upsetting her carefully made plans for me to be Dad Junior, but Dad just shook his head and rolled his eyes and kept her under control. Hamilton was simply pissed that I was doing something he wasn't allowed to do, like drive a car at thirteen. He decided to retaliate by putting epoxy on the locks on my foot locker and my steel cabinet. I showed them to Dad. Ham denied everything, but never bothered to dump his garbage can with the epoxy kit in it. He really got his ass whipped that night! I went out and bought another couple of locks and used a bolt cutter to take off the old locks. As a master criminal he left much to be desired. What an asshole!
It was all rather anticlimactic when my birthday rolled around. November 5 was a Friday, so I cut class and Dad skipped work and we went out to the DMV office in Westminster. This was a much smaller and quieter office than the main branch down in Glen Burnie. I aced the written test and then drove around the block and aced the driving test. I mean I drove around the block - that was the driving test!
This was pretty much the way it went previously. The funny part was when Hamilton did this two years later, he flunked the driving test and had to repeat it a month later. When he passed it, he thought his shit didn't stink and basically told everyone at dinner that night. I almost died laughing when Dad told him, 'Of course you passed! The examiner was your second cousin!"
By then, the November list of cars came out, and I got lucky. That month a lot of 1968 Ford Galaxie 500s came off lease and were available. If I didn't get the first one I picked, there were a whole slew of them available. The Galaxie was Ford's full size sedan, designed to compete with the Chevy Impala. These were all business class models, four door sedans with a decent size V8 and a back seat big enough to put a bed inside. This was the type of car we bought when the Dodge Dart died. It drove like a tank, guzzled gas like you owned an oil well, and had a soft and comfy ride. You've got to love that big Detroit iron! They just don't make them like that anymore! I put in a bid of $2,250 and within a week had one reserved in my name. I wrote Dad a series of checks to cover the car, the insurance, and the title fees.
Towson High took a very interesting turn that first week in November, as well. I was standing at my locker that Monday morning, chatting with Ray Shorn and Randy Bronson, when a group of pretty young girls went past us in the hall. They were mostly juniors like us guys, but not all of them. I doffed my hat as they passed by, and said, 'Morning, ladies!", with a big smile.
Jenny Smith was in the group and she smiled back. "Morning, Carl." Several of the other girls giggled with her, generally the ones I had gotten very friendly with. Jenny and her group slowed as they passed, and I got a good look at the new girl who was with them. For some reason, she looked awfully familiar.
"Who's your friend, Jenny?", asked Ray.
Tammy Braxton said, "This is Jeana Colosimo. She just transferred in from New York, and Mrs. Vickery..." (the new vice-principal) " ... asked us to take her to class."
Holy shit! That's why I remembered her! Jeana Colosimo had been my first real love, way back when. We had dated my entire junior year. I remembered that she was actually only a sophomore, a tenth grader a year younger than me, but we didn't care. We broke up at the end of the year when they started up a new school over off Cromwell Valley and transferred all the tenth graders in the area to it. I didn't have a car then and couldn't see her anymore.
No reason not to see if I couldn't date her again. She was a gorgeous little package, and back then I had really outdone myself getting her to date me. It was like a 4 nabbing a 10. She wasn't very tall, maybe 5'3" if she was thinking tall thoughts, but she had great legs, a tight and perky rear, a slender waist, and a set of really nice knockers! They had to be at least C cups, and might be more. She had a beautiful oval face, dark Mediterranean skin, and long and straight dark, dark brown hair.