Most people do not know what happens if someone pulls the parking brake going 60 miles an hour, but I do. If you’ve ever been in the car with me you may notice that I am somewhat of a cautious and jumpy driver. If you assume this is from a past trauma you would be correct. I wouldn’t call it trauma in a negative sense, more like a necessary mental scar that was put there to protect me. This scar was given to me by my Drivers Ed teacher, a man lovingly called Coach Germany.
Coach Germany was one of those larger than life personalities. I can imagine if someone wrote a biography about him it would make for a heartwarming film or a possible sitcom. I’ve got quite a few tales of the man but my favorite are from the year I turned 16. I, along with a ragtag group of teenagers took his Drivers Ed Course and had the privilege to perform the duties and responsibilities of being his personal chauffeur for a few weeks.
When I started this course I assumed the car we would be driving would have two steering wheels and two sets of brakes like you see in the movies. Nah, we just got a beat-up Chevy Corisca on loan from the local used car dealership. We didn’t need two brakes or steering wheels. The coach had no fear of grabbing the wheel from the driver or pulling the parking brake at any time, any speed, dirt road or paved.
The days started the same. Good Deeds. We would arrive at the school and Coach would make us go to the cafeteria and get a couple of crates of milk boxes left over from the summer school kids. We’d put those in the trunk along with any other leftovers and drive through lower-income neighborhoods. Coach would roll down the window and kids would run up to him and he would pass out the milk and food. This could take anywhere from an hour to four depending on who came up to the car to converse with him. Lord help you if you even tried to speed it up either. He was a kind-hearted man but there was some fire in there too.
He always referred to you as “Hoss”, “Boy”, “Son”, or “Joker”. Either it was in a warm way or it was in a way that you felt like a hand was about to come across your face, though I doubt it ever would have. I think that was part of his success in teaching, you never knew when he could turn from a nice grandfather type figure to a terrifying drill sargent, so it was best to anticipate the danger, and in that, maybe it would never come.
After the good deeds, we headed off to the gas station for lottery tickets and cigarettes. We’d take turns cruising country roads while Coach scratched off the tickets. If he won, it was back to the gas station to get his winnings or more tickets, if he lost we’d continue on to the defensive driving portion. This usually meant we’d travel out to the interstate to get used to driving with 18 wheelers tailgating us, practice using our turn signal to change lanes, or using the rear-view mirror. If someone so much as took a finger off the steering wheel he would grab the parking break in the middle of the car and pull it faster than you could realize what was going on.
One time we were riding the country roads and a kid in the back broke wind. We were probably five miles away from the school. When Coach smelled it he pulled the brake and the car spun around in a complete circle. He turned around and interrogated the passengers. When the kid confessed he made him get out of the car and off we drove. No choice left for him but to walk back in the baking summer sun. You would think the kid’s parents would raise a fit for something like that, but he could get away with it. People just knew that’s how it was.
The remainder of the days would consist of driving him to parts of the county I never knew existed, and I had lived there my entire life. We’d take him to visit relatives. We’d take him to check on secret fishing holes. Grocery shopping. Drug store pick ups for elderly folks. Everywhere. If our driving ever scared him he had no shame in cracking the window and smoking a cigarette to calm his nerves as we barreled down the dirt roads. He could get away with it. He was the Coach.
I got word that he passed on a few years ago and a piece of me kind of crumbled. At the time I thought it was a goofy gesture that he would pass out food to people, take them their medicine, or just sit and talk. When I look back and realize where we were and what he was doing, it was bringing good to folks that might not have had much of it. I doubt the man would have been able to pick me out of a lineup, but I can see the invisible scar he left on me every time I get behind the wheel, and every time I pick up a milk carton.