When I began teaching in Grand Rapids in 1963, I was able to find extra work as a driver-ed teacher for a couple of schools; and later, just before I moved to the U.P., I was hired by the Reese School System (near Saginaw, Michigan) to run their summer driver- ed program, consisting of three instructors and about 150 students.  

While living and teaching in the Upper Peninsula, I started my summer organ concert career in Europe, so driver-ed had to take a “back seat” so to speak.

I eventually moved to Minnesota. One of the first jobs I picked up was being hired by a professional driver-ed school, and for some time, I taught both high school students, as well as adults.

“One fine day” (a typical intro for old-time story telling) I was given an address to pick up “Mary” at her home, for her first driving lesson. She was a nice, middle- aged lady, who appeared a bit nervous. She talked a mile a minute, and as we sat in her driveway I did my best to calm her down and to reassure her that “everything will be alright.”

I heard myself saying the words; while I silently prayed that I was hopefully correct in my assumption.

Lesson 1.

I was able to make her familiar with all the necessary buttons, levers and switches that she needed to know about to safely drive the car. As a precaution, I had backed the car into her driveway, deciding that Lesson 1 should not be, “How to back out of a driveway into a busy street.”

I had seen a huge, empty, parking lot just down the street from her house, so I drove the car to the empty lot and we exchanged seats. I taught her how to secure the seat belt and explained its function, and then we went through the steps of “getting ready to drive.”

A number of years prior to this story, I had been music director for the Lowell Showboat, in Lowell, Michigan. One of the “stars” on the boat, whom I got to know quite well and with whom I had a number of lovely conversations, was Bob Newhart. He was a comedian who had become famous doing his one way “telephone” conversations with fictional people who were supposedly on the other end of the line (people whom the audience never saw).

One of those skits was called “The driving instructor.” If you have never seen it, I strongly urge you to Google it on the internet. It will give you a good idea of what my situation with Mary was like.

 The engine, idling in “park” and then “drive” was just enough to move the car forward “slowly.” I cautioned Mary not to put her foot on the “gas pedal” and to just concentrate on steering the car.

She actually did quite well and was beginning to enjoy the experience. She even smiled as she told me that it reminded her of “driving the little cars at the State Fair.”

I think she meant the “bumper cars” and I quickly wiped that image from my mind. Fortunately, there was nothing to hit in the lot, and I just let her enjoy the moment.

Next, we began “braking the car.” The first few attempts were a bit unnerving, especially when she stepped on the gas instead of the brake! It was like hitting a wall (at slow speed), but Mary was a quick learner, and soon she was getting the hang of it.

We practiced driving in straight lines, “signaling a turn”, turning in the new direction and coming to “gentle” stops. It was a lot for a middle aged lady to learn in one hour.  

We spent the rest of the practice time in the parking lot, and I felt, and told Mary, that she was doing well enough so that during our next lesson we would actually drive down some very quiet city streets near her house.

Lesson 2.

Real city streets, with real road signs and occasionally real cars coming towards us. There were times that I thought Mary was ready to pass out, but she, as well as I, did well, and we survived to live another day.

As we drove, I did my best to engage her in conversation, and in a gentle voice soothe her anxieties. For each consecutive lesson I added a bit more of a challenge. Finally, after quite a few lessons, we needed to hit (sorry about that. Wrong word).

We were “scheduled” to drive on Highway 494, a busy beltway around the Twin Cities. I chose a (hopefully) very quiet time for her lesson, but even so, I knew that this would be the ultimate challenge for Mary, and for me.

I first had her drive down some quiet streets, and then on to somewhat busier streets. Slowly, we worked towards the entrance of 494. I, of course, kept an eye not just on where we were going, but also making sure that Mary remained calm.

So far, so good.

In my graduate psychology counseling work at Western Michigan University, I had read and learned a lot about the signs and symptoms of anxiety disorders. Teaching driver’s ed gave me ample opportunities to use my psychology education.  I kept a close eye on Mary’s behavior patterns, but, overall, she was doing fine, at least so far.

We were nearing Highway 494 and Mary seemed to be tensing up a bit, so I steered her away from 494. We needed some more “calming” time.

I found some quiet streets nearby. If this had been a pilot training flight, it would be called a “fly-by.” (A time when a landing is aborted and you circle the airport before attempting another landing.)

After a few minutes, Mary had settled down and I said, “Let’s try it again.” We approached the “On ramp” to 494. Previously, we had discussed the concept of “The Acceleration Lane,” and as we entered the on-ramp Mary gave it the gas. A lot of gas!  

We raced onto the freeway. Fortunately, it was clear (no cars to hit). I gently (sort of) said “Slow down, Mary!”

So how do you slow down a speeding car?  You tell the driver to use the brake. Mary followed my advice and used the brake, except she used it a lot. We came to a complete stop, on 494, while all the time saying, “I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what to do!”

We were not just in anxiety disorder mode; we were now in a full blown panic attack! I kicked her foot off the brake, and hit the accelerator, while at the same time grabbing the steering wheel and steering us out of harm’s way and onto the shoulder of the highway.

For a moment we just sat there, as honking cars (I assumed, angrily) whizzed by. Mary looked a little pale and looked at me and she seemed ready to cry.

I suppose she expected me to yell at her, or at least tell her that she was a total failure. Of course I did neither. I was thankful, and we were still  alive. We had survived to live another day, for another lesson.

Thanks be to God!

EDITOR’S NOTE: Gerrit Lamain is a former Copper Country resident who served as a music professor at Suomi College. He has published a book, “Gerrit’s Notes: A compilation of essays,” which can be found on Amazon. His email address is gerrit.lamain@gmail.com.