Those of us who learned to drive while at Syracuse Central Tech HS have vivid memories of Mr. Harold Hendee. It was he who regaled us with horrific stories of automobile crashes that he was in, witnessed, read about or heard about … all the while weeping as he gave us chapter and verse about the perils of being young drivers with no sense of imminent danger … be it death or worse … a life without limbs, a face without features, a brain without thought.
Before we ever set arse to behind a wheel, we had seen myriad 16mm reels of the horrors that would await us if we ever slipped a cog and disobeyed traffic laws. We were warned about filling our car with other irresponsible teenagers … we were cautioned not to ride with boys who thought they were invincible and we were instructed in the many ways our parents and siblings would suffer in the wake of our untimely demise. By the time we actually took up residence behind the wheel, we were pretty much petrified, if not ossified!
However, grasping that gorgeous circle of a steering wheel for the first time seemed to wipe out the visions of premature death. We were more than ready for that taste of freedom that only an old Ford or Chevy could give us.
I learned early on that Mr. Hendee had a weakness for cookies and old songs. My mother, Miss Addie, was a wonderful cook and baker and my Dad was a fine tenor who sang on Armed Forces radio and taught me the songs of the 40’s. So, each week, I was armed with a huge batch of cookies and enough music to keep us, Mr. Hendee
and the other yoooothful drivers, out for a good long turn at the wheel. However long our lessons were slated to be, ours were twice as long in terms of weeks out and about.
I learned how to drive from that funny old fellow and, whenever I see drivers too close to the center line, I can hear his admonition that “parked cars will not move and hurt you but moving cars can and will …”.
He taught us well and his idiosyncrasies may have saved a few of us from that childish syndrome that whispers in our ear making us feel impervious to death by auto. Thank you, Mr. Hendee and happy driving on heaven’s highways, dear old boy. No more tears.