THREE QUARTERS, TWO DIMES, AND A NICKEL by Steve Fiffer

Author:Steve Fiffer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Health
Publisher: FREE PRESS
Published: 2001-02-16T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

Although my E-Z-GO could get me from point A to point B in New Haven, I had been dependent on parents and friends for transportation at home because my right foot and leg remained too weak to operate a car’s accelerator. But by the summer following my freshman year, I was determined to start driving again. While the automobile has always symbolized freedom to young American men, it truly represented independence to me. If I could drive again, I could get myself down to the RIC—where I again had the “summer job” of getting stronger—and to other places. I could go out on dates by myself.

My father, the fixer, had again done the necessary research. Just as he had found everything from the right neurosurgeon to the right rehabilitation institute, he had located a service that taught people to drive cars equipped with hand controls. But, anxious as I was to get back behind the wheel, I was not overjoyed by this particular discovery. I had been hoping to avoid hand controls; I wanted to drive like everyone else—foot to the pedal, arm free to put around that special girl. Or at least change the radio station.

During my first driving lesson, I found that I could brake with my strong left foot. Unfortunately, I could not reach the accelerator, at least not safely, with that foot and was forced to use the hand accelerator. “You know, there’s a special device you might be interested in,” my instructor told me.

I relayed the information to Dad. And so, a few weeks later, a midnight blue Chevy Malibu with white convertible top appeared in our driveway. The new car was loaded with extras—power windows, power door locks, air conditioning, and quadraphonic stereo—and one extra extra: a second accelerator positioned to the left of the brake and attached by a bar to the regular gas pedal. Stepping down on the left accelerator with my left foot triggered the bar, which in turn depressed the right accelerator. “We’ll practice in parking lots until you get the feel again,” Dad said, handing me the keys.

After a weekend in a deserted shopping center lot, I was ready for the open road, surprised how willing the right foot was to let the left foot assert its supremacy. When I had to react quickly and hit the brakes, the left foot took charge; the right was just along for the ride. Dad and I drove south along Sheridan Road and then took Lake Shore Drive into the city. I did fine until we reached the S-curve at Ohio Street. A car cut in front, and I was slow to brake. I swerved, coming far too close to putting us in the Chicago River. Dad started for the steering wheel, but restrained himself. By the time we got home, I was confident.

And now I am off to a movie— The Thomas Crown Affair, starring Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway—on my own in the car for the first time in almost two years.

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