Thanks Richie!

I didn’t get my driver’s license until I turned 17, and can’t recall why a year later than usual, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. Fact was (and still is): a teen-aged boy with permission to drive is downright scary!

My brother’s had fun cars. Joe had his Triumph Spitfire. Greg had a nice little MGB. Before Greg’s MGB, there was this Pontiac station wagon he bought from Chuck Wenzel, and also the VW Bus. I had a habit of being sneaky with my brother’s vehicles, and got into trouble with Joe more than I care to recall (he kept really good track of odometer readings!). I suppose the same could be said of Greg, but Greg was a little more lenient (is that the word?) with me. So, it was easier to actually ask Greg permission to take his cars out for this and that, instead of sneaking off with them.

I got into the habit of taking his Pontiac station wagon to school regularly. It was convenient during the winter months, and it didn’t bother Greg that we were using it to tote ourselves and other kids to school. So during the winter of my senior year (’78), my sister Jane and I would regularly rev-up that old wagon on the cold winter mornings and bounce around to pick up our fellow “commuters”, bringing them safely to Central and back home again.

“Safely” is the keyword here, and I bet we all have had our opportunities to put that word to the test in our early-on driving experiences. I certainly did! And with that station wagon, and the 389 V-8 it had, there were ample opportunities to stretch the limits of caution. Just ask Richie Rys!

It was one of those cold winter mornings, probably January of 1978, when after picking up the whole gang that morning, I got stopped by the red-light on Lincoln, at the 84th Street intersection, just short of the cross-walk paint strips. Richie always sat shotgun for the ride, and the girls took the bench seat behind us. I think that morning we probably had Sherry Meeusen with us too.

Well, heaven only knows what got me going… maybe I spotted some friends on the sidewalk in front of the Boy Blue? I don’t know. But there was something that got the juvenile testosterone flowing at that moment, just prior to the light changing to green. That 389 was too much power to not use once in while. And I had heard about doing brake-stands from some of “the pals” (probably the Bailey boys), and decided to give it a try. With a firm left foot on the brake, and the light just about to change green, I jammed that accelerator to the floor, and lit that old boat up as if it were some top fuel dragster getting it’s slicks warmed up before the run.

It was awesome. Smoke everywhere! That one passenger side rear tire was spinning madly, and the 389 was just powering out the RPM’s. Richie’s eyes popped out half an inch, I gave no warning. Then the light changed to green, and I let go of the brake pedal. LIFTOFF!

We laid a perfect patch coming off the line, straight and strong. Faster and faster, until I realized that I had seconds ago taken my foot off the gas. Faster and faster we kept going. Smoke still pouring forth, but now not from the rear but from the front, as I was jamming hard on the power brakes, and the front wheels were locked solid. The accelerator was stuck hard, and I was panicking. The front end was hard to control with the wheels stuck by braking. All I could think was “We’re gonna die” as the big yellow school bus parked in front of school just ahead of us got closer and closer.

Have you ever panicked like that before? The memory of that moment is so firmly fixed. There have been few times in my life where I really thought I was about to die. Screaming and trying so hard to make that car stop, but it just wouldn’t stop. Those horsies were screaming! Louder, louder, closer, closer.

Then, as you might expect, something good happened. Something really good! Richie.

Thank God for Richie… and I really mean it! He saved our lives from disaster that morning, with his clear-headed reaction to the situation. He saved my butt from the sling that moment, when he reached over to the ignition and turned the key off!

Those revving horsies came to a screeching halt, the brakes set in hard, and we stopped just yards short of plowing into the back of the parked bus. The screaming from the back seat stopped too. We just sat there, stopped, and I looked over to Richie and said “Oh My God, Thank You!” He just looked at me and said, “Biewer, you are Nuts!”

Thanks Richie!