Thanks for the inspiration, DG
During my second break in service we lived in Phoenix. For a while I was an instructor at the Arizona School of Driving...in fact I was the instructor Trainer there for a while. People come to professional drivers instructors for a variety of reasons, but they all boil down to one thing...it ain't as easy as it looks. Dad brings little Suzy into the office, he wants her to have the best training available, it's a rough world out there...the streets and traffic in this town are getting worse every day...my kid needs every advantage...which loosely translates into "I took her out to teach her and she drove into the canal." So we never lacked for students even though the school charged outrageous prices for it's training (the instructors didn't get a whole lot).
The normal program started with an hour in a large parking lot going over the basics of using the controls. Got to be able to stop and turn as well as go. The ASD cars had dual controls so the instructor could take over in an instant should the student freeze or do something dumb. Most students are ready to move onto residential streets before the first hour is over. On the second lesson you zip them onto the freeway. They are scared and some balk, but once on the freeway they see that it is actually easier than surface streets and they get to brag to their friends that they were on the big road on their SECOND lesson. Subsequent lessons build on the initial confidence and difficulty levels are increased. The whole program was about 15 hours and included a trip to the DMV for testing. The DMV guys LOVED us because most of the time our students were really ready for the test and when they weren't...they had the dual controls. Realisticly, most teenagers were ready for their test by the end of six hours. The rest was just extra income for the school. But we sold the whole enchilada as necessary and were trained to use all the sales tools to press for the long course.
One of my saddest stories from the driving school is the tale of two sisters. Two strikingly lovely Italian girls whose daddy was RICH. The younger sister started first and I couldn't even try to sell the long course, this girl was a quick study and in the first lesson was demonstrating that she had the stuff (you develop a sense for those who can and those who shouldn't). I gave her the six hours and took her to DMV where she maxed the driving test. She whooped and danced. This convinced the second sister that she should try. The second sister was a couple years older...she was a canal case. Her dad was straight up about it, he had tried to teach her a couple years earlier and it was not good. She agreed to wait until she was ready...when HE decided she was ready. But they were so psyched about the younger girls success that they wanted to take the plunge...(heheeheee...sometimes I slay myself). Dad even went out and found a '67 Camaro convertible for the older sister to have if she passed her test.
The two girls couldn't have been more different. Where the younger was quick and smart and picked up things automatically, the older girl was slow, dull, and had trouble with every little aspect of control. She was timid and needed to be encouraged and coaxed every step of the way...every lesson started with re-learning half of what was learned last time. To his credit, Dad was willing to ride it out and spend every penny necessary to get the job done...he knew what I was dealing with. It took weeks and she began to get impatient...she wanted her license...she WANTED that Camaro...but she wasn't ready. We had a conference to discuss her progress. I didn't think she was ready to pass the driving test...she thought she was...and to make matters worse...little sister had been taking her out and practicing in between lessons and said it was time to test. Dad wanted to listen to me but in the face of those four big brown eyes, he agreed to let her test. Then she dropped the big one. She insisted that she test in "her" Camaro. I immediately protested. School policy was vague but my policy was simple...dual controls at all times with a student...PERIOD. I finally folded under the pressure of Dad and the Darlings.
On the day of the test I reluctantly left the dual control Javelin at the curb and settled into the right bucket seat of the slick, red Camaro. She was surprisingly confident and drove to the DMV like a champ. I was beginning to think I had been wrong, she seemed to be in total control, she was watching the traffic, she was checking her mirrors regularly and stayed right on top of traffic changes...she looked ready. And she passed. She got an "Atta Boy" from the Examiner and came out all smiles flashing her new license. I offered to drive us back to her house...but she was legal now and didn't see any need for it.
To finish this up I have to tell you about a peculiarity of Phoenix streets. The main streets are separated from residential neighborhoods by skinny concrete islands. There are roads running parallel to the major roads on the other side of these islands and access to these roads comes at certain key intersections. So to get to the house, we had to make a left turn off of Indian School Road and immediately turn left to go back the way we came from. This is where many experienced drivers have lapses...it's like a U-turn across three oncoming lanes. She had one problem...she had a tendency to oversteer...and she did. We were now heading a telephone pole that was on the corner of the small concrete island. I tried to talk her through it but the sight of the pole looming larger had her full attention. When someone freezes in the dual control car, the procedure was to reach over and pinch them about an inch above the back of their knee, their reflex would pull their foot off of whichever pedal they were using and normally broke the freeze as well. In the Camaro, the counsole was too tall to reach over and get at her leg...and I didn't have any controls on my side. I was calm-voicing her, trying to get her to steer back to the right to avoid the pole...no luck. So I yelled..."STOP !!" In the early minutes of the lessons we establish with the student that the word "stop" was special and would only be used in emergencies...they would know that we really had to stop if we yelled it. The poor girl was too far into the freeze for "STOP'" to do anything but add to the confusion...she jammed her right foot to the floor. That little 300 horsepower 327 Chevy engine roared, back tires spun, and we leaped the final ten yards or so dead center into that pole. The headlights almost met on the other side of the pole. The girl had on some really stylish sunglasses, the nose pieces were driven to the hilt into her nose. We were two blocks from her house. I stood out there in my ASD uniform, for all the world to see, while the cops took measurements and the paramedics transported my studend and the investigator asked me a couple thousand times what had happened. When it was all cleared up, I got to walk the few blocks to pick up my dual control car.
Dad was angry, thankfully not at me...I was mad enough at me for both of us...but at himself for letting his girls talk him into something he admitted he wasn't comfortable with. She came out of it looking like a raccoon for a month or so...but I did see her a time or two, tooling along in her carefully restored Camaro, top down, tunes loud and prizefighter nose. Writing this makes me upset all over again. I had made a policy based on sound reasoning...dual control at all times with a student....all times...I let my affection for the Dad and his girls get the better of my reasoner and she paid the price. Thirtyfive years ago and it still bothers me.