When I was growing up in the ’50s and ’60s, I took agriculture beginning my freshman year of high school in 1959. I was fourteen; but pushing fifteen years of age.
As a member of Future Farmers of America or FFA as it was and is still called, we were required to have or raise a project for the Murray County Fat Stock Show. I decided to raise a Duroc hog. We, the FFA, kept our pigs down on the south end of the football practice fields in small enclosures with a hog shed included.
We lived about five or six blocks, way the crow flys, from this project area. Mom or Dad would let me drive our car, a 1959 Chevy four-door sedan, to feed my hog.
My Dad always prided himself in knowing what I had been up to on Saturday nights, by the next morning, or so it seemed. If he were alive today, I could tell him some tales that would make him probably wanna kill me or worse; but, those stories will be told later
One day as I completed feeding my red hog, I decided to unhook the speedometer in the ’59 Chevy, and go joy riding. At this time in life, I was tall for my age, and no one ever questioned my age.
After unhooking the speedometer, I headed over to US hwy 77, and headed south out of town. After rounding the curve on the south end of town, I pulled into the left lane to pass the cars in the right lane.
I passed one, then two, then three, and all of a sudden there were many, many cars to pass, and I couldn’t seem to get back into the right lane; because, there were just too many cars to pass.
After passing about ten cars and trucks; and traveling about a mile in the southbound, left lane of the highway, I was approaching another curve, and knew in my young mind that a car would probably be coming right at me, I had to find a way to get back into the right lane.
Sure enough there was another car coming right at me, and this took drastic action on my part. I pulled over and into the right lane, and ran a car off the road, as well as the car in the left lane that I was meeting. This car turned around and began to chase me. I was shaking in my boots by this time.
The car that followed me, was a fairly new Golden Hawk Studebaker which was reputed to be fast, as compared to our ’59 Chevy family car. I turned off of the highway onto a section line road traveling east, and up and over the old wooden train bridge.
I knew I couldn’t out run this guy, and I couldn’t go home till I got rid of him. I stopped side ways in the road so that he couldn’t get around me, and with the doors locked, and the driver’s side window down about two inches, I waited for him to approach me.
The young man had his wife and kids and his parents in the car with him, and I had scared the begiggers out of them, as well as myself. When he approached, he called me names that can’t be mentioned here, and then had the nerve to ask me if I wanted to follow him to the nearest Oklahoma Highway Patrol office while he turned me in. Of course, I said no.
I tried to apologize to him, but, he wasn’t having any of that. He finally walked back and got into his car and turned around and left. I drove back to the pigpens at the football field and hooked the speedometer cable up, and drove home, parked the car behind the house, and told my Mother I was gonna wash it. I was really hiding.
I learned not to try to pass everyone on the highway at the same time.