Fast Talk With Jeff Smith: Lessons Learned

Jeff Smith cropA friend and I were talking about our first cars days when I remembered an episode that occurred soon after I bought my first car. I was a 16 year-old junior in high school with a four year-old ’66 389c.i., four–speed GTO and I thought I was king of the street. The GTO and I were barely acquainted when I decided to climb the ladder of high school fast car status. My opponent this Saturday evening was an acquaintance with a ’67 390 Mustang. Everyone knew these cars weren’t quick – except him. He thought it was bad fast and kept chiding me to prove it at my expense.

The veiled insults kept flying until it came time on a stretch of Highway 30 just south of my home town of Boone, Iowa. We turned east from Story Street onto Highway 30 and lined up on our side of the divided four-lane. What we didn’t see was the Iowa Highway Patrolman approaching from the south after just finishing his dinner at the nearby truck stop. As our two cars left the impromptu starting line, the patrolman pulled in behind us in his 440c.i.-powered Chrysler patrol car and hit the lights. I was already trailing my buddy’s Mustang at the top of Second gear when I saw the flashing red lights. Everything about this situation spelled “loser”.

stock-footage-red-emergency-light-flashing We both pulled over and the officer motioned us to get into his car. He was not happy but at least he didn’t have to chase us down. My opponent slid into the front passenger seat and I meekly sidled into the back seat. There was no rear-seat cage in those days and the first thing he said to both of us was “Let me see your license.”

I handed mine up front already knowing I was in big trouble. I knew that in 1970, the only thing worse than street racing in the Iowa Motor Vehicle Code was driving while intoxicated (DUI). What made this even more dangerous for me was that I had only been in possession of my driver’s license for about four months. The state of Iowa was very clear that if I was convicted of a moving violation during my first probationary year – I would lose my driving privilege for no less than a full year. As I handed my license to the officer, he looked at it and said – “Good lord, kid. Do you realize that if I give you a ticket for street racing- it’s likely you’ll never get your license back?” What could I say?

It was at this point that any good deeds I had accomplished in my short 16 years on this planet must have counted for something. This officer and I had never met before, so I was a complete stranger. The word on the street was this guy gave no quarter. I slowly began to sink into the back seat of his cruiser thinking that my life was over. I don’t remember what happened to my buddy but it’s possible we both received the same sentence.

“I’m going to cite you for stopping on the travelled portion of the highway and write this ticket for the Ogden justice of the peace so your name won’t appear in the Boone newspaper. Now get out of my car and I better never see you again.”

I couldn’t believe my luck. I drove like my grandmother all the way home – and found myself sitting in front of my mom at 9:30 on a Saturday night – which she knew meant something was definitely wrong. I told her I had been issued a ticket for stopping on the travelled portion of the highway and we had to go to Ogden to pay the fine. She was suspicious that there was more to this story but also said she would accompany me to the meeting with the justice of the peace.

The following Monday evening I was standing in the magistrate’s office which was really just a room in his modest home in nearby Ogden. To me, the man looked about 900 years old. I stood in front of him with my mom while he looked at the ticket and informed me of the fine, which I quickly paid. At that point, he said “I’ll also need your license.”

To this day I can’t believe I did this, but I looked at him straight in the eye and said “No.”

My mom was aghast but not nearly as surprised as my accuser. He said something like “Now I just thought I heard you tell me ‘no’, son. You might want to re-think that.”

“The ticket,” I stammered, “is for stopping on the travelled portion of the highway. Since technically that isn’t a moving violation. I shouldn’t have to lose my license.”

“Are you trying to tell me the law, son? Because I can guarantee you I know a heck of a lot more about it than you do.” At this point, my mother was apoplectic, but for some reason, she kept to herself. It could have been she was allowing me the luxury of digging an overhead pit even deeper. Or perhaps – just perhaps – she’d seen this before from my Marine Corps father and decided to let this little dance play itself out. But her silent message was clear – I was on my own.

I decided to stand my ground. The justice was upset, but I refused to hand over my license. Finally, he said “Well son, it doesn’t really matter. You’re just delaying the inevitable. The state will take your license soon enough. Now, get out of my office.”

It was a tiny victory and I believed that I was right. Of course, that didn’t prevent my mother from taking me to task the entire ride home. That had a quick ending as soon as we arrived home and I escaped further wrath by retreating with my license in my pocket to my best friend’s house. But I still had to endure about two months of living in abject fear of the mailman. Six days a week for about 60 days I dreaded an official letter from the State of Iowa informing me of the loss of my license. But it never came. I was vindicated.

Many years later, in recounting telling that story with my mom in attendance, she stopped me early in the telling saying – “You never said you were street racing.” But I think she knew. What else would you expect a 16 year-old to be doing on a Saturday with a hot date with a Fontaine Blue, 389 four-speed GTO?

About the author

Jeff Smith

Jeff Smith, a 35-year veteran of automotive journalism, comes to Power Automedia after serving as the senior technical editor at Car Craft magazine. An Iowa native, Smith served a variety of roles at Car Craft before moving to the senior editor role at Hot Rod and Chevy High Performance, and ultimately returning to Car Craft. An accomplished engine builder and technical expert, he will focus on the tech-heavy content that is the foundation of EngineLabs.
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