Bridgman, MI-- Growing up in Michigan during the heyday of the American auto industry was exhilarating.
As a kid, automobiles were No. 1 in my life. Even sports played second fiddle to the experience of “The Automobile.” When new models were introduced in the fall, cars were delivered with utmost secrecy to dealers before the rollout date. They arrived by carriers and trains, usually at night or wrapped in protective covering to prevent being discovered by the media.
My dream from childhood was to be able to drive, and I can remember my father occasionally allowing me to sit on his lap while he was driving.
One day, when visiting Granny Shuler in Berrien Springs, my father acquiesced to my persistent requests to realize "the driving experience." Even though I was not yet of driving age, he let me drive around the block from my grandmother's house on South Kimmel Street, a residential area with virtually no traffic. After all, what could go wrong with this idea?
My father was a driver’s ed instructor, so our car was equipped with a dual set of foot pedals. He would be in the instructor's seat should anything go wrong.
We had only traveled 50 feet out of the driveway to the stop sign at the intersection of South Kimmel and Julius, with my dad in the passenger/instructor seat and me nervously gripping the steering wheel with both hands. In a prime example of "make sure your sins will find you out," just as we came to a stop at the intersection, a Michigan State Police car pulled up to the opposite side. They saw me behind the wheel and could tell that I was nowhere near 16.
They waited for us to move out of the intersection, with me at the controls, so they could pounce on us. I froze and turned to my father for advice. "Don't move," he said. "As long as you don’t drive on the street, you haven't done anything wrong."
After about five minutes of cat-and-mouse waiting game, my father got out of the passenger's side and walked around to the driver’s side, instructing me to move over. He then proceeded to drive us through the intersection, past the state police car, and down to Rose Hill Cemetery and back. For me, it felt like I had just escaped death.
My father usually adhered to the posted speed limit. I, on the other hand, developed a penchant for driving fast when I became an adult.
As my career advanced as an executive and my business travel increased, I routinely drove over the speed limit, and, as a result, experienced many traffic stops.
That is until one fateful day in 2004.
Sharon and I had just become engaged, and my dear friend and mentor from my Washington Adventist days, Ron Marx, and his lovely wife, Lenora, were in Maine for a car show. I made a reservation for us all to have dinner together at the Harraseeket Inn in Freeport at 7 p.m.
My mother, who was living with me at the time, rode with me from Brunswick. We picked Sharon up from her place in Westbrook at 6:15 p.m., giving us just enough time to meet the Marxes by 7 p.m. Ron was a real stickler for being on time.
While traveling north on I-95, Sharon and I were deep in conversation about our upcoming wedding plans, and I completely missed the turn-off and connector/bypass over to I-295, which would have taken us right to Freeport.
The next exit from I-95 where I could turn around was not until Gray, which was about 10 miles up the road. By the time I turned around, it would mean another 30 minutes to get to the restaurant. We would obviously be late, unless I increased my speed enough to make up for the additional travel distance.
After turning around in Gray, I headed back on I-95 toward the Falmouth connector, which would take us to I-295 north where I still had a pipe dream of making it to Freeport by 7. Before reaching the turn-off for the connector, I had reached a speed of 90 mph, and my mental calculation had me just barely making our appointment on time.
Halfway through the connector between I-95 and I-295 is a toll booth. After exiting the toll booth, I quickly brought the vehicle back up to 90 mph. As we were rounding a curve, I saw a Maine State Police car on the side of the road, with its lights already flashing. I slowed down and pulled over behind him.
He approached our vehicle and yelled at me, "If you have even one thing on your record you are in big trouble!" he said in a less-than-friendly tone.
Fortunately for me, I had not received a speeding ticket since moving to Maine. While we waited for the officer to return, the dead silence in the car was broken by my mother asking Sharon, "Why is he so upset? Ted didn't do anything wrong."
After receiving my ticket, I put it in the glove box and we traveled to our appointment, albeit several minutes late.
The meal and time with our good friends the Marxes were just wonderful, and I had almost forgotten about the ticket until Sharon pulled it out of the glove box: “Speed - clocked at 92!"
Thanks to Sharon's pleadings, right then and there, this Michigan boy who grew up loving cars and driving them fast made a vow to his bride-to-be that he would be respectful of the speed limit in the future.
Now, as we approach the 20th anniversary of a most wonderful marriage, I have remained ticket-free with no traffic stops.
Behind every successful man is a great woman.
Theodore Lewis is the former CEO of Guam Memorial Hospital and has a healthcare consulting business in Bridgman, MI. He is collecting stories about lessons learned in life and can be reached at theodorelewis@yahoo.com.
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