August 1966, my grandfather who was in his 80s became gravely ill. My aunt packed me, her son, my grandfather into the car and rushed to the nearest hospital.She pulled up to the emergency doors at LDS Hospital and my grandfather was hurriedly carried away. My cousin and I were left sitting in the car. LDS Hospital is located in an exclusive neighborhood in the foothills on the north end of Salt Lake City. The area is populated with older, small, overpriced homes. One of the first areas developed by the Mormon pioneers.
Minutes later an orderly, male version of a candy striper who does heavy lifting, angryly told me to move the car. I fruitlessly searched for my aunt to no avail and returned to the car, the orderly returned spewing out expletives and telling me to move the car. I had just turned twelve at the time and my cousin was eleven. I pointed this out to the orderly—he didn’t care and just went on ranting.
This was the first time I ever drove a car and it was a manual transmission! The streets were narrow and I kept drifting side-to-side narrowly missing side swiping parked vehicles while trying to locate a parking spot. On the second time around the hospital I heard honking, upon looking up I saw that I had drifted into oncoming traffic and quickly yanked the wheel to the right. As I pasted the vehicle I saw the shock on the drivers face, he couldn’t believe what he just saw, seeing two young boys driving a car.
I told my cousin that I needed to concentrate on driving and for him to search for a parking spot. After a while we spotted a parking lot at a corner market and pulled in, a sign proclaimed No Hospital Parking—we parked there anyway. We were outlaws breakin’ the law!
