Dad drove for King and Country during World War II. That didn’t prepare him for Little Jimmy and me.
Suddenly, we’re high above the Hudson on the George Washington Bridge, heading toward New Jersey.
There’s no further talk about ocean liners or anything else. My father drives on in grim, determined silence. Yet, although silence has descended upon our Chevy, my brother and I both know that we will continue our reasoned discourse on ocean liner design and history the next time my father dares to drive on the West Side Highway.
For some reason, that moment didn’t arrive for many months.
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