5 minute read

Candy’s Corner

Leaders in Faith

By Candy Owens

It might be a raggedy old bomb or a brand new Corvette, but your very first car is the one you’ll never forget! You waited such a long time for your license and you didn’t get any rest, worrying until you passed your driver’s test. You finally got your license and shot straight to the car like a bullet. You went cruising down the road, and wanted all your friends to see you finally had a car and were footloose and fancy free.

I remember my fifeenth birthday back in 1977 like yesterday. Up early that morning, I had taken my shower, put on about two inches of Merle Norman makeup, and styled my hair with hot rollers, a round brush, blow dryer, curling iron, pick, and half a gallon of Final Net hairspray. It wasn’t just my fifteenth birthday. No, it was the day I was going to get my Restricted Driver’s License! I had to look just right. They…the people at the Department of Motor Vehicles, would be taking my picture and putting it on my License…well, if I passed my test that was.

I hopped in my Mother’s shiny metallic 1973 Buick Limited and off I went. (Boy, let me tell you what--that Buick Limited was something else. It was cake batter yellow with plush velvet electric seats, cassette tape player, power windows, spoke hub caps, cigarette lighters along with an ashtray at each door (as-well-as a huge ashtray and lighter in the center of the dashboard and the hump in the back seat). I asked myself: “Did the Buick engineers design cars so every passenger could participate in The Great American Smokathon or what?” Anyway… that car was big enough to sit six people comfortably. It looked kind of like a yellow Batmobile.

I drove that Buick (yes, by myself and without a parent) to 408 W. Renfro Street and parked the car. I walked towards the DMV with a pounding heart, my birth certificate, my Certificate of Completion from Driver’s Education, and my sweat soaked Driver’s Manuel that I had studied for days.

I opened the door to the room with the dark wood paneled walls, shag carpet, eye charts, photo booth, rows and rows of chairs with people waiting and wondering, boxes of pencils, test forms, and those people with badges behind the counter that would make or break your future! I felt like I was going to be sick!

I approached the counter, took my number and sat down with everyone else. For what seemed forever, I sat waiting and then boom, that man with the badge behind the counter called my number. This was it, the moment I’d been waiting for. He handed me a pencil and test form and directed me to the table across the room to complete the rules and road signs portion of the test. When I finished, I returned to the counter and handed my test to “that man.” He looked it over and without too much expression, said, “PASSED.” Then he checked my documentation and entered the information into his computer. A computer…WOW! I wondered if that computer knew all and if its database was located at Central Control for the United States. I just knew that computer could tell if you were a good person or a bad person. Haha!

Next thing I knew, the man with the badge who had graded my test picked up his clipboard and said: “Where are you parked?” We took a short walk and climbed into that big Buick. I made sure I displayed all the safety steps I had seen in the Driver’s Education safety films at school. I locked the doors, adjusted the rear view and side mirrors, cranked the engine, looked left then right, then left again, and off we went. (Oh! And seatbelts, I think they were tucked under the seat, because they weren’t required by law and were pretty much considered a pain, so away they went.) The man with the badge and clipboard had me drive to a dead end spot behind the old Plant City Mall at Prosser Court and Evers Street. Two metal poles were cemented firmly into two old tires the DMV used as a makeshift parking space. The man with the badge looked at me and said: “I want you to parallel park between the two poles.” I put on my blinkers just like in the filmstrip at school and went right in. The man with the badge looked over at me and said: “I have never seen someone as young as you who is driving such a big car park so easily. Great Job! Now, I want you to do a three point turn.” So I did! When the man with the badge and clipboard looked at me and said: “Passed,” I was so happy. All there was left was for me to do was drive him back to the DMV and have my photo taken and walk out with my license.

When all the hoopla was complete and I turned to walk out the door, the man with the badge said: “You do have an adult with you don’t you?” I looked at him and said: “Oh, yes Sir!” (I should not have, but I told him a story). All I could think about was showing my friends that Driver’s License and that I was too cool. I was on my way to freedom and a groovy future. At age fifteen I thought passing my driver’s test would be one of life’s biggest hurdles. HAHAHAHA!

Some 30-plus years later, I was sitting behind my office desk when a man walked in with aviatorstyled, mirrored sunglasses. I greeted him as he removed his sunglasses and immediately recognized him. I said: “Oh, my Gosh! I know who you are…you are: Mr. Driver’s License Man!” He started laughing and replied: “Why, yes I am!” I told him how I was so scared of him and the whole process of getting my Restricted License back when I was fifteen…way back in 1977. He just laughed. I told him we teens thought he and those ladies that worked with him at the DMV were right up there with the school principal and the Police. We thought they controlled our fate.

After spending a few minutes with the person that I, along with so many other teenagers, had been afraid of, I learned he had a name and was indeed a very nice person. Jimmy Barton was born and raised in Plant City and had retired from the DMV several years back. All in all, Mr. Barton and I had a very enjoyable visit that day.

Since that time, I have seen Mr. Barton in the grocery store and a few other places around own. We always greet each other with a smile and friendly “Hello.” I have come to realize the man behind the DMW counter with the badge that I was so afraid of at fifteen is just a nice person who was doing his job that day way back in 1977. I also realized the reason he didn’t spend a lot of time in conversation while I was driving, parallel parking, and making a three-point turn was because he was letting me concentrate on my driving while he was concentrating on whether or not I was capable and worthy of being turned loose on the friendly streets of Plant City.

I also realized Mr. Barton was putting his life in someone else’s hands every time he sat in a testtaker’s passenger seat. I just bet he could tell some crazy stories about some he came into contact with throughout his career. If I were Mr. Barton, I think I would’ve worn a football helmet, shoulder pads, and carried a fire extinguisher and crowbar every time I got in the car with a stranger. There’s just no telling what he went through. In fact, one other reason he said so little was probably because he was holding his breath. HAHA!

Thank You, Mr. Jimmy Barton, for doing a great job of keeping our streets safe and free of rotten drivers!

P.S. I just wonder if you know how many hundreds of nervous teenagers’ names appeared on your clipboard throughout your career. You may not remember us, but we sure remember you!