Getting My Driver's License For The First Time

By kiki

In December of 1952, I turned 16. A few days after my birthday, I needed to go to the DMV office on Whittier Blvd in Montebello, Ca. to get my driver's license.

I asked my uncle, Ray Gonzales, if he could take me to the DMV. Since I only had a driver's permit, I needed a licensed driver to drive me there, and I also needed his car to take my driving test. Uncle Ray said that he couldn’t take me because he had to work, but I could use his car, a 1948 Chevy Coupe. I decided that I would drive myself in Uncle Ray’s car to the DMV.

I arrived at the DMV early the next morning, parked the car in the driver's testing line, walked into the office, and told a lady that I was there for my driving test; after doing some paperwork, I was told to wait outside for a driving examiner. A short while later, an examiner called me to take my test; he asked me which car I was using to take my test; I pointed to the Chevy Coupe, he then asked me who drove me to the DMV office, a man was standing about 50 feet from us, and I pointed to him and told the examiner that my uncle Ray did, the examiner waved to “Uncle Ray” “Uncle Ray” waved back with a look that said “what?”

“Let’s do it” yelled the examiner. We got in the car, and he asked me if the brakes worked; I, of course, said: “Yes, sir.” He told me to step on the brake pedal; I did, and the pedal almost went to the floor.

“Not much pedal there, son,” said the examiner.

The brakes work fine if I pump the pedal a bit, I told him; I then showed him by pumping the brake pedal.

“Okay, pull into traffic,” he told me as he closed the car door.

I pulled into traffic on Whittier Blvd, and about a quarter-mile away was a stop sign. As I started pumping the brake pedal to make the stop, the examiner jumped out of the car and told me to fix the brakes or get another car. As he walked back to the DMV office, I drove to my Uncle Frank Arriola's place in Simons. I asked him if he could take me to the DMV, again like Uncle Ray; he said he couldn’t but that I could use his late-model Desoto. I drove back to the DMV in Uncle Frank's Desoto in the early afternoon and took the test with the same examiner. I passed the test but was told that I needed to practice on my parallel parking. 67 years later, I still haven't master parallel parking.