In 1962, my then wife and I drove a newly acquired but well used Simca Plein Ciel from Miami, Florida, to Sacramento, California. We had allotted just four days for the trip having already used up most of my military travel time visiting my parents. It was yet another in a string of poor choices I take full credit for during that time of my life, but that’s another story for another day.

Now, for those of you unfamiliar with French auto maker Simca, the Plein Ciel (translated “Full Sky”) was a somewhat under-powered two-seater coupe produced from 1958-62 when Simca was apparently attempting to strengthen their brand by capitalizing on the growing popularity of sports cars. Powered by a 2.4 liter, 84 h.p. engine with a four-speed transmission, it reached a top speed of 88 mph. Hardly a speedster, it was nonetheless a sports car and I was still reeling from my failed Volvo P1800 partnership ftasco.

To make a long story a little shorter, by the time we reached Tallahassee, the little Simca had used more oil than gasoline and I realized we were in serious trouble. I pulled into a busy downtown intersection around noon and asked the traffic cop where I might find an auto repair shop. Without hesitation, he directed me to one nearby that specialized in European sports cars.

I don’t remember the name of the shop but I do remember the owner’s name - It was Jim Giles and he agreed to look under the hood. In short order, they had removed the first piston, or what was left of it, and I braced myself for the worst. In the end, four pistons, along with complete rings and valves, needed replacement. To make matters worse, he didn’t have the parts!

Jim huddled with his four employees, made a telephone call, then told us that his father, the Deputy Commander of Maintenance at Turner AFB in Albany, Georgia, would pick up the necessary parts and drive them down to Tallahassee that evening. On top of that, his four employees would stay after hours to install them!

While we waited for the parts to arrive, my wife and I eventually fell asleep in the car and were awakened at midnight by Jim. His father had delivered the parts, he and his employees had repaired the car while we slept and it was ready to drive! Hesitantly, I asked how much I owed, hoping against hope that I had enough money to cover what I was certain would be an astronomical bill. To my complete amazement, he said that he wouldn’t charge for his labor, that his employees would accept nothing more than $5.00 for some beer, and that he would charge only his cost for the parts! I couldn’t believe my ears! I thanked him profusely and promised to call him from Sacramento to let him know how the little car had held up.

I learned a lesson that day, that there are kind, caring people, angels really, that occasionally enter our lives when we need them most and help us on our way. I also learned, first hand, what it meant to “pay it forward”, something I’ve never forgotten.

I will always remember my first driving lesson with a measure of fondness. We lived in a tract house in then newly developed Hicksville (don’t laugh) on New York’s Long Island. My father was an airline pilot flying internationally for Pan American World Airways, long before its demise. He’d grown up during the depression, left home in Virginia to attend college in California, pursued his dream of learning to fly and, as a recently graduated cadet from the school’s aeronautical engineering program, joined the Army Air Forces as a pilot. He flew B-29s during WWII and, when PanAm was aggressively recruiting military pilots for their growing airline, he signed on.

While flying for PanAm, he remained active in the Air Force Reserves. Some of my fondest memories are of  him taking me out to Mitchell AFB  for an air show or to swim in the base officers’ pool while he was on duty. I was even allowed to try my hand in a Link Trainer, a flight simulator used in flight training to give pilots experience under a variety of controlled but potentially dangerous situations without leaving the ground. I remember “crashing and burning” quickly and being terribly embarrassed despite the flight trainer telling me how well I’d done for such a young pilot. I think I was around 8 years old.

Well, it was around that time - 1951 - that my father bought a new Nash Healey. It was like nothing I’d ever seen - a two-seat roadster sports car - and I loved it! Pale yellow with tan leather seats, it had a long hood, whitewall tires, and was truly a sight to behold! It drew lots of attention, of course, since apparently no one else had seen anything like it either. It was the forerunner of the 1953 Corvette and the 1955 Thunderbird.

Once, when we’d taken the Healey to Jones Beach to race it around the huge parking lot (it must have been off-season - there were few other cars) I got my first experience with speed. Mom was in the right seat and I was seated in the middle when Dad decided to see how fast the Healey would go. Mom was terrified and squeezed my leg so hard I squealed. But I was thrilled, as I was with pretty much anything Dad did that included me. I think the experience sparked my love of fast cars and, for that matter, all things fast. Anyway, we parked the car and walked down to the beach and,  when we returned, found the little car surrounded by curious gawkers who, much to Dad’s consternation, had lifted the hood to check out the engine.

Now, for those of you unfamiliar with the Nash Healey, it was a limited production sports car produced for only a few years (1951-53, ‘54 if you include a subsequent hard top version) by Nash Motors (which in 1954 became a division of American Motors Corporation.) Donald Healey, managing director of the Donald Healey Motor Company of Warwick, England, had built a car using a Nash Ambassador engine and drive line which he entered in the 24-hour LeMans endurance race in July, 1950. So well did the roadster perform in the French race (finishing fourth) that Nash decided to contract for a limited number of the sports model.

For the new production Nash Healey, the high-compression, 6-cylinder Nash Ambassador engine was fitted with an aluminum head and dual carburetors. Overdrive was standard. The prototype, which had an aluminum body built by the Healey company, was shown publicly for the first time at the Paris Automobile Show in early fall of 1950.

Production began in December, 1950. During that month, 36 models were built. An additional 68 were produced in January, February and March of 1951 making a total of 104 Healey-bodied Nash Healey two-door roadster convertibles. None were produced from April, 1951 until January, 1952, when an entirely new roadster body was created by Pinin Farina of Turin, Italy. A total of 150 of the redesigned body models were produced in Italy.

The Healey was expensive to build (and buy - $3,982.00 delivered, a bundle in 1951) because of all the shipping involved. The Nash engines and other mechanical components were shipped from the U.S. to Britain. The body was brought from Italy to Britain where Healey assembled all the parts into complete cars. Finished Healeys were then shipped for sale in the U.S. Perhaps for that reason, Nash considered the car a “loss leader” of sorts. It attracted buyers to the showrooms with its exciting appearance and impressive racing credentials, where most buyers gained control of their senses and bought the more sedate and family oriented Ambassador.

But not my father. He was one of the relative few (remember, he was an airline pilot) who bought this piece of history, the first true sports car built in the U.S. in twenty years! The Healey was often compared quite favorably to the Jaguar XK120 and deservedly so. So I can truthfully say that my addictions to sports cars and speed are entirely genetic.

And that brings me back (via the long way - sorry) to my very first driving lesson. It was, as you may have guessed, in my father’s shiny, new ‘51 Nash Healey when I was about 8 years old. I sat in the driver’s seat with my dad to my right. From his position he operated the pedals while I steered. We drove up and down North Drive and, quite intentionally I suspect, Dad waved nonchalantly to our neighbors and many of my friends, all of whom imagined I was actually driving. I was quite the celebrity for several days after and will always remember that very first driving lesson - and my father’s ‘51 Nash Healey - with fondness.  

A Mexican drug smuggler sneaks across the U.S. border carrying 743 pounds of marijuana in his van. He’s confronted by two U.S. Border Patrol agents who order him to stop. After a scuffle with one of the agents, the drug smuggler abandons the van and takes off. The agents give chase and shots are fired. The smuggler runs for the border but is wounded in the buttocks before escaping to the safety of Mexico. Sounds like a typical day along the U.S.-Mexico border, right? Give the agents a commendation, maybe a pay raise.

But that’s not what happened to the agents. In what makes me think we’ve slipped into some parallel universe where everything is backwards, the agents are arrested and charged with felonies including violating the drug smuggler’s civil rights. It seems a Homeland Security agent heard about the episode, went to Mexico and offered the drug smuggler immunity if he testified against the agents. The drug smuggler was treated at taxpayer’s expense in a U.S. hospital and told he can sue the U.S. government.

You see, our Border Patrol policy prohibits chasing terrorists, drug smugglers or anyone crossing illegally into this country and who are fleeing. And our courts have ruled that it’s illegal to shoot a suspect who is running away if he is unarmed. To do so violates the suspect’s civil rights. Never mind that the agents believed him to be armed and that, when interviewed shortly after the incident, his family said that, yes, he’s a drug smuggler and, yes, he always carries a gun. He now knows to claim he was unarmed in order to sue the U.S. Border Patrol for $5 million for violating his civil rights!

The agents? They’ve been sentenced to 11 and 12 years in federal prison under a rule of law that requires a mandatory minimum 10 years if a firearm was used while committing a violent crime. The crime? Assault with a dangerous weapon, discharge of a firearm during a violent crime, obstructing justice, lying about the incident (The agents failed to file a report stating that they had fired their weapons, and one of them picked up his spent shell casings) and willfully violating the drug smuggler’s Fourth Amendment right to be free from illegal seizure.

Sounds preposterous, I know, but that’s what happened. Congress won’t intervene and President Bush has refused thus far to grant a pardon for the agents. I can’t fathom U.S. policy concerning border security. Agents are apparently there to “patrol” but can’t “chase” bad guys (without first getting permission from a supervisor.) Oh, and don’t use their guns. They can yell, “Shoo! Shoo!” and can apparently send bad guys back across the border if they voluntarily surrender, but it sounds like that’s about it.

I’ve provided links to two articles you should read. The first is an article by Debra Saunders for the SF Chronicle. The second is an October 20 article in WorldNetDaily. What’s been done to these two agents is a serious miscarriage of justice and we need to let our elected officials know we won’t stand for it.

What’s going on along our border is wrong on every level and our government has shown absolutely no interest in fixing the problem. Want something done? Write or email ALL your elected officials including the President. Keep writing. Demand justice for the two agents and that the border be protected. Pay attention to which officials turn a deaf ear and vote them out of office!

Have you watched this? It’s okay, you can tell me. Confession is good for the soul. “Armed & Famous” debuted last Wednesday night with a viewership of 8.2 million, generating a 2.9 rating. Its second episode was seen by 7.8 million viewers and generated a rating of 2.7. A downward trend? Let’s hope so. If not, I fear our society is doomed.

The show, which clearly exists mainly to be ridiculed, features five B-list celebrities (Erik Estrada of “CHiPs,” singer La Toya Jackson, wrestler Trish Stratus, Jason “Wee Man” Acuna of “Jackass” and Ozzy Osbourne’s son, Jack) pretending to learn how to pretend to be policemen on the Muncie, Indiana force. In the words of the ABC website, “They will [be] arresting bad guys including drug dealers, hookers and johns, wife-beaters, burglars, the drunk-and-disorderly and more.”

All in a night’s work in Hollywood, California, one might think. But, no, it turns out our celebs are serving as reserve cops in Muncie, Indiana. And a good thing, too; having has-been celebrities arrest current ones like Hugh Grant and Mel Gibson would have been unseemly and unfair.

The website continues, “Funny? Often. Emotional? Yes, and in surprising ways. Serious? Always. To these five celebrities, serving the people of Muncie is an honor that equals or surpasses anything they’ve experienced previously.” Come on! The show has “they can’t be serious” written all over it!

It’s hard to believe that anyone would deliberately create programming like this. And even more incredible that anyone would watch it. But, of course, many will. Why? I think because it’s grotesquely fascinating even when it isn’t even remotely funny, emotional or serious. Programs like this are like third-generation parodies; in a reversal of show-business tradition, they’re bad on purpose. Not only does no one expect them to be good, no one wants them to be.

The producers hope instead that viewers will get a certain satisfaction from hooting and howling at the awfulness of it all. But “Armed & Famous” (even the name is bad) rushes by “awful” and heads straight for “abominable” — it’s not even that much fun to laugh at.

Admittedly, most TV shows are little more than time-killers. But there’s killing time and there’s beating it to death with a stick. Or a billy club. Or shooting it in the head — because, yes, the “celebrity” cops in “Armed & Famous” are truly armed if not actually famous.

“Muncie is quite different from L.A.,” observes “recording artist and author” (huh?) La Toya Jackson, who insists on a tablecloth and a finger bowl (honest!) when her partner takes her out for peanuts at the Texas Roadhouse. “Midnight!” says the narrator. “On the streets of Muncie, crime doesn’t sleep, and neither do our celebrity cops!” Oozes suspense, doesn’t it?

When “international television icon” (really?) Eric Estrada finds himself inside Muncie’s version of a crack house, he’s surprised to discover the dealer is a toothless granny in her 80s. “This is the wrong way to meet you, Ponch,” she says, laughing all the way to the police station in the back seat of the cop car. Oh, puleez!

These details may inadvertently make the show sound mildly amusing. It isn’t. As Tom Shales points out in the Washington Post, “in addition to epitomizing the trend toward cheaper and cheaper prime-time programming, “Armed & Famous” represents another unhappy trend: The insane business of trying to pass off game-playing as entertainment on a massive, inescapable scale. Games are a vicarious experience in the first place. Watching people play games — whether the game is poker or make-believe cop — is vicarious vicariousness. It’s a form of “reality” that only makes television less real — and, inevitably, less worth having around.”

The midseason now belongs to Fox and “American Idol.” That gives rise to a “what-have-we-got-to-lose” mentality that in turn makes shows like “Armed and Famous” possible. What can we do? Read a book. And pray that the already cast second season is mercifully put to sleep even before they pull the plug on the current one.

New Year is that time when we look back in retrospection and evaluation of where we’ve been, and forward in hope and anticipation of where we may be going. This two-fold vision is reflected in the name of the new month, January, for Janus was a two-faced god, the god of portals and thresholds, of coming in and going out, of past and future held simultaneously in a single, encompassing perspective.

Standing between old and new years, between what has been and what could be, we form our resolutions for the future in a spirit of possibility and potential. We celebrate the sense that we can step outside of the normal flow of time, touch a creative and visionary source within us, and shape the world, or at least our own lives, afresh.

The past is a creative force in our lives, something much more than memories. Likewise, the future is an evocative force, inviting us towards more possibilities than we might otherwise recognize or imagine. The past whispers, “This is that from which you are forming yourself.” But the future beckons, “This is what waits for you to form yourself, to help you explore what it means to be a dreamer of visions and a shaper of worlds.” And so the past and future become allies to the potentials within us. They enable us to see ourselves as a formative force within the world.

T. S. Eliot said, “… to make an end is to make a beginning.” So last evening, Dawn and I opened our well worn Day-Timers and, page by dog-eared page, reflected on all that we remember about 2006. The process evoked wonderful memories and highlighted some of our accomplished goals. We lifted a glass to a departed friend who left us unexpectedly and all too soon. And we talked about our resolutions for 2007, taking care not to confuse them with intentions. There are a great many things we “intend” to do but only a few we “resolve” to accomplish. You’ll recall that Bridget Jones began her famous diary with 33 “resolutions” and 364 days later wrote, “Number of New Year resolutions kept: 1…” We resolved not to fall into that trap.

Which brings us to today and a fresh New Year. Janus stands at the threshold between an ending and a beginning, a past and a future. But he doesn’t close the door to either. Rather, he flings the doors open, looking in both directions, inviting a relationship, a blending, between them. He is a catalyst that brings the formative forces of past and future together, a symbol of the soul in all its creativity and coherence, its unity and power.

Ben Franklin wrote, “Be always at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let each New Year find you a better man.” Sound advise then and now. Yet every year, people make countless resolutions to change aspects of themselves they believe are negative. A majority revert back to how they were before and feel like failures. So this year I challenge you to a new resolution. I challenge you to just be yourselves.

Happy New Year. May the blessings of Janus be with you throughout 2007!