Before the end of my brother Jack’s life, I took my sixteen year old son Dave to meet him in Pierce, Colorado. Jack and I started trading family stories for Dave’s benefit, and in connection with Dave’s getting his driver’s license, Jack told about when he had been fourteen or fifteen, I had been a toddler, and we lived at 114 Bloomingdale in Wayne. “I kept bugging Dad to let me drive, but he said no. So one day, when he was away, I went up into the attic, where there were all these old trunks. You know, those big steamer trunks of Nana’s and Aunt Peggy’s? Anyhow, I found Nana’s old clothes. I put on a fancy, oversized dress—Nana was big--and a big old hat with a veil. I figured the veil made up for not having a wig.” I laughed; I’d never heard this. “So I go down, get in and start the car. I’d never driven before, just back and forth in the drive. I back out onto Lenoir Avenue. I start to get the feel for the clutch. I’m into first, and second. I turn onto Bloomingdale. I’m having a fine old time. Stop, start. I drive down past the school, but suddenly I see a cop car following me. There’s that hill up to the pike, and on the way up, I stall out. I can’t get it started again. The cop car stops. And who gets out, but Captain Bones. ‘Excuse me, Ma’am, is something wrong?’ He’s our next door neighbor and Chief of Police. He’d spotted me and followed me around the block. ‘Can you take your hat off for me, please, Ma’am?’ Of course, they took me to the station. They impounded the car. Dad had to go get it later. They called Mom, ‘We’ve got your boy here, driving without a license and dressed up like a woman!’ I got off with a warning. Meanwhile Dad was too tickled by the whole thing to be mad for long.” We laughed together until we wept.