When I was a teenager, I ran around with a friend named James Gangloff. I called him Jimmy but lots of folks called him Crusher. He was a big husky kid who didn't mind fighting should the need arise. In fact, I met him in junior high when he grabbed my friend Aric and picked him up in a bearhug from behind and was squeezing Aric's guts out. Aric told me to "Hit him!" so I swung and Jimmy put Aric between us and I knocked the shit out of my friend! Aric crumpled and Jimmy thought it was hilarious. A couple of years went by and Jimmy and I took "Auto Mechanics" class together. That's when we became friends too.
Anyway, Jimmy had an old Chevy Nova, I think it was a '71-72. We rode around in that car a lot and I knew that Jimmy's brakes always pulled toward the passenger side. When he had to brake hard, it always wanted to go to the right. We worked on our cars all the time, and we drove kinda crazy with all our friends.
Jimmy showed up at my house and showed me his new steering wheel he had bought and installed. He didn't completely install the steering wheel because he didn't have it all together yet. No horn button, steering wheel on the splines with just a nut on it. We went and picked up another friend, Mike Cast, and headed to Temple to go cruising 57th street.
We're driving along on the highway and Jimmy yanks the steering wheel off while we're doing about 60, hands it to me...and says " Here, You drive!" Mike and I flipped out getting it back to him! He popped it right back on the splines and kept right on motoring down the road. Had he needed to touch his brakes, we would have flipped for sure. Did I mention that I ran around with some crazy bastards?
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