I’ve always been a car guy. Back in junior college a l-o-n-g time ago, a buddy of mine called me Sammie one day at our meeting table. Being in an affable mood, he repeated it and said it sounded cool. Now, we always have new people joining us so, my buddy introduced me as Sammie to a newbie. Well, one thing led to another and soon this newbie was talking to his friends and said to see “Sam” about getting their car fixed. It wasn’t long and I was known as Sam or Sammie instead of my given name.

I told you I was a car guy. And I liked to drive fast, and with my mom’s new car. She had a 1967 Chevy Nova (ho-hum) with a V8 (yee-haw) and skinny two-ply Uniroyal tires. Did I tell you that an automatic transmission car being ‘power braked’ on new asphalt makes for some humongous tire-frying rubber smoke?

After laying down a patch (210 feet paced off), the onlookers grinned with glee as I shut down the car for cooling. The flimsy right rear Uniroyal now had a tread face as smooth as a newborn’s behind and was slowly going flat. One observer noted that the abused tire looked very much like a drag racing slick tire.

Now you know.
Sam Slick


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