By RAY ADLER
Ask Adler
Life has changed. I have lived in two cultures: rural and urban. I have lived in Indianapolis, but I grew up in very rural Indiana.
Some Indianapolis parenting coordinators account boys on equipment is child abuse. In the country back then, boys who were not driving tractors by age of 12 were either just too small or lazy no-goods. The test for being able to drive a tractor was whether your legs were long enough and strong enough to push in the clutch. That was the test that Dad had for my constant question of “When can I drive the big tractor?” I had ridden with him numerous times and felt sure I knew how to do it.
Grandpa had an Oliver 70 row crop tractor with large steel rear wheels. One fall was so wet that it was nearly Thanksgiving and we were still getting out the corn. Dad took off one of the rubber front wheels and it worked great in the muddy field. It was very smooth to operate it on dirt but quite jarring on a gravel road.
Dad had a Ferguson to use as a utility tractor. His main “big” farming tractor was a Cockshut, the model sold by the local Farm Bureau Co-op. It had a very stiff clutch, and I was 12 or 13 before my legs were long enough and strong enough to push in this clutch.
I finished my tractor driving on the 1650 Oliver I was a senior in high school. I had started on the Ferguson, which was about a 30 hp tractor built in 1949. Dad purchased it that year and convinced Grandpa of its value. Grandpa was so convinced that he quit using horses to farm that same year.
I had driven the Ferguson tractor around the barnyard and felt confident in my ability to drive it. Apparently, Dad did too. I was 10, he told the Optimist Club years later, when he first trusted me to drive it from Grandma’s house the mile and one-half to our house.
I was feeling good in third gear when I decided to put it in high on the final portion of the way home. I remember the rush of the wind in my hair as I sped along. Unfortunately, as I neared home and pressed down the clutch, the tractor didn’t stop. I had forgotten the pedal on the other side: the brake!
Dad recounted in his speech the fear in his eyes as he thought I would not make the turn into the driveway. Apparently, I was going fairly fast for the tractor coasted the entire length of our 100-foot driveway, mangled a 50-gallon barrel and put a lasting scar in the garage door. At least I made the turn successfully into the driveway.
He used this event when I was in college to remind me that there are times during a “clutch” to put on the brake.
Educational material and not legal advice, written by the team at Adler attorneys. Email andrea@noblesvilleattorney.com with questions or comments.