Sunday Church Story

It's a beautiful day in North Carolina today. I woke up this morning and put on my suit and tie for church. It was such a nice morning I decided I'd drive my red Ferrari 328.

I did a few laps around town since I was running a little early, and I rarely drive the car in a suite, so it was interesting to get a few extra curious stares-- especially from the guys and families in the mini-vans, obviously on their way to church somewhere too.

I was a little concerned about finding a decent parking space at church, so I decided to wheel in a few minutes extra early. The church was already packed but I saw a few orange cones near a set of steps used to mark the way for pedestrians. There was a late-model Kia parked near one of the cones, so it left just enough room to squeek the 328 into a comfortable space.

As I was backing into the spot, an elderly man with a cane was staring a hole through me. I stopped the car and took a careful look in all directions of my blind spots, thinking I might be about to run over his wife on her walker or something. There was no one there so I pushed the gas pedal and struggled against the steering wheel to maneuver the car into place. From behind my sunshades, I kept glancing up at the elderly man to see him still staring. Was he some kind of "cone superintendant" or something?

I shut the engine off as curious churchgoers walked by from the Sunday school classes. Many of them spoke to the old man but he didn't deliver any responses. He just kept staring in my direction as I closed the Ferrari door with a tight snap and walked up the steps in front of him that lead into the chapel.

"That's one hell of a car," he said. "That's the prettiest car I've ever seen."

I was relieved that he wasn't going to scold me about my parking space, and even that he wasn't an angel himself scolding me for my audacity of going to church after another Saturday night of hedonism.

"Thank you, sir," I replied, and stood beside him looking back at the car. It was just waxed yesterday and the freshly cleaned tires stood boldly black against the shining Rosso Corso. I now knew why he was staring so intently.

It was only 10:40, and there's nothing worse than sitting around in church thumbing through the chapel bulletins before service, so I looked at him and said, "Want to go for a ride?"

Ordinarily, you'd think I would have seen some expression of surprise on his face, but he seemed so hypnotized by the car that he quickly said without flinching, "Hell, yes!"

I would have offered to let him drive, but he hobbled a little with his cane as he rushed off to the car and he immediately went for the shotgun door, so I decided he'd get as much enjoyment out of riding as driving.

For a gentleman who obviously has some degree of trouble getting around, in his excitement, he had no problems at all dropping himself into the beige leather passenger seat of the Ferrari. As I rounded the nose of the car and saw his cane sticking out of the targa top, I wondered if he'd have the same grace when trying to get out.

The engine was plenty warm and fired off like a race car when I turned the key. He smiled immediately and when I jammed the shifter into first and zipped away he looked like a little boy off on his first roller-coaster ride. I wasn't going to spoil his pleasure so I revved the motor through 7500 rpms and threw it into 2nd.

I don't know if the old man had dentures, but I gave the car all she had and at the next 7500 rpms, as I threw the transmission into third, the man's head and jaw dropped toward the back of the headrest. He put his right hand fingers into his mouth like he was re-seating some false teeth or something, but I didn't let that stop me and raced the engine toward the red line again. When he dropped his arm from his mouth I could see his smile was still glowing.

We had just blasted off and we were already approaching 85 and the road in front of us was wide open. We reached 100, 110, 115. When were up to 120 the engine was screaming and the wind was whipping our hair. I held the throttle and watched the old man, his eyes fixed on the road and the smile fixed on his face. I knew we were both enjoying about as much fun as you can possibly have in the final minutes before church on a Sunday morning. When went on a little further and then I took my foot off the throttle and the tight engine gurgled as she came back to ground.

"Whewwwww!" he said, and he tapped his cane onto the floorboard with excitement. "I haven't felt that good since 1965!"

It was a great ride, and a testament to the any number of things that can happen to you when you're out driving your Ferrari, even on a simple ride to church on a Sunday morning.

A few minutes later we were backing into the same small spot in front of the chapel steps behind the orange cone. It was one of those special moments in life when there isn't much that has to be said. We just looked at each other and shared that special Ferrari grin.

I switched off the ignition and the monster came to rest. I popped out of my seat and snapped the driver's door behind me and made my way around the tailpipes to the passenger side.

Out first came the cane, which he extended to me like a rope. He grabbed the hooked end and I clinched the other end and heaved him out of the car like I was pulling a large fish from the water.

There was a big crowd entering the chapel doors, and many faces were turned to watch the unusual Ferrari spectacle taking place outside. The old man stood up into composure, wiggled his pants a few times and tucked his shirt in here and there. He snapped his coat into place and planted his cane firmly onto the sidewalk.

Before he turned to walk away, he smiled at me again and delivered three short words that became the best sermon I would hear all day. "God is great!"

The old man entered the chapel through a side door toward the front; I took to my usual pew toward the back. From time to time, I'd catch a glimpse of him during the service. Once during a prayer, he was whispering something into a lady's ear sitting beside him. Once during the sermon, I noticed him staring off into one of the stain-glassed windows. During another prayer, I saw him whispering to the lady beside him again, this time throwing an arm around her and delivering a familiar grin.

I don't know what happened in 1965, but I'm sure September 18, 2005, won't be a bad day for him either.