MAY 2, 2011 __ Fiat recently introduced a very cool new sedan to the U.S. market – the Fiat 500, beautiful car, hopefully the handling is similar to the vintage Fiat 600 we owned back in the day in Rome, NY. I loved that car, learned to drive in that car. It was the most fun I’ve ever had driving in my life. 
Four-cylinder rear engine, rear wheel drive, 4-speed manual transmission, suicide doors (opened backwards: easy to get in and out), super tight turning radius. On those snowy, blustery, freezing winter days in upstate New York when our driveway was a frozen sheet of ice, I could start at the garage, gun the engine, go halfway towards the street, jerk the steering wheel hard to the left, pull hand brake simultaneously, and spin that little Italian hot rod lean machine completely around 180 degrees facing the house before reaching the end of our two-car driveway. It was a total blast to drive, lightweight, maneuverable, and the 40-plus mpg was way ahead of its time (gas was way lower than $4/gallon in 1965).
One distinct memory of my childhood was driving my father to work at Hubbard Tool & Dye in East Rome on the weekends. Now, people have many opinions about the late, great John Arena of Rome, NY, but everyone must agree that this guy was a hard worker. The father of the nine Arena children worked full-time Monday-Friday at Griffiss AFB, then, at night and on weekends, he worked an additional 30-40 hours a week as a tool & dye maker.
On Saturdays he forced me to go to work with him so I could study and do homework. Since I was less than a straight-A student and NEVER did homework, there was some logic to his demands. However, I hated having to take a nap on Saturday afternoon so I could get up at 10 p.m. to go with him for his all-night work shift. The only saving grace for me was getting to drive him to work, a pretty heady experience for a 13-year-old (three years too young for a driver’s license).
And even better than driving TO work was the END of the work shift at 7 AM Sunday morning when he would go to the bathroom to clean up, read the newspaper (I have no idea what else he did in there) and get ready to leave. At this point he allowed me to go outside and “warm up” the Fiat. I’d grab my school books, run outside, throw them in the backseat, punch the key into the ignition, and listen to the loudspeaker in my head boldly announce to the overflow crowd: “Gentlemen, Start Your Engines.”
WOOHOO, party time! I quickly blasted that little Fiat around the corner of the building where I couldn’t be seen from the front door, the production crew already set up in my mind and I was the star of the show . . . “Jackass: Bill’s Fiat Time.”
The parking lot was frozen solid and covered in fresh snow, I went blasting all around doing 360’s on the ice, gunning the engine, doing donuts around light poles and spraying snow and ice everywhere, it was absolutely great. It was the ultimate high for a 13-year-old kid . . . 10-15 minutes by myself driving the Fiat, no rules, nobody watching, let it rip, push the limits, party on Garth!!!!
At the climax of this car driving wet dream, I spotted a fresh snow bank at the far edge of the parking lot that a snowplow had created about an hour earlier. The roar of the loudspeaker: “Gentlemen, take out that snowbank . . . BACKWARDS!!!”
Woohoo, let’s do it! I hit the gas, popped the clutch, and blasted off through the snow, winding it out . . . first gear, bam, second gear, bam, third gear, engine roaring . . . yank the steering wheel, pull the hand brake, the car jerks around 180 degrees, flying backwards now, snow covering all the windows . . . then, suddenly . . . WHAM, a huge thud, the back end lifts up and the car grinds to a sickening halt, front wheels are off the ground, the car now jacked up on its frame in the three-foot snowbank ON TOP of a 10-inch thick layer of solid, frozen ice.
UH-OH, hadn’t planned on this. First gear, nothing, reverse, nothing, the back wheels just spin as I hit the gas, nothing, try to open the door, it won’t open, roll down the window to take a look . . . suddenly, a terrifying sound echoes through the parking lot. It’s my father screaming at me from the other side of the building, “BILL, IT'S TIME TO GO. GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!!!!”
“IN NOMINE PATRIS ET FILII ET SPIRITUS SANCTI” __ So now, here I am, instead of being in church on Sunday morning serving Mass like a good little Irish-Italian Catholic altar boy, I'm stuck sitting backwards, jacked up in a snowbank, the rear wheels spinning, the front wheels hanging three inches off the ground . . . I start praying. “Oh dear God, please help me. I swear I’ll be good for the rest of my life, I’ll treat my brothers and sisters with respect, I’ll do my homework, I swear, oh please!"“BILL, STOP PLAYING AROUND, GET THE HELL OVER HERE RIGHT NOW ! ! ! ” . . . Instantly jacked up overload inner explosion of fear and loathing and dread and adrenaline. My life flashes before my eyes (it doesn’t take long, I'm only 13). I'm desperate. "OH PLEASE, GOD, HELP ME!”
Finally, I manage to rock the car back and forth in what seemed like a million times, the front wheels finally hit the ground, mercifully I’m free . . . “Oh thank you God. Thank you!”
Thus commenced the spiritual side of my life, this beautiful, sacred, eternal connection with the divine while living only temporarily in this human flesh & blood & bones container. So grateful as my spiritual connection continues to grow and deepen in a good way. What a wild and crazy ride it's been. And it all started in my Dad's cool little Italian hot rod Fiat 600 . . . Mama Mia, I loved that car!
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OTHER ARTICLES BY ARENA CREATIVE GROUP
MMA Fight Card: "I Love You Grandma"
My Crazy Escape from Alcatraz
Football Lessons, Life Lessons
Vision Quest on Mount Shasta
Wild West Challenge Boxing
www.billarena.net
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