Driving

Bluffton boys learned how to drive a car when their legs were long enough to hit the accelerator, brakes, and clutch. Actually, according to the boys raised over in Pinckney Colony, as early as 10, if their legs were too short, they learned to drive a tractor with wooden blocks tied to the stop-and-go pedals, then graduated to a truck before being allowed access to a car.

I was a late bloomer and didn’t learn to drive until I was 12. Our family car was a black, two-door, four-on-the-floor stick-shift 1935 Chevrolet. I named her Lizzie. I loved that car.

Mama had some sort of weird whatever that made her eyelids shut for no reason. She never knew when, never figured out why. It only happened when she was driving a car. She was not the best of drivers, and if I had to guess, I’d say she just got nervous and her eyes would twitch.

Mama decided that I would be her chauffeur.

My learning tracks were in Bluffton. Not the paved roads, but the roads of sand and oyster shell, two ruts and grassy hump roads, back and forth on Myrtle Island, where we had a summer cottage.

The most challenging training route was the dirt lane around Crystal Beach, especially the hard left turn around a tree trunk on the corner of the Trosdal house, where I had to downshift into second gear. It took a while to catch on to Lizzie’s mechanical idiosyncrasies before I graduated to paved roads and finally to driving the streets of Savannah.

My job was to drive Mama from our house on 52nd Street to Daddy’s store on Drayton Street across from the Marine Hospital in downtown Savannah. And I drove her to her weekly card club, wherever they were meeting, to the grocery store, to the laundry, to the German Country Club out at Bona Bella.I was her chauffeur.

I was also Miss S. Cautious. S standing for Super. Always watched the speed limit. Kept one eye on the rear-view mirror. I could smell a cop four blocks back. Wouldn’t do to be pulled over. Police took a dim view of people driving without a license

“Annelore, you must be careful. If anything happens, your father and I could lose everything we have worked so hard for,” was Mama’s constant admonishment.

If I heard it once, I heard it a thousand times.

Got my driver’s license the morning of my 16th birthday.

At last, I was legal.

Phew.

Annelore Harrell’s journey is a tapestry woven with fascinating experiences and extraordinary accomplishments. Even at 92 in 2025, Annelore’s energy and zest for life continue to inspire. Annelore Harrell’s story is a testament to living with passion, resilience, and an unquenchable thirst for adventure.