THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, March 22, 1995 TAG: 9503220533
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: GUY FRIDDELL
LENGTH: Medium: 60 lines
Some assert that the Japanese are trying to undermine our economy by building better cars - which is nonsense.
What they aim to do is make controls on their cars so complex that they will drive us out of our minds when we try to operate them.
As happened to me in a rental car about this time last year.
At the start, the weather was mild. I let down the window on the driver's side by the simple expedient of pushing every button in sight, including those on the armrest.
As the car neared the Hampton Roads Bridge-Tunnel on Interstate 64, the temperature dove.
Before you could sneeze and say, ``Jehosophat!'' the weather turned chilly enough for a meat locker.
Hoarfrost was forming on my nose and hands and brow.
My response, trying to raise the window, was to push again all the controls, whereupon BOTH windows on the passenger side came down.
Now a gale was rising, the sort that causes the weatherman to put out small-craft advisories.
Blowing through the window on the driver's side and departing via the two opposite windows, it left me feeling as if I were sitting in a wind tunnel where some cackling maniac in a James Bond movie was turning up the frigid air to storm pitch.
You know what I did, impulsively, on pure instinct?
Began to sing at the top of my lungs!
Hymns from childhood: ``LET THE LOWER LIGHTS BE BURNING, SEND A GLEAM ACROSS THE WAVES . . .''
To my amazement, although the yelling did not raise my body heat, it did divert my attention slightly from my plight.
``BRIGHTEN THE CORNER WHERE YOU ARE,'' I bawled. ``SOMEONE FAR FROM HARBOR YOU MAY GUIDE ACROSS THE BAR!''
Sing, fool, sing! To survive this hellish cold, sing action songs with lots of movement.
``SWING LOW, SWEET CHARIOT, COMING FOR TO CARRY ME HOME!'' I hollered.
My grandmother told me long time ago: ``When in doubt, Guyboy, sing hymns with all your heart!''
``WORK FOR THE NIGHT IS COMING, WORK THROUGH THE MORNING HOURS!'' I called.
At the exit for the Newport News airport, I pulled off 64 and drove along Jefferson Avenue, braying: ``BRINGING IN THE SHEAVES, WE SHALL COME REJOICING, BRINGING IN THE SHEAVES!''
I pulled in at a produce stand and walked into it, shouting: ``ONWARD CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS, MARCHING AS TO WAR!''
Two fellows, who looked like they could do anything, went out to raise the car windows. They couldn't.
I drove five blocks to a gas station. A quiet gentleman waved his hands over the windows. Up they went.
All told, I had gone through 38 hymns. Rest of the way to Williamsburg, I hummed. by CNB