Well, he didn't kick it off because as my dad described, the moment he heard the crack he looked back and saw the guy holding it in his hand up by his face. In actuality he was showing it to my father, but my dad thought he was eating an apple.
And very funny you should say he either had patience or drove like a madman. I had 3 sisters, we lived in NYC Housing, my mom didn't work outside the home at the time and so we were far from wealthy. The cab was our only means of transportation. When we'd go on driving vacations we'd be in this huge taxi, AC condenser on the roof along with the lit taxi sign on top of that. The first one was blue and white, then they changed the law and made all cabs yellow to distinguish legal from illegal gypsy cabs. He paid $69 at Earl Scheib to have the entire car repainted.
Whenever my mom and I were in the car, he was a very careful driver. I naturally thought that's how he always drove.
Once when I was about 16 he drove me into the city to pick up a piece of audio gear, a Marantz preamplifier. We were at a then somewhat famous store called Harvey Sound on 46th Street in midtown Manhattan. He parked and waited as I ran in. When I came out I happened to say Hey, dad, do you always drive so slow and carefully?
There was a solid line of traffic to our right, he on the left of course. He, without signaling, and barely looking, just whipped out from the sidewalk into the middle of that heavy flow. Scared the living shit out of me. I said, ok, I get it. Don't do that again, please.
