An otherwise tranquil afternoon was delightfully brought to life on Wednesday when a Chevrolet Suburban crashed headlong through the front window of the Lookout Mountain Post Office, shattering both the plate-glass windows and the early aspirations of a young teen-aged girl with a learner's permit.

The good news was that neither the stunned driver nor her mortified mother was hurt. The windows, which needed cleaning anyway, will soon be replaced and, thankfully, the post office employees had already left due to recent cutbacks that now call for the facility to be closed every Wednesday afternoon.

So as people gathered to giggle and gawk, the accident quickly became humorous. The youthful driver, a cute kid who has never been as embarrassed, was assured she would get over it, learning the difference between the gas pedal and the brake. But she will forever be known as “the girl who ran over the post office” and that’s not altogether a bad thing in coming years when funny stories are told.

Mountain historians immediately recalled the most fun drive-in crash of all time, which occurred roughly 25 or 30 years ago when Danny West, one of the mountain's most-beloved matriarchs, drove her brand-new Jaguar through what was then the Casual Corner dress shop.

Mrs. West's appearance was much more dramatic, sending patrons and the shop keeper diving for safety as the Jaguar zoomed nearly the full distance from the front door to the rear of the store, knocking dresses and blouses and the cash register about in much the same way a tornado might a trailer park.

When the car finally stopped, the delightful Danny turned off the ignition, opened the front door and, with a clever wave, shouted, "Hello everybody!"

So yesterday's crash induced a flood of fun memories. One of the best was one foggy night in December when two of my childhood chums were driving through the heavy shroud after delivering their dates back home. The two were easing down Hooker Street in the late-night gloom when suddenly the ride became decidedly bumpy.

As the bleary-eyed passenger asked the driver if he was sure this was the road that connected West Brow and East Brow, the startled operator suddenly stopped to find he'd just driven down one flight of steps to the Incline and had another flight still ahead. Rather than dare call the authorities, the two forged on, throwing the exhaust muffler in the trunk rather than leave any evidence.

The most remarkable traffic mishap had taken place just a few years before, this in the early 1970s, right after Pontiac had introduced the marvelous muscle-car of the time, the heady GTO coupe. Another of my confederates was already colorfully known to the police so, as he slowed for a four-way stop where the police officer watched from his squad car, my boy downshifted hard and goosed the accelerator just so.

"John Law" was not amused, the music from the loud twin exhaust pipes hardly helping the scene, but then my boy got a little bold with the clutch. To make things worse, the GTO's red-striped tires couldn't hold the power and squalled accordingly, which peppered the squad car with gravel.

Quickly, the officer pulled my boy over, grabbed his ticket book and started writing out the infraction. "What? I didn't do anything wrong!" yelled the teenager, who was alone at the time, and the officer claimed the young driver hadn't come to a complete stop.

Further, when he spun his tires the officer was also citing his culprit for reckless driving. My hero, somewhat brazen with so much horsepower available at his call, explained the car had spun the tires because it was supposed to under certain conditions. The officer disagreed so my boy called the officer a "Doophus," which led to the "insulting an officer" charge.

At this, my boy Einstein really got mad as these counts began to mount and shouted a curse word, which enabled the officer to promptly put a checkmark in the "public profanity" column. So now the "perp" demanded an eye-to-eye with the police chief, and the officer, with lights ablaze, ushered him to the fire hall.

The police officer went inside to roust the chief, but my boy's patience had worn thin. He tossed a handful of gravel at what he figured was the firehall's bedroom window in an effort he later claimed was to help the chief wake up. But, in doing so, he underestimated the size of one of the projectiles which shattered a pane of glass.

The policeman and the chief came running out, the officer hurriedly adding "destruction of public property" to the list of crimes. As he wrote, the seething teenager then offered a line that has become immortal in mountain lore. "Well, while you're writing you might as well go ahead and put down 'assault and battery' because I'm fixing to whip your (donkey.)"

Needless to say, the young man's father was hastily summoned and the shiny GTO was impounded for 14 days but, oh, to be young again.

Yesterday's crash into the front of the Post Office was eventful, but, as is the case with most teen-aged drivers and the predicaments that happen, everything usually turns out happily ever after.

And it sure does beat the heat.

royexum@aol.com