Page 2 - Nov 2022

Index When I sit down at my computer to work on an issue of MOTORING.
Offerings
It's News Time, page 4
Race Ticke tNews page 9
Tuck In, page 10
Car Show Coverage begins on page 12
The Road to Best in Show, page 36
Cars & Coffee , page 40
Showcase --1998 Morgan Plus 8 , page 44
MotorSport News, page 48
Last Call for Holiday Brunch, page 51
Andy and Susie Adams go West, page 52 endeavor good for a credit toward graduation. Typewriters were
Gas Prices, page 57
Alvis Carries On, page 59
Events & November Club Dinner,
page 60
Parting Shot: Andy Adams, page 61
PLUS really great videos this month throughout
the issue
Where's Winst on?
No one found our bulldog in the October issue.
Good news for the Editor. She got to eat the See's
Candy Halloween Sampler finder's prize because
chocolate doesn't carry over. Find Winston
(hiding in much smaller form) in our pages. Then,
send your name and his location by page # to
twasbrilag@aol.com .
If you're t he first finder, you'll win t he
wort hwhile prize but you can't win if you
don't ent er.
Edit orial: On Typing by Cherie A. Beatty
my hands automatically go to the home key position, asdf jkl; and g h
are untouched between. My thumb rests, with no pressure, on the
space bar. I chuckle because this muscle memory is the most
lasting thing I have from high school . It is also the one thing I was
taught/required to do that I least expected to use in my adult life.
Even my high school Latin , I assumed , would have more use to me
than learning to type.
Back before everyone of necessity became a keyboard wizard, over 30
years before there was an internet and social media consisted of
smuggling notes across the aisle, a guidance counselor took it upon
herself to fill my elective slot with a typing class. Her presumption
was that every girl needed to learn to type because how else would
she ever find a good job ( before inevitably marrying) in corporate
America as a secretary, a career pattern, if you stuck with it, that
would lead all the way up to the front office as an executive
secretary. Her intentions were good if misguided.
I had my own thoughts on the subject; but, having already crashed
and burned in Home Economics, I took on typing as a mindless
manual then. The clatter of the keys, the sound of paper being
removed, and the announcement that "today?s exercises would be
timed? were the five days a week, one semester, routine. Open the
typing book at whatever inane paragraph had to be duplicated by my
fingers, read and type, no looking the keyboard.
This was primitive multi -tasking. Pull the paper out, circle all the
mistakes, turn the assignment in to the typing teacher. I often
wondered, while planning to be an English major with a minor in
history and philosophy (I think, therefore I type?) oh, please? what
sort of person aspired to teach typing ? I pitied the woman in front of
me. every day when I came into her classroom. (To be fair, as she
looked at my daily work, it is fair to say she likely despaired of me.)
I squeaked by the class and thought no more about it. In college
when term papers were due, I?d pay a typing classmate to do mine.
My notes were handwritten and apparently such things of beauty that
other people paid me to use them and then took them off to be typed
up by someone else. Carbon paper was still a thing, then.
Upon graduation I found that my high school instincts had paid off. In
my first job the school secretary did all my typing. In my real
career I was blessed with a steady stream of secretaries who
produced effortlessly clean copy derived from reading my
Palmer method penmanship deposited in blue ink on yellow
legal pads.
Once retired, computers in offices were becoming the
thing, yet I was hired at a paper that accepted the fact that
I didn? type. They hired a typist for me while hinting this
t
wouldn't last forever. Continued on page 8
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