LAST LAUGH

Their car almost started WWIII.

AN ACCIDENTAL VOLLEY

IN THE COLD WAR On the road to discovery, his experiment backfired.

Born in Washington, D.C., less than a year before the Cuban missile crisis in 1962, I grew up when the fear of getting bombed by the Soviets was pervasive.

At age 3, my favorite place to sit in the whole car was on the hump in the front floor board so I could watch Dad work the pedals on our big Chrysler. This was before mandatory child seats, and my mother thought I was as safe down there as anywhere else.

That’s where I was sitting one day in February 1965.

We were heading away from downtown on Rock Creek Parkway. A storm had struck the night before, burdening tree branches with ice. Ahead of us was a car with four men wearing furry Cossack hats. Dad guessed they were from the Russian embassy and kept his distance. The last thing he wanted was to skid on a patch of ice and ram into them.

The Russians gave their turn signal as we approached Massachusetts Avenue. It’s a long ramp, so we were driving parallel to them for several feet. Dad glanced at the Russians, who glanced back.

Meanwhile, I had become transfixed by Dad’s keys dangling from the ignition. It suddenly dawned on me that they somehow made the car go. To test my theory, I reached through Dad’s legs and turned the ignition key.

The Chrysler lurched wildly. Dad quickly realized the problem and shifted into neutral to restart, but not before the engine sucked in carbureted gasoline, which exploded inside the muffler in a string of bursts that sounded like a machine gun going off.

All four furry Cossack hats vanished as the Russians ducked to save their lives from the crazy Americans firing on them. Their car left the road, spun 360 degrees on some ice and, amazingly, righted itself back onto the ramp. They continued on their way without a look back. And so did we. But now, against my will, I was on the seat.