Well, okay, I'm going to tell this story which all of Nick's racing friends have heard many times at parties and other get-togethers. So here goes, and for those of you who haven't heard it, fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy ride.

Nick's racing Corvette needed another engine so on his lunch hour he purchased one and had it loaded into the back of his station wagon, probably not a good idea to begin with since it was not in a crate. On his way back to the high school with the engine he made a turn at a corner and accidently clipped a car. He stopped and a large man got out in a rage, screaming that this was a brand new car and saying, “You are going to pay.” The man turned and said, “I'm going to get my gun.” Well, “get my gun” is never a good thing to hear and that is when Nick floored the station wagon. Yes, he left the scene of an accident in a major rush.

This happened near the school where he taught. The other guy in his new car was no match for an experienced race car driver and the idea that he had a gun spurred Nick on. Now, imagine that you are trying to get away and have a 700 pound un-tethered engine rolling around in the back of the car, literally destroying the interior.

According to the story Nick passed the high school at a very high rate of speed. (Some say it was in excess of 90mph, but that may have increased a bit with each telling of the story.) Several of his students were outside the school waving him on shouting, “Go Mr. Corbo, go.” In the process Nick went around several blocks and zipped thru the back roads of Neptune leaving a very upset man with a gun in the dust and somehow not attracting the attention of the Law! Nick had escaped. Apparently the man in the new car never got his license number. And yes, the interior of the station wagon was totaled.

Perhaps a little discretion in the beginning might have been a better course, but that was not the Nick Corbo we all know and loved and that is the 427 in the Trunk story.  It also got him the DART Award that year.

the week i moved from Boca Raton, Florida to Manasquan N.J.(big mistake)  we stopped at the Toms River house where Jeannie and Nick and Nicolas were living..it ws unseasonably cold outside..he was pulling into his driveway..ronnie and i were in his kitchen puttting some things into storage..

Nick comes into the kitchen with a serios expression on his face induced from the cold tempreature outside..he didn't even look at me..he just said.."welcome to SHIT New Jersey".....lmao...all i could do was laugh..as months went by the enironment by itself proved Nick to be so correct..happy birthday Nick..

As told by my Aunt Sue

In recalling memories of your dad, I remember that my sister, Ronni, once characterized your dad as somewhat like the agitator in a washing machine, meaning that whenever he was present in any situation, things would definitely begin to MOVE all around him!   Ronni and her two daughters, who lived with our family in Toms River for four years, always mention your dad's unique ability to make them laugh through the hard times in their lives when no one else could.  They loved him for it.  I think it says a lot about your dad's generosity and caring nature to know that, all told, he opened his heart and home to six family members throughout my 24 years with him.  

As you know, your dad was often surprising and unexpected.  He certainly surprised us all in 2015 by moving from AZ, which was his "happy place,"  to take care of my aging father in Florida.  Caregiving seemed an unusual role for your dad, yet he did it well and brought much-appreciated love, adventure, and companionship into my dad's life after my mom's passing.  My father especially loved going for drives with your dad.  When your dad would "put the pedal to the metal," I know my father was driving vicariously through him and channeling his "inner racecar driver."  My father often spoke to me about what a "great guy" your dad was.  He called him his "buddy."  

At this point in time, Nicholas and I are finding it difficult to deliberately recall memories of your dad, since our grief is still very raw.  Nevertheless, we do find ourselves laughing through our tears at times when we recall his quirky sense of humor and his unusual approach to problem-solving.  His sense of humor often showed up in the middle of tense situations, when your dad he would suddenly break into song!  His song choices were usually from the fifties and sixties, although sometimes he would come up with a good rap that he learned from his students at Neptune Middle School.  His singing was always slightly off-key, always extremely loud, and always comically dramatic!  We would roll our eyes in disbelief and crack up, diffusing the tension.  His approach to problem-solving was equally dramatic and comical.  For example, if he wanted to dispose of something (say...a hot tub or unwanted furniture), he had absolutely no qualms about throwing said items off a second-story deck or down a flight of stairs.  I guess this all began when he was about five years old and decided to throw an unwanted tricycle off the deck of his parent's home in Newark.  I heard he got a good whipping from his father for that, but it didn't deter him from making this a lifelong habit!  It was shocking, it was effective, and it was....so...your dad...He did made us laugh, didn't he?  

My name is John Moran III and Mr. Corbo was both my teacher for Math Applications in sixth grade in Neptune Middle School (tenth period, 1998-99) and my father's teacher at Ridge Avenue in fifth grade. He always treated me with respect and he was very laid back and cool. He also knew my uncle and offered sage advice on a variety of topics. Thanks for the memories, you will be missed.

My first day of college at Northern Arizona University.

 Arizona was my coming of age. Arizona was a gift to me from my Dad. 

I think my favorite Dad story is from 1985 in Shark River Hills.  

I was 17 and in need of a driving lesson.  "You will drive the Vette." he said to me.... " And I could tell he was excited to teach me how  to drive a stick.  Dad, I don't think I'm ready to drive your race car!" I said.  "Yes you are. Get in." We both climbed over the stainless steel side pipes of the white 1968 convertable and into front seat-- roll bar above our heads and the top down.  

After a quick explanation of rack and pinon steering, the clutch, and first, second, third and forth, I stepped on the clutch and turned the key.  The race car roared. I put the car in gear and rolled down the street.

Well, we didn't get very far... I popped the clutch as I turned the corner at Brighton and Riverview--- the car jerked forward, the front wheels grabbed the curb and before I knew it, we were through the fence and in his neigbor's backyard-- with the post and rail fence on top of us.  

Fast forward to 2017--- I loved re-telling this story reminiscing with Dad in Sarosota, as I described my recent dejavu moment as I told him about driving Jim's new car through a storefront.  Dad, my driving is not getting much better!