Morton Morrison only recently gave up trying to learn to play the violin. "Starting at age 60 was too late," he said. He is 94. 

He now lets someone else do his taxes, even though he is a trained accountant. And he has quit going to the movies and instead borrows DVD's from the library because the closed captioning works whether or not his hearing aids do.
But one concession he has not made to age is driving. Living in the suburbs, he cannot get anywhere easily without a car and a license. Fortunately, he has both. 

"People say, 'How do you last so long?' " he said. "It's easy. Frequent naps. Frequent naps prevent old age, especially when driving." He was speaking to a group at the Danbury Senior Center, where as a driving coach for the AARP, he teaches a course to the elderly on how to continue driving into their old age — and when to consider hanging up the keys. 

Mr. Morrison, who has lived through 17 American presidents, does not believe that driving is a lifelong right. In interviews, he spoke frankly about what some see as a quiet menace — abetted by permissive laws, embarrassment over failing skills and necessity: many of the elderly are driving when they should not be.

"Every person has to decide for himself when it's time to give up," he said. "There are people who will not admit they are not capable. And they're a menace to themselves and others."

He finds it troubling that Connecticut extended his license for six years without an assessment of his fitness to drive. As he tells it, he visited the Department of Motor Vehicles office here, had his picture taken, and paid the fee. He was handed a new license that expires on his 100th birthday, April 15, 2012. He described the process as "just give us the money and you can have the license."

Mr. Morrison pointed out that he drives well, is in good shape and needs glasses only for tasks like reading stock-market quotes in the paper. But as public policy, he said, automatic renewals — the norm in half the country — make no sense. His 92-year-old wife, Sylvia, for instance, voluntarily gave up her license six years ago, when she was battling illnesses that affected her eyesight and agility. "I knew it was time," she said. But what if she had not?

Connecticut, along with New York and New Jersey, is among 25 states that have no additional requirements on renewals for older drivers, according to the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety. Asked about the license renewal policy, a spokesman for the Connecticut D.M.V. said his agency was only responsible for enforcing existing laws, not making them. 

In Connecticut, Mr. Morrison is one of roughly 51,000 residents 85 or older who are licensed. State records show that there at least 2,435 licensed drivers older than he is, including at least 81 who are over 100. (The very oldest was born in 1900.)

Mr. Morrison does not find that figure so remarkable. "I don't drive like I did 30 years ago," he said. "I drive better." He said teaching the AARP refresher course roughly 40 times over the last six years and a full range of other pursuits from photography to music have kept him sharp. 

His memories are just as keen. He was born in Wengrow, in present-day Poland, on the day the Titanic sank in 1912. His father, a cap maker, had already moved to the United States, and persuaded his mother to bring up the rear when Morton was 1. Mr. Morrison can describe with brio how lamplighters lighted the streets at night, horses pulled the fire trucks and milkshakes were still called malteds. 

After attending public schools in Brooklyn, he enrolled at Baruch College in 1929 to study business, weeks before the stock market crash. He nonetheless earned a business degree, was licensed as a certified public accountant but turned to teaching, a seemingly more stable career.

He met Sylvia when she sold him a used statistics book for a class. A few years later, she taught him to drive. They married in 1938. "He lived around the corner. He was available," Mrs. Morrison said.

These days, the couple live in a gated community called Lake Waubeeka. While the place has retained its rural charm, it also has a lot of features that typically chase older Americans out of the Northeast for sunnier climes: among them, steep hills and hairpin turns. Mr. Morrison says he is up to the challenge. 

On a recent day, he confidently eased himself into his red L.L. Bean edition Subaru Outback — outfitted, he noted, with "all-wheel, not four-wheel, drive" — and tooled around Danbury, showing the finesse that comes with knowing just how much one can flout the posted speed limit.

"Nobody goes 25 miles per hour," he explained. "Right now, I'm doing 29, maybe 30. This is the prevailing speed."

He had recently appeared at a center for the elderly, giving a dozen retirees, aged 64 to 87, a refresher course so they would qualify for discounts on their car insurance. The eight-hour course, which takes place entirely in the classroom, includes a self-assessment to determine if certain skills have become impaired.

"Some of us have trouble with our eyesight at night," he said. "Ever drive along and you don't know where you're going? It happens."

He asked one student, Catherine Filipowicz, 64, who has worked as an insurance adjustor, if she had any thoughts on how to avoid getting into a crash. "Walk? Take the bus?" she suggested.

Another student, Eleanor Potter, 83, confessed to being too aggressive. She starts each day with an early-morning dash to her pool. When drivers around her are too timid, she told the class, she feels "like wringing their neck."
"I like to go," she said, blushing.
Mr. Morrison agreed to drive around Danbury with this reporter, who is less than half his age, to see if he could help improve her driving. The car mostly stayed in the right lane, at 55 miles an hour. Cars passed constantly. Trucks were tailgating. 

On the first try, Mr. Morrison wisely chose the back seat. He made a suggestion about the driver's position: "Try moving back a little." 

Told the new position was uncomfortable, he said, "You'll get used to it." On the second trip, on Interstate 84, Mr. Morrison gave recommendations on the proper way to change lanes. 

As the car traveled 50 m.p.h., he gave another suggestion: "Speed up a little." 
"See what you can do. Be a hot rod."
Easy for him to say.

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