As it happens, Scotti isn’t a teacher in the Boston Public School system. Strictly speaking, he isn’t a teacher at all. Scotti is a driving instructor. You could go so far as to say he teaches driver safety. His approach to the subject, though, is a little unorthodox. Indeed, under normal circumstances, the driving techniques Scotti teaches — the so-called Scotti Method — would not only violate the rules of the road, but probably a few federal statutes as well. This is not, by any stretch of the imagination, the stuff of your average drivers’-ed course.

"We teach the basics: three-point turns, looking over your shoulder when backing up, parallel parking, how to put the car in park and shut off the engine," says Jim Slowey, an instructor at Central Auto School in East Boston. "We show you how to change a flat tire, how to fill out an accident report."

The curriculum devised by the Medford-based Scotti, on the other hand, includes surveillance detection; high-speed braking and turning; skidding; spinning; slamming; smashing; using your car as a weapon; reversing at top speed; and shooting from a moving vehicle.

In a recent newsletter put out by the Tony Scotti Training Network (TSTN) — a consortium of schools located in Rhode Island, California, Michigan, and Nevada — there is an article titled "Escaping the Kill Zone (Ramming)." "Put your foot on the pedal and do not let up," the article advises. "Your vehicle will make contact [and] then push the barricade out of the path of travel." In the course of his 30-year career, Scotti says, he has consigned hundreds of cars to the scrap heap teaching people to do stuff like this.

For those whose careers are dedicated to advising people how not to crash into things, the idea of a bunch of wheel-jerking, fishtailing Tony Scotti grads taking to the streets is an unsettling prospect. "I don’t think that we would want to teach someone how to do that," says Jim Slowey. "I think it would be very foolish to have an auto school that teaches you to drive that way."

Slowey has a point. But those who sign up with TSTN are not jittery first-timers or adrenaline-drenched teens. They are, for the most part, security professionals: bodyguards, soldiers, chauffeurs, police officers, and secret-service agents. And they are less interested in the rules of the road than they are in steering clear of assassins, kidnappers, and terrorists. When there are bullets shattering your windshield and grenades clattering across your hood, there’s little time to check your mirrors, put on your turn signal, and pull smoothly away from the curb. For Scotti and his associates, "car trouble" has a very specific meaning.

"We don’t teach civilians how to do security work," says Anthony Ricci, owner of Advanced Driving & Security Inc. (ADSI), a Scotti driving school in Rhode Island. "We do car-control clinics for civilians. We concentrate on some security elements, but we don’t teach them how to get out of kill zones. We don’t teach them how to deploy from a vehicle using a weapon. We’re not going to teach them how to shoot through glass. There’s no need for them to do that. They are not going to know how to do that stuff."

Not yet, anyway.

"Let’s be honest," says Scotti. "There’s a huge market for people who have no need for this." Meaning, the kinds of people who enjoy leaping out of airplanes, rummaging around at the bottom of the sea, and zipping down the sides of mountains may be equally inclined to get their kicks on TSTN’s driving strips. After all, there can be few activities more, er, bracing than losing control of a car going 70 miles per hour. As Scotti puts it, "I still can’t believe I got paid for doing that."

At first glance, Tony Scotti, 66, doesn’t look much like an action figure. Balding and bespectacled, he would not seem out of place at a local Dunkin’ Donuts, a Boston Herald under his arm, ordering his sixth small regular of the day.

Indeed, since he went into "semi-retirement" a few years back, Scotti has spent his days quietly, pottering around his Medford neighborhood. Time was, though, Scotti enjoyed a lifestyle that would have done Indiana Jones proud.

Since the early ’70s, when he founded his school, Scotti has taught in some of the world’s most volatile regions — Haiti, Iran, Colombia, Pakistan, El Salvador, the Philippines. He has trained the bodyguards of Will Smith and the emir of Kuwait. He has barked orders at cigar-chewing soldiers of fortune and found himself caught up in a violent Islamic revolution. On more than one occasion, he has been shot at, most famously in Venezuela, when a group of his own trainees mistook him for an enemy infiltrator and let loose with a cannonade of gunfire.

"There aren’t too many people who have actually done this stuff," Scotti says, referring to the defensive-driving institutes that have cropped up in the 30 years since he founded his own. "In this business, there are an awful lot of people teaching who have never done anything. I’ve been there, done that, and got the T-shirt. When I talk about being ambushed, I’ve been ambushed."

Following his wife’s death, Scotti became a "recluse," he says, hardly ever venturing out, refusing to speak to any of his old friends and colleagues. Some people began to worry about his mental state. But Scotti’s a tough old bird. He’s also something of a patron saint to those in the defensive-driving game. "Scotti’s the expert, the guru," says Anthony Ricci. "He’s written the books. He was there at the beginning. When it comes to security driving, he’s the best in the business. He’s the guy." For those who know him, it seemed unthinkable that Scotti would remove himself completely from the industry that he pretty much invented. They were right.

"I’m getting back into it now," Scotti says. "I’m trying to get my act together. It’s not been easy, but I’ve been trying." He adds, sounding decidedly more chirpy, "There’s been a huge demand lately for what we do, the way we do it."

Recently, Scotti was asked to review some Al Qaeda training videos — though he won’t reveal by whom. "I’d go to jail," he says, "and I don’t look good in stripes." With this, he lets out one of his frequent, throaty chuckles. What Scotti saw in those tapes, though, is no laughing matter. "It was absolutely incredible driving and shooting," he says. "Standing up on the pegs of a motorcycle with an AK-47, shooting at a car, and hitting it." There is more than a trace of admiration in his voice. "I don’t know where they’re learning that stuff, but that person had practiced. It was very impressive. As a matter of fact, I’d like to go to their schools." He laughs again, a head-back, attention-grabbing guffaw.