DRIVER'S SIDE DIATRIBE
By Al Vinikour     

Does this headline give me your undivided attention? Good, because it has nothing to do with what you filthy-minded readers think it does. “Au contraire,” as that famous stinky Frenchman, Pepe LePew would say. I’m referring to a manual transmission.

Prior to the latest era in mankind’s evolutionary process — the Lazy-Assitine Era — most vehicles were equipped with a manual transmission. In other words you were responsible for shifting gears yourself. Not only that, you had to have the dexterity to work your left foot with your right hand — or as it was known in the Automotive Hymnal, depressing the clutch pedal and upshifting to the next gear. There was no “D” or “R” or any other gear indicator to be found. It was the ultimate battleground, man vs. transmission.

I can’t be entirely critical of the younger generation’s utter stupidity when it comes to attempting to drive a stick-shift vehicle. By the time they learned to drive the majority of vehicles were only equipped with automatic transmissions. They could accelerate smoothly and decelerate just as slickly.

However, watching a novice driver attempt to drive off in a vehicle with a manual transmission is one of the two great visuals of all time. (The other is observing Members of Congress commit career suicide through their own zippers.) 

The top setting on a bull-riding machine at Gilley’s Bar in Houston doesn’t have the bucking power of a standard-transmission car being driven for the first time by a rookie. Trusses should be standard issue for this scenario because the possible damage to vital organs like kidneys and liver can be, at best, detrimental to one’s longevity. I must admit that I, too, fell into this category when I was first learning to drive.

Luckily, I had an advantage; my family owned auto junkyards when I was young so no matter what I crashed into or how much damage I was doing to the vehicle I was attempting to drive, who cared? But at least I learned to drive a stick shift. Just how far would those of us fortunate enough to have grown up in the muscle car era gone if the highways we drove on looked like a plague of grasshoppers and frogs from all the jerking of our vehicles as they were attempting to reach a decent speed without stalling out?

This reminds me of an anecdote: Those of us with hot cars hung out at a drive-in restaurant named Scott’s. There was one guy named Randy who had a high-performance Chevrolet with a 409 cubic-inch engine and a four-speed transmission. When Randy would leave the parking lot and turn on to the main road he used to like to “get on it” and spin his tires (burn rubber as it was). Most of the time this didn’t work because his clutch work was so spastic that his Chevy would hop around like a kangaroo.

When he finally did smooth out and hit an rpm where he had to shift gears he’d create the most horrendous clanking of metal against metal since the Doolittle Raid over Japan in World War II. He achieved the moniker “Rubber Arm Randy.” Here’s a guy who spent $4,000+ in 1963 dollars (the equivalent of probably $6 million today) on a super-quick vehicle and barely had the skills to drive a manual gearbox.

Let’s not all jump up at once and ask why Randy didn’t learn to drive a manual transmission in Driver’s Education Class in high school. First of all, in those days it wasn’t mandatory to take Driver’s Ed. Secondly, 1959 was probably the last year that these classes taught driving using a manual transmission. It no doubt had something to do with the tremendous number of workman’s comp claims for kidney failure by driving teachers.

There’s another reason to learn to drive a manual transmission. As I said, the majority of vehicles driven in North America have an automatic transmission. That’s fine, but what about the testosterone-laden Ralph Lauren-wearing law school grad whose parents bought him a BMW or Audi or even a Corvette with a six-speed manual transmission.

Sure, the recipient is in Seventh Heaven. But what happens if he and his date are driving miles from civilization (and cell phone coverage) and he’s hit with a crippling kidney stone attack. He’s experiencing the worst pain imaginable and furthermore, he’s pissing blood all over his optional water-buffalo leather seats. He tells his date (girl or guy, I’m not being judgmental) to drive him to the nearest hospital. What comes out next is a statement that triggers murders: “I don’t know how to drive a stick shift.” 

What develops is heartbreaking. While he’s bleeding out in excruciating pain his date is whining that it’s not her fault she can’t drive his stupid car. Bottom line, he dies and for eternity she hates him because she had to wait for almost an hour for someone to come by and offer her a ride back to town to (barely) make her hair appointment. Had this person had even the most rudimentary training in operating a manual transmission the poor bastard she was dating might still be alive today, and may have gone on to develop a cure for cancer or incontinence.

I implore you, school boards and driving schools of the land, when you purchase vehicles, please make sure that some of these cars include a manual-shift transmission. Automatics are fine for advanced training but unless your students can smoothly operate a stick shift they should not be allowed to move on nor obtain a driver’s license. Sadly, if a student absolutely cannot learn to drive a manual then I’m afraid they’re going to have to be euthanized. This person poses nothing positive to benefit his neighbor and needs to make room for others. I’m sure you’ll agree.

Remember that old saying, “If you’re thinking life is one big automatic transmission – you’re shift out of luck.”