My Manifesto, or Why I Drive a Stick Shift

Okay, I've had it. Did you know Consumer Reports doesn't even compile reliability data on stick shift cars anymore, since they make up such a small percentage of the total sampling? It sounds like a cliche but driving stick is a lost or dying art, kind of like chair re-caning.

You see, Grandma has this chair. She's had it for years and years. It sat in her apartment by the French doors out to the balcony. We called it the "boyfriend chair" since generations of boyfriends would sit, nervously, subjected to invasive questioning while twisting the cane rings on the arm rests.

(Boyfriend chair, circa late 80s)


"They're fidgety," Grandma would say. "People are so tense. Everyone is very tense."

The boyfriends would sit, subjecting themselves to scrutiny. "Here, have some popping paper," Grandma would say, offering up the lining to a See's candy box. (Popping paper is very therapeutic for stress.)

When Grandma moved to Brighton Gardens, everything she had collected over the years in the apartment where she had lived for almost forty years was carefully assessed. Only the most precious sentimental items made the cut. Of course the boyfriend chair had to stay with Grandma. Mom actually found a caner who re-caned it. There aren't many caners left in the world (and they are expensive.) But Mom felt grateful to have found him. I feel the same way about piano tuners. We need to rebuild the G key two octaves below Middle C and I know it's going to cost an arm and a leg. But I'll write a big check and feel like I'm doing my part to save a dying art. Save the caners! Save the piano tuners!

So driving a stick shift is quickly becoming a lost art. I really don't understand why or how this happened.

Before having kids, we were "DINKS" with actual disposable income. Sometimes I'd test drive high end cars, just for kicks. Many of them, particularly the higher-end you got, were not even available in manual transmission.

I don't get it. You're buying this beautiful, expensive, finely crafted car. Don't you actually even like to drive?

Sure, you don't need to hand crank a Victrola to enjoy music. But part of me thinks, as I download music onto my ipod, "this is nothing. This is ephemera, really, all these bits and bytes." Where is the cover art? And is anyone going to notice that there are no more liner notes?

But back to the cars. Driving a stick shift makes me feel like I'm really doing something. I'm actually engaged in the process. Plus you can dart in and out of traffic. The few times I've driven automatics - granted, mostly crappy rental cars - I've noticed that as soon as you pick up enough speed, it's already time to hit the brakes.

Manual transmissions are more fuel efficient. Sure, the difference is only a few MPGs, but I just paid $4.29 per gallon the other day, so I'll take whatever edge I can get.

And, eternal pessimist that I am, I like the fact that there's one less thing on the car to break.

Mainly, though, it's just that I grew up driving stick. Four on the floor, cousin Michael used to call it. I took my driving exam at the Capitola DMV. We drove to a residential neighborhood known as the "jewel box" because of its street names like Jade and Opal. Our ancient Volvo station wagon didn't have a functioning first or third gear. Not having first was no big deal; you would just start on an incline. Not having third was a bit trickier. You'd have to jump from second to fourth by picking up enough speed (ironically, fifth, or "overdrive," worked just fine.)

We had another car, but it was actually worse. It was an ancient VW bug convertible without fully functioning seatbelts. Or windshield wipers (Dad would get out at lights and quickly wipe off the window.) It had that horrible Nazi design with the gas tank in the front. Mom once tapped someone at a stoplight when she and I were headed to the ballet and the front end just crumpled. We tried to stop for gas on the way home and discovered that we could not lift the front hood to get to the tank. We were nervous because it was almost midnight at a lonely gas station in a rough section of Oakland, but luckily a helpful guy who happened to have a crowbar in his car stopped and helped us.

So the Volvo it was. That was our family car for all of my childhood. Later I drove a series of lumbering Swedish clunkers. That's how I got into the peculiar habit of leaving the car in reverse while parked. Saab actually doesn't let you remove the key unless you're in reverse.

I was always at Swedish Service. It was part of Santa Monica's small Scandinavian area, which consisted of a bunch of Volvo and Saab repair shops, European food shops, and The Danish Pastry, whose owners were actually Swedes.

I am skeptical of people - especially men - who cannot drive stick. "Why not?" I wonder.

Dad always said to learn to drive stick in case you're stuck somewhere and it's a disaster and the only escape vehicle is an old farm tractor or truck with manual transmission. I think Dad envisioned something from the movie Red Dawn. Now I just watch The Amazing Race contestants and think, "You knew you were going to India or Guatemala or Trinidad and Tobago; you had to know you'd be driving a stick shift! (Or a car with a choke, for that matter.)"

The bottom line is, it's a skill to be mastered like riding a bike, ice skating, flying a kite, sewing on a button, or a million other little things that everyone should know how to do halfway competently. I can change a tire (not that I ever would! God no! I'd call AAA.) But I know I can do it, if I'm ever in a Red Dawn scenario and need to escape on a tractor. It pays to be prepared.