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J.C. Milliman
Don't try this at home, folks!

    "It was many and many a year ago in that kingdom by the sea, that there lived a fellow with wrenches a-plenty -- the mechanic of the shadetree..."

    I think Poe wrote that (or something like it, anyway).

    Um, that would be my fellow New Englander (and misanthropic scribe...), Edgar Allan. And yes, I've been labeled a misanthrope also.

    I don't think it quite fair, but we're getting off point here.

    Has it really been years and years? You would think so. I mean, how often do you see engine blocks hanging from trees in the front yards of houses anymore? Fleets of derelict obsolescent vehicles lined up in death forming a motorpool of the damned, as it were? Most places around where I live would call that a "covenant violation."

    While there are still a few disciples practicing the faith, the ugly fact remains that guys taking wrenches (and without factory-authorized services manuals on CD-ROM) to ole Betsy under the oak tree in the front yard may as well be Mohicans.

Tyler Bolles working on his 1959 Chevy Apache

    For one thing, unlike those days of yore when you had no other choice, 21st Century suburbia boasts garages a plenty. De rigueur, even. No need to skin those knuckles out in the elements. Too bad, though, the last thing you'll find in the modern super-sized three-car garage attached to the average yuppie palace, complete with a studio apartment topside, is a car. Most garages I've seen lately are nothing more than storage sheds, with remote door openers, for all the accoutrements of modern life -- the 35-hp brand name riding mower (with a zillion attachments) for the 500-square foot lawn, the stainless steel barbecue grille from Heck (that makes Ameril's kitchen look like a greasy spoon diner) and the designer weight bench (used twice).

    God forbid you should want to actually work on the family grocery getter in there. And why should you? Isn't that what all these quickie oil change and tune up joints are for?

    Oh let's through caution to the wind and get crazy for a minute -- let's suppose you actually wanted to. Wallowing deeper in this lunacy, let's further suppose you, unlike me, actually attended a high school properly equipped to teach shop, so you might have clue one as to what you were doing.

    Armed with clue one, can you actually work on the average daily driver? Heck no! Forget high school shop class -- that's only the beginning. Our modern marvels of automotive technology have all but driven shadetree mechanics to the brink of extinction.

    And we call it progress. Bah!

    And I'm really not a misanthrope. Sure, in the 24th Century, a high schooler like Wesley Crusher (for you Trekkies out there...) can hot wire the Starship Enterprise when she conks out on the side of the galactic superslab, but you and I are best advised to leave well enough alone when it comes to tinkering under the hood of anything made since 1973. For when we demanded higher fuel efficiency, more power, less weight, fewer cylinders and greater safety all stuffed into a smaller, more comfortable box, technology took over.

    That's the beauty of older vehicles. Plenty of elbow room, not too many hoses, simple carburetors, rear wheel drive, big block V-8's or plain-Jane (sorry Jane!) straight sixes, there wasn't much under the hood you couldn't figure out with enough butt scratchin' and a few cuss words.

    Not today. Throw wrenches and swear like a swab jockey for all the good it will do you but you pretty much need to have a Ph.D. from the Automotive something or another Institute (the patch all the cool mechanics wear) to even change the oil, let alone adjust the lifters. Shoot, did you know there's even a recommended torque for the oil drain plug on most modern engines?

    That's if you even got that far -- just try finding the oil filter in some of these cars. My daughter asked me (awhile ago -- she's since learned her lesson) to change the oil in her Saturn. I went to look for the filter. Not only could I not find it, I couldn't even slide under the car to look. Worse than that, I even had a hard time sliding my floor jack under the car. Okay, so maybe it isn't exactly a petit floor jack (it's designed for 12 tons and I use it on a dumptruck...).

    The point is this -- gone forever are the days when you (or I or anyone) can just walk up to a vehicle, break out the tools and have at it. You can try it, of course, but you won't even get past the hose hydra waiting to snare you once you open the hood. Shoot, just popping the hood on a modern car is enough to make any self-respecting wrench head hyperventilate.

    Tools? Did I mention tools? Gone also are the days when you could just about do anything to your own vehicle, up to a full frame-off rebuild, with a few simple tools -- usually included in a small canvas bag when you bought the car. Anything you needed to do could be accomplished with a hammer, screwdriver and a "Kentucky Socket Set" (otherwise known as an adjustable wrench).

    Ever look in a service manual for a modern car? Practically anything you need to do, including pulling the spark plug wires, involves a manufacturer's specialty tool -- available from your dealer in exchange for your next mortgage payment. Hey, I'm as much of a tool nut as the next guy (if the next guy's Tim Allen...), but I draw the line at spending big bucks for a 28.6 mm Reticulated Blivet Spanner I will only ever need once. Besides, try 'splainin' that one to the Missus when you botch the job ('cause you didn't spring for the manual AND you don't have any formal mechanic training...) and call Billy to come tow the car and fix it for you anyway.

    So, fearing She Who Must Be Obeyed, as well as our own ignorance of modern technology, we shadetree mechanics quietly and graciously (if we know what's good for us!) are exiting stage right. And if it's less than twenty years old, it has a Quickie Oil Change Joint sticker in the upper left corner of the windshield.

    I'll stick to turning wrenches on my '49. That's an honest truck -- you can walk up to it and generally figure it out without the manual. Of course, one would be wise to consult the Gospel, but that's how we do it. When all else fails, read the instructions. At least with only two hoses under the hood, I can get away with it ... mostly. Meanwhile, the modern marvels in the garage await their turn at an ASE-Certified shop -- just like most others of their ilk.

    And the shade tree? Most will be found with a tire swing (bought from a chain store, not removed from one of the junks out back) these days. The big block 454, swinging from its chain like an old west desperado brought to vigilante justice, will exist only in the memories of dutiful husbands like me, bound by covenants and good taste, But longing for the old ways.

    Likewise, the grease-covered acolyte -- the arboreal engineer with his suspended big blocks -- falls victim to creeping technology. Simple men bound to simple times.

    Society pays a price with his passing. Alas, yet remains the raven in his once-proud tree, now bereft of engine blocks.

    "Never more! Never more!"