In
2000, I found myself in the market for my very first, very own car. My husband of 27 years was newly-exed and in
the arms of another woman. My daughters
were off to college driving their own wheels. My emptied nest
was a spacious overstatement and so was my eight-seat, Chevy
Suburban-Mom car. I
was attending graduate school and managing a part-time job in
Boston. I drove thousands of miles a
month to and from work and school and social engagements across New England. I
wanted to downsize to something practical, sporty, and fuel-efficient.
I successfully traded in the
gas-guzzler and skillfully negotiated the purchase price of a VW Cabriolet
convertible. Did I consider about the practicalities or persnickety
workings of a foreign car? Did I analyze the rationale of a standard
transmission in New England’s ice and snow? Of course not. I just knew
that I would save money on gas and have a blast driving my great
little car.
When my transmission bit the
dust one bright and blustery winter day in 2001, I found myself at the
dealership naively believing my Cabrio's
ailment was covered by warranty. However, the frowning,
cackling mechanics of the VW dealership's service
department decided that I simply did not know how to manipulate
a stick shift and that I single-handedly ruined the transmission,
burning it into a mess of metal and grease.
I argued that I’d been driving a standard transmission for thirty years
since I was a teenager. I pointed out
the 60,000 mile extended warranty, especially the words transmission, gears and
clutch. I was told that in order to get the keys to my car I needed to cough up
an obscene amount of money to pay for the replacement guts in my
beautiful little machine.
I’m not particularly proud to say
that this capable, self-reliant single woman of the 21st century then relied on
her back-up. A few telephone calls to the dealership from both my ex-husband and my
then-boyfriend worked the miracle. Suffice it to say, I
sheepishly picked up my car with its new transmission and it was entirely
covered by warranty.
Frustrated and slightly humiliated,
I wondered why I couldn’t convince the car mechanics when the men in (and out) of my life could.
So, I called the Tappet Brothers, aka Click and Clack, and
shared my story with the boys of Car Talk.
The Car Talk experience was a unique
one. After a call to the 1-800 number given during each show, I was
prompted to leave a message with my name, phone number and my brief
story. Several days later, I received a
call to ferret out more of the story. Obviously, the more animated and clever
the storyteller, the better. I passed
the test and I was invited to sit by my telephone at a particular time on a
particular day in the next week when I would talk with the
experts, Ray and Tom Magliozzi.
At the
designated time, 1 pm during my lunch hour, I sat by the
phone. When it rang, I ducked into a private office (the only quiet spot in the
tiny library where I worked.) Suffice it
to say, Ray and Tom were fun-loving, condescending, patronizing and
hilarious. They were masters of bringing out the best, and
possibly the worst. Speaking to them was an absolute thrill. The
show was recorded and edited and I was told the Saturday that it would air.
There was more fun, of course.
I heard from people across the country who happened to hear my
eight-minute claim to fame on NPR’s Car Talk. I didn’t tell many people to
listen in, but friends and relatives seemed to recognize my voice and plight
when I was introduced simply as Charlotte from “our-nearby-fair-city
Boxborough, Massachusetts.”
And so, I was saddened this week
when I learned thatTom Magliozzi had passed away to developments of
Alzheimer’s. I understood that they
taped their last Car Talk episode two years ago, but all of their shows had
been reworked to sound relatively current while Car Talk continues to be
broadcast nationwide.
In 1991, the Magliozzi’s wrote “Car
Talk with Click and Clack, the Tappet Brothers.” In 2000,
they published “In Our Humble Opinion,” a book that contains very
little advice about car maintenance or repair but is rather, a book of ‘rants
and raves’ – a preponderance of very funny Tappet Brothers’
pontifications. “Ask Click and Clack, Answers from Car Talk” hit the
libraries and bookstores in 2008. It's is a compilation of the
opinions and reactions from the biweekly newspaper column, “Click and
Clack.” Lisa Phillips included an essay about the Magliozzi brothers in “Public
Radio – Behind the Voices” (2006).
Minuteman libraries have multiple
copies of the audio recordings of Car Talk shows. While the Magliozzi
brothers chatted with as many as a dozen callers each week, only
a small number of those were included on Car Talk CDs which were often given as
incentive gifts during NPR’s fundraising campaigns. The “Best of Car Talk” and “Second Best of
Car Talk” go as far back as 1995 and 1996. “Field Guide to the North
American Wacko” includes shows from July and August 2007 on four CDs. Another compilation CD, “Why You Should Never
Listen to Your Father When It Comes to Cars” showcases dads and their
offspring, such as “Remember That Time Your Car Blew Up, Dad?” Car Talk Classics: The Pinkwater Files”
includes four hours of funny stuff by the guys and children’s author Daniel
Pinkwater. “Car Talk: The Brothers Grime” was produced in 2009. And there
are many more in between.
My Car Talk episode was
replayed several times in the early 2000s and, for a time, it could be found
online. Sadly, I can no longer locate it in the archives and
haven’t found it on a CD. I do, however, have the entire show
engraved in my memory. Rest in
peace, Tom Magliozzi, and know that I am one of the millions of Car Talk
listeners who survived many long weekend drives laughing along with you
and Ray while we ‘wasted another hour listening to Car Talk.’
