Why I miss our dowdy, dumpy old cars
Cars are nothing more than machines, right? You fuel them, maintain them and occasionally wash them, and that’s usually that.
They are not babies. They are not pets. They don’t really have personalities.
They occupy the same category as clothes dryers and dishwashers. They spin, they whir and they do the job they’re supposed to do, without emotion or elan.
But in our family, Flipper was different. He was our 13-year-old Chevrolet — a sedan so undistinguished that no one ever tried to steal him or challenge him to a drag race at a red light.
He was dowdy, dumpy and drab. He was always threatening to break, go on strike or both. But he got the job done.
Why the Flipper nickname? Because some genius at General Motors had attached a dorsal fin to Flipper’s roof. The fin contained the radio antenna.
Yet this was surely a joke nevertheless. Flipper never reached speeds where his aerodynamics changed. He couldn’t have.
He was a burble-around-town car. He had no similarity to the grace or agility of a dolphin.
He did not have that now-ubiquitous digital screen in the center of his dashboard. He did not have that beeper that warns you not to change lanes. Bless his aging heart, Flipper could still play CDs!
To start Flipper, you turned a key, and the engine came to life with a classic, deep roar. To engage the emergency brake, you stomped down with your left foot — and released that brake with another stomp.
How totally yesterday. Yet, how totally a part of our household.
Flipper was our third consecutive Chevrolet Malibu. We bought the first after we Googled “Car Least Likely to Be Stolen in U.S.” Malibu leapt to the top of the screen.
So Flipper’s grandfather was born to be ordinary. He filled the bill. Never stolen. Never won the Indianapolis 500. Just…a car with a fin.
We gave that car to our son, and bought Flipper’s Daddy, another Malibu. He was just as unfascinating, but so what? He/it worked.
Then, after less than a year, that car drowned in a flood in an underground garage. I took the insurance money and stayed true to the brand. Flipper soon graced our parking space.
Thirteen years later, Flipper was replaced by Fiddler, a brand-new Kia Niro. Although the spelling wasn’t quite right, the Niro reminded us of Emperor Nero, who fiddled while Rome burned.
Fiddler is not a car. He’s a computer sitting on four tires.
To start him, you push a button. No more key. No more engine roar.
If you drift to your left by even a few inches, Fiddler will beep reproachfully at you.
If you want to engage or disengage the emergency brake, you do that with one finger.
There are two coat hooks in the back (up from none in Flipper).
There are grab bars for all passengers (up from none in Flipper).
There is an amazing platform under the main dashboard that will charge your cell phone without a wire. Just plop the phone there. Fiddler’s electronics do the rest.
As for the screen in the center of the dashboard, it will direct you, phone for you and find the closest Italian restaurant. Might even shine your shoes while it’s at it.
My wife and I are very pleased with Fiddler. We expect her to be part of the family for a long time. And yet…
Fiddler’s very perfection is somehow annoying. I pine for Flipper’s clunky cruise control. I miss the huge stain on the driver’s seat that we couldn’t get out, despite years of trying.
I actually got used to the lever that raised and lowered Flipper’s driver’s seat. It worked only about one-tenth of the time.
But cars outlive their eras. Flipper outlived his. He has been sold to a 17-year-old who needs to get to and from school. Happy trails.
In the meantime, this old guy struggles with his new “child.” Managing the radio is a trip down a space-age rabbit hole. Adjusting the A/C is a major mystery.
Memo to Flipper: For an old bunch of bolts, you weren’t half bad, kid. You may have been boring, but at least you were comprehensible.
Bob Levey is a national award-winning columnist.
