Steering and Suspension

By some strange act of God, we made it through Engine Repair with no blood spilled, bones broken or overly concerning lacerations to become the lore of future class introductions for Brad. And, although the class has become a slimmed down version of its original form, even some of the drug-addled teenagers had wheedled their way under the bar and into the next session of steering and suspension.

Had I been released at exactly that moment to some shop where I was required to remove, overhaul and replace an engine, then trouble would have arisen. The true art of car repair, and I did consider it an art, was one built by constant repetition of repair work perpetuated most often by young men and women under the tutelage of parents and neighbors; and who never spent a dime on formal education in their early years. The single removal of an engine would never give me more than a passing knowledge of the intricacies required to become a skilled technician.

At the time, though, this did not cast any dispersion onto the goal I had set for myself of completing the two years required to pass the class and get my ASE certifications. Steering and suspension, I assumed, would be a logical continuation of work started by those who had worm holed their way past the introductory session of engine repair. Instead, the doors of welcome were flung open and the seats were refilled with a whole new set of eager students. There were no objections raised by the first-session crew who had been given the insightful, but ultimately fruitless introduction about safety and rules, when it was omitted from the beginning of session two; and no inquisition by new students about these procedures when they were thrust into the fold. There was only a passing reference made by Brad about taking cues from the first session veterans concerning the direction that was to be taken. So, by this method, the new students were to become as nonplussed as we were, in the realm of safety glasses, steel-toed shoes, long pants or any other protective bits of clothing that might have saved them some skin or appendage. Brad must have concluded that the dirt and grime of the work we were performing to be inspiration enough to seek clothing appropriate for the work to be completed.

I felt initially disenchanted by the intrusion of new faces into a configuration that was just starting to feel comfortable. I understood that the school had to make money, and could not do so with a class pared down to a few groups of four people, many of whom were not funding the automotive repair class directly. But, after a couple of weeks the addition a many faces also helped with the everyday drama that arose with fresh personalities.

By far the most interesting group to gestate from the incubated warmth of the upstairs classroom was one led by a member of an O.G. engine repair student named David, who had recently been released from duty in the armed services, and was trying to find work as a B-level technician in a shop to pay the bills. He did not seem to have charted much of path beyond this and was not worried about any outcome save for gainful employment. He was, hands down, the nicest person who I would meet in the mixed bag that made up my classmates. Always smiling and laughing about something and greeting me, I had invited him to become a part of our group. Yet, he seemed to have a loyalty to those with whom he had begun the session. When he did switch groups for the second session, it was for a group whose needs were much greater than ours for him.

In steering and suspension this was an older woman who seemed completely out of place in our midst. Her age and disposition, kind and determined, did not carry the normal attributes associated with mechanical repair. She and David found a bond, I believe, in being some of the few African-Americans remaining in the class. But David's group did not divide by race. They also adopted a quiet Hispanic youth who mostly shrugged and smiled when interrogated about anything, and more importantly, a mentally challenged, mid-twenties man who would literally and figuratively put a wrench into the entire workings.