Expensive Plastic Parts

4 Electric Failures Part 3

4 Electrical Failures Part 2

4 Electrical Failures Part 1

two scenarios

Basically, there are two scenarios when it comes to car repairs. There’s the
successful, and the unsuccessful. And each of these categories has two sub
categories. The first and second categories are the knowing and unknowing.

First, the knowing are those repairs the owner knows all about, no surprises.
No hidden or unneeded parts added to the final bill, either. You know what
you’re gonna get, and that’s what it takes. Nothing more, nothing less.
Real predictable.

The second successful category is the unknowing successful. Your car breaks
without warning. You don’t know what it needs to fix it, and don’t care. You
just pay someone to make the problem go away. This category leaves the owner
uncertain if the repairs were actually needed, and he or she is not ever happy
about it. They don’t get involved in the repair enough to find out the root
cause of the breakdown in the first place.

Most people are this type of car owner. And because of this, most people
don’t have a good feeling about their car repairs. They never know what they
don’t know about the repair. And what’s worse, because they never know, they
don’t do anything to prevent it. If they did, most of their car problems would
never happen. These people are the ones who don’t believe in preventative
maintenance. They orchestrate their own car problems.

The third and forth categories are the knowing and unknowing unsuccessful.

Third, the knowing unsuccessful, is an easy one. These are the people who take
their car to be repaired and go away with the same problem, only their wallet
has been lightened in the process. They know they got screwed, but they don’t go
back anyway. They let their feet do the talking and bounce from shop to shop
until someone puts them out of their misery and fixes their car.

Forth, there’s the unknowing unsuccessful, the worst of all. That’s what this
Mechanic’s Nightmare is all about. These are the people who are screwed, and
never know it. Or, by the time they realize it, it’s too late to do anything
about it. This is the place where Mr. Rip U. Off works. This is the category
that gives the auto repair industry a black eye. This is the type of repair shop
reported on the 6 O-clock TV News sting operation advisory alert.

When the National Association of Attorneys General did a study to try and find
the root cause of why so many people get ripped off on their car repairs, the
results were not surprising. But they were disappointing to the scandal-seeking
news media. To their chagrin, it turned out that mechanics aren’t so dishonest
after all. In fact, the study didn’t find they were any more dishonest than any
other trade, such as doctors or lawyers. But here’s the big surprise. They found
that most of the time, greater than eight out of ten, the problem was a simple
communication breakdown.

But this isn’t the kind of fodder that makes it on the news. Ripoffs are something
everyone wants to hear about. Honesty doesn’t pull in TV audiences. So, the study
and its findings has sadly fallen on deaf ears. Or rather, it was a non-story. No
one ran it. People want to hear about unsuccessful repairs that happen to the
knowing. People want to commiserate with those who have suffered. They want to
wallow in their suffering, and seek out and consume their tales of woe.

In due course, and in keeping with that vein, I’m going to tell you stories,
too. These stories fit all four of the scenarios listed above. Both successful and
unsuccessful, knowing and unknowing.

To start with, let me say that my experience has born out the findings. I
personally know that auto mechanics are among the most honest and hardest-working
of all trades. My bros’ have gotten a bad rap, that’s for sure! Enough said, so let’s
get on with the story.

Lets begin by talking about noises. Noises are freaky. To some people a howl
is a moan. To some a moan is a creak. And so on. Some noises are even imaginary.
And some are made up. This first story falls in the category of successful for
the unknowing.

There was a service writer who was employed at a Mercedes dealership in a
major city where I worked. His name was Ralphie, and he liked to make up noises.
Especially ball joint noises. He’d take a customer’s car for a test drive and
come back claiming he heard the lower ball joint knocking. Kinda’ a Clunk
on Bumps noise. No matter how hard I tried, I never could hear it.

But let me tell you, that dude sold a whole bunch of lower ball joint
replacements! Man, he could really get rich folks by the ball joints! And little
did they care. They were unknowing. And their cars were important, so they would
just say, How long's it going to take? Or. When can I have my car back? They
didn’t give a hoot about the dollar amount. It was probably just a business
expense anyway. They’d have to use the Jaguar. What an inconvenience!

Ralphie wasn’t malicious or anything. In fact, he was a down-right nice guy.
He just wanted to fatten up his paycheck a bit when things were slow. The owner
didn’t know. He was from the unknowing group. The tech who did the replacement
didn’t know. He was just doing what he was told.

The whole process was seamless. No one was the wiser. That’s how it always is
with a successful repair and the unknowing owner. Kind of like a quiet bloodletting.

Then there’s the unsuccessful and knowing. The story goes like this: The guy
walks in to the local dealer with his car problem. The service writer greets him
as he drives up and begins to take down all the important information. Then he
gets around to asking the guy why he’s decided to pay a visit to this fine
establishment. And does he need a ride to work?

The guy says, "Yeah. You see, I’ve got this clunk-on-bumps problem. Sometimes,
when going over a bump, I hear this noise. Like a clunk or something. Maybe a knock.
Or is it tap? I dunno. But it’s freaky. And I don’t like it. Maybe you could check it
out, huh?"

The adviser, who’s already checked the odometer reading and knows the car is
no longer in warranty, figures this as a no-brainer. He thinks, Let’s see. Lots of
miles on the ticker. Don’t have to worry about the warranty. The most likely
suspect would be shocks! It’s gonna’ need a set of shocks.

He thinks this is a safe bet, and the owner will go for it because it’s not
a big ticket item. An easy sell. And maybe we can find more things once we get it
in the shop. So he writes on the repair order, Replace shocks. Then he tells the guy
he’s gonna’ need a set of shocks, and to sign right here. So the guy thinks this is
the right thing to do, and he signs his life away.

Then, he gets the car back, pays the bill, and is driving home. He hears the clunk
on the first bump he comes across, and he realizes he was taken. Well, not that it
was done intentionally. He was taken because of the problem that the Attorneys
General study talked about. The actual problem was communication. If the mechanic
was told to diagnose a problem with clunk on bumps, instead of being told to replace
the shocks, he might have had a fighting chance that his problem would have been
corrected. Instead, the guy’s car repair was unsuccessful, and he certainly knows
about it.

Communication problems just like this are primarily responsible for the bad
image of the mechanic. In reality, there was no ill will, malice, or evil intent.
The repair was unsuccessful because of the system, not because of any one individual.
Sure, the service advisor didn’t have to sell the man a set of shocks. Sure. But
shocks are a common cause for that type of complaint at that mileage. What you’d
call a sure bet. And of course, the owner could have insisted that the tech be paid
some diagnostic time to drive the car and witness the problem before beginning any
repairs. And finally, sure, the tech could have insisted on being paid some
diagnostic time in order to verify the problem. But none of that happened. Why?
Get real. This is the real world out here, and everyone is too busy. That’s why.

Okay, OK. Maybe the man did need shocks. But the problem was the mechanic didn’t
make the diagnosis. The wise-ass service advisor did. Not. Maybe if the mechanic
was given a chance to check it out before the service advisor went and messed
things up by suggesting shocks. But, then I can see the service advisor’s point
of view, too. He wants to get the guy to commit to a dollar amount for something.
Maybe it’s not going to be a set of shocks that fixes this car. Maybe it’s upper
shock mounts, or even a ball joint. Whatever.

So he’s just trying to usher the guy on his way out the door as fast as possible
so he can get on to the next customer who’s been standing there next to his car
and patiently waiting in the service aisle. He assumes that the mechanic will
know what’s causing the clunk and will report back to him. He assumes. Now we all
know about assume. Right?

The mechanic is already up to his ass with alligators nipping at him. His
IN box is over brimming with work. And then there are the jobs he didn’t get to
yesterday. Parts have come in for jobs he opened up last week which he’s getting
grief for not having finished. And to make his day complete, he’s already got a
ten-o’clock headache!

So, he cranks the work out as fast as he can, and by early afternoon starts
looking for some gravy work so he can slide. He’s been saving the RO with Replace
front shocks, the one that started out as a clunk on bump complaint. The tech
pulls his copy of the RO, which has by now already had the parts listed and tallied
on it. He walks over and picks up the shocks that await him at the parts counter.

Once he’s finished installing the shocks, using his fancy pneumatic on-the-car
installer tool, he parks the car and knocks off for the day. He’s feeling good
because he beat the flat rate by more than half! Easy money, a quick in and out.

Now I ask you, did that mechanic rip off the customer? Did the guy's car
really need those shocks? Should the tech check the car for the complaint? Should he
have questioned the service advisor? It may seem odd, but the answer to all four
questions is no. First, and I’m sure you knew this was coming, the car certainly
didn’t need shocks. Second, the tech isn’t paid to check a problem. Unless he’s
instructed to do so, he ain’t gonna. Why should he? He’s not in the habit of
giving away his time free. Right?

When you go and see a doctor, he doesn’t just hand out pills free without
charging for his diagnosis. He may even decide to run some additional lab tests
on you. Not only do you pay the doctor to look at you, but you pay some other
doctor to look at your lab tests and to make a diagnosis based on those tests.
And you wind up getting billed from the first doctor who examined you, from the
lab for the tests, and from the doctor who looked at the test results. Have you
heard people complain about rising health care costs?

So, bringing this all back home to the mechanic here in this story, he didn’t
get paid to check the car first. The car owner trusted the advice of the service
advisor, as in this case, replace the shocks. This was assumed to be his problem. It
had a high likelihood.

So, the answer is most certainly NO. The tech shouldn’t be made to give
away his hard-earned time to freely check the car first. Not unless he’s told to
do so, and given some diagnostic time. But in this case, that didn’t happen. He
was given an RO that simply told him to replace the shocks.

Then, should the tech question the service writer? Not. Why should he? It’s
not in his job description. He doesn’t have time. If he just minds his P’s and Q’s,
he’s free and clear of any flack that might come his way if the customer bitches.
After all, he wasn’t paid to check out the car in the first place and to see if it
needed shocks. Hell, he’s not psychic enough to read the customer’s mind and to
figure out why he asked for shocks in the first place.

One of my favorite rip-off stories concerns a shop owner whose shop is
located in the Nation’s Capital. (the owner is seen weekly on Motorweek!)This shop owner keeps a customer black list. No
kidding. He actually has a list with the names of people who’s cars are banned. And
if the customer happens to come back, he or she is told to vacate the premises
immediately or the police will be called.

You see, there’s this greedy shop owner who’s waging his own personal war
against the knowing. You’d better look out if you wind up having an unsuccessful
repair at this shop. When you show up at his door with a clunk on bumps, and the
shop owner or his staff sell you shocks, you’d better not complain when the
shocks don’t fix your problem! Because if you do, you’re history. Really!

If The Boss says you need shocks, you need shocks. And when the shocks
don’t fix the problem, Mr. Authority comes back at you again saying that you most
certainly needed them, and you also need ball joints and upper strut mount
bushings. You’d better not question his diagnosis. You’d better not argue. Just
curtsy and hand him your money. And just so long as you remain the unknowing,
you’re business is welcome.

Customers who bitch and complain about the cost of the repair had better
watch out! The boss man angers easily, and he’ll quickly tell you to take your
business somewhere else and to never come back. And your name gets put on his
black list. After all, there’s plenty more customers in the D.C metropolitan
area. And even better, many of the customers are transient and will never come
back anyway. Diplomats, attaches, and their staff. Lots of money and lots more
where they came from. Mr. High and Mighty’s shop doesn’t need a good reputation,
just lots of advertising, like full page ads in the Sunday paper.

Speaking of advertising, one foreign car repair shop in Tampa bought
full-page advertising in the phone book. Hard to believe. No, it wasn’t a car
dealership. However, they did sell used cars. They did have a parts storefront
too. Thanks to tourist dollars, which are in abundance in Florida, and that big
ad in the phone book, our phone never stopped ringing.

The person who you spoke with was Ed. Most convincing of all people I’ve
ever met, Ed. He was the service writer and could talk a duck out of his feathers.
Ed came on ever so gentle and mild, drawing in his prey with sickening sweetness.
You’d never think he was capable of anything but your best interests. Then he
would pounce on you, turning into a pirate. Once he got a hold of your car, man
you were toast. He was so excellent at making up and creating so many wild
scenarios. Non-existent problems. Once he got your car in the shop, your wallet
would simply empty right out.

And of course you never came back after experiencing Ed turning from Mr.
Nice Guy to Jose Gaspar, the pirate! It was an amazing sight to see. After the
customer saw the bill, then had a moment to pick herself up off the floor, the
screaming would begin.

Ed’s mild mannered face would turn into a Jose Gaspar, and he’d go into
his scary routine. Systematically, he’d attack and belittle the customer for their
negligence. He’d blame them for the way they treated their car. He’d harp on and
on about how bad it was before we fixed it.

It was absolutely amazing how a clunk on bumps complaint could turn that
money crank! By the time he finished with you, you got all four shocks, both motor
and transmission mounts, a couple of ball joints, maybe both upper and lower ball
joints if he figured he could get away with it, and some custom exhaust work to
boot. Oh, including a complete set of exhaust hangers. Whew! He was brutal. And
if you came in with a starting problem, you always got a starter. Maybe injectors
or a carburetor, too. Not to mention the usual cap rotor, plugs, wires, and ignition
coil. And maybe throw in a sensor or two.

But, the Ed story is unusual. Interesting, but unusual. As I have said
again and again, almost all mechanics and repair shops are honest. The National
Attorneys General study showed that the whole problem of rip-off auto repairs
really stems from problems with communication. No Duh.

I just saw a statistic that said something about how mechanics spend
eighty percent of their time trying to figure out what’s wrong. The rest of
it is easy, with only 20% of the time needed doing the fix. Wow. Four-fifths
guesswork. One-fifth fixing. Pretty scary, huh? Roger that. I mean, it’s gotten
so complicated that even a genius can’t figure it out anymore.

They’ve got dealer service bulletins, independent service bulletins,
dealer tech hotlines, independent tech hotlines, and of course, call-in radio
shows. And still, people can’t get their cars fixed right the first time! And
why not? Well, according to that Attorneys General study, the whole problem is
communication. Right. Like the guy knows the service advisor is telling him the
straight story when he says he needs shocks?

So, does the mechanic mean to rip off the customer most of the time? No.
Usually the customer rips himself off by not communicating his problem. The rest
of the unsuccessful and knowing people with problem repairs can be chalked up to
a bad diagnosis. And the bad diagnosis resulted in an unnecessary repair. The
unsuccessful as in unsuccessful repair and the knowing. The owner clearly sees
that the problem is still there.

Then there’s poor preventative maintenance habits. And since lack of
maintenance doesn’t fall into one of the four categories, we’re not gonna’ go
there. To put a wrap on my lecturing, I want to share with you one of my favorite
rip-off tales. A story that falls in the category of the unsuccessful and
knowing. Over the years I’ve been told this story by many different techs, as
well as shop owners and other auto industry personnel. Here’s it is, with a few
embellishments of my own:

I hate my job. I am an assembly line worker at an automotive plant in
Michigan. I build cars. Boring. Same thing hour after hour, day after day. Yeah,
sure the pay is great. Yeah, sure the Union benefits are terrific. Yeah, sure.
Dull. Yawn. Snore. ZZZzzzzzz. Someone wake me up when it’s quitting time. I’ll do
ANYTHING to fight this boredom!

Hey, I know what. I’ll play a practical joke on someone. I’ll think of a
real good one to pull. A real whopper. A real wing-dinger. One that will drive you
nuts-o, daddy-o. It’ll be a real zinger. Not an easy one. No. A hum-dinger. A
mind blower. Now lets see.

Okay, I’ve got it. I’ll make a time capsule. Put a message inside and seal
it up r-e-a-l good. Seal it up in a nice piece of metal pipe, a nice little pipe
with my note inside. And I’ll leave it behind for someone to find. Someone far away,
far, far from today. Someone in the future. A message for someone to find real
far off in the future.

I’ll just drop this nice time capsule in side of this body panel, and
leave it for someone to find way off in the future. And it’ll rattle around in
all its glory, clanking and clunking its way through the day, until finally
someone discovers it’s there. Until someone cuts open this welded shut body
panel and finds my capsule inside. He he, he he!

Noise? What noise? has been the routine for so many years. Dozens of
techs have been assigned the job of finding the evasive Ssshhhh clunk noise.
Hundreds of dollars spent, with nothing but the same old sad report, No problem
found. Of course, the owners had to pay the diagnostic fee, along with environmental
surcharges and shop fees. And the noise persisted.

Eventually, someone does find it. But not until the first owner of the
car gives up trying to get his clunk on stops problem fixed. He trades it in.
The next owner fights like hell with the dealership that sold it to him, claiming
he got stuck with a lemon. And the car passes through a couple of other owners'
hands until a savy repair tech uses a high-tech listening device to track down
the location of the noise.

Inside a body panel. Something loose inside this panel. He cuts open the
body panel to find out what’s loose inside, and retrieves the time capsule. Fishing
it out with his long-skinny grabber tool, he retrieves the metal capsule. And
when he unscrews the cap and looks inside, he finds the note left by the unhappy
practical joker factory worker so many years ago. Unrolling the scrolled-up
piece of paper he reads.......

Editors note: This shhtt..clunk! story has been around for decades, and has
become an urban legend for auto mechanics. The kind of car is usually a Cadillac.
The time capsule has been anything from a metal film can, prescription bottle,
and pipe. The location has been inside the frame, body, and kick panels. The sound
it makes is always the same: An intermittent clunk that’s accompanied by a hissing
sound, but happening only when braking, sometimes. The owner reports hearing it come
from under the seat, inside the door, in the dash, and the trunk.

The lessons to be learned from this Mechanic’s Nightmare are:

· Always expect the unexpected.

· Do whatever is necessary to be a witness of the problem.

· Make it happen, then record the circumstances involved.

· Look for connections (or clues) between the circumstances involved when it happens and the actual problem occurrence.

· Beware that the problem you’re dealing with may have been built into the vehicle right from the factory.

Bearing Catastrophe

Motor Mount Problems

School Of Hard Knocks

I was working on a 1997 Sebring JX, which is a convertible in case you don't
know Chrysler terminology. Anyway, I was looking for a noise that the owner said
was driving her crazy. Now, it's not unusual for me to try to check out a "noise
complaint." But this one turned out to be one of the most interesting ones that
I've come across. And when I finally did figure it out, it reminded me of some
of the wacky things I've run across in my many years turning wrenches.

Anyway, the owner says the noise is coming from somewhere in the dash-console
area. And it doesn't seem to matter if the car is running or not. The noise is
supposed to be there all the time. Sure enough, I hear the noise. This is an
important distinction. Quite often I just can't. Sure, it might be there, but I
just don't hear it. Maybe my ears are just too old or maybe I'm just not
familiar with the cacophony of sounds that the car normally emits, and the new
addition is just drowned in the background.

But this noise is distinct. It is a clear beep. And if you were to time it, like
with a stop watch, which is what I did, you'd discover that it beeps exactly
every 2 minutes. On the dot. And like most noises, it's damn hard to locate. It
seems to be coming from everywhere. Kinda' like a pager going off in a crowded
room and everyone looking down at the same time. And being a convertible made
matters even worse, because the noise was less confined than it would be if
there was a top on the car.

I have this cool tool that is essentially a pair of headphones connected to a
microphone. You can use it to hear teeny weenie sounds that are impossible
to locate. Just stick the microphone where you think the sound is coming from
and give it a listen. It hears valve tap, piston knock, and water pump bearing
noises really well. It also hears air leaks and hard to track down squeaks and
rattles. And you can turn up the volume and even hear your own heart beat!

So I grab the tool and find the beeper lodged between the passenger seat and the
console. The lady owner lost it a week before, and was absolutely grateful when
I showed it to her. Now how do you charge for a job like that? Anyway, it
reminded me of other strange jobs I've had. Like the 1991 Buick Regal that came
in with the red battery warning light glowing. Open the hood and there's a
brand-spanking new battery and alternator. Whoops. Something really wrong here.
Somebody's spent a bundle and isn't very happy.

It turned out to be a real hair-puller too. Turn the key on and start it, and
that light is there staring you right in the face. So I decided to do a little
detective work and pull the alternator connector, which should turn off the
light. Right? Wrong. This means there's something wrong in the wiring. Big time!
Further investigation with a razor into the wiring harness reveals a mass of the
harness wires melted all together. A real mess. But oh no! It just doesn't end
there. Not a chance.

I spend a whole day splicing and repairing the wiring harness only to find that
this doesn't fix the problem, which was a dead short. Further detective work
found aluminum foil wrapped around the courtesy light fuse. But that was not
all. No, it doesn't end there. Nope. The reason the fuse is wrapped with
aluminum foil was because of a dead short in one of the accessories, mainly the
cigarette lighter. And the kicker is that someone (maybe the same boyfriend that
was kind enough to wrap the aluminum foil around the fuse for her), has put a
brand-new shiny penny in the cigarette lighter socket.

Which reminds me of another weird alternator electrical one on a 1989 Cadillac
Deville, which was towed in with a no start complaint. After running the
standard charging and starter draw tests, it looks like the alternator is bad.
No biggie. Wham-bam thank-you-ma'am and it's done. Right? Wrong again, Charlie!

Two days later, it's back in my face along with the customer who's this
hot-headed 22-year-old military dude swearing that I'm a rip-off and he's gonna'
call the police. I say wait just a sec while I check this out, and lo and behold
I see that the battery cable ends are toast. Funny, I didn't remember them that
way before. How could I have missed it? So I slap on a couple of those
do-it-yourselfer battery cable ends and send him on his way.

Well, the Cadillac is back in my face a week later, hanging from the back of a
wrecker. And Mr. Military Macho-man is madder than ever. Well, this calls for
some further investigative work and I tell him to call a cab and I'll let him
know tomorrow what's the problem with his Deville. Now, mind you, this ain't no
ordinary Deville. The suspension has been chopped, the wheels are "stylin"
California super-chromed with tires the thickness of rubber-bands. The windows
are all blackened-out and the floor in front of the back seat is covered with
huge speakers. And there are more speakers mounted on the back deck and woofers
under each of the seats.

And this time, when I go to turn the key on, I'm greeted with an audio
bombardment of gansta-rap that is loud enough to loosen my fillings and give me
a concussion! It scared me right out of my wits, and I couldn't move fast enough
to turn the damn thing off. Which of the 57 buttons is OFF? You know, the kind
of lyrics-that-spew-expletives-every-two-words kinda' rap-music. Did I say
rap-music? Now that's a real oxymoron.

Oh yes, did I forget to tell you? There's a hole where the factory radio used to
be and stuffed in it and hanging half-out of the hole is a huge stereo. And in
the trunk, next to the pair of 27" speakers is a huge amplifier. Gingerly, I
grabbed hold of the stereo and pulled it out of the dash. There was a huge gang
of wires going to it, and the factory harness was severely butchered. The first
thing I noticed was that the orange wire with a black stripe that goes to the
Body Control Module was cut and spliced, and that the dash stereo was tapped
into it using common household electrical wire nuts.

While wire nuts are fine and good inside an electrical outlet box in the wall of
your house, wire nuts are not meant to be used in automotive wiring. Why? They
aren't shake proof. And I cringe any time I see wire nuts on a car or truck. I
can't tell you how exasperating it was to see literally dozens of them in the
wiring that was hiding behind the radio. I still shudder when I think about it.
More detective work reveals that the A/C fuse is missing, which just happens to
be on the same circuit as the alternator. Okay.

With the fuse happily back in place, the alternator begins charging again. But,
why was it removed? Did it blow? Further investigation and charging tests reveal
that when the stereo is cranked up, which I'm sure this brain-dead soldier must
do when he's cruising, causes the system to draw more than 80 amps. Now, this
alternator is only rated for 75 amps. You do the math and you'll understand why
the alternator fuse blew when I cranked it up (with ear protection this time).

The key to unraveling the mystery in the Gansta-Deville was knowing that we as
mechanics are having to deal with a whole new breed of customer. To solve the
riddle, it was necessary to crank up the stereo so that it became obvious that
the charging system couldn't handle that kind of drain. That lesson I had
learned the hard way, literally from the school of "Hard Knocks". It involved a
1994 Chevy Caprice that came to me with a low power complaint.

The reason this Caprice comes to mind is because it also involved one of those
high-powered stereo systems. But, I hadn't been to the school of "Knocks" and
didn't know that the stereo played a part in solving the riddle. Anyway, owner
had some other shop install a junkyard engine in the Caprice, and that's when he
said the problem began. But, this was one of those kinds of problems that only
happens for the customer. You know, it just wouldn't run right for him, but
purred like a kitten for me.

Finally, after trying and trying to do what I call "Put a wrench on his word
problem," I decided to make him show me exactly what he was talking about. So,
we jump in the Chevy and off we go for a spin. And we're not very far down the
road when he reaches over and turns on the stereo. Then, he proceeds to crank it
up to ear-shattering levels. Well, there I sit with my fingers sticking in my
ears while he is driving and sure enough, the engine starts to falter, surge and
buck.

"Whoa! What's happening here?" I shouted. He says, "Wait a minute," and proceeds
to turn down the stereo. And the moment he did, the problem vanished. "That's
why I couldn't find your problem. It's connected to your blasted rap music!" I
said. I never ran the stereo, nor would I think to run the stereo while checking
out his problem. In fact, I never touch anyone's radio while working on their
cars.

Oh sure, I've seen plenty of techs blasting their customer's radios as they
service their cars. And from time to time they get caught, as the customer gets
into the car, only to turn on the ignition and be greeted with a huge blast of
their stereo. And of course, it's always playing the kind of music they hate
most. And even worse, the volume is left turned to full blast. Now imagine a
little old lady who only listens to classical music, getting into her car and
being greeted by gangster rap at 130 decibels! Not a pretty picture.

And those car radio presets are an even worse problem. You know, the programming
feature that lets you set the stations to the ones you like to listen to. The
radio loses its presets when you disconnect the battery to service the
terminals, right? But even worse, probably Murphy's seventeenth-law or some
such, it will automatically program itself to those stations that play the kind
of music the owner of the car hates most. If the owner likes country, it will
reset to classical. If he likes classical, it will reset to rap, and so on.

And when the customer returns and gets in his car to drive away, he is convinced
that the mechanic purposely reset all the stations to the kind of music the
mechanic likes. As if we mechanics have the time in the day to sit around and
reprogram our customer's radios! Right! But, thanks to Murphy and his laws, it
sure does get us in trouble, or at least leaves us with some explaining to do.

And to make matters worse, the late model radios will just plain lock up and
refuse to work if you disconnect power from them. And boy, howdy-do, you take a
customer's music away and they'll really get hopping mad in a big hurry. In
those cases, you have to contact the dealership and get the unlock code to make
the radio work again. Talk about a hassle!

Anyway, as I was saying before I drifted away into radio land, this Chevy would
only run bad when the radio was cranked up. Talk about an odd problem! "Now what
can playing a radio loud possibly have to do with how a car runs?" you may be
asking. I sure was.

The very next thing I did was to monitor the computer with my diagnostic
scanner. Why? Because I had a hunch that the noise the speakers were making were
somehow rattling a circuit in the engine control computer, which is pretty much
in the vicinity of the right-hand radio speaker. I figured that this would show
up somehow on the data stream from the computer

Well, I was right and wrong. While the computer didn't show any problems with
the data stream when I cranked up the stereo, the engine knock detection system
did. In fact, when the stereo peaked with its "bump-and-thump" chest-pounding
rhythm, the engine timing retarded in perfect cadence. It was as if the engine
knock sensor was keeping time with the stereo!

Not believing that an engine knock sensor could be so sensitive as to be affected
by the stereo, I decided to do a little detective work. I would try another
knock sensor. That's called "test by substitution," and that's when the fun
really began. When I went to the side of the engine block to unscrew the old one
and replace it with a new one, it was gone. There wasn't any place for it to
screw it into the engine block, and the wiring harness that should lead to it
was clipped!

How could I be seeing a knock signal, if the sensor is missing and the harness
has been cut?" I asked myself. Well, to make a long detective story short, it
turned out that there was still a knock sensor, and it was still connected to
the computer. You see, in order for the General Motors engine timing control
system to operate correctly, the knock sensor must be present and accounted for.
If you disconnect it, the engine control computer will immediately miss it,
throw off the timing and turn on the "Check Engine" light.

So when the engine block had been swapped out with another one, the used block
didn't have anywhere to mount the knock sensor. The previous mechanic had
clipped off the wire, thinking that he could simply eliminate this little sensor
and no one would be the wiser. But then, when he started the engine and the
check engine light came on, he realized that he wasn't going to get away with
it. So what do you think he did? Well, I'll tell you. He traced the knock sensor
wire back to the computer, spliced in another wire, and added the knock sensor
back into the circuit right there at the computer. And when he was done, he
tucked the knock sensor out of sight, right behind the speaker! And that's why
the Chevy ran so bad every time the stereo was cranked up. The knock sensor
thought the engine was pinging and the computer responded by retarding the
timing!

Anyway, as I said when I started, this business of being a mechanic has
certainly turned into a challenge. You never know what kind of strange and
unusual problem is going to roll into the door next. I remember the time a fat
rat got into a Fiat timing belt and ruined the engine. Ah, but that's another
story.

a learning video. part 2

It's not what you think part 1

Runaway monte carlo

I had a nightmare with a Chevy Monte Carlo. It was a 2003 model 3.8 liter engine with only 50,000 original miles. The problem was the engine speed would go to 3,000 RPM. But it was intermittent, and could happen anytime in the bay or on the highway. The owner was afraid to drive it because it had unintended acceleration.



The local Chevy dealer installed a new ECM and reflashed it. Then he claimed the problem was a vacuum leak. Not! The first thing I did was to install an aftermarket ECM and reflashed it. No change.



Watching the data stream when it happens, I saw the ECM make the idle control counts go up and up. Then it would peg at 255 counts, with the idle controller fully open. I also noticed that the radiator cooling fans would come on and pulse their speed.



The data for RPM showed actual engine RPM, and all other scan data is normal. Looking for the problem by default I unplugged the following items with no effect: Alternator, A/C compressor, cooling fans, TPS, and the automatic transmission harness. But when the coolant temp sensor was unplugged, the engine stops racing and immediately stalls.



The coolant temp data reads normal, so I installed a resistor to substitute for the coolant sensor. That made no difference. Expecting there might be a short, I opened up and examined every inch of the engine wire harness and found nothing. Just in case you’re thinking, there is no remote starter or alarm, nor add-on electrical accessories.



Frustrated after wasting hours and hours trying to nail the cause, I emailed my problem to the fellow members of the MotorWatch Technical Committee in hopes of getting help.



Mike answered, “What is the TPS reading while this is going on? Sounds like I would also look at the MAF sensor, it helps calculate engine load.” I checked his suggestions and found nothing wrong.



Mark’s son Brian is a GM tech, and he had a lot of suggestions: “This engine has the plastic upper plenum which caused problems with the intake melting around the EGR port inside causing an internal vacuum leak. Check the data stream while idling and when it goes to 3,000 rpm. Most of the time a GM product will show you the problem through the data stream. Look closely at the short and long term fuel trim. This will let you know if it’s a problem the computer is recognizing through the oxygen sensor. This engine also has MAF sensor problems that can result in idle fluctuation, lean, or rich conditions. I would also monitor the TPS value, and with the engine off make a full sweep of the TPS/gas pedal to verify no jumps, or voltage drops. In 2 separate cases I have had a similar problem. And when looking at the current misfire status on each cylinder, it will show a misfire on every cylinder on bank 1 or 2. This ended up being a upstream oxygen sensor. The vehicle didn't display any drivability concerns related to a misfire and didn't feel like it ran bad or had a misfire at all. I also I would check to see the status and correlation of the CKP & CMP. It may or may not have thrown a code for this.



Bob asked if a "Known Good" ECM had been substituted. “I know you have tried factory remans, and I am doubtful that two remans could be identically bad, but I still have to ask.”



Bob continued, “I was on a 3-week internship program at the Buick Powertrain Engineering plant in 1991, and worked with the Driveability Task Force, a crew of their best techs, who would visit unfixable cars (yes, on site) and take everything with them that could be replaced. After some preliminary electronic diagnosis, they would just start substituting parts until the car was fixed and then go backward until the symptoms reappeared, then forward until the car was correct. At that point they would take the bad parts and go home for factory analysis of the replaced items. I never asked if there were cars that were truly unfixable. When you do not have a factory subsidy, this is a tough (expensive) way to go.”



“I know you disconnected the A/C compressor but is it turned off at the control? Has the switch been disconnected? This is the AC anticipate signal--but it shouldn't make it go to 3,000 RPM. Could the combination of PSPS and AC anticipate be a clue? Is the radio/sound system off, and disconnected? Has the intake manifold ever been removed to determine if there is some kind of weird crack that opens with heat? This doesn’t seem like it would correspond with high IAC counts, really just the opposite.” 



“Have you tried driving it with the IAC disconnected? Is the high IAC count a cause or an effect? Could the brake booster have a massive periodic leak? Is it normal on this model car for the engine to stall with the CTS disconnected? Don't think so, but gotta ask. What about harness routing? Could any previous repairs be responsible? Suppose you’ve checked and rechecked every possible ground? I know this doesn't go along with high IAC counts, but could the 255 IAC counts by itself cause 3,000 RPM? Might be interesting to manually put IAC at max, then disconnect. Could cruise control coming on be a possibility? Glad it's not my nightmare!”



Systematically I checked each of Bob’s suggestions and still found no clue as to the cause.



Then Ken offered his explanation, “When the Body Control Module starts to command the cooling fan to cycle on, it also sends a command on the data bus to the ECM to increase the idle speed. Each time the BCM cycles the fan, another command gets sent to the ECM, with the result of the ISC counts ratcheting upward until they reach 255.”



I never suspected the problem could be a faulty BCM. The strange cycling of the fans turned out to be the clue since the BCM is responsible for the cooling fan operation. This explains why the engine would suddenly surge to 3,000 RPM. Since it was still covered under the emissions warranty, the BCM was replaced at no charge by the Chevy dealer.

RUNAWAY DIESEL

Ever since I was a kid, I've been fascinated by things that blow up. When I was barely a teenager, I blew up the garage. I was unsupervised and messing around with some powerful chemicals. As a parent, I can see clearly now that I should have never had gotten my hands on them. One rainy day, in my garage laboratory, I was mixing up combinations of powders to make a home-made bomb. The Potassium Chlorate is very unstable stuff. The result was a blown up laboratory and permanent injuries. Now I confine my fascination to store-bought fireworks.



I may like explosions, but there's one kind that I hate, and that's when an engine blows up. And, exploding engines can be very dangerous to life and limb. They can throw large masses of metal with great force. Everyone in car racing knows about a scatter shield. One of the most feared truck engines with the worst reputation is the Detroit Diesel which has massive flywheels that have been known to fly off.



Actually, it happens in three states. First, a linkage problem throws the engine into an uncontrolled free rev -- full throttle. The linkage for the rule rail is very tricky. This can easily happen when the fuel rack control rods jamb -- holding the fuel rack wide open. The first thing a student in diesel truck school learns about this engine is the importance of the fuel control rods.



If you get them installed wrong, they will jamb the throttle resulting in a ran away. And because this engine has this tendency, it comes fitted with a "Slam Door" and a big heavy metal door that is built right into the intake air box. If the engine starts to run away, you can crop the slam door and close off the incoming air, and kill the engine. At least, that's the idea.



But, it doesn't always work. They don't call them oil burners for nothing. By having the habit of feeding on its own oil, the Detroit engine is one of the worst offenders. The reputation partly comes about because that engine is a two-stroke. It has ports on the sides of the cylinder lines for air intake.



This is important here, because it provides a place for the oil to be introduced into the engine. If the air box gaskets are weak, they will be sucked right into the screaming engine. This unwanted source of air will allow it to keep running away. Then it begins feeding on its own oil as superheated oil, which is being pumped past the rings into the combustion chamber, fuels the fire even more.



Finally, it runs out of oil and seizes up. That's what launches the flywheel, the crankshaft suddenly stops turning and something's got to give! The flywheel bolts shear off, and the massive fly wheel comes crashing right out of the bellhousing.



But that's nothing new to race fans. Exploding clutches have brought the requirement for scatter shields on race cars. I guess it took enough severed legs to find out the need for this protective 'device. But there is nothing to protect you from the flywheel off a runaway Detroit Diesel. I've heard that the massive flywheel will go through concrete walls.



And what a noise it makes! It's one of the most terrifying sounds in engine can make. When I say screaming, a runaway Diesel is louder than a speeding train engine. And, at the same time, it belches smoke like a blast furnace. I happen to know firsthand, because I had an opportunity to witness one that ran away. It happened while I was attending night school for heavy-duty mechanics at Sequoia Diesel Institute.



One of the students jammed the rack levers on a Detroit Diesel and the engine went full rev as soon as it was started. The teacher pulled the lever for the slam door, and the engine slowly died. But for one terrifying moment, it. screamed and roared like a metal monster gone amuck. That's when I first heard the story of the runaway Detroit Diesel flywheel busing through walls. The teacher saw it happen. The engine ran away, exploded when it seized up. The flywheel came off and went through three walls before coming to a stop halfway into a fourth.



And that was where I learned about CO2 fire extinguishers. The teacher explained that in case the slam door didn't stop the runaway, we should use a CO2 fire extinguisher to stop it.



Since CO2 doesn't burn, it stops the engine dead in its tracks by starving it of oxygen. It's quick, efficient and works every time.

Years later, while I was wrenching for a Mercedes-Benz dealership in Palo Alto, I was instructed on the MBZ way of shutting down a diesel engine. According to factory protocol, the proper method is to open the fuel injector high pressure supply lines, starving the engine of fuel. While this worked okay, it was really messy and takes up valuable time. And when an engine is at full-rev, every second counts. First, you had to find the correct wrench size for the injector fuel lines. Then you had to break them open one by one, which creates quite a mess. Diesel fuel spurts over the entire engine compartment.



You're probably wondering why MBZ diesels run away. First, they rarely throw off their flywheels and seldom explode. But, it can happen in one of two ways. The first is when the throttle linkage sticks. This isn't much of a problem as long as you keep the ball-sockets properly lubricated. MBZ fits the engine with a shut-down lever that looks like a choke knob. Also, located right above the injection pump, is a manual fuel cut-off device. But, modem MBZ diesel engines use a shutdown system that's operated by the ignition key. A small vacuum motor mounted on the rear of the injection pump performs the shut down.



The second way is when the vacuum motor diaphragm ruptures. The owner find that the only way to shut down the engine is to get out, open the hood, and press the manual shut down lever. Not the sort of thing that MBZ owners could be likely to do, huh? Well, the replacement of the vacuum motor can be tricky. It has a small tang on it that must catch in a notch on the injection pump rack. If it doesn't, it'll jamb the rack in a wide-open-throttle position and bingo, "Runaway Diesel."



And it happened right next to me at the MBZ dealership where I worked in Palo Alto. The tech next to me was installing a vacuum motor and didn't' get the tang right. This launched the engine into a screaming fit as soon as he started it. And while he was making a mad dash for his toolbox to find a wrench to open the injector lines, I grabbed the CO2 fire extinguisher from the wall and shot it into the air intake. The engine's screaming died right away, even before he got the wrench!



He stood there amazed. And when the engine stopped, so did all the work in the shop. You could hear a pin drop. Everyone was looking at the two of us as we stood there. Me with the fire extinguisher in my hands and the tech with a wrench in his. That's when the stop foreman got involved.



He came storming over shouting, "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" I replied in as calm a voice as I could muster, "Just a trick I was taught a Sequoia Diesel." "Oh yeah?!" he shouted back at me. "You just ruined this motor with that stuff." he said as he began removing the air filter, expecting to find it full of something. When he lifted the metal cover, it revealed what looks like snow piled up going into the air filter -- nothing more. He reached over



 and touched the frozen CO2 as it rapidly disappeared into wisps of smoke. He said in a caustic tone as he turned and walked away, "Well that may be so, but we don't do that here!"



The only diesel to run away on me happened when I was working at Larry's Autoworks. And it scared me big time! I was doing a major service on a Peugeot 504D. It's a pretty straightforward diesel engine, there isn't much that you can do to hurt it. But I did find one Achilles heel. The air filter uses foam that resides in an oil-bath housing. The foam stays wet by the oil bath, which is an old method used by trap dirt.



And when I cleaned the foam, I make a big mistake. Unknowing, I cleaned it in the parts washer solvent and didn't dry it before installing it. Oh sure, parts solvents works really well at removing grease. But, it became trapped inside the foam. Since it was combustible, it caused the engine to run away for a brief moment. I remember standing there, not knowing it happened. It was over so quickly.



But, for just a brief second, I thought the engine would explode and I would be killed. And it was all over, and after careful checking, there appeared to be no damage. I didn't say anything to the owner, for fear of losing my job. Well, I thought I had gotten way with my mistake until the next day, when the Peugeot showed up on a tow truck. When I saw it, my heart sank. I feared the worse: a blown engine. Actually, it only wouldn't start.



The compression was excellent, and nothing mechanical appeared to be amiss. Further checking revealed that all four glow-plugs had been burned up by the solvent's fiery blast. Because it had warmed up when I worked on it, the problem didn't show up until the next day, when it was dead cold. Here's when I needed the glow-plugs to start. All it took to fix it was a set of glow-plugs.

But by far the worst story I know about an exploding engine happened on a diesel-powered car. Those of you who have been around the diesel engine trade know about the horrible automotive diesel engine that GM made. They modified the 350 gasoline engine to run on diesel. Big mistake. It was never designed to hand that kind of compression or torque. When trying to get one to start, a mechanic was shooting ether into it. The engine exploded, blowing off of the cylinder heads, which dismember one of the mechanic's arms. But that's another story.

You're going to want one of these. part 2

You're going to want one of these

67 Years of Chrysler (FCA) Automatic Transmission Fluid - ATF History Part 4

69 Years of Ford Automatic Transmission Fluid - ATF History Part 3

80 Years of GM Automatic Transmission Fluid - ATF History Part 2

THE RIGHT-HAND RINGER

"Intermittent stalling, especially on right-hand turns," read the repair order.
Tony thought it was peculiar. "Right-hand turns? What's that got to do with
anything?" He opened the hood on the truck and looked things over. "Must be in
the carburetor. Float or something. Maybe the float is sunk and it's flooding
out."

A new float and carburetor kit was ordered and Tony disassembled the carburetor.
It was pretty clean inside and he had a hunch someone had been there before.
Somehow he wasn't surprised when he took the truck for a test ride and it
stalled on the first right-hand turn. "Drat! Now I'm in trouble... Did a carb
overhaul for nothing. What-ta-do-now..." He thought.

Must be something to do with gravity. Maybe the manifold is somehow developing a
vacuum leak when the inertia pulls it to the side...on right-hand turns. He
pulled the manifold and resealed it. The truck stalled, like a clock, at the
first right-hand turn.

What about left-hand turns? What if I back up? Nope, it would only stall on
right-hand turns. Maybe something is shorting out inside the distributor. He
disassembled it, looking for a loose wire or something. "Nothing, zip, zilch,
nix."

Maybe it runs out of gas when it goes around the corner. He rigged up a gas can
and hooked a hose from it to the fuel pump. It still stalled. Could the
carburetor still be the problem? Maybe it had something wrong inside, something
that couldn't be fixed. He tried another carburetor. It still stalled.

Tony had to go to automatic transmission class that night, so he thought he
might ask the teacher for help. "Hey teach, what's the deal with this Ford
truck?" He told the teacher about his dilemma.

"Bring the truck to class tomorrow night and I'll show you the cause," the teach
said.

"Aw, come on, you mean you know the problem and you won't tell me?" Tony
lamented. "Just bring the truck, you'll see."

Tony could hardly wait for the day to finish. Avoiding right turns, he made it
to class in the truck without incident. "Okay, teach, show me the problem," he
said as he opened the hood. The teacher didn't say anything, but put his hand on
the fender-mounted starter solenoid. "Teach, this isn't a starting problem, it's
a stalling problem," Tony said with irritation.

The teacher reached over and pulled one of the two small wires from its
connection on the solenoid. "Go ahead and make it stall now... Bet you can't!"

He was right. The truck made right-hand turns without so much as a hiccup. "But
how is this connected?" Tony asked.

"The solenoid is loose inside and is grounding out the ignition terminal on the
solenoid when you make right-hand turns." The teacher said, "I disconnected the
ignition terminal and prevented it from shorting out the ignition primary
circuit. All you have to do is replace the solenoid, and you've solved your
problem."

The History of Automatic Transmission Fluids (ATF): Part 1 - Introduction

Honda 4 wire pressure switch

Oh Two For You

Antiseize compound is wonderful stuff, when it works. But when it doesn’t do its job, you’ve got problems! And so it was with this fitful last minute chore, which ran against everything I’ve been telling my customers for years and years.



Don’t wait until the last minute! Don’t bring in your car for a major service the day before you’re driving out west on vacation. There’s nothing worse than to install a brand new spark plug – or set of plug wires – and have it fail when my best customer is halfway across the Great Plains and in the middle of nowhere.



If a part is going to fail, you want to be around so you can do something about it. And anyone who has been in this business for awhile knows that even a brand new spark plug can be faulty and begin to misfire a day or two after you install it.



So that’s why I tell my customers to have their vehicle serviced a couple of weeks before taking off on a trip. “Give it time for everything to break in and mellow out before you leave,” I always say. Then why didn’t I listen to my own advice?



Here I find myself on Friday night, Memorial Day weekend ahead, leaving in the morning on a seven-hour trip, and I’m going to replace the oxygen sensor. It was long overdue for replacement, with over 160,000 miles on it. And with the price of gas breaking the bank, I decided to go ahead and bite the bullet and replace it.



I had been meaning to do it at work, where I could get the car up on a lift making the job much easier. But I had procrastinated until the last minute, and here I found myself having to do it in my home workshop, lying on a creeper under the car.



But, let me defend myself by saying that I had planned for the worst, and had my oxy-acetylene tanks freshly filled and ready to go for the extraction. I call it an extraction because the old sensor never wants to come out easily, and always needs assistance from the best nut buster of all times – the heat wrench.



I figured it would be a cakewalk. No big deal. No muss, no fuss. Easy pickings. Just heat up the sensor’s mounting flange until it’s cherry red hot and it’ll unscrew right out. After all, they installed it at the factory with antiseize compound, right?



Haw, Haw! What a joke. Sure, that slippery stuff is made to keep things from becoming stuck together, but after a dozen years it has turned to dust. Oh, don’t get me wrong. The sensor came out with nary a sweat. But when I held it in my glove, I saw the threads—or should I say what was left of the threads (see photo below).



The oxygen sensor has pulled out most of the threads with it, I didn’t have a heli-coil and the shop where I work was closed. We’re supposed to leave in the morning! Nothing like a little pressure to get the old mind racing. I rehearsed my speech to my wife, “Honey, I just broke the car so we have to rent a car for our trip!” Not! She would hand me my head!



I thought about running a tap in the hole to chase the threads. What threads? The threads would be so far gone that by the time I ran a tap through the hole, the new oxygen sensor’s threads would have practically nothing to bite into.

A vision ran across my mind of us driving along out in the middle of nowhere when the oxygen sensor blows out of its socket – POW! This would be immediately followed by the roar of the huge exhaust leak that was just created. My imagination continued the movie of us driving into the dark night with the exhaust roaring as we limped along.



I mumbled to myself, “It’s never easy.” Why is this always true? Why does Murphy’s Law always seem to rear its ugly head at the worst possible moment? And why me, why does it always happen to harmless me, me the good guy? I remembered my wife’s wise answer to this epic question, “God never puts more on your plate than you can handle.”



She’s right, I’m not defeated that easily. This old dog still had a trick or two up his sleeve. If the old oxygen sensor came out so easily with heat, maybe I could reverse the situation and use heat to get the new one back in. If I heated the flange up until it was red hot, it would expand. Right?



Then, while the flange is nice and hot and expanded, I could quickly spin the new oxygen sensor right down home in the flange socket. Then, when the flange cooled and shrunk, it would squeeze what was remaining of the threads nice and tight onto the new sensor. Right!



Well, it worked like a charm. That is, until the new sensor had screwed seven-eights of the way home, then it got hot and expanded and didn’t want to turn anymore. But I was determined. So I grabbed the heat wrench and once again heated the flange until it was cherry-red hot.



I worked as quickly as I could, laying under the car on my back with pieces of hot metal dust falling into my face. Grunt, grunt, groan. Creak, creak, the sensor let out a screech as it made its way home. I did it! The new sensor was in place firmly buried in the flange socket. And our vacation was not going to be ruined!



Then the doubt crept into my mind. “What if I ruined the sensor by heating up the flange?” And then I thought, “What if the new O2 sensor was defective right out of the box?” But, no. My mechanic’s nightmare had ended and everything was peachy-keen from then on. Our vacation was terrific!

Don't make this Mistake

Picture, for Question for June 2019

What is it?

METRIC MADNESS

Pat loved Jaguars. He had many of the factory special tools and was very adept with them. For that matter, Pat loved all British cars. Rebuilding a Jaguar engine was a pleasant thought and he was anxious to see the one he was presently working on run.



Because of distractions, Pat liked to build engines after hours _ when there weren't phone calls or customers showing up. The quiet evening hours were perfect for Jaguar engine building, and this evening was going to be the one for this straight-six XKE engine. He carefully washed the pistons, rings, crankshaft and bearing caps and laid them out for assembly.



One by one, he compressed the rings and slipped the pistons into their new bores. Every rod cap fit snugly in its place and Pat torqued the rod nuts in place. But then he remembered he didn't have cotter pins to lock the rod castillated nuts. In a moment of panic he rifled through the parts room bins looking for cotter pins. Good news! There was a full box of cotter pins.



Everything went without a hitch -- or so he thought. By the next evening, he had the engine running. It purred like a kitten _ a Jaguar kitten. Only this one was going to take a bite, a big bite, and when it did, it would cost him dearly.



Within a few days the car came back with no oil pressure and making horrible noises. Pat pulled the oil pan only to find it full of metal shavings. Brass, aluminum, iron and copper. The engine had totaled itself. Or in the vernacular, "Gone to lunch."



Broken hearted, he pulled it down to find out what went wrong. He thought, "Was the crankshaft bent? Did the customer shift to first gear while going 100? Was this sabotage? Who hates me? Why can't anything ever be easy? Will this cost my job?" He decided to face it the next day and went home early.



While he was gone, the shop foreman examined the metal shavings in the oil pan.



He had begun to think someone had sabotaged the job by pouring metal shavings in the engine. There was an overabundance of small pieces that looked like the tail ends of cotter pins. Upon closer examination, he realized they were the tail ends of cotter pins.



The cotter pins from almost every rod bearing nut were missing. Why? Because they were the wrong size _ too small. They vibrated up and down in their holes until they broke apart and dropped into the oil pan. Most pieces were too large to do any damage but some managed to get sucked into the pump, where they were ground into small shards, which circulated through the engine and ruined everything.



The oil pump was a scarred mess. Every crankshaft journal was destroyed. The cylinder walls were also badly scuffed from the metal in the oil. Only the overhead camshaft escaped destruction. This was not a case of sabotage, but rather a case of lack of attention to detail.



The foreman carefully combed Pat's work area for more clues, since he couldn't question Pat. In a box under the bench he found the original cotter pins. They were considerably bigger than the ones Pat had used. The difference in size was really quite obvious.



While he wondered why Pat had substituted smaller pins he checked the parts room for the right size. There were none. There were pins that were too big and pins that were too small. He carefully examined one of the old ones and noticed it had a red color. Metric! It was metric and the ones in the parts room were American size!



The next day the foreman didn't say anything to Pat about the job. He let him disassemble the engine without interruption. At lunch time, he called Pat into the office to discuss his findings. When asked what had failed, Pat lied and told him the crankshaft was machined wrong. The foreman pressed, "Are you sure?"



Pat lied again, "Absolutely." He was fired on the spot.

Pablo window diagram

How and Where to test a Starting System

Mechanic On Duty

It was a dark and stormy night and the rain beat hard against the shop roll-up door. My shop assistant, who I called “Chief”, and I were working late on an engine transplant. There had been problems with the first short block and now the job was a week overdue. So, we were playing late night ketchup.



Over the storm's din, I thought I heard a car pull up. I looked up at the shop rollup door and saw car headlights shining through the window. Then a horn honked. I walked over to the door and I peered out. The car’s headlights and grille were square. A Volvo? Just then lightning flashed across the sky and I could clearly see a Volvo wagon parked in the shop drive.



I didn’t recognize the car. I know, I can’t remember a person’s name worth a hoot. I have a little better luck at recognizing people’s faces. But, you bet that I know the face on every car that we service. I may not recognize the owner, but I really know my customer’s cars. And this wasn’t one that had been in my shop.



I said, “Who in the name of Pete could that be? Get the door!” I yelled to Chief. He grabbed the pull chain and began yanking on it furiously. It made a loud metallic sound as the door slid upward. When the door was high enough for me to lean out of the shop light into the darkness, I could see a figure waving at me from inside the car. It was hard to make out who it was because the rain was beating so hard against the windshield. I still didn't notice the wipers weren't working.



That was my first clue as to why this late night visitor was at my shop door. And I didn't even catch it! I couldn’t see the person inside because the wipers weren’t moving. Maybe it was the confusion of the moment, maybe my tiredness from keeping late night hours. Or maybe that horrible distant memory—the memory that I tried to forget—that kept me from noticing what was such an obvious problem.



There I stood, trying as hard as I could, to see who was inside the car. It looked like a female and a small child. It made sense that they were here at my door because of some kind of car trouble. But I still didn't see the wipers not working. You’d probably say, “Duh!”



Chief motioned for her to pull forward into the shop as the rain blew in reaching almost to the first repair bay. I could see her nodding head as she put the car in gear and inched forward. As the windshield cleared the door and the rain concentrated its efforts on the back of the car, I could barely make out her face. I didn't recognize her. But I did recognize the look of fear on her face.



She opened the window and gasped at the same time. The first words out of her mouth were, “Please, you've got to help me.” Then it hit me like a flash of lightning. I was instantly thrown back into those horrible memories. It had been more than a decade, but I remembered it like yesterday. Chief and I, a late night job just like this one. A car pulled up in the rain. A woman was in the car. She rolled down the window...



“Please... you've got to help me. He's got a gun and he's after me.” The woman had a look of terror on her face that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I motioned her to pull into the shop and quickly closed and bolted the door. When she got out I saw she was soaking wet.



“What's going on, Miss? What’s wrong?” She blurted out, “It's my boyfriend. He's going to kill me!” Then I noticed the nasty bump on the side of her pretty face. And her make-up was smeared.



“Should I call the police?” “No, they'll never believe me. You will never believe me. Oh dear...” Then she broke into sobbing, covering her face with her hands.



Just then I decided to take a look outside and see if there was anyone was lurking out there. I thought I saw a dark figure dart around the side of the building. Or was it just my imagination playing tricks on me? A shudder of fear ran down my spine.



As I walked over toward the sobbing woman I thought I heard a sound coming from the shop back door. In a dead panic, I quickly ran to the back of the shop—just in time to see the door being pried open. Someone really was trying to break into the shop! I stood there frozen as shivers of terror went up and down my spine.



I ran to the front of the shop and joined the woman and Chief in the front office. I grabbed the phone and dialed 911, telling the operator that someone was trying to break in the door. We stood there in silence looking out the window into the empty street outside. It seemed like forever before the police arrived. I saw two cops get out and split up, one going each way around the building. Then I heard gunshots...



The sound of the door slamming shut brought me back into the present. I had been daydreaming again. It was another flashback. But, this wasn't the same. She wasn't drenched with rain. Just a motorist needing late night help with a car problem. I took a deep breath, calmed my voice as I asked, “What's the matter Miss?” The young woman replied, “My wipers stopped working. You were the only place open. I have to drive to Atlanta tonight. Can you please help me? Can you get them working again?” “Sure.” I said, breathing a big sigh.



Chief ushered her and the sleepy little boy that she held in her arms into the office. I decided to start with a quick fuse check. As my luck would have it, or lack of luck, the fuses were okay. At that point, I suspected the wiper motor was fried—something that I wouldn't be able to fix at this time of night. Just then I remembered somewhere back in my memory about something with the Volvo grounds, about a bad grounding problem for the electric wiper motor. On this wild hunch, I decided to check and see.



First, I disassembled the cowl to get at the wiper motor. Using a jumper wire, I clipped one end on the mounting stud for the motor and the other end to the chassis. The motor whirred instantly to life. “Bad ground” I announced to the cars sitting silently as my audience in the shop. Grabbing a portable drill and drill bits from my toolbox bottom drawer, I drilled a new hole so I could establish a better ground for the wiper motor. Using a little piece of wire, two wire terminals and a small bolt, I repaired it in a total of ten minutes.



When I explained what I did to fix the wiper problem, the look on my midnight visitor's face was worth a thousand thank-you’s. “You are ever so kind! Most places would take advantage of a stranded woman like me.” she exclaimed. “How can I ever repay you for your inconvenience and wonderful talent?” “Don’t worry about it. It’s all about the job we do. After all, the sign out front says “Mechanic on Duty.’ Joking I said, “We’re the 24-hour-toolbox. We never close!”



After she paid her bill, which came to a whopping $21.75, I told Chief to call it a night and go home. And by the next day I had completely forgotten about the incident.

But, she didn’t. About a week later she dropped by with a homemade peach pie. Even more so, I loved the feeling it left me with—an alternative and a happy ending to what had been a midnight mechanic's nightmare that happened to me once before. That nightmare I'll never forget. But that's another story.

1970 Mercedes Pagoda Diagram

The Salesman and his Magic Beans

Many things have shaped my career as a mechanic. I remember when I took a
job in the only sports car shop in town because I was tired of turning a wrench
on ordinary cars. Or maybe it was because I had fallen in love with a '58
Afla-Romeo-Giuliette-Sprint-Veloce and my Bertone-bodied mistress lured me into
the world of exotic cars. Anyway, this is a university town and there are plenty
of rich kids with sports cars. And a large number of tweedy college professors
who bought weird cars in Europe and shopped them home. I was challenged by the
Alfas, Austin Healys, MGs, Jags and all the rest. It seemed pretty classy to a
twenty-year-old used to working on 36 HP Beetles for $3 an hour.

I still remember that rainy, damp, bone-chilling morning. The weather was giving
me a real feeling of what it must be like to live in England. I struggled to get
the engine and tranny out of a Sprite in order to change a 2-dollar carbon T/O
bearing, when a 50's Port Hole Buick honked its horn to enter the shop.

Little did I know that my whole life was about to change. When I opened the
door, the mist and fog swirled around the old Buick as it rolled inside. The
driver was a little old man with skin so yellow and thin you could almost see
inside him. He reminded me of one of those visible anatomy plastic models.
Barely taller than the rear-view mirror, he couldn't have weighed more than a
hundred and ten pounds--but he had the loose of a salesman.

"Hiya, boys!" he said as he plucked a cigar as big as a grease gun from his
mouth. "I wanna show you boys a few products that are gonna make you some
money." Oh no! He was a salesman, and I had let him in! Dave, Carl, and Don
walked over to stand beside me, all of us instantly mesmerized by the appearance
of this little man.

"I was a mechanic myself once," he said as he tossed a yellow plastic thing with
wires toward us. I instinctively moved to one side as Dave picked it out of the
air. It looked like one of those Mausers that all the bad guys carry in old
movies.

It was shaped like a pistol, with a trigger, a couple of switches, and some wires
with alligator clips on the ends. It was the kind of thing that would get you
thrown in jail if you took it through airport security. The little guy reached
back into the old Buick and brought out a small plywood box. He walked around
front and placed it by the right wheel. In a flash, he was on top of the box
with the hood up. Then he snapped his fingers twice. Crack-Crack! The sharp
reports rattled off the shop roof like shots from a .38!

The strange yellow device flew past my face again, this time headed in the
direction of the old guy. He caught it in his left hand, and in one fluid
motion the alligator clips popped out between the bony fingers of his right
hand. It was like watching a magician. "This boys, is a Snappy--a patented and
registered trademark. I invented it. Now I'm going to teach you how to make
money with this indispensable and highly scientific diagnostic instrument.
This is a tool no mechanic can do without."

"The red and black leads are connected to any 6 or 12 volt battery--red to
positive and black to ground--except for old Fords and English cars. The
orange clip goes on the solenoid feed wire."

"On GM cars it's the purple wire that runs across the firewall. My special
wire-piercing device on the clip allows you to connect it without crawling
under the dash. The green lead goes to the coil primary. In a minute, I'm going
to show you how to check coil polarity using my Snappy and an ordinary pencil."

He went on for more than an hour as we learned how to test for bad grounds,
locate opens, check fuses, and bulbs. It was strange, because none of us had
said a single word since he and his old Buick rolled through the door.

"Since you guys have been such good listeners, I'm going to make you a special
deal." Four left hands reached for their wallets. "No! I don't want your
money...not until I show you my newest invention, he said as he puffed his
cigar--which was now so short he had to spit it from his lips. "Sorry!" he said
as he ground out the butt with his black and white oxford.

"After many years of experimenting--Ya know, I worked for the War Department
during the big one, I have finally perfected a chemical method of replenishing
the metal that wears from the piston rings and cylinder walls of internal
combustion engines."

His eyes began to bug out, and the veins stood out in his neck. He talked faster
and faster with his arms waving as he told us the details. It seemed that the
oil companies were out to get him. They were trying to steal his invention
before he could get a patent on it. From the cavernous trunk of the Buick, he
produced a small cardboard box. It was filled with five small flat brown
cardboard packages that looked like patent medicine boxes. He slid open one of
the packages and in it were twelve big, round, bean-like capsules. They looked
like worm pills you might give a horse.

"Got an oil burner?" he asked. "A real smoker?!" I opened my mouth for the first
time in more than an hour. "The Vauxhall," I blurted.

Dave shot me a threatening glance and Carl's eyes rolled back in his head. We
all knew the Vauxhall had been run out of the water and ruined the rings on a
couple of pistons. This little 4-door car parked in a back corner of the shop
had a forlorn look about it, its narrow fenders appeared kind of hunched around
the grill--reminding me of a cowering dog.

"Start it up!" he commanded. I jump in it. It cranked real fast for a long time
before catching, and then billowed heavy blue smoke from the tailpipe. The smoke
hung heavy in the air, drifting up towards the shop roof, giving the place the
air of a Civil War battlefield. The Vauxhall panted and shivered as it idled on
two cylinders.

The little man had a smile on his face, as if he knew something we didn't. He
let it run for a minute and then instructed me to shut it off and remove the
spark plug. He saw oil fouling on #3 and #4 and shoved one of his beans into
each spark plug hole. He then asked me to start the engine. The longer it ran,
the smoother it idled, and smoke stopped coming from the tailpipe.

"The Snappys are five bucks each," he said as he threw us each one. "I'll be
back through from Chicago in a month. Try the Beans...and we'll settle up then."
He jammed another cigar in his face, jumped into the Buick and slammed the door.
I could see him stretch to reach the pedals. The starter cranked a half-turn and
the straight-eight ticked over almost silently. As he backed out into the fog, the
Buick disappeared like the Titanic, without a sound. I'll never forget that day,
March 20, 1964. A month passed. Then summer came and went. So did Vietnam. But
the little old man never came back. For the longest time I expected to see him,
just barely peering over the steering wheel, every time I saw an oval-port
Buick.

The years drifted by. Recently, I thought I saw him driving a new Park Avenue.
Have you ever noticed that when you owe someone money, you think about them? I
mean, it's unfinished business. Maybe the oil companies DID get him or was it
the cigars? I've still got my Snappy as a reminder that it wasn't just a dream.
Oh, and those magic beans? But, that's another story.

Pats Perspective 155 - Saving a daughter life

Shiny Disasters

Pats Perspective 154 " Chip Blues"

Throttle control motor part 2

Throttle control motor part 1

Help with an A/C problem

Pats Perspective 153 "Slip Sliding Away"

The Mac Attacked

Dudley was never really sure of himself. He probably should have been an accountant because of his meticulous attention to detail. Perhaps this was because he was always afraid of making a mistake. Dudley would double check every step and recheck his work again and again, just in case he missed something. While he was as slow as molasses on a winter day, he always did the job right the first time and never had any comebacks. The other mechanics had nicknamed him "Dudly Do Right."



Because Dudley was very small and had tiny hands, he became really good at doing dashboard work. The foreman saved all of this type of work for Dudley because he knew that Dudley would be able to snake his little hands up inside the dash with ease and repair many types of problems that required removal of the entire dash. Especially when dealing with dash rattles, Dudley was a champ.



Dash work is a special type of mechanical repair. It really requires a high degree of fastidiousness. Removal and disassembly of the dash is a complicated task involving many small steps. There are a multitude of clips and fasteners involved and if even one is omitted, the dash will buzz or rattle to beat the band. Many dashboards have small pieces of sound deadener affixed to their innermost recesses. Failure to reinstall a small piece of foam in a certain place can result in a squeak or chirping noise that will leave the owner thinking a pack of mice had moved into the instrument panel.



Dudley liked dash work because it was clean work and didn't require a great deal of strength. The only thing he didn't like about it was the sharp edges of the metal panels inside the dash. He often wore multiple bandages on his hands after he finished a job -- from being sliced and diced by a particular job. He had taken to wearing tight-fitting leather cloves to protect his hands.



Dudley liked dash work because it also involved a great deal of expertise in electronics. As cars became more and more sophisticated, he was required to use more and more electronic test equipment in order to find the faulty control module or ambient air temperature sensor. Wiring problems fascinated him and he took a home study course in electronics in order to excel in this new realm of electronics.



Today he was chasing after a problem with a radio antenna that would go up and down by itself. The owner was complaining that the electric antenna seemed to have a mind of its own. He said that it had really embarrassed him recently when he was sitting at a red light and the antenna kept going up and down. A very pretty woman was stopped at the light next to him and saw the antenna doing its thing. She thought he was being crude by making lewd suggestions with the antenna. She even shouted at him, "pervert!" as she roared away from the red light.



Dudley was going to troubleshoot the problem with a test light. But first, he carefully plugged his auxiliary power source into the cigarette lighter to keep the radio powered up. Then he disconnected the car battery and let the car stand for a few minutes in order to deplete the electrical charge from the airbag system. He knew that if he failed to disarm the airbag system, it might deploy unexpectedly. As usual, he was being careful.



Dudley also liked to improvise. He took pride in making special homemade tools. In this case, he was using a tool he called his "power-upper." It consisted of a small motorcycle battery that was connected to a plug that fit the cigarette lighter. When he plugged it into the cigarette lighter, it would provide an alternate source of power for the accessories. This allowed Dudley to do dash work while the vehicle's battery was disconnected.



Now, with his "power-upper" connected to the car and the car battery safely disconnected, Dudley set out to find the intermittent problem with the car antenna. The only problem was, he couldn't see the antenna operate from under the dash. He decided to get the car owner to lend his assistance and watch for the antenna to move as Dudley checked the connections under the dash.



He went to the waiting room and found the owner sitting there eating his lunch.



"Would you please come sit in the car and watch for the antenna to move while I work under the dash?" Dudley asked the customer. "Sure. But do you mind if I bring along my lunch? I don't want it to get cold while I wait."



With the customer sitting in the driver's seat, Dudley worked under the dash with his test light. He methodically wiggled and probed the various connectors to find the problem. The "Power-upper' provided the electricity for Dudley to use to check the circuit and his test light showed that electrical energy was getting to the radio just fine. The customer was sitting there eating a Big Mac when Dudley happened to probe a bright yellow connector.



Suddenly, there was a loud explosion. The customer’s head was immediately encapsulated in a huge beach ball. The Big Mac splatted everywhere covering the customer's face with pieces of the Big Mac—giving him an instant hamburger facial.

Bits of catsup, mayonnaise, and lettuce were hanging from his eyebrows. Part of the hamburger had been crammed into the customer's mouth making him look like he had the mumps. He had no idea what had hit him and sat there wondering, "What the hell did they put in this hamburger!?!"



Dudley was in big trouble. All the men in the repair bays came running over to see what had happened. When they saw the customer with the Big Mac splattered on his face, they started to laugh. Through the ringing in his ears Dudley could hear the howls of laughter as he climbed out from under the dash.



The men were holding their sides and falling on the ground in hysterics. Then one of mechanics started clapping and shouted "Do it again, Dudley. Do it again!" The others immediately joined in with the chant. From that day on, Dudley had a new nickname:

"Do it again Dudley."