A CLUTCH ISN’T
ALWAYS A HANDSHAKE! By
Norris Chambers
Suddenly the automobile stopped and the engine began racing
noisily. Of course I guessed that there was a problem somewhere in the
driving mechanism between the engine and the rear wheels. I got out and
looked under the running board. It was so dark that I could not have
seen a defect if one had been visible. My quick diagnosis was that I had
clutch, transmission or differential trouble. I also knew that there was
nothing I could do to fix it on the spot.
I was about four miles from the nearest house where I would feel
comfortable waking the folks in the middle of the night. One of my
uncles and his family lived southwest near the point where the narrow
sandy road merged with one a little wider and a little better
maintained. I knew my cousin Doug would help me, so I started the long
midnight trip up the hill and through the dark woods. I had barely
reached the top of the hill when a dog with a vicious sounding bark came
running toward me from a house somewhere on the right. I didn’t see a
heavy stick handy so I hastily pulled out my trusty Barlow and opened
the long blade. I figured I could cut him to pieces while he was eating
me up!
Luckily he turned out to be a peaceful fellow and after a few
tail wags he went back to his lair. I guess I didn’t look like a
threat to the property. I didn’t have any more dog trouble until I
approached my uncle’s house. His two big dogs started to take me
apart, but when I greeted them by name they were glad to see me. I knew
that one of the three doors on the front porch opened into the room
where Doug and two brothers slept. When I knocked on the door he greeted
me with surprise. I
explained my problem and we soon had the Chevy under a tree near the
barn and had made the twelve mile trip to tell my parents I wouldn’t
be home. By the time we got back to my uncle’s it was almost morning,
so we didn’t attempt to sleep. The chores were soon finished and after
a hearty breakfast we approached the big mechanic’s job facing us.
Doug didn’t know any more about fixing a Chevy than I did, but
he was anxious to learn. We soon determined that the trouble had to be
in the clutch so we took the flywheel housing off and took a look. There
was a big heavy thing with a bunch of big coil springs in it and many
bolts holding it on. The clutch was on the spline shaft that protruded
from the transmission. A small bearing on the end fit into the middle of
the flywheel. The hub of the clutch was riveted to the plate and all of
the rivets were stripped, leaving the clutch with no circular motion to
transfer to the transmission. The transmission had to come out before we
could get to the clutch, so we started removing bolts. It soon became
evident that the whole rear section of the automobile had to be removed
to get it out after removing the bolts from the transmission. After
jacking and stacking rocks and sweating we finally pulled it out and
attacked the pressure plate. We started removing bolts and before long
it exploded! Some of the bolts were holding it together and keeping
tension on the big springs. A few more bolts removed the mess from the
flywheel and we got the disabled clutch plate out.
A two hour trip to
A little after dark we finished the job and the onlookers
cheered. It worked just like a clutch should. Doug and I were known as
Chevy clutch experts after this successful repair job.
Was there fun connected with this job? Yes, one of the onlookers
got careless and fell into the big horse trough. We stopped work long
enough to laugh about that!
This sad experience just illustrates that no matter how hopeless
a situation may appear, someone may fall into a horse trough and inject
a little FUN into the endeavor! |