Beginners learn workings of cars
'Powder puff' course gives knowledge where it's needed
     The only mechanical operations on a car I could perform consisted of driving it, gassing it up and emptying the ashtray, until I took a two-hour automechanics class recently.
     The class, offered through the Technology Education Collegiate Association, was taught by a TECA club member who says more "powder puff" classes will probably be taught in the fall semester.
     At first, I was offended by the designation "Powder Puff Mechanics." But honesty forced me to admit I really didn't know much about the basics of the machine I rely on.
     I don't think my relationship with my car is really too different from many other women's. Mechanics wasn't something my mother felt a need to teach me. I've had the usual mechanic types for boyfriends, but they all tried to get too specific.
What do I care about torque?
     Most women aren't too secure about working on their cars. Grease under your nails is difficult to remove-if you don't break all 10 in the process.
     The class, which cost a mere $5, became a family affair at The Brake Shop when the instructor, Rochonne Hemler-a technology club member who doesn't resemble a grease monkey-got some help from her brother Taylor Hemler Jr., a cute, blond-haired mechanic, and their father.
     Their father, Taylor Hemler, owns the shop so it was a convenient place to have the class.

"If you get stranded on the road with a busted belt, use a pair of panty hose,"
Taylor said.

     We started with the very basic task of raising the hood. I popped the release and as Rochonne reached toward the latch, I ran to the front of the car and said, "Really, I can do this."
    Only one other woman, Debbie, was in my class, so we concentrated on the guts of our own cars instead of learning what makes other cars run and break down.
     The next week, the turnout was better when four other women studied their cars' insides.
The main thing I found out about my own car, a 1981 Toyota with about 107,000 miles on it, is that there are a lot of guts in it and most of them need fixing.
     Debbie and I found out where the fan belt and alternator belt are. Rochonne said that worn-out belts look cracked if you turn them over. Mine were cracked.
     "If you get stranded on the road with a busted belt, use a pair of panty hose," Taylor said. All you have to do, he said, is tie the hose tightly around the loop the belt usually runs until you can get to a service station.
     Debbie asked if tape would work; Rochonne and Taylor assured us that it wouldn't. So now I have a spare pair of panty hose in my glove box.
     Then we approached the radiator. Sometimes a temperature gauge registers hot, Rochonne said. I always figured it was probably just wrong and ignored it. But Rochonne said if the car says it's running hot, all you have to do is squeeze the hoses. If they are hard, then your car is hot. If not, your temperature gauge probably needs to be checked.
     "Whatever you do," Taylor warned, "don't open the radiator cap when the engine is hot because it will blow up in your face." That was a comforting thought.
     Next came the oil. There is a funny looking grid thing between "full" and "needs a quart" that stands for OK. I was excited to find that I don't need oil. But, I did need to change it. It hadn't been done to my car since March 3 (of 1986 that is).
      I asked if it went in the same hole as the dipstick.
It doesn't.
     The battery was the next stop in the guts of the engine. We learned that Coke or baking soda can be used to get corrosion off the battery.
     Taylor said the corrosion can eat through your shirt or your skin if you get it on you and don't wash it off soon. A six pack and a long handled brush ought to do it.
     Then we went to the tire changing part. This was something I really wanted to learn after being ridiculed by a former boyfriend.
     To loosen the lugnuts, I had to stand on this wrench-type device and almost fell when it finally gave way.
     I got the jack positioned, the car raised, the lugnuts loosened some more and the tire off. Glory be. Then I found something else to spend money on. My shocks are shot.
     After I got the tire back on and went through the process of tightening the lugnuts by standing on the wrench thing, the class had almost ended.
Then I ran over the chock blocks driving out.
     But on the way home, I was excited to see grease under my nails. Only one was cracked.
Date Published: 5/7/87 ~ Publication: News - Telegram ~ Written Under: Karla S. Ware
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