Car fan surprised to fall in love with 1990 Honda Civic
O’Neil Dillon is a retired physician from Berkeley. He attended UC Berkeley and UCSF School of Medicine, and he worked for the U.S. Public Health Service as a Peace Corps physician in Malaysia. He practiced psychiatry for many years in Berkeley, as well as caring for patients in the Department of Corrections and on San Quentin’s Death Row.
I have been obsessed with cars since early adolescence, when my brother and I transformed a 1938 Chevrolet Coupe into a classic ’50s hot rod. We put in a GMC truck engine and a brand new 1938 Packard floor shift transmission, lowered the front and chromed and painted everything.
Working on that car got us through adolescence without getting into too much trouble, although I did lose my license for three months for drag racing.
My obsession continued over the years as I lavished loving attention on a 1955 front wheel drive Citroen 15CV with suicide doors. Then followed a 1971 Mercedes 220, a 1986 Mercedes 300 E, a 1999 BMW 540I and a 2013 Audi A4.
All were fine automobiles and a pleasure to drive. Then came my salvation.
My youngest son had a 1990 Honda Civic he was selling, and I offered to help him fix it up and sell it. As I began to gradually put money into the car for one thing or another, I started to drive it here and there — especially for those short trips down to the store and around town that
I did not want to subject my finer vehicles to. Lo and behold, I started falling in love.
This car was fun to drive. It almost felt like a go-cart. I had always made fun of Japanese cars because it seemed like the engine compartments were a rat’s nest of wires going every which way.
But in spite of how the engine compartment looked, the quality of the car itself — including the ride, handling and reliability — was notable. This car was miserly with fuel, and parts were reasonably priced.
The Honda Civic was a happy camper that lacked the emotional neediness required by the automotive divas I was addicted to. I bought it from my son, and the benefits kept adding up.
For one thing, I no longer had to worry about where to park it. Will that guy next to me crash his door into my side? How about that tree — is it dropping sap? These were no longer problems that consumed me. And forget about detailing — hosing it off once in a while was more than enough.
When it did get dented, it did not destroy my equilibrium. It no longer mattered! I was free at last.
But wait, there’s more. When the car was stolen, no damage occurred to the locks or ignition because Honda only made 16 variations on the keys and every thief has them. The radio was deemed too worthless to steal. When the police called to report that they had found it down the hill, I picked it up no worse for wear.
Soon I realized that I did not need to keep locking the doors everywhere I went, or even roll up the windows when I parked. Other benefits included that I no longer needed to pay for collision coverage, and the absence of power steering provided an excellent upper body work out.
I got a particular kick out of driving my Honda to the Berkeley Rotary Club meetings when I was president, and watching the puzzled looks it occasioned. I keep getting letters from the state wanting to get it off the streets and offering $1000 to do so. A guaranteed buyer waiting in the wings — how many automobiles have that?
I have also had two or three unsolicited offers to buy it as a “commuter” car. Now I ask you, what more could you want out of an automobile? I love my (currently not for sale) 1990 Honda Civic!