COAL Extra: 1985 Honda Civic CRX – Never Co-sign For A Car Loan

By 1985, my sister had graduated high school and was working full time in retail while pursuing a career in secretarial performing arts.  She had proven to my parents that she could hold down a job and, since she was still living at home, a car payment shouldn’t have been too much of a burden.  So, after a year with the hated Gremlin, they gave in.

Even though at that time we were solidly a Nissan family, my sister had already seen and taken a test drive in a CRX and was instantly in love.  One Saturday in early 1985 all four of us went to Moody Honda on North Federal Highway in Ft. Lauderdale and there was this car sitting on the showroom floor.  The price with dealer-installed air conditioning was somewhere between $8,000 and $9000.  With the $300 they gave her for the Gremlin and my parents’ signature on the cosigner line of the 60-month loan, she drove it right out of the showroom with all of three miles on it.

 

A Radical New Civic

Honda radically redesigned the Civic line for 1984.  What was a cute but dull looking subcompact line was transformed into something completely different – from the previous model as well as each other.  The British “Shooting Brake” style hatchback, the “mini-Accord” sedan, and the “tall boy” wagon all had unique body panels aft of the firewall.  Wheelbases, lengths and widths were all increased – plus four inches of height on the wagon – and the 1.5-liter engine that came with all but the base model grew another valve and about 8 horsepower.

The addition of the 2-seat CRX is what really took everyone by surprise.  While in concept the CRX was the same as the contemporary Ford Escort-based EXP, the execution was much more successful.  As Paul notes in the article, the Civic’s low cowl line made for a better-looking sporty offshoot.

My Turn

For me, the most exciting thing about this car was I could actually drive it, as I finally got my license shortly after its purchase.  My only stick-shift experience at that point was my father’s 1983 Nissan Sentra Coupe XE, which looked sporty – and that’s as far as it went.  On paper, the cars don’t seem that different.  The Sentra had a 69-horsepower, 1.6-liter four and weighed a little over 1,900 pounds. The CRX had a 76-horsepower, 1.5-liter four and weighed a little over 1,800 pounds.  But, my lord, what an incredibly different driving experience!

Compared to the CRX, the Sentra felt like it had a trunkful of anvils.  In addition, there was a whole world of difference between the clunky transmission of the Sentra and the buttery-smooth shifter in the CRX.  I could only imagine what the 91-horsepower Si was like to drive.

 

I Love the Smell of Burning Clutch in the Morning

There was just one teeny-tiny problem:  My sister did not know how to drive a stick shift.  Unfortunately for her, our parents had two automatic cars when she was learning to drive.  There was maybe one lesson in the Sentra before she bought the car, but relations between my sister and father had broken down dramatically by 1985.  Fortunately, since this was 1985, several of her friends had cars with manual transmissions and were happy to give her lessons.  Try that one today.

Now, those who have not been taught to properly drive a car with a manual transmission – which does take a long time to perfect – fall into two categories:  The buckers (too much clutch, not enough gas) and the pullers (too much gas, not enough clutch).  My sister was a puller.  Big time.  I swear that I could smell the clutch when she pulled away.  That first clutch lasted a whopping 17,000 miles.  She eventually got the hang of it and would be proud to tell you that her 10-year-old Cruze is still on its original clutch.

Shortest New-Car Honeymoon Ever

That inexperience, however, likely contributed to her first accident two days later.  She was driving down U.S. 1 in Ft. Lauderdale with her friend when the car three cars ahead slowed down to turn into a shopping plaza.  The turn was happening so slowly the car behind it had to come to nearly a full stop.  The car behind that one turned into the same plaza much faster at a nearer entrance.  So, there was my sister going almost full speed right into car number two, which was at an almost complete stop.  She was not ticketed due to the circumstances, but does feel if she had been more experienced, she might have had more control over the car.  At least this time she was wearing her seat belt, though her passenger was not and yielded yet another cracked windshield.

 

Just Having A Little Fun

My fondest memory of the car was when my sister’s band had a two-week gig in Key West, and she left the car at home.  Both Dad and I planned to make it our primary driver while she was gone.  Because Dad was such a good guy (and my car was fecal matter) he let me take it.  One day that week I was out for a drive and pulled up next to one of my classmates in his brown Datsun 310.  I played it cool, staring straight ahead, but I knew he saw me.  When the light turned green, I dropped the clutch and floored it; ultimately just spinning the front wheel for several seconds before darting past him.  Yeah, I might have schooled him, but it was kind of embarrassing.  For several weeks afterwards, he kept talking about my “lame” CRX.

Also, since my sister likes to drive fast and little CRX hydroplaned profusely, hijinks ultimately ensued.  One time when driving too fast in the rain, the light suddenly turned yellow (as lights tend to do) and when she tried to stop, she did a beautiful 180 into the intersection.

 

Breaking a Tooth on the Big Apple

My sister and the CRX moved into her boyfriend’s cheesy, run-down apartment in downtown Ft. Lauderdale about a year later.  We were sorry to see her go.  The CRX, not my sister.

She quickly realized that there weren’t many opportunities for her in South Florida at the time.  One of the few, a walk-on role on Miami Vice, fell through when she neglected to ask at which airport they were filming (Hint: It wasn’t Ft. Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport).

She moved home for a bit after her boyfriend moved in with his father and stepmother in New York to try to get over his drug problem.  In October 1987, my sister and his mother, who was her manager, joined him in a rental in Long Beach to take a crack (no pun intended) at the Big Time.  The CRX’s generous cargo area was able to swallow a good amount of her stuff.

 

As Long Beach was only a seasonal rental, they moved into a cute upstairs apartment in Beth Page.  It wasn’t long before it became apparent that her manager was never going to take her career to the next level.  That was followed by breaking up with her boyfriend, although they decided to continue living together to save money.  Some advice, folks:  This situation does not work when the breakup is one-sided.  She called home one night while her ex was in a cocaine-fueled rage, “HE THREW ALL MY STUFF DOWN THE STAIRS!  HE THREW ME DOWN THE STAIRS!” (I was listening in on my handy clock-radio speakerphone, and her cadence and inflection were just so perfect when she delivered those lines that I couldn’t help but giggle.  And, yes, I felt a little ashamed about it).  I’m not sure what she expected my father to do, but he tried his best to get her ex to calm down.  She pulled up in the driveway not long after that.

To Clutch or Not to Clutch or You Can Never Go Home Again

Apparently, during the time they were together, her ex was teaching her clutchless shifting.  If you are not familiar with this, here’s a Reddit discussion on the topic.  The response by p00trulz pretty much says it best.  I bring this up because when I excitedly took the CRX out for a drive after her return, I could feel what this idiotic practice had done to the CRX’s transmission.  What was once a shining example of mechanical precision was now notchy and awkward.  She’d clearly done a number on the synchros.  In addition, there was now a big scrape along the side where one of them got a little too close to a guardrail somewhere in the mountains.  Driving the car just wasn’t fun for me after that, and I stuck with my Dad’s Sentra.

If we thought that my sister was a miserable person to live with before, it was nothing compared to now.  She made it very clear, in her actions and reactions more so than stating it outright, that she really didn’t want to be home.  Finally, after about 3 months, my mother suggested that maybe she’d be happier back in New York.  She couldn’t agree more and returned to New York a few weeks later.

 

Now, To the Point (And I Do Have One)

For those of you paying attention, the car was only about three years into its 60-month note at this time.  Who do you think was making the payments during all this transition and drama?  Not my sister.

Those payments, plus insurance and money my parents lent her for moving expenses and getting settled back in New York until she found a job, would eventually top $5,000.  Not a huge sum, but the situation turned into that timeworn sitcom plot where one character loans the other character money, who then spends money like a drunken sailor instead of paying it back.  It drove my mother nuts.  In my sister’s defense, my mother would always say to her, “Pay me back when you’re famous.”  To me, she would say, “I can’t believe your sister spent money on [fill in something comedically ridiculous here] while she still owes me money!”  Also, not really in her defense but it should be said, she spends far more on other people than herself.

 

CRX Vs. Manhattan

This time around, my sister rented a room in an apartment on the upper west-side of Manhattan, and the CRX now spent its days parked on the street.  While the small size made it easy to find a space, this was late 80s Manhattan, which was far removed from the Disney-themed Manhattan of today (my friend Larry got mugged in Times Square trying to buy a fake ID during a class trip in ’87, for example).  The CRX quicky started looking a lot older than its age.

One day, it was just gone.  My sister filed an insurance claim and received a check for about $5,000 (Guess what she didn’t do with the money?).  A couple of weeks later, she was coming home from work and stumbled across the car parked not far from her apartment.  In case you were thinking she just forgot where she parked, there were no tickets on the windshield, as cars must be moved at least once per day in the city.  However, the stereo, wheel covers and anything of value that had been stored in the car were missing.  It was a mess.

As the insurance money was mostly gone, and she couldn’t sell the car for anywhere near the insurance settlement in this condition, my sister was in a real dilemma*.  Let’s just say the car disappeared a short time later and would never recognizably appear again.  Also, my sister finally paid back my parents as a wedding present to me several years later because I was sick of hearing about it.

Epilogue

Due to my sister’s incredible raw talent, opportunities presented themselves often, but she ultimately avoided the Big Time.  She has, however, steadily performed, musically and theatrically, her entire adult life.  To be honest, my sister likes her privacy and would not have enjoyed immense fame.  She likes the energy of a live audience, with the luxury of going home and returning to anonymity.  A legal secretary by day, she’s also currently with an original band called A Satchel of Richards, an acoustic band called Acoustic Overlook, and a Steely Dan tribute band called Steelin’ in the Years.  If you happen to be in the Long Island area, look them up.  She’d love to see you in the audience, if not actually meet you.

 

*I know the insurance company owned the car now would likely have just come and taken it away.  Chalk it up to youth and inexperience.