I have heard some people say that they are not afraid of someone stealing their vehicle.

Why? Because, they say, their vehicle has a manual transmission and no one these days knows how to operate a clutch and gear shifter.

Except for old guys like me. And maybe a few others.

The first car I ever drove had a manual transmission. I remember it being a very small, older model British car called an Austin. My dad had gotten it from a Navy pal of his and it was in disrepair. It drank and leaked oil like a Navy sailor on shore leave. (Sorry, Dad, I had to say it.)

Anyway, my dad let me practice driving in it. And I really concentrated on trying to work the clutch and gear shift. I am not sure it had any brakes. Or seat belts.

I was 12 at the time.

My first car of my own was a 1959 Chevy Impala 4-door hardtop (no post between front and back doors and windows). It had an automatic transmission and was a hand-me down from my parents.

I was in a really bad accident in Minneapolis with that Impala. It was not my fault, but the fault of a woman driving a car dealership owned vehicle. The dealership owner gave me a bunch of money to go away and not sue anyone.

I took the money and used some of it to buy a car – a 1964 1/2 Ford Mustang convertible. Yes, a poor college student like me was able to buy this car cheap because another poor college student needed to sell it to raise tuition money.

And besides, it had a 3- speed manual transmission, on the floor. Not everyone wanted that in a car.

I loved that car. Green with a white top. And yes, it was called a 1964 and 1/2 Mustang because it was one of the first ones off the production floor at the end of 1964. Or so I was told.

But, unfortunately, a farmer driving a farm truck blew a red light in Mankato at the intersection of North Riverfront and Madison Avenue. I was northbound on Riverfront with the green light. The truck was west bound on Madison Avenue with a red light.

My car was slammed all the way out of the intersection and basically was destroyed. I got out of my Mustang and yelled at the guy, because he had killed my beloved ‘Stang. He then would not get out of his truck. Until the police came, that is.

I was not hurt in either one of those two accidents. And in case you are wondering, no, I was not wearing a seat belt. That was mainly because there were no seat belts in either car. Seatbelts were an option back in those days – not every car had them.

Once again, I got a pretty good settlement from his insurance company for my Mustang and for not saying I had a stiff neck and suing anyone, I guess. And, yes, I was still a poor college student at the time.

My next car purchase was for a car not many folks have ever heard of. Again, I found someone trying to sell a car quickly and cheaply.

It was a 1963 Plymouth Belvedere Commando. Yes, it was called a Commando. It was a 2-door hardtop, with reverse chrome wheels, jacked up in the rear and with a 383 cubic-inch engine, which was way too big for this size car – if you know what I mean.

And, it had a “three on the tree” manual transmission. For those not familiar with that nomenclature, it means the shifter was on the steering wheel column.

That car could really move because it was just too much engine for a light car. It was indeed a “go-fast” car.

It was also the car I had when I first met the girl who would become my wife.

I did not crash this car. But, the guy I sold it to went too fast in it on a curvy country road near Waterville and did crash it. And was killed.

But that is another story.

My next car was, unbelievably, a brand new Chevy Vega station wagon (yes, Chevy Vegas came in a station wagon model). I bought it for $2,200.

Yes, brand new. In 1973. One of the reasons it was priced low was because, you guessed it, a manual transmission. Three-speed on the floor.

Our next car also had a 3-speed manual tranny on the floor. It was another car no one has ever heard of. A brand new 1976 Chevy Concours. It was basically a regular Chevy Nova, but it was a 2-door hatchback coupe with a vinyl hardtop roof and some other upgrades inside.

Nowhere on the car did it say Nova. I think it was because Chevy did not want it to be called a Nova, even though it basically was one. A car dealer friend of mine in North Dakota sold it to me cheap – begged me to buy it – because he could not get it sold.

Maybe it was that manual transmission. Or the fact it was an ugly, light orange color my wife hated – and everyone else poked fun of.

After that it has been a series of cars and mini-vans (to haul newspapers in) over the past many years. All with automatic transmissions.

But there was that one day I came home with a brand new, 2-door, sporty Ford Bronco II.

My wife was appalled. We had three kids. How would this work? It was so small.

But, the Ford dealer in Tyler begged me to buy it. No one else wanted it. He was desperate to get it off the lot. He gave me an incredible deal ­- practically free, I said to my wife.

And besides, it had a 3-speed, on the floor, manual transmission with a clutch.

No one will ever steal it, I told her.

And no one ever did.