From Moss Motoring 1985
Toggle switches turn me on.
There is undoubtedly something profoundly Freudian in this attachment to toggles. But there is no way I want to get into that.
Slide switches are disdained. Push buttons are but tolerated, rockers remind one of the safety fanatics’ fondness for bland switching devices. The Austin America had rocker switches, right? Nuff said.
Give me a row of toggles, and I’m happy.
I think it all goes back to those World War II fighter planes in the movies. The dashing pilot would drop down into the cockpit, buckle up his harness, and begin flipping toggle switches, some of them over his head even!
The P-38’s engines would snarl into action as the toggle switches were snapped, and it would soon be too bad for the Axis.
Donald Healey ceased production of the Austin-Healey when British Leyland insisted on using rockers instead of toggle switches. (How’s that for revisionist history?)
Oh, how many times have I thrilled a passenger by deftly throwing the overdrive switch with my thumb as I accelerate out of a back country curve?
Of course this backhand bravado has too often resulted in the windscreen wipers coming on in bright sunshine, but ignore that.
A fascia full of toggle switches denotes the true macho motorist. Give me enough toggle switches and a place to sit, and I will move the world!
Think about it. Didn’t everything on this planet start to go downhill right after toggle switches were abandoned? Toggle switches and Burma-Shave signs. Nothing’s been the same since.
By John C. LaMonte