I consider myself a bit of a car guy. My interest in cars goes all the way back to my days in high school. Many of my friends owned their own cars and worked on them. I used to hang out with them and even help with some of the work. This was the time when cars were meant for looking cool and were also very dangerous. No seat belts, no air bags, no padded dashes and no electronic warning systems in case you were about to plow into another car. The good old days. Also, no 600 page owners manual with page after page on how dangerous the car is and not much on why the cruise control isn’t working…damn it. You know those days when the kids flew around the inside of the car when you came to a sudden stop. Fun for all.
At the end of high school and my first year in college, I landed a job in a garage. That is what car repair shops were called at the time. It specialized in transmissions and air conditioning but did any job that was necessary. I learned just enough on this job to be dangerous. What I mean is, I learned a little but acted like I knew a lot. I was hired to sweep floors and clean up messes with the caveat that I would train as a mechanic. Great but I also learned when I was expected to, let’s say, remove a transmission from a car, the other, much more experienced mechanic in the building, didn’t like letting a rookie borrow their tools. I had to get my own tools to do the job. By the time I purchased what I needed, all the money I made up to that point was gone. And I thought the high hourly wage I received working on cars would allow me to actually buy a car. Nope, still had to walk three miles to and from work. But I did have nice, shiny new tools and sore feet.
After a year or so, I was finally able to buy my first car. A very old Jeep Willys wagon. It was a 4-cylinder, flat head engine, with a three speed manual transmission and overdrive. The fact I could tell you all those details is impressive, right? It looked great on the outside. It was freshly painted and had contact paper put in the depressed areas making it look like an imitation woodside wagon. What it didn’t have was a good chunk of its frame. After I bought it (I did say after) my boss let me put it up on one of the shop’s lifts where I found a couple of two-by-fours where the back end of the metal frame should be. Oops. Hey, the rear end hadn’t fallen out, yet, so it couldn’t be all bad.
I spent quite a bit of time at one friend’s house who had a garage that rivaled any commercial one around. He and his dad resurrected old cars and got them on the road again. Noticed, I didn’t say “Like brand new.” Just got them up and running. They had all kinds of tools normal home mechanics couldn’t possibly dream of. My friend, having an uncle that owned an auto-parts store, helped. It got to the point where we would meet up at his house on a Friday night and spend the evening working on one of our cars. It also involved drinking beer and eating deep fried smelt. Maybe that explains why it was years before I met the right girl and married her. As time passed, my interest in cars never waned and my dream was to take an old classic and bring it back to life. My opportunity came when I found a 64 and a half Mustang with a 260 V-8 and bought it for $150.00. Even though it was 45 years ago and the car wasn’t quite the classic it would become, $150 was a steal. This car had serious issues. The floor was rusted out, the engine was shot, and the steering was questionable, and I intended to fix them all. As it turned out, as it was parked outside my house, it became a source of parts for other people in my neighborhood who were also working on their old Mustang. I’m glad I could help, but after me being the one paying for replacement parts for a Mustang. I gave up and decided car restoration was not for me. After a small accident, by someone I lent the car to so they had a car while visiting, I junked it. Now looking at what a car like that goes for today, I could kick myself. I have an older brother who bought a barn find, a 1927 Model A truck, 50 years ago, and he still has it, mostly in pieces, laying around all over the place. Now that’s what I call dedication. Even though it is a bit of a mess, it’s also like having money in the bank. Cha Ching (also a worrisome noise my 64 and a half Mustang made.)
Over the years I have worked on my own cars as much as they will let me. I changed my own oil, worked on the brakes and replaced headlights and tail lights. As time moved on, cars have evolved into computerized monsters. I opened the hood on my 2020 Hybrid SUV and was faced with a large yellow sticker on top of the engine that said, “High Voltage, Do Not Touch!” I think my car is threatening me. Everything is so electronic and computerized, a guy like me with a fine arts degree feels unworthy to work on it. Is this how the Terminator started?
I stican get my “car repair” fix. I am an avid viewer of the Motor Trend channel. All day long it gives me shows on mechanics fixing or customizing old cars (pre-1984 when pollution control devices were introduced). These gifted artists take rusted hulks of a car and by the end of the show turn them into a prize worthy, classic beauties. The cars are so well restored, when shown at car shows, they jack the car up, put mirrors under them and show off how clean and shiny the underside is. Take that, all those car salesmen who pushed undercoating on unsuspecting victims (It seemed like a good idea at the time…cars still rusted out.).
I haven’t given up though. My wife and I were coming home from a weekend away and my car suffered a flat tire. I was able to pull off into a parking lot right off the freeway. Being the macho, car guy I am, I was excited to jump out of the car, go to the back of the car and start pulling out the jack and spare. My wife came around the corner of the car and asked what I was doing. I told her with a smile, “I’m changing the tire.” She responded by pulling out her AAA card and said, “This is how I change a tire.” My ego became as deflated as my tire.
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