Part I - 1929 CHEVROLET

It all started innocently enough, Mike said something about a hot rod magazine he saw. I guess that was more than a year ago. Mike would comment from time to time about the rods and old cars he was reading about. He knew I would have more than a passing interest in cars. Back in high school we both had our Ford Roadsters, his a '29 on '32 rails, with a Winfield flathead, mine a '30 channeled 10 inches (!) with a two-port Riley. But we both grew up. And cars were for the kids. So we thought.

Then in January, 1981 Mike asked if I wanted to go to the Oakland Roadster Show. Well, it happened that I was looking for a weekend trip to take one of my sons on. Once a year I try to go someplace with just one of the boys. Sort of a special time for them (and me). The chance to go with Mike made it all the more a "grown up" trip, so we went.

Sort of like into the mouth of the monster, as it were. The show was great. I'd never thought that the cars we rarely saw even back in "the good ol' days" existed in such quantity, not to mention the condition! Mostly Fords: Roadsters, Phaetons, Buckets (Roadster Pickups), about ever body style of the Model A series. Deuce Coupes, Roadsters and the like, a '33 Coupe that stopped the show (and well it should - someone remarked the price was in the $160,000 range. No, that is not a typo, $160,000!) And so on...

We were in Oakland on Saturday, but on Sunday we went to Turlock for a local swap meet. And on Monday we drove to Santa Cruz to see Dick Williams' Polyform plant, where some really exquisite reproduction fiberglass vintage bodies are made. It was an unusual opportunity to see the forefront of show cars, just how the old and reproduction parts market operates, and then a sampling of what is available in fine fiberglass components and bodies. Quite a weekend!

Probably the moment of most influence in the whole trip was a glance at an unrestored '33 Chevy four-door sedan. Now, I've been a "Ford Man" all my life. Never even owned a Chevy. Not even a GM product of any kind. But this old sedan was fascinating. The wood was rotten, the stuffing was coming out of the seats, the engine wasn't even in the car (I was told it was apart for an overhaul), and a couple of the fenders weren't the same color as the rest of the car. BUT the potential was there. No rust! But the body and at least a couple of the fenders appeared never to have been disturbed. The bug had bitten.

I didn't know how bad it had bitten until a few weeks later. A few phone calls led me to Elmer Ryan of the Vintage Chevrolet Club of America. He promised to send a sample copy of the monthly journal. I thumbed through the magazine and into the classified ads. Bam! A 1929 sedan and it looked clean. One of the best features was that it was 1700 miles away. And I needed to get away!

My wife asked if maybe there were cars closer than Missouri. "Sure, why spoil half the fun." Several phone calls to Missouri, and I was satisfied that the car was worth the chance of a drive there. Naturally Mike was going to go with me. After all, the whole idea was his fault. We planned the trip to start on a Friday, and last about a week. My wife was particularly agreeable to this madness. It puzzled me. Then one evening in the kitchen she said everything was fine, she understood what I was going through. She was reading a book about it. "What's the name of the book?" Well, it was about an hour later, and many questions in between before she said, "Middle Life Crisis." "Better old cars than young women." What do you say to that?

Friday morning was beautiful. We left Los Angeles about six in the morning. The sunrise was like a Venetian sunset. As we crossed into Arizona, the sun was bright, but before long we were into rain, then some snow, then back to rain. About 10 p.m. we stopped in Santa Rosa, New Mexico. We had come about 900 miles. We had dinner in Albuquerque. It was interesting seeing all the "low riders" there.

Somewhere in Texas. Mike and an "old car alert."

Saturday was another 900-mile day. But by taking turns, it was not hard driving, and we arrived in Springfield, Missouri, about 11 p.m. It had been an interesting day. We crossed the Texas panhandle, passing through Amarillo, and into Oklahoma, finally starting to move northward as well as eastward when we passed through Oklahoma City. It had rained for about the last 500 miles. I think it was about Tulsa or beyond before the rain stopped. It was good to be in Missouri. Sunday we were fairly relaxed, driving almost due north from Springfield to the Lake of the Ozarks. I couldn't believe how beautiful Missouri was. Before we left Springfield, we stopped to see a '32 Chevy advertised in Hemmings. It wasn't what we were looking for. Finally, early in the afternoon we approached Tipton, Missouri, where David and his '29 Chevy lived. And for the first time, the trip seemed a bit anxious. We had come a long distance! In Tipton, I called David, and he said he was going to drive the old Sedan down from his home, but when I first saw the car I gulped. I couldn't see much, as it went out of sight around the store. Mike's eyes were as big as silver dollars, "It's beautiful." Then it pulled up in front of us.

My priorities are such that my eye goes first to the body, then the fenders, then the rest of the car as a whole. Even a cracked block can be replaced, but a spoiled piece of sheet metal is just about impossible to restore to my satisfaction.

My new purchase. I had not even driven it or named it "Bomber" yet.

The body was perfect! Not a dimple. One fender had some work on it that wasn't first class, but the rest of the car was immaculate. The interior was all original and quite nice for 52 years of use. The overall appearance was of a fine, well preserved classic. (I didn't realize at the time that the 21" wheels that added, in my opinion, so much to the appearance, were not original, but probably '27 or '28 discs added during World War II when 20" tires were very hard to find.)

With Hemmings, Old Cars Weekly, and several other magazines as price guides, I made an offer. It was accepted, and David also added that he had a tow bar. It was made from a Model A Ford wishbone, and it was very substantial. The transaction completed, David left, and there we were!

The tow bar was made to attach through the shackle bolts at the front of each front axle spring. We decided to find a place where we could have a bracket made that would attach to the bumper mounts on the frame instead. But it was late Sunday afternoon. So we started west, toward Kansas City.

The engine sound took me back many years. I very cautiously eased my speed up to 40 mph. Then to 45, which I felt was about tops for this trip. The engine sounded fine, didn't miss a beat, that is, except once or twice going upgrade in some of the rolling hills of western Missouri.

Just before dark we stopped at a small store and gas station to check for a light bulb. The taillight was burned out. Actually I didn't expect to find anything but whatever the purpose of the bulb we found, it worked! And off we were again, as the sun set.

Then, on a slight upgrade, the engine stopped running. Just quit! But it started again and everything seemed fine. So we kept driving. Another upgrade and the engine stopped again. Oh no, maybe the fuel pump. We weren't exactly well prepared. No flashlight! With Mike's car behind, lights on, we used a Coke can, torn open to act as a reflector, as a light source. Not good, but better than nothing.

With a rope Mike towed me to the top of the grade. Then the engine started again. Curiously though, it stopped once when we were not on a hill. And it was just after fooling with a wire to the distributor, that it had started. So when it quit again, we began to check the wiring. It was one of the few non-original parts of the car, and not up to snuff. We found the ignition key wire (the armored cable had been replaced) was loose at the distributor. Once tightened, the engine never again missed. Not once.

It was about 11 p.m. when we stopped in a truck stop in Kansas City, Kansas, after driving through the metropolis of Kansas City, Missouri. After dinner, we searched for a motel, but everything there said, "no vacancy." Finally, on the western outskirts of the city we found an old motel. We woke the manager, paid our $15 and cashed in for the night. Even with only one bed, and Mike's snoring, I was so tired that I slept like the proverbial log.

The next morning, back in the city we searched for someone to weld a simple bracket to attach the tow bar. But to no avail. We did, however, buy parts to make a proper lighting system for towing. Turning westward again, we decided to head for Topeka in hopes of finding a welder there.

Kansas is beautiful. What lasts as the best memories of this trip are of the scenes we saw of this great country! I'm 45 years old, but even with a trip to Germany, gratis Uncle Sam, until about three or four years ago, I had not seen much of America. Everyone says how great this country is, but it is almost a cliche to those who haven't seen much of it. But from the high ranges and vast central valley of California to the deserts of Arizona and New Mexico, alive with color and warmth, to the plains of Oklahoma, and the farms and rolling hills of Missouri, one gets a picture of this land of ours that takes his breath away. What a blessing we have!

But for all of the beauty we saw, it was the people that most encouraged me. We saw a country going through hard times, particularly the Midwest and the non-city west. And yet, what we heard was not only "the economy is not good" but "we're ready to work hard for a day's pay."

Somewhere out of Lawrence we drove by a shop standing all alone in the field. Something like "metal fabricating" or "automotive" caught my eye. I stopped, and Mike drove back and went in. A few moments later he drove up beside me and said "you won't believe this but that place is full of custom cars and engines, and they would be happy to make the part we want." When I drove into their driveway, they were impressed with the old Chevy. We explained what we needed. They said they could make it for $35. While they were working on the tow bar, Mike and I rigged up the lights, rubber washers everywhere to protect the bumpers.

When the two fellows came out to put on the tow bar bracket, I couldn't believe my eyes. It was probably twice as strong as I had asked for, they had painted it, and it fit perfectly! When I handed the owner $40 I told him I didn't have the heart to ask for any change back, not for a job that well done.

I rode in the "29 for about the first mile to see how it towed. Couldn't have been better. With everything taken care of, we began our journey home. The farms of Kansas were like in a storybook. It was about 10 p.m. when we arrived in Liberal, Kansas. But the weather had been beautiful, the toll road was very easy driving, and we were ready for another day, when morning came.

Liberal is very close to the Oklahoma border, and after about 60 miles of the Texas panhandle, we entered New Mexico. The weather was again stormy, lots of rain, and then a very heavy snow. The visibility was really a problem because of the slushy, wet snow. But as suddenly, as when the snow started, it stopped and we proceeded across New Mexico, and into Arizona. It must have been about sundown when we entered Arizona. It's amazing to see the condition of the road improve so suddenly, as when entering Arizona. Their highways are exceptionally well maintained.

Towing the '29 with the new tow bar.

Throughout the trip, we had seen a lot of big rigs. And the truckers really move! Being passed, in a slushy snowstorm by an 18-wheeler is an experience you can't really adequately describe. You hope you can stay somewhere close to the road for the several seconds of zero visibility that occurs as the truck passes. Sort of driving through a 500-foot long car wash at 40 to 50 miles per hour. That's why one truck stood out from all the others. It was one of the longest ones we had seen and immaculately kept. On the rear mud flaps was the sign: JESUS IS LORD - TRUCKIN' FOR CHRIST. You could have set your speedometer to 55 mph by this truck. (We passed him on a grade!)

Our destination for the night was Flagstaff. After dinner in one of the towns of eastern Arizona, we set off for Flagstaff. After a short burst of rain, the snow began in earnest. With visibility very difficult, our speed dropped to a crawl, but when we were passed by several cars (with experience in this kind of weather, I guess) we were able to follow the lights ahead and keep a reasonable pace. It didn't seem wise to stop and perhaps be an obstacle to someone else. As a truck passed us, we began following it, staying in its tracks, as the only indication that there was a road ahead.

As we came upon a truck and car stopped on the right, the truck we were following moved out and around. So did we. I felt a slight fishtail in the rear car. Instinctively I slowed. Suddenly, we were in an uncontrolled slide. Turning into the slide was useless. Slowly, almost gracefully, we rotated as we slid. Now facing almost backwards, and sliding sideways, I watched the guard rail move closer. Crunch! The side of the car moved in toward me, as Mike bounded against me. Silence!

I was afraid to look. Neither of us was hurt, so after a moment my composure returned. Mike was very cool about our situation. We got out and surveyed the situation. We had struck the very end of the guard rail on the right side of the road with the left side of Mike's tow car. The first wooden post was sheared off, and the second was planted firmly in the side of our car just in front of the rear wheel. The front tire and wheel were badly damaged, as was the entire side of the Station Wagon.

I assumed that the '29 was probably gone. But careful inspection showed that, as the rear of the Station Wagon was protruding somewhat into the road, and the tow bar had held firmly, the only part of the Old Chevy that could even touch the guard rail was the rear. The damage, therefore, was limited to the rear fender and left rear bumperette.

The Arizona Highway Patrol may not be a welcome element to a speeding vehicle, but I was glad to see the patrol officer drive up. Then two more patrol cars arrived. Cleaning up the highway and getting our cars to a safe place became the first order of business. The snow had stopped, and the lights of Flagstaff were visible. We were only two miles from where we were going to stop!

The next morning after the crash.

The Station Wagon had to be towed to a service station. The '29, much to my surprise, started right up, and Mike and I drove into town with the Highway Patrol as escorts. It had been quite a day!

Tuesday, we met with the AAA auto adjuster, a decision was made to put the Station Wagon into a new car dealership with the proper equipment for frame straightening, and then we began to consider our situation. Breakfast helped. After a few phone calls, the most practical way to get home and back to our respective jobs was to fly. The '29 was left with the body shop that would be repairing the Station Wagon. As we drove the old Chevy to the dealership, just about the whole staff came out to look. In curiosity, I asked the body shop foreman if the fender could be fixed. He said yes, but it might take a little filler. Filler on this car is just unacceptable. But as the foreman left, one of the bodymen said to me, "I can fix that without any filler, and I'll show you the fender before I paint it." I said, "I'll think about it." (He was so convincing, that a couple of days later, I called him and told him to go ahead with the job.)

We arrived in Los Angeles about a quarter after five in the evening. It was good to be home!

Part II

It's hard to have your car fixed from 500 miles away!

Mike and I had expected the body shop estimate of two weeks to fix the Station Wagon to be a bit optimistic. But after a month, we became impatient. Finally we decided to pick up the cars, finished or not. A friend made a suggestion that the train might be a practical way to go to Flagstaff, Arizona. I hadn't heard many good things about Amtrak, but decided to check into it. First, the train, the Southwest Limited, left Los Angeles at 8:35 p.m. and arrived at Flagstaff at 8:25 a.m. Perfect! The economy sleeper compartments were quite reasonable. We decided this was the way to go.

My kids had heard so much of the first part of the trip that my oldest daughter, Diana, and my youngest son, John, both decided to go with us. We called Flagstaff and told them we were coming to get our cars, ready or not!

The train was fabulous! The decor was outstanding. Really better than in an airplane. The ride was especially smooth, and we really couldn't find fault with anything. We had a friendly card game of hearts (there really isn't such a thing as a friendly game of hearts), 'til about midnight and then turned in. I can't seem to sleep on a plane but the train was no problem.

The morning sun was beautiful on the high Arizona landscape. Soon sage and scrub gave way to pine, as we continued to climb to Flagstaff's 7,000-foot elevation. Car alert! We passed an old rusty car. Pretty soon it was "car alert," then "junk alert." Finally, "rust alert." The old car bug had bitten very deeply, and things began to become pretty silly.

We arrived in Flagstaff about 8:45 a.m. and started to walk to the dealership, looking for a place to catch breakfast on the way. Over hot cocoa we plotted our strategy. Our plan was to descend on the agency and make such a nuisance of ourselves that they would speed up whatever work was remaining.

We arrived to find Mike's car ready for the front wheel mechanical work. The body was finished, except for paint. They had really done an excellent, if slow job. The old '29 was under wraps, the left rear fender was off, and so was the left rear bumper. Alex, the shop's bodyman, showed me the fender. It was unpainted as he said it would be. The metal work was superb! I really didn't think it could be saved. A little touch up work, and Alex primed, sanded, and finished painting it in black lacquer. In the meantime, Mike, the kids and I had disassembled the bumper, and with an extra bracket I had bought earlier and brought from home, we were able to reassemble the bumper as it had originally been. We carefully straightened the bent bumper parts with wood blocks and a large vise. Using a wheel balancing disc, the vise, and a large hydraulic jack, we were also able to eliminate a wobble from the rear wheel. All in all, a very satisfactory repair to a vehicle that came within a hair of being a total wreck.

We seemed to notice that the work on Mike's car was progressing a bit faster, once our presence everywhere in the body shop became evident. Actually, it helped to borrow a few tools from each of the workers, take over the area around the vise, and rummage through the various nut and bolt cans wherever we could find them. The fact that there were four of us helped a lot. We figured they knew how to get rid of us.

We had arrived on Thursday morning. Eating at the same restaurant four meals in a row, staying at Motel 6 in adjoining rooms, we almost felt at home. By Friday noon we were able to drive the '29 and all of the pressure was on finishing the Station Wagon, which was having the trim placed on the newly painted areas. Then, in the afternoon, we hitched up the old car to the Station Wagon, kissed Flagstaff goodbye, and we were off. The drive home should be a piece of cake!

After Mike's Station Wagon was repaired we were on the road again.
Diana and John are with Mike.

Not exactly! About three miles from Flagstaff, it started to drizzle. The weather had been clear sky until about noon. Guess what? No windshield wiper! We checked it out. Burned out fuse! But the replacement fuse didn't help, still no wiper. The drizzle stopped, and we proceeded. Everything seemed fine for a while but the old Chevy didn't seem to follow as it should. A while later we decided to check it. We found the tow bar bolt to the frame horn was loose on one side. We tightened it. The rig was much more manageable after that for a while, but seemed to slowly return to the problem of poor tracking. We stopped and checked things. Found the wheel we had straightened has a loose rim. Warning! Don't use WD-40 on wheel nuts! Once tightened, we were off again.

As night fell, we turned on our lights. They were great except one pointed somewhat in front of us, and one aimed at the treetops. Someone forgot to align the lights. With a screwdriver we did a quick job of adjusting them. We were in Needles, California; our schedule of approximately 10 hours driving wasn't looking too good. I think we were in Kingman, Arizona about the time that we thought we would be home. But a cup of coffee assured us of several more alert driving hours. We continued.

I think it was about 2 a.m. when we passed through Barstow, California. Everything fine so far. And home only a couple of hours away. (Not really.) Between Barstow and San Bernardino, California, lies El Cajon Pass. No big deal . . . unless it is such heavy fog that the water on your windshield reduces your visibility to zero. We worked on the windshield wiper, we tried soap on the windshield, and we tried driving with our heads out of the side windows. Nothing worked. We stopped several times. Each time we tried to go, we could go no more than a few hundred feet. Finally, it made sense to stop. We slept for about an hour. The fog cleared a bit, and we went on. Finally we were getting close to home.

Bomber finally home!

Somewhere about Pomona, California, just before dawn, while I was driving, I saw a car coming from the opposite direction. What made it unusual was that I was in the right lane of a four lane freeway, and the other car was only two lanes over! Despite many vehicles flashing their bright lights, the car going the wrong direction just continued at about the speed limit, off out of sight. I wondered if he ever realized his mistake.

As we entered the Civic Center of Los Angeles, it began to drizzle again. Then, in West Los Angeles, it began to rain, real rain. We got off the freeway, got back on, and got right back off. Finally, at about 6 a.m. we arrived at my West Los Angeles office. Under protection of the carport, we decided to rig up some kind of windshield wiper. We loosened a screw, tried the wipers, and they worked just fine. If we had only tried that 500 miles before!

After hearing about the crash, Daniel and John reconstructed the accident.

A couple of blocks from my house, we unhitched the rig, started the '29, drove it home. It was about 7 a.m. and our trip of 500 miles had taken 19 hours. A couple of rides around the block gave everyone who was awake a chance to see what all this fuss was about.