Listers,
I grew up (well, sort of) on the San Francisco Peninsula in the early
1960s. By the age of thirteen, our family had moved to the suburbs and Mom
decided that, since I had been building model cars for over five years, it
stood to reason that I should graduate to a non-running full sized car to
play with. Our neighbor Mr. Brown had a lovely pale green '51 Chevy Deluxe
Club Coupe that had stopped running after a series of loud clanging noises
from the engine bay. For the sum of just $30 the old "Stovebolt" was towed
to our driveway.
After removing the sump, my friend John and I discovered that the number
three piston had exploded and the rod had somehow become separated from its
cap and was now wrapped around the crank journal like a link of chain. We
gave up any hope of resurrecting the old 216 and concentrated on polishing
and waxing the near perfect exterior finish and painting things glossy
black as was the style du jour. My father's store sold spray paint, and I
must have absconded with cases of it to heavily coat the wheels, chassis
and inside the wheel arches.
My big break came late one evening when another neighbor, Mr. Wise was
driving his 1954 Chevy station wagon home from an evening at the tavern in
an alcoholic haze and stalled it on the Southern Pacific crossing a few
minutes before the 11:00PM freight run to LA was due. He got out but the
'54 got "T-boned" and reshaped into a permanent right hand turn. I
purchased the remains for $15 and its sweet running 235 cube, hydraulic
lifter six soon rested in the coupe's frame. It also got a Fenton floor
shifter, a set of "Baby Moon" hubcaps and a little Dixco tach that fitted
into the Chevy clock bezel.
Yes, we did get it running, and pretty well at that. But with no
registration, insurance or drivers license the old Chevy was about as
useful as a model car. One night when my parents were out on the town, we
took it for a late night drive but I was so nervous about getting caught
that I came home early and didn't enjoy it. OK, maybe a little.
It was at this point that I'd discovered girls and with older friends who
were legally driving, the Fifty-one started collecting dust in the garage.
It eventually was sold to a young man who drove it to college and I started
saving for my first "real" car. While I never got to use my little green
club coupe, I learned alot about cars in general and developed an affection
for old Chevrolets that lasts to this day.
Cheers,
Rick Feibusch
Venice Beach, CA
/// triumphs@autox.team.net mailing list
/// or try http://www.team.net/cgi-bin/majorcool
/// Archives at http://www.team.net/archive
|