Jack Bennett

Thanks for the much welcomed input Rusty. My inclination to media blast, wire brush, dry and wet sand multiple times are doused when I finally decide to break out the Rustoleum and the brush. Believe it or not there are some relatively new Chevy trucks here in Washington State which will be piles of rust in scant few years. My entire adult life has been spent doing jobs for people like the Lieutenant who shivers, and picks frozen snot from his frostbitten nose, and yells like a mad man……….”Good Training”……..while I replace a thrown track on a fifty year old tank in knee deep (rice paddy) mud and minus forty degree weather. Now, I am much more interested in the practicality of having a smidgen of metal, now rusted to a near nonexistent state, left when it comes time to put a whole lot of effort into making it beautiful for a neighbor who calls my old cars a “junk yard”. Grinding, sanding, exotic paints, primers and preservatives are ok for a project which has been sitting idle in a climate controlled, warehouse sized, garage for the past five decades. But it is not a wise way to spend money, which is better spent on preserving the safety and drivability of a vehicle when compared to spending a fortune over the years just to store it. My old machines work, and must be drivable. And, in the case of the Fargo, a single distraction from returning it to a operational state, regardless of the number of “OOH’s and AAH’s” or “JEEZ, THAT’S ONE UGLY CREATURE”, I receive while driving it, may be the one minute which decides whether I finish it, or it dies the death it was sentenced to in 1950. In my opinion, if a brush coat of gasoline thinned and dulled OD paint was good enough for a 50 year old M48 tank, which held the lives of myself and three crewmen in it hands when faced with 170,000 fanatical North Koreans, it is surely good enough for a old Fargo truck which would strain under a load of air………. But it meets every need of a old car fanatic, and that is it gives me something to wake up to, and keeps me out of younger peoples faces.

What is a wire brush🙄?

I think the word “later” implies a bit of what we hope for when we do take a 100 year old piece of metal, saved countless times from the smelter, and hope to add years to IT’S life. Actually, the car may achieve a long deserved rest, as we will also, with our passing, and a nifty paint job offers no protection from the grim reaper. ”Later” is a statement of confidence that there will be a future time when we can spend more time with our chariot, and if the conditions permit, give it a new coat of paint. However, if “later” is not a word found in your vocabulary, why bother adding years, regardless of how it’s done, to a car which may not be around “later” to enjoy it?

I am in no position to disagree with the Ming Dynasty using paint and a brush on their sedan chairs because I was only a youngster during that era. I do know of a high school lad who brush painted a 1938 Dodge, a 1941 Dodge, a 1949 Fraser and a 1951 Chrysler convertible. During those days Earl Scheib would paint any car for $49.95, and there was always a bit of paint left over when a paint job was finished. I did get a allowance for doing chores around the house, but there was so many better ways to spend my quarter a week allowance on other than paint. Admittedly, the many different colors mixed together into the single container may not have been a choice presented to Danny “the count” for use on his Counting Cars television program, but it sure was better than spending big bucks ($7.25) for a gallon of car enamel. And, I’ll safely bet that the 38 and 41 Dodges, as well as the Frazer and Chrysler would still be rust free, if they are still around today.

Great minds think alike. I bought the Fargo, knowing absolutely nothing about how it was made, as a winter project. But, the idea that I could do the woodwork in the heated comfort of my shop, and leave the metal until the weather cleared was miserably dashed when I found that the metal had disintegrated every place it had touched the rotted wood. And, it was found that many of the structural pieces of wood were encased in metal, and it was impossible to access them without disassembling the entire structure. And, likewise, when the wood piece was finished it became necessary to reassemble the piece as a assembly, and that included resealing the wood into the metal encasement. It is cold and damp with predictable wind and rain showers for most of the short winter days here in Washington State. Working with a age addled brain is tough, and remembering mistakes is a vitally important step when doing something which can get really expensive, really fast, and can/will go wrong at every opportunity. I stopped making a note of the amount of money I was spending on the expensive acrylic paint jobs I did on the 1951 Plymouth after the third (failed) paint job. On two occasions the paint looked fine, initially, but begin to pucker and buckle free from the primer. And then I read the instructions which clearly say that it should be at least 70 degrees and the paint MUST be applied to a clean, dry surface. Reaching a daytime temperature of 70 degrees is not even possible in the wildest dream, and metal tends to get wet when the humidity reaches 99.9 percent. Of course, the third time was a charm because I woke up at 04:30 in the morning, and by 07:30 had mixed the paint and was ready to start shooting. It so happened that the work crew building the parking lot next door showed up for work early too. By the time the 2nd bucket of rubble was dumped from the skid loader, and the wind carried the dust to my (still wet) acrylic paint job, I realized that sand textured paint would never be a popular choice for a classic car color. So, now, as I disassemble a piece of the Fargo, I take it all into my shop, but spray painting with the wood stove may provide more heat than my shop can handle. Instead, I do the metal sanding one day….or however long it takes, apply a coating of primer, and set it aside in my garage. It is now possible to cut and shape the wood which I removed from the metal pieces, and I can do so at my own pace since it will take a day or two before I can repair the metal and put a final coat of paint on it. I like this because the metal is protected from further rust damage, the wood is finished, and I don’t have a lot of cleanup so far as the spray guns and mixing containers are concerned. And, the idea that I use Tractor Supply Company tractor paint, rather than the three part acrylic, I would normally mix and spray, sure makes the job go smoother and faster as well as the time wasted setting up and tearing down the compressor. Sure, I can expect to tear the truck apart again within the next year and, as the weather and my health permits, redo the paint job with a high gloss, and extremely attractive spray paint job. However, at nearly 80 years old, with one fake arm and another quickly failing, a bad back, calcified lungs and bad feet, I am a little proud when my day ends, my truck is back to black, and I am capable of looking forward to breathing in pounds of sawdust come a new day.

Hopefully, by the time a person can afford the amount of time the complete restoration, of a truly rare car, will take, the grandkids will have graduated Harvard Law School. And, they can pay for it as a token of gratitude for you footing the bill to pay for their education. Quid-pro-quo is not only great…..it is legal.

I think I’ve seen the documentary version of this on a television program called “My strange addiction”.

So…….a friend builds a nifty bridge across their koi pond. They have never built a bridge before, and you’ve never seen a bridge across a koi pond. It is as normal for you to walk to the middle of the bridge and start bouncing like crazy, as it is to float new words on a forum like this. If it doesn’t break, you’ve proven yourself a good friend and a battle tested bridge expert. But, if it does break, the friend is lucky a competent bridge tester, as you now are now, was the one who broke it. I was once told that I should not use any word that I had to look up its meaning. I have managed to ignore that for many decades, and still use words I look up……not to ascertain what the word means to you. And, in the case of your word, and keeping with the spirit of a AACA forum…..I don’t know the plural either…..I would morph your word into a new word “Autothromorphism”, and since looking it up will be useless, I will use it to describe what a truly crappy guy becomes when he is in the presence of his beautifully restored antique car……and asks it for advice🤓.

I bought the 1929 Fargo Express Panel as a winter project. However, after getting a better look at the truck, I think I bit off a little more than I can swallow in one, or a whole bunch of winters. I have reconstructed a 1927 Willys Knight, and that was my introduction to a car which contains more wood than metal. Then I got the 1923 Dodge Brothers roadster which is advertised as being a “all metal” car. Well, we all know how that goes…….right? Anyway, having experienced the Willys, and then the Dodge, I have just about had my fill of rotten and missing wooden car parts. Then, along comes the Fargo with a whole load of rotten wood, and a equal amount of rotten metal. I dote on challenge, and, with the Fargo I sure got one. But, it is a project, and that’s what the old car racket is all about…..rotted wood, rusted metal and whatever else rings a old car guys bell. In this case though, I will break with the idea that a old car has to look better than new to be acceptable as a “restored” car. Instead I will revert to a technique that has been used on cars since 1929, and that does not include a sixteen coat paint job of high gloss acrylic, or a trip to the local powder coating place for a exotic coating of some sort of ceramic. I call it “brush” painting, and I have done it for the past 65 years to keep a car from rusting, and I am sure the Fargo is no stranger to this unusual process of metal preservation. I have decided that it will be impossible to finish up the body work on the Fargo this summer, next summer, and maybe several summers in the future. So, I will slather a lot of primer, a whole lot of paint, and wait for the neighbors to compliment me on the quality of their air considering they can’t complain about my overspray. As my project proceeds, I’ll post some photos to share my paint job.

Honesty is really a booger when it comes to sharing our personal space with things other than another human. I really think more people talk to their dogs, cats, tools……and…….yep, cars than will admit it.

Born 7-8-1938 in Butte, MT Died 9-22-2023 in Eugene, OR. Pete enjoyed restoring 1920’s era Willys Knight cars, and his fervor and skills in this hobby was remarkable. Pete was a great man, but he also was a great human being. He will be missed terribly by all who loved and admired him. https://www.registerguard.com/obituaries/pore0581596

For me, anyway, the AACA forum is a constant source of information, regarding old cars, from the soldiers on the front line of vehicle possession and restoration. I will never own a 1915 DB Touring with a cone clutch. But I do have a transmission with, what I have been told, is part of a cone clutch attached. This is a curious device which whets the appetite for more knowledge concerning its use and mechanics. While you have it out, and possibly disassembled, would you please post some photos of a complete cone clutch with a brief explanation of how it works?

It saddens me immensely that my only means of communicating with folks like you is through digital media, and old car web sites such as AACA. I do have membership in a number of antique car clubs, but the strain is more on the thumbs, by typing yards of letters, hooked together into little shiny words, than actually drinking a cup of coffee, shooting the breeze with some similar thinking folks, and enjoying a Senior breakfast at Denny’s. To make matters worse, I wonder how many folks, with centuries of knowledge, and countless old car stories, can no longer type on a virtual keyboard to share their experiences and enjoy (even digitally) the company of people who would rather watch the paint dry on a century old car than sink a “birdie” on a golf course. I doubt that my desire to meet as many of these people as possible before either, or both of us, retire to that huge garage, not made by human hands, will be fulfilled. But, so long as there are places like this forum which minimally substitutes for that pleasure………..thanks for your input. Jack

Were I to rejoin the labor force, which I won’t, it would be an injustice to the generation coming into power, as well as those now at the top of their game. Instead, I am happy to work at not working, and suckle at the teat of the huge, always hungry, sow I fed and nurtured over the first 62 years of my life. And, if I did decide that I wanted to return to doing a “for pay” job, it would be unfair to those young people needing it to start a laudable life which includes finding a good wife/husband/either/neither/both/or a good dog, buying a nice home, providing a good education for their at least three kids (necessary to replenish a aging work force) and pay lots of taxes (necessary to pay my retirement pension). That, alone, would be justification for me to do nothing more than playing my part in supporting the economy by continually spending sums of money, which would be impossible for a salaried person, to buy parts for a machine which has been sold, and taxed, countless times over the past 100 years. No, in the sense of fair play, it goes even further than that. Realistically, it would be unfair to me, considering my years of experience, and the fact that I have acquired so much ability as a professional employee, to hire into any job which paid less than at least three times what it would cost hire a number of apprentice workers, and my benefits package would have to be stupendous. So, rather than send the economy into a tail spin by trying to afford the expense of a company gaining me as a employee, and the loss to the commercial community by supporting three antique cars, and a dog, I think I will continue perusing the antique vehicle web sites on the internet and rereading, and responding to posts such as this one. Thanks to all who makes my retirement such a laudable vocation and affords me the opportunity to share their hobby. Jack

I suppose “insanity” is a figurative term when used to describe its meaning to a person afflicted with “insanity”. I mean to say that the logic of speaking to a car, or any machine, may not be easily explainable to a machine incapable of answering. Likewise, it may be so evident to the person who does it, that no explanation is necessary. That put me here, and the here, at this place in time, is that I also have a dog, which barks and whines, but can’t talk…….using any language I understand anyway. So, it is more for my own sense of well being that I leave the television tuned in to Dr. Pol, Yukon Vets, Critter Fixers or another pet oriented program, rather than Dateline or History’s Mysteries, when I leave her unattended for any length of time The dog may not understand the scenarios played out in the program, but she sure understands when I neglect to turn it on. Jack

One time ignore it, and try to slather your salve without a tad of affection. My machines rely on a hereunto little understood force called “gravity” to keep them running. Accordingly, your old car relies on your ability to understand the electrical impulses which allow the primary winding of a direct current coil to “talk” to a spark plug which speaks only “pulsating direct current” via a set of ignition points which speaks neither language to run properly. Just maybe, your 48 DeSoto is capable of responding to your touch because it also understands the electricity broadcast by your thoughts while you are doing it. Forbid the days when the DeSoto won’t listen, gets on a perpetual peeve, and it simply refuses to start, run or stop. Doesn’t this really bring on a verbal tirade of a un mechanical nature? Maybe it can understand how to communicate with you in ways you are yet to learn. Jack

No classing or ranking intended…..but I admire your honesty and insight. If you have ever fired a night fire exercise with a tank cupola mounted, Browning M-2, .50 caliber, heavy barrel machine gun, you can equate what I say when I, truly, and without shame, feel affection for a piece of steel which goes far beyond any feeling I have ever had for another human. Granted, I never hugged or kissed my machine gun, and it is easily understood why not, but it does speak a language even a fool can understand, and I seriously believe it understood me even when my vocabulary would make a sailor blush. Now, my old machines have replaced the .50 caliber as my confidant. Jack

In Army Recruiting School we had a mandatory requirement to read the book “Pats and Strokes”, and write a 500 word thesis on what it meant. For me, this was a real problem because, using only 500 words, placed a serious limit on what I could have wrote. Have you considered the grace which your car received the tiny bit of attention (the pat), and the great feeling, its (stroke) gave you, because you knew the exchange was totally spontaneous, and, without any commitment to define “soon”. Had you patted another person on the head, and told them “you’d get to work on them soon”, I doubt that the pleasurable moment of camaraderie would have went so well. Jack

Toronasaurus Rex………love it!😂.

I was criticized for talking to myself while I’m working. To this I reply, “If you think I am good at talking to myself, you should also know what a good listener I am”. The lifelong process of “aging” begins on day one, and ends when our numbers run out. So, today is as young as you’ll ever be, and tomorrow you will join the geriatric crowd who likes to say “I remember when”. As we age, the thinking process becomes more analytical, and doing things the “easy” way loses importance to doing things the “right” way. This may explain why the car driven daily doesn’t have a ceramic coated exhaust manifold, but our classic car does. It may be the reason that every nick and scratch in the glistening surfaces of our antique carriages is treated like a fatal wound, and may bring us to near tears, while the rear bumper of the Volvo or Mercedes is left hanging by a thin coat of paint while we wait for the insurance agent to call. I have looked inside my aging brain, and I see an edifice with many…..many rooms. While one of the rooms may contain the persona I wear as a Uncle when Timmy and little Susie comes over with my older brother, and the “Brother” persona is what I wear when I talk to my brother. Naturally, I keep costumes to wear as a “Father”, “Husband”, “Son”, “Good”/“Bad” Friend, “Boss” and “Employee” handy to use as either a comfortable set of appearances befitting the role of the minute, or a ruse to escape a equally uncomfortable situation. Of course there are countless more available, and patiently awaiting, in their own rooms for use to (sometimes) frantically impress someone that we want to believe that we are a good, or bad………..whatever. But, behind one door is a mystery, and this room may smell of rust dust, old oil, rotted fabric, cracked rubber and blood from countless cuts and has a dull purple hue from bruises suffered every where on your body. Of course, the smell of money lingers in places where the money, from which the smell originally stemmed, has long been spent on a Moto Meter or a neat radiator badge. And there is “Lizzie”, in all her chromed splendor and exotic, almost erotic, upholstery. How can a person, who has withstood a day in the world of virtual reality, had to withstand the inclination to tell that snippy boss “I quit”, not understand what toll another day of aging, (after all, isn’t she nearly a hundred years old) extracts from a person. But, telling “Lizzie” about it will make things all better…….and the room she lives in contains no hidden persona’s, and “Lizzie” wouldn’t criticize even if the one you brought in was a little natty and shop worn. Behind that classic, and beautifully chromed grill, beats a heart of pure mechanical genius, and there is not one single molecule of judgmental steel in her curvy body. So, perhaps the question “Do you talk to your project cars” should more aptly be “Why don’t you talk to your project cars more often”? Jack

A 1986 model car is a bit newer than my experience with old cars goes. But, since it is not a primary transportation car, storing it like a old car is also acceptable. I do not like having gas, especially in a vented car tank, around my furnace or water heater. Also, the price of gas makes watching it evaporate a pass time as expensive as driving the car. I have the 2 1/2 gallon tank, scavenged from a pancake air compressor, converted to a small, easily transportable and storable gas tank for periodic use on my cars. If the Mustang has EFI or a in tank fuel pump this may be a problem, but I have a connector directly attached to the carburetor fuel line whereby I just add gas to the small tank, connect it to the cars fuel line, and after running/moving the car, disconnect the hose from the jump tank, and chill. Jack

A 1986 model car is a bit newer than my experience with old cars goes. But, since it is not a primary transportation car, storing it like a old car is also acceptable. I do not like having gas, especially in a vented car tank, around my furnace or water heater. Also, the price of gas makes watching it evaporate a pass time as expensive as driving the car. I have the 2 1/2 gallon tank, scavenged from a pancake air compressor, converted to a small, easily transportable and storable gas tank for periodic use on my cars. If the Mustang has EFI or a in tank fuel pump this may be a problem, but I have a connector directly attached to the carburetor fuel line whereby I just add gas to the small tank, connect it to the cars fuel line, and after running/moving the car, disconnect the hose from the jump tank, and chill. Jack

I am totally grateful that I neither act or feel my actual age. Was it really that long ago that you pulled your car into a gas station, the attendant came out, checked your radiator and oil, wiped down your hubcaps and windshield, and emptied your ashtray. Then they went to the pump, inserted their crank, cranked it until the globe at the top contained the amount of gas you wanted, removed the hose and stuck the nozzle into your gas tank filler pipe, squeezed the handle, and gravity done the rest. Remembering this also brings back memories of kerosene lamps and wash tubs, boards, cloths lines and mom’s apron with her milk money in its pouch.

My suggestion to anyone who shows inclination to become involved in antique car restoration and/or collection is that they acquire the services of a good psychoanalyst and talk to a behavior modification therapist first. A decision to redirect every spare, or stolen, minute of time and a indeterminate amount of money, into a hobby which, at best produces a car capable of doing 35 MPH, and the possibility of not stopping until it hits something, deserves some serious thought. Planning a vacation tour to Panama would include the consideration that the mosquitoes are voracious, and the bulk of the tour may be spent shooing them away. Why then would the choice of a hobby not include the pitfalls of the gremlins hiding in the car hobby. I chose, and, more frequently than not, enjoy working on. looking at, and occasionally driving my old cars. But I do get vexed when the hobby forces me to leave the comfort and security of my garage or workshop and enter the world of the internet and uninvited/unwelcome personal confrontation. Sometime in the 1970’s, I completed, what I believed, was a sufficient amount of scholastic, and vocational, education that I believed would take me through my entire lifetime. However, I have found that this sort of education, in no way, prepared me for the simple task of finding a part for a ninety plus year old car. I have discovered that the fairy tale, “Little Red Riding Hood”, could be rewritten into a stage play, presented to old car hobbyists, staged as Red Riding Hood, and those posing as fellow hobbyists, but actually parts scalpers and lonely antagonists, or protagonists, staged as the hungry wolf. Not to stereotype anyone involved in the hobby, and speaking in the first hand sense, actual, physical, labor entailing intensive, work on my old machines is a small part of participating in a hobby which is as much related to social interaction as it is a interest in mechanics, history and evolution of industry. Yet, I find myself being diverted from trolling the internet, intent on finding the interchangeability of engines and transmissions used in my old truck, to a site, cluttered with irrelevant advertisements selling something, and features a person, who obviously don’t know the difference between a motor and a engine, diligently adjusting the magneto on a old motorcycle and selling Kroil. That said, I still value the conversations with, and the information they share, every member of this forum who has the tenacity to put up with my own human traits. Jack

I can understand your fatherly instinct to protect your baby (the Hudson pickup). But, your duties as a dad ended when a statement of understanding was signed, and made clear that your responsibility for the care and welfare of the baby was terminated the instant the cash crossed your palm. Were this a junker (ran when parked 30 years ago) would you still be as concerned about the success or failure of it being transported? Probably not! But in a humanitarian sense, it would be more understandable if it were a junk truck, being bought as a parts or project vehicle, by a person who may be over spending their budget by paying for it, than a person buying a turn key vehicle for $30 or $40,000.00 dollars. I’d say that you took on a layer of responsibility that went well beyond what would normally be expected of a seller, and your responsibility to the buyer ended the instant they decided to buy the truck. IMO🙄. Jack