Jack Bennett

You bring flashbacks of my high school days when I drove a 1938 Dodge, a 1941 Dodge, a 1947 Chevy and a 1951 Chrysler convertible. Earl Schieb would paint any car, any color, for $49.95 plus tax. Of course yo got exactly what you paid for, and, although $49.95 was a whole lot of money then, we had to drive machines which looked good (to us anyway). So, we decided that free was cheaper, and that is what Earl Scheib charged us for the five gallons of paint drippings salvaged at the end of each business day. That meant that we could stop by Earl Sheib’s on the way home from school, swing into the local gas station and drain their hose into our tanks, swipe some of dad’s paint brushes and have a brand new paint job, with gas in the tank, when we showed up for class the next day. Perhaps to some the draw back of this endeavor was that the paint from every car shot at the Earl Sheib store, during that day, was dumped into a common bucket, and there was no way of telling what color the paint would be when it dried. But, we soon discovered that, for extra money, Earl Shieb would shoot a primer coat of charcoal gray prior to shooting the enamel coating. So, we just collected the drippings from the primer area and painted our cars with no gloss charcoal gray primer. This was easily converted to a good thing which suggested that we were, but not necessarily, doing needed body and fender work, and the car would soon be painted a fabulous, sixteen coat process, metal flake candy apple red with green and gold sparkles, and a clear coat so deep the car would look like a x-ray negative.

In rereading your post, I notice that you use the words “natural finish”, and I’m not absolutely sure I understand what you mean. I am doing the Fargo somewhat more flimsier than I have done and past projects. The obstacles which prevent me from doing this truck up as a show car or collectors are obvious, and too numerous to count. I am a combat disabled veteran who was ridden hard, and put away wet, countless times during my career in the Army. I have one arm which is on loan from Madigan AMC, and another which does a limited amount of work, as it sees fit to do. But, this is fodder for another time and another forum. However, this truck does not have a single inch of metal which is thicker than the tin foil in a cigarette pack, and the wood has not only lost its identity as a species, it has lost any semblance to having a purpose. I am neither able to differentiate between “white oak” and “elm” in the windshields stanchion, because there is no wood left in the stanchion to use as a example, nor do I have any intention to even try. And the thought of replacing every sheet of rotten metal is nothing short of a nightmare. Putting that all aside, and returning to what you said about a “natural finish”. I am using a lot of fir and alder in reconstructing this old buggy. And the lower half of the bed lining are boards, about 7’ long, 7” wide and 2” thick. They are little more than a soggy mess of smelly pulp held together by a few rusty nails and some rusty screws. I plan on replacing them with cedar boards of the same length, width and thickness. The front of the bed is a similar wood, but the boards are much thicker and wider. They too will be replaced. My question at this point, regressing to cedar fence construction, I have been told that painting cedar ruins its qualities of water shedding and insect resistance. Thinking about this, how inappropriate will it be if I leave this portion of the wood, in the bed, naked?

There is no indication that the interior of the truck was anything other than the original green, painted over with a healthy swathing of black and then allowed to migrate back to nature as rust and rot. I have another thread in which I ask the hypothetical question “do you talk to your projects? I say “hypothetical” because you’d say “that’s personification, and that touches on beastiality”, and us moral beings don’t practice those weird things. Before escaping our mouths as intelligible words, these words are formed in the brain, and then hooked to another string of waiting thoughts, and uttered as audible utterings. Thus, although the “words” never escape your mouth, a path of communication does take place between you and your old car every time that screwdriver slips and you make an unsolicited/unscheduled blood offering. Or, when that single bolt, of a extinct thread, of a size so unusual you used a abacus, instead if a micrometer to determine its diameter, and doesn’t fit any length measurement known to modern man, and purchased after years of searching, and spending a small fortune to own it, piously, slowly, and with complete deliberation rolls into the seemingly impossible water port exposed when the head was removed for inspection. A bit off the “paint” agenda, but it is a Sunday and this is a “talk” forum, so I’ll get back to the paint in a minute. This, of course, is hyperbole, and offers the opportunity for us to laugh at our misgivings in that we chose old machine animation over computer gaming as a hobby. Anyway, I have never previously suggested that any level of communication, whether audible or mental actually elicits a answer from the object of our obsession. Well, it now seems as though I can no longer make that claim as I have acquired a antique Fargo panel truck which does use at least one intelligible, and unmistakable word to communicate. This truck sat, possibly ignored, and completely alone for at least a half century. And, I am 100% certain, if it is capable of harboring “ill” feelings, of any sort, in any form, it has accumulated a kings ransom of “ill”, albeit not necessarily “bad, “evil” or even “malicious” feelings toward its human tormentors. So, while it was unexpected, it was not a total surprise to find that the Fargo frame was badly warped, both laterally and longitudinally, probably when it readjusted to conform more comfortably with being stored, missing wheels, on a uneven surface for over 50 years. This warp did not become so evident as when I had used the rotted and missing parts of the wood frame to cut new, and now to specification, pieces to replace the bed, frame and cab structures. A few days ago I cut sheets of plywood to use as a top pending completion of the moldings and other trim pieces I need to do a permanent top install. It has been cold, with afternoon rain, here since the day I lost my “Farmers Almanac” years ago. Anyway, the plywood, being perfectly square, was tacked to the top frame, and done a fairly good job of keeping the inside of the truck dry. But yesterday I went out to work on the truck and the plywood was skewed with nearly the rear half of the bed exposed. Apparently the wood top frame, cut to mimic the precise angles of a nearly true frame, had decided to reconfigure themselves to conform more closely to the off kilter angles of the now warped frame. And, as the rain dropped through the now open roof, and splashed methodically on the new tongue and groove wood of the floor, I swear I heard the truck clearly say…….with a slight Canadian accent, and a undeniable giggle……..”BS”…………”BS”……”BS”………..”BS”………..”BS”……… Back to the paint……while the differential, axles, inner frame and brake backing plates are exposed I will use the media blaster to take of most of the accumulated road debris, and years of crud and rust, and then pressure wash the surfaces to remove any trace of oil or old lubricant. And then, I suppose I will give the parts a good coating of red rust primer prior to shooting the whole circus in black enamel. A last mention. The inside top of the cab has a cross beam, which runs lateral to the cab sides, made of oak, broken possibly nearly a century ago, and mended with a couple of screws, bolts and two steel plates. I like the ambiance this on-site, unplanned and extremely personalized, repair lends to the truck. So, I will clean up and repaint the beam, replace the metal strap with new metal, and replace the rusty, and now bent, bolts with new, but the beam itself will be used in lieu of a new one. The truck has no accommodation for a dome light. Not that it does not need one, it just doesn’t have one. So, as I sit in the newly redone interior of the truck, and it is exceeding dark, I find no surprise when I see the little, twinkling light centered on the repaired part of the beam. Nor is it surprising to immediately ascertain that the light emanates from the glowing smile of a stressed, overloaded, behind schedule, poorly paid, delivery truck driver who returns to his truck only to find that the cab roof has collapsed, and the cab is now filled with snow. All hopes of completing the route any time soon, and trecking the several snow slicked miles back home, has suddenly changed from being improbable to impossible. It is Christmas Eve, and it is ironic that he has been frantically delivering parcels intended for presents to adoring kids, while he can’t even make it home to be with his own kids during this most precious evening of the year. As suddenly as it appeared, his sense of despair disappeared when the nearby garage owner showed up with two bolts, two nuts, two pieces of strap steel and an old hand powered drill. In no time the cab was cleared, the beam repaired, and the delivery driver was again on the path which lead directly to his from door. And no amount of new wood or paint will add one iota of value to the truck in regards to how good I takes me feel to be able to share this tiny light with generations to come.

TSC paint it is. Their paint is named after the tractor it is intended. For example, my 1947 Ford 8N uses Ford Red and Ford Gray. I’ll probably go with the Deere Green on the Fargo. I am going to do the inside of the bed in Hunter Green enamel because I’ll be painting mostly wood. I had considered doing it up in stain and spar varnish. But I have decided to not do that. I have not been in the old car culture too long, but I made a few good friends quickly who shared the hobby. Most recently the last of these friends died and left a lesson with me that I will carry with me to my grave. This fellow was a perfectionist so far as his antique cars goes. He had a beautiful Dodge Coupe which would have made the Dodge Brothers jealous. He had driven this car on one road trip, and had more recently made a few local trips. He also had a 1917 Dodge coupe that was the apple of his eye. But, he started on the car a bit late in his life, and life seemed to get in his way a bit too often. I had asked him several times to let me help him finish the 1917 to the point he could, at least, take it for a short drive. But it seemed as though there was always something else to do to it, and one of the things was his unwavering quest for perfection. Now, he will never finish the 1917, and soon, someone else will be driving the 1915. My quest is for “as good as possible”, and now much of the cosmetics will be left for a time after I have totally convinced myself the car is ready to drive, and the amount of cosmetics I put into it will be a direct reflection of the amount of pleasure it offers me to drive it. I think the saying goes “It’s a lot like putting lipstick on a pig”.

Well, the 1951 218 Ci Dodge pickup engine is in the Fargo, and today I went to Harbor Freight to buy a transmission jack to finish the install. With the exception to the cab side door stantions, I have cut and installed most of the new wood work. It will take some time to get the badly rusted metal ready for primer and painting, but I think I have decided in the direction I will go with the paint. The photo is of a Screenside, and I’m not sure if it’s even a Fargo, but I think it is a 1929, and other than mine being a express panel, and this one a Screenside, they both appear to be trucks. Again…….I WISH IT WERE, BUT THIS IS NOT MY TRUCK. But like the paint job, and may borrow its scheme to use on my own Fargo. The black will stay black, but I am leaning to use Hunter Hreen everyplace this on uses blue……….. Any thoughts?

It is with sad heart that I must announce the passing of a true legend in the antique car collection/restoration hobby. Roger was a living encyclopedia of knowledge on antique Dodge cars, and his willingness to share his time and knowledge made him a priceless friend and mentor. To quote Rodger one last time on one of his most memorable remarks to me. When working with these old Dodges, if it seems like everything is going right…….You’re doing something wrong. https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.newtacoma.com%2Fobituary%2Frodger-hartley%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR2pV_X87Qk9XlUpVgCVnsmRU4UN-iqSq9DmVnnCAvc6rxBB-6LOFtWP_M8&h=AT3-rgKKvkQye8HeTDaD_aZwq29SMQt5g2inB9OQIcrkCO1d2YzWZ67ffayRhfl9keHwSxI0l7BexnsdBCuq_tYYZhLK5X_2_oEABbDxnGL1cNMDFsQlbBwC-7oXMPK4_Fk6iKKaoRR7WHiwQFbDPf8v7w&__tn__=H-R&c[0]=AT2JNhnrp-PBuP_EEGm5XC87lP6syD5vjOtGPfYYRRtuxNtfAdlfAxT2_R4TKj53G77fWrTxDWg57VHwyBsQabz09Kx7bF-rd-qe2CB-3OCcCqodit0U-0Xi9PA8_nOPw0vndMP2h9FktIsQZ97gNK5p5aB5cq3YFIVeRI3BOJODFjASIq2_xRpqN_aDzfyYQt9Ru7aAQG2gfmV9l4sTsHF4B57N

It may not look like much, but it runs like a scalded dog.

I am working on a 1929 Fargo Express, 1/2 ton, panel delivery. In a short time I will be redoing the entire brake system, including master cylinder, wheel brake lines, cylinders and shoes. Is this something you can provide parts for?

I know nothing about this personally, but I seen a tread on the AACA forum which someone was having problems with one of these. https://wenatchee.craigslist.org/for/d/orondo-eisemann-g4-magneto/7702966311.html

My 1951 Plymouth I bought using Social Security when I was 78 years old.

That looks to be a 1928 or 1929 Dodge Bros, Graham Paige, or some other truck made during that period. One of my ongoing projects is a 1929 Fargo Express (packet) panel, which is nearly identical, in every aspect, to your truck…….what a beautiful job of restoration, by the way. The difference is, what little paint left on the truck is black. But, as I progress with the body work I am sanding and grinding the old metal surfaces, and it appears the truck was about the same color green as yours. Is that the original color, or is it one you chose to use during restoration?

My entire adult life has been spent in a uniform of some sort, and I was always a cog in the works, other than the works being turned by a countless number of cogs. In the military there is the saying “Either eat it, paint it, or throw it overboard”. Otherwise, a place for everything, and everything in its place. The level of regimentation that goes with working in a correctional custody environment needs no explanation. In correctional custody work, staff has exactly the same level of freedom of movement as they afford the inmates they supervise. That may entail one or two staffers being locked in a location, for an indeterminate period of time, with tens, or hundreds of convicted felons with no weapons and iffy communications. In a environment where a smidgen of window putty, or a cast off plastic foam coffee cup can be used to make a key impression, a plastic fork can be melted to form a carotid artery slicing knife (shank) and a ball point pen can be made into a bomb, orderliness and accountability become law rather than option. Then comes the time and funds to buy that spiffy GTO, Mustang, or old Dodge touring car…….damn, what messes they are with years of crud, grode, rust and neglect. I am learning that it is sometimes would perhaps be better to just get a new dog than try to teach an old dog new tricks. But I still have a lot to learn from keeping my old dog. And old cars are no different. Time is a commodity, which once expended, is subtracted from every remaining second of time we have deposited at birth in our above ground accounts. The resources we accumulated while doing our “cog” ritual are similar to the water retained in a dam. And, that spiffy GTO, Mustang or old Dodge touring car is beginning to look more like a dam destroying diesel bulldozer than the awesome accoutrement we expected to inflate our age deflated ego, or make us more attractive as “that guy….Yea, the one over there…….with the immaculately restored old car”. And that bulldozer, if left to its bulldozer ways, develops oil leaks, has electrical shorts in impossible places, accumulates tar and varnish in a fuel system which hasn’t seen gas for years, and the stuff, which looked so good as classy vinyl upholstery, now looks like a moldy sponge left to rot in a toilet bowl. Oh well, as soon as the now stuck engine is freed, the brakes unlocked, and the door is pried open, and the weather clears, and gas prices drop, I’ll take the old girl for that long awaited ride. Or, I’ll remember that I bought her because I needed a reprieve from my days in the world of endlessly turning cogs, and the relatively unrewarding rotations they generated, and head for the garage fridge instead. In my haste to “restore” her, I forgot she has the same aging problems I do, and she would probably rather have a sip of DOT 3 brake fluid or a squirt of grease in that tired tie rod end than going for a drive anyway. And I’ll lovingly pour a pint of refreshing ND 30W oil into her crank case, wipe the dust from her well weathered hood, and give her a appreciative pat on her rump. Now is the time I really need to pay more attention to reinventing my own sense of urgency to grind, weld, paint, polish or renew everything in sight, and hide or discard everything I can’t fit into my “orderly” world. I think I saw something beautiful in the way the old girl was made, her lines were unique in how they made metallic poetry in the way they merged and then dissolved into a door frame or trunk lid. And the folks who used pencils and paper, rather than computer assisted graphics, to design and build that mechanical brake system, and a fuel system which functions without any direct attachment to the cars electrics or mechanics to work flawlessly on no force other than gravity deserve nothing short of my total admiration. Does she know any good jokes…….that probably is a resounding NOPE? Is it not unusual though that we can spend hours talking about the young soldiers, who were torn from their farm homes and sent to the trenches in France, Italy, Greece, Normandy, Germany to fight a war they knew very little about. Or their loved ones who had their sole means of support ripped away when their loved ones answered the call to duty, and their farms and homes became victims of metro mania and freeway freedom. So, instead of a harrowing drive, in a car better suited to navigating a muddy, deeply rutted wagon path, we get to share a peaceful minute of solicitude, in a the warmth of a garage bought solely with the sweat of my brow, and now her sole source of protection from a wrecking yard or the cutting torch of a parts merchant. And, I can feel my muscles relax, the tension drain away and my blood pressure return to more normal readings as we discuss those soldiers, the stout workers who poured the molten metal to cast her frame and the superb craftsmen who cut and molded the wood which ultimately became her body and top.

I grossly underestimated the time it would take, and the weather was a constant problem when I replaced top on my 1927 Willys Knight 70A. The wood in the top was missing, or rotted to the extent that I spent much more time measuring, drawing and cutting replacement wood than I spent cutting and attaching the Cobra log grain fabric. It soon became apparent that I would have to stretch the fabric over a incomplete frame work, and continue cutting the wood pieces as weather permitted. This necessitated that I seal the seams to make the top waterproof, but it was also necessary to use a sealant I could remove without damaging the fabric. It is expensive, has a very short shelf life, and can be really messy to work with, but I found the black, rubberized, Flex-Seal product to work better than any other latex or acrylic sealant I tried. And, when the permanent installation of the top was completed, and prior to installing the hide’m and trim, I also used the rubberized Flex-seal on my seams and around the metal pieces around the joints between the visor and the windshield. That was a few years ago and it seems to be holding strong.

Our old machines are a collection of successes and failures in the human quest to go faster, go further, with less effort, and do it in comfort and style. While are not a religion, it cannot be denied that they are ideologies which reflects the collective abilities, skills, aspirations, appetites and dreams of those whose cumulative lives contributed to their existence. They are also time machines that, as you suggest, are not only capable of conveying emotions, elation, apprehension, and even a sensation (It appears to be moving, even when it’s standing still)!, they convey the essence of the times in which they were built. My post is morbid humor, and it is no surprise that its route has led to comments more related to the allusion to COVID, and the vaccination vacuum, than the mechanical aspects of air retention in a 90 year old tire. And, it does add flesh to my allegation that having a hobby which inculcates any number of ideas, theories, opinions, materials which can be cut, pasted, dissected, and walked away from with no feeling of personal loss is essential to the thing we call “a successful life”. I referred to it as “the air in a 90 year old tire”, you referred to it as the “Core of ice in the Artic”, wayne Sheldon referred to them as “as centuries old things”, and collectively they may be called centuries old trees in a Amazonian jungle, undiscovered life in the oceans depths, or transpermia, or panspermia involving alien life forms from other worlds. It is called “slosh”, and in the instance of a forum versed to discuss antique and classic machines, it may be the ability to move freely between the time worn, and possibly boring, discussion of the vacuum fuel delivery system, found in a 1923 Hupmobile, to the computerized EFI fuel system found in a 2024 Porsche 911. And folks, it is another Monday, here we are suckling the screen of our mass media mother, and the world has not screeched to a stop because we aren’t at a Trump rally or protesting something well beyond our control. Thanks to avgwarhawk, we have been involved in a digital communication, without a single shot being fired, nor a cross word being spoken, for the past few minutes……..and, folks, IMO that is what any laudable forum is about, and that is one of the most basic freedoms we, as Americans enjoy…..it is called “communications”. https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/edisons-last-breath-henry-ford-museum

And I was just passing some gas too.🤪

I really doubt it. The post was the rendering of a recollection of a event a few years ago involving a few young Hispanic men who opened a tire repair shop down the street from me. I was in the middle of getting my 1927 Willlys Knight back on four pins, and I was ready to have the new tires installed. This car had not been worked on for half a century and the wheels and rims were exceedingly grody and rusted. So, I elected to pay the new tire shop proprietors to change out the tires, but asked the fellow to notify me when the old tires had been dismounted, but before the new had been mounted. This was intended to give me a window of time to clean, inspect, repair, and paint the old rims. I told the young fellow these rims were both over 90 years old and were very brittle and nearly impossible to replace. And I told him that if he had any doubts about how they worked, I would rather he didn’t work on them. He emphatically reassured me that he was familiar with the expansion rims, and knew exactly what he was doing. So I left the rims in his capable hands and told him I’d be back in a couple of days to pick up the rims. In a couple of days I did show back up at the business, and as promised, my now clean and painted wheels were neatly lined up along the shop walls. After congratulating the young fellow on his good work of mounting the tires, I leaned over and slightly pressed the valve stem of a tire, and pretended to sniff the exhaled air. A mock look of horror crossed my face as I jumped back and asked, with sheer panic in my voice……….”Oh my God……what have you done”? The reaction of shock the young man displayed was far beyond anything I could have expected. In fact, had he been much larger, I would have been unable to stop him from completely hitting the floor as he fell. Recovering a bit, the young man asked me what he had done wrong, and why I was so shocked. With the totally false demeanor of a scholastic nerd, with a better sense of academic gibberish than a just a slightly insane mechanic could possibly possess, I began to explain my dilemma to the young guy, and give him a possible escape door. ”See”, I explained, “there are those among us old car elitists which are perfectionists in our restorations in every way possible”. I went on to explain that “Sometime the levels of originality, and the extreme measures we used to attain them, may seem totally absurd, and often unattainable, by the uninitiated, but were steps necessary to retain the value, and ambiance, of our extremely rare machines”. I informed him that “I had supposed, since he told me he was familiar with the process used to replace antique car tires, he must also know that re-use of the original air was a essential, and was expected to be a part of the replacement”. His face paled and his jaw dropped to the extent I actually wanted to grab it to keep it from falling off all together. So, I offered up the respite by saying “Well, at least you saved the original air, and if you have a compressor which will handle 90 year old air, maybe we can get it out of that tank, and back into the tires”. I had noticed the chrome, and obviously very expensive, iPhone tucked safely into his breast pocket, but he caught me totally by surprise when he yanked it out, hit speed dial, and, in a panic filled voice, asked someone if “they had in stock, or could get, any 90 year old air”. Who they were, or what they said, I have no idea what the response came from the other end of the phone conversation, but I do know it immediately brought tears to the eyes of the young man. He did manage to mutter, spaced by gasps and wheezes, “I guess you’re right, even if we had some on hand, I doubt our new compressor would handle it anyway”. Things got immeasurably quiet, and remained as such until a few minutes had elapsed, and the rather huge, and maybe even a bit vicious looking, gent, I supposed to be the owner, burst through a door, I presume was a office adjoining the shop, and stormed up to having his face inches from the face of the young man. I do speak a bit of Mexican, and I did understand the admirably filth filled string of names the new arrival to the scene screamed into the young guy’s quivering ear. Exactly when I thought it could get no worse, the big guy, now clearly identified as the young guy’s boss, reached up, and in a single blow dislodged the beautiful iPhone from the young man’s hand, and sent it to a mess of broken glass on the shop floor. At that point I began hoping that the two men shared a blood relationship. The reasoning here was that the only salvation the young man could expect, if the huge guy were to be stopped short of killing him, was if the huge guy was his dad, uncle brother, or as doubtful as to how that would work, a cousin. Of course there was static in this reasoning also because I also had a inkling that the younger guy may be a in-law, and his doom was irrevocably sealed. Anyway, I made, what I felt to be, a heroic gesture which gave the allusion that I was about to become physically involved in the confrontation by stepping between the huge guy, and the younger guy, to end the confrontation. Of course my mother only gave birth to two boys, one a younger idiot, and one a older, and much wiser man, and my younger brother now lives in Kansas. Regardless, the huge guy stepped back from his assault on the younger guy, turned to me and explained that “he was sorry……the young guy was a new employee, and he should have known that I would be asking about the age of the air he used in my antique car tires”. He went on to say that he was embarrassed that I had managed to trick his new employee with a dumb question, but he would be willing to give me a $25.00 discount on the charge to reimburse me for any inconvenience his employees ineptitude had caused. I apologized for the trick and told him that it was all in good faith, and his employee was a great guy, and he was lucky to have him. The tires loaded, payment made and hand shakes completed, I mounted my car and prepared to leave the business. It was then that the huge guy motioned to me to roll down my window. He approached near enough to whisper in my ear that they were a new business, and depended on folks like me to learn the needs of every customer. And, he concluded this meeting with the statement that “What I had said about using 90 year old air, in a 90 year old wheel, to retain absolute originality, made a lot of sense”. He added that “he could not recall a single one of his suppliers who stocked, sold or shipped antique air, and he would appreciate a link to someone selling it”.

It’s getting late, I’m rather tired, and I won’t be posting reams of photographs. But, I will say that the Fargo has a sheet steel floor to the bed which is probably over 1/8” thick and weighs at least a couple hundred pounds. I have the tongue and groove lumber already, and have stripped the wood of the rear of the truck down to the frame. This will be used to replace the rotten wood in the bed. Since the truck will never be returned to commercial service, I see no need to clean the sheet of steel, and replace the bed floor using it. Considering this, I find myself the unexpected owner of a sheet of steel, pitted and rusty on one side, but decent and useable on the other. So, I am considering making a steel belly pan frost the truck, extending from the left to the right frame, duplicating the front motor mounts built into the existing frame cross member, and cutting panels to replace the lower part of the new engine exposed because it is narrower, and shorter than the original engine. I sure wish I had a plasma cutter, but buying one for a single use would be dumb. So, I think I’ll just use the zip tool and MAP torch to cut and shape this thing. The clutch pedal mounted on the 1951 engine would work perfectly with the firewall cutouts, the drop of the steering column and the present brake pedal position. That is, if its pedestal was bent about 7” to the engine rears right. If I can make a decent bend in the pedestal which moves the clutch pedal about 7”, I.ll be one happy puppy. Comments, suggestions, advice, admonishments, criticism or whatever may be productive is welcome.

I revisited this aging thread because, as I progress through the labyrinth of installing a 23”, 1951 Dodge Pickup engine to replace the 25” six cylinder flathead presently in my newly acquired 1929 Fargo express, I am learning how very absurd the continual citing of these measurements are when deciding to do a engine exchange. The measurements are given in allusion to the “length” of the engines, but actually are taken by the length of only the cylinder heads. The real consideration is the width of the rear engine mounts…..the old engine is a good 4” wider than the replacement engine, and, while the width of the front engine mounts are identical on both engines, those on the old engine are at least 7” further ahead of those on the new engine. This is of some concern in the increased distance between the radiator and the fan and the expansive space now open between the radiator housing and engine front….greater space, less air movement…..less cooling. Placement of the pedals on the bell housing of the new engine raises a lot of questions regarding placement of the pedals (which I don’t have) on the old engine. I had a breath of relief when I found that the 1951 Dodge engine uses a master cylinder similar to the one used with the Fargo engine, mounted ahead of the brake pedal, and uses a pedal mounted clevis to push the operating rod forward. Unlike the master cylinder mounted into the frame of my 1951 Plymouth, with a nearly identical six cylinder flathead, and also uses a pedal mounted clevis, but it uses a bell crank to reverse the direction of the operating rod. There was no small amount of relief felt when I took measurements and found that my pedal problems may be eased by bending the clutch pedal mounting pedestal about 7” to the right….to clear the left side of the cowl, and add some length to the master cylinder operating rod as it pivots on the brake pedal clevis. The 25” measurement of the cylinder head, as compared to the 23” measurement really becomes insignificant when it is considered that these numbers are lost in the difference in spacing of the brake and Clutch pedals due to pressure plate and bell housing differences in size, and the spacing differences caused by the engine mounts being built into the front of the 1929 engine, and are spaced a greater distance from the block because they are integral to the cast iron timing case. I could go on here for hours, and I could post a thousand photographs to explain what words won’t describe, but I will close this epilogue with the advisory that you seriously consider whether or not, at the instant the replacement flathead six cylinder starts, you will have one iota of doubt as to whether you SHOULD have gone with that 289, 318, 283 or 440 magnum. This is the time you need to plan to install the V-8, and console yourself as a virgin install, and not the coupling of a failed marriage to a much ridden horse.

Since I was 14 years old, my dream car was a metallic purple, white top with white leather tuck and roll upholstery, 1955 Ford Crown Victoria with the bad 272 CI V-8 engine. Of course, my income as a day laborer barely afforded three hots and a cot for the wife and kids, and the Army did not include the space for owning a car on our personal property record. I am too vocal in spieling about my own preferred way of treating this hobby, but I wish I were a bit younger, a tad more wealthy (then) and was able to do some serious antique and classic car restoration. While I yak a lot on the forum about overdoing it on getting a pleasure ride repaired to a safe and drivable state, I have ultimate and absolute respect for some of the beautiful machines brought back to life, and I have a infinite level of respect and admiration for the skills and tenacity of those with the fortitude to do it. Honestly, I have no right to even expect to live long enough to do a total restoration on a 1955 Ford Crown Victoria, and while I could now buy one professionally restored, I’d sooner by the hamburger joint down the street to have a readily available supply of fast food.

I do a whole lot of typing on the forum. And as the saying “he who does nothing, can do no wrong”, so must the saying go that “he who cannot speak, cannot offend. So, there is a greater probability of me offending someone/anyone by saying anything about anything. So, maybe I will get back to work on my old cars, or attend the Masonic Lodge, VVA, VFW, DAV, YMCA or one of the other activities us old farts join to convince ourselves we are not worthless. Well, gee……..it is 21 degrees outside at the minute, a dusting of snow on the already frozen ground, it does not get light until after 8:00 in the morning and by 4:00 in the evening the sun has set and the wind starts getting serious. I have spent many nights on the Korean DMZ, and used to consider this god forsaken place the coldest place on earth. That was exacerbated by the fact we had no buildings, furnaces, cook stoves, or fancy shops in which to replace our terrain damaged tanks. And now, I do have a workshop, do, actually and honestly, pay for parts I use on my old cars, but, unlike Korea, I don’t see a urgency to stay outside and work on a 1929 model truck. True, I do have a stove in my shop, but the neighbor finds the smoke unbearable, my hammering annoying, and has called the crisis response team which reacted because I was a “danger” to myself by working alone in the dark. So, I do type on the forum, and, another saying goes…… You can please some of the people all the time…… All the people some of the time………… But you will never please all the people all the time. (words added)………so why even try?

Sorry sir……..I beg your pardon, the topics in this thread are “automobile humor and interest” and the air in my antique car tires certainly qualify somewhere in this mish mash. Reading this thread, as is maintaining a paid membership to the forum, are voluntary, and a swipe of the finger on the delete toggle will immediately relieve the pressure on your brain caused by a belly laugh. I suppose the next finger move you make will be to investigate whether or not I viewed your profile to see who can’t stomach my posts. I will inform you in advance because I really don’t care…….unless you are a mediator, and you are both capable and qualified to delete anything which doesn’t toot your personal horn.

It occurred to me that the air in the tires of my 1923 Dodge roadster (possibly) celebrated its 100th birthday last year. That brought to mind a need to do some sort of scientific survey to compute the cumulative age of the air in all my antique car tires. Of course there is a potential + or - factor of 0 to 90+ years on the accuracy of aging each of the four cars, but that still beats the aim off the US government uses to guesstimate budgetary assessments. Anyway, this important task was brought to the forefront when I became aware that there was a lot of stuff happening in, e.g., 1923, which affected air quality, and the level of pollutants it contained. Equally important is the capture, and preservation in their viral state, pandemic causing viruses and bacteria which may be held in suspension within the air insidiously aging in our old tires. For example, in 2123, a fellow driving a classic 2023 car has a blowout. We know the affects of breathing in the air expelled by a person, aka…”a spreader”, who is both unvaccinated as well as unmasked, but have you considered the possibility of that same, potentially, COVID infected person having that breath captured and preserved as he added air to his car tires? It may be of little interest to some. But to me, the much shouted plea of “Don”t spare the air” has became a rally cry, and I intend on championing this cause into the next century. I am so adamant regarding the value of this research I have requested a government grant of 100 million dollars, and have been told I am immediately in line behind a study to ascertain the sleep habits of the rare African tree toad. Do I have any takers who will volunteer to furnish me with a quantity of old air, bled directly from the tubes of their antique tires, that I may use to document the need for this research? To substantiate the importance of this research, I have posted a photo of a 100 year old sample of air bled directly from the tire of my 1923 DB roadster.

Thanks kgreen. There are times, especially when I am writing something to the forum, that I simply can’t find words to say what I mean. You have said whatever I could say, only more perfectly. Thanks again.

Dependent on my limited ability to negotiate the internet, I have successfully reached your post. Dependent on your question, I must suppose that you take me for a valid buyer, with both the ability and inclination to buy your expansive property. The first statement is correct, I can negotiate the internet to the extent I can scam you into making a very costly mistake, emotional and financial, as you attempt to sell your property. There are a few problems here though that punches holes in how you are trying to sell a estate, which appears to be years of improvements and personally constructed to meet your own needs. So, I will not ask WHY you are selling a upscale property when the normal direction a new retiree travels is to down scale. And, I will not ask of your ability to suffer a rather significant loss should I offer to buy your property and ultimately are found to disqualify for a loan or am no more than a narcissistic liar, and the sale was bogus from the beginning. My initial observation is that you are neither poor or dumb. The only value of your house, and property, is the actual amount you pocket upon completion of its sale, and the waste of time, and emotional rollercoaster trips, incurred during that sale also is a detractor to its final value…….as a fact, the worry can be fatal. Were it me, and I were you, I’d scrap the realtor, I’d put the internet and car clubs completely out of my mind, I’d stop asking how I should proceed with the sale……but I would contact one of my trusted attorneys and turn the entire process over to their firm. Move, resettle, start another massive car collection, but remember what it was like to start anew 15 years ago. Let those who know the legalities of estate management handle the house and you handle what to do with your car collection.

Personally, I have ultimate respect for the innovative person who thought up the “Ball Hammock” line of men’s underwear. These things imply, without need of further explanation, that a person has a “set”, and the concern is there that they hang together in harmony. Furthermore, I surreptitiously advertise them as a “set” and overtly imply they are so magnanimous that I need a hammock to contain them. The only thing I would add to the functionality and appeal of my “Ball Hammock” underwear is to sell them as “outer”, rather than “under” wear. In that way others could share my admiration of their architecture, artistry in their design and, decently, announce that I had a set. Realizing that it is now a primary consideration for me to be recognized as a conformist, I must be able to tastefully conform., And, as such, need to impress others with my “set”, but also realizing that my wearing of a “Ball Hammock” would be a total waste of space, money and material I casually display mine on a clothesline along the street side of my home.