4 minute read
TERRY McGEAN
Yesterday’s Scrap
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Ifound myself trying to justify (yet another) old car purchase not long ago when a friend asked my opinion about a project he was considering. As is so often the case, the car in question wasn’t a late-model commuter, but a decades-old relic from Detroit’s golden era of performance. This specimen was de nitely a project—nothing my friend would be driving home.
This is the part where we enthusiasts separate sharply from most people. The car my friend and I went to see looked like something a majority of the population would have sent to the scrapyard long ago. Yet here the two of us were, anxiously anticipating the inspection process and conjuring images of the nished outcome before we’d even given it a look.
This sort of thing has played out countless times over many years for scores of vintage vehicle fans, in some cases almost to the point of being routine. Some of us are kidding ourselves to view brokendown old cars with an eye that sees it renewed again; others are merely taking stock of what is needed and the steps required to get it done. I’m somewhere in the middle, versed enough in the process of restoring a car to have a good idea of what it’s going to take but not fully equipped (in terms of skill, facilities, and funding) to get a full-scale project to completion all on my own. Still, I ought to know enough to be of some use in avoiding bad decisions… if I lead with the head and not the heart.
Of course, the heart has to factor in at least a little. In considering old car projects, being entirely practical would probably lead to avoiding anything that wasn’t sleek, shiny, and ready to take to a cruise night. Restoring cars is a hobby unto itself, beyond simply being a car enthusiast, so starting with something that needs help is sort of the point. But on the day my friend and I went to see this particular car, I was struck by how our standards have changed over the years.
The car we were looking at was a Chevelle from the late ’60s; it was going to need a full-scale, bodyoff re-do to return it to something desirable. That’s not unusual these days, but I think it was the fact that it was a Chevelle that rattled my senses a bit. My rst car was a Chevelle way back in the ’80s; a number of my friends had them around that time as well. There were a lot more ’68-’72 Chevelles on the ground then, but we already considered them somewhat vintage. Poking around on the one my friend was recently considering suddenly made me realize that we’d have considered this a parts car back in the day—how did we get to a place where we were actually excited over the opportunity to resurrect a bucket like this? We’d sent better cars to the junkyard when Reagan was still in of ce.
But that’s the reality of time. I’d noticed the same thing happening with street rod guys 20-something years ago. In the ’90s, nding a genuine ’32 Ford— and not even a whole car, just a signi cant portion of a usable body—was a big deal. The Deuce had been a hot rodding staple for decades by then, and I’d hear older guys talking about the parts and pieces they threw away back in the ’50s for not being “good enough” to use for their projects. These tales were always delivered with a tone of lament, as the bits those guys were trying to save in the present were junk compared to what they’d cast off years prior. Now we’re going through that cycle with muscle cars and parts.
However, there has been a major change in the muscle realm during the past 20 years or so that justi ably alters the perspective of people like my friend and me when we consider attempts to save what was once considered beyond redemption: reproduction sheetmetal. Back in the ’80s, when we’d survey the damage done after 15-20 years of road salt exposure, options for cures were limited to scoring new factory replacements (already tough to do for most models even then), nding good used parts (also challenging without heading out West, since all cars of the same type tended to rust the same way), or fabricating pieces to replace what the tin worm had consumed (which required a skill level we did not possess). With those obstacles weighing on our young minds, we tended to write off cars that needed extensive metal repair.
Today, correcting the ravages of rust is more approachable for the average hobbyist. Not to say it’s easy to weld in entirely new oorpans, quarter panels, and maybe even a roof skin (nor cheap), but it is at least feasible with the stampings that are currently available for so many muscle-era cars. Access to welding gear and other tools once reserved for professionals has also improved drastically for the weekend restorer, and learning to use them has become easier in the age of streaming video.
Despite our favorite cars now being even older, harder to come by, and sometimes a bit worse for the wear, this still feels like a good point in time to be attempting to save them. My friend passed on that Chevelle but he’s already got another car for us to look at, and it’s in similarly rough shape. And that hasn’t dampened our anticipation one bit.
