Another thread I commented on got be thinking. All you fellas have had many Hot Rods and Custom Cars over the years. Think about all of the ones you've had over the years and think about this one.... If all these old Hot Rods and Custom Cars could talk where they came from, where they've been, who drove them, (sat in them with whom (a skirt ) and what you did) and finally where they are now wouldn't that be somethin '. If your old car could talk and tell their story. That would be THE Automotive Book to read.
My Merc stayed with one man from 1952 until I got it a couple years ago from his 70 year old "kids" after he passed away. It's a very well known car here in Montana, and everywhere I take it a different older car guy will come up and tell me a story about the car and Bill, the former owner. Even met the guy that painted it 40ish years ago, twice in three months, because Bill had too good of a time one night and backed his truck into it.... Lucky to have a lot of history given to me by his family and people who knew the man and car through the years.....this is him with it when he won his first award and me when I won mine.
It's a good thing cars can't talk but the next best thing is to know the history. I would think many of us know the history of the hot rod or custom in the garage, many of them have been a part of the family since the day they were purchased. HRP
"I became aware in the fall of 1961 the moment someone installed my headlights. Assessing my surroundings, I slowly realized I was in a very large building with busy people all around. I was in a long line of other cars very similar to myself. Myself... hmmm. For the first time, I looked at myself. White body, red interior. Nice. What's that?... 409 insignias on my fenders. I would later learn the significance of those numbers under the care of my first owner. All I knew right then, was that I felt really good... strong... powerful."
The 56 in my avatar. “Once I was a low rider, I think? See my new owner Johnny questioned why I had bullets under my carpet and in my left door. White inner fender wells with cut coil springs I had myself as well. Also I was pretty banged up up front. Someone’s head broke the right side of my windshield. My right front fender was busted up to. I was missing my teeth (grill) and my eye’s (headlight’s) were in the trunk (that’s where I seen Johnny for the first time. He come thru from the back seat. No keys you see). I guess the previous guy that had me gave up on fixing me when he found out a 55 front bumper don’t fit so well. As for my engine, well I guess that 55 the front bumper came from gave up it’s 265 to me as well? See when Johnny got me my engine was missing something bad. When he pooped my hood to see why that’s when Johnny noticed my oil filter was up top rather than below. But he moved on and found that somebody but me a standard nut on one of my rocker’s and it just fell off see. I wouldn’t shift into high gear either. See my Powerglide governor had stripped its gear. As for what Johnny did to me, well, that’s a longer story for another day”.
In HS and up until I got drafted I had a '65 Falcon 2dr wagon with a warmed over 289 and 4 speed. Luckily the guy I sold it to wrecked it so everything that happened in the wagon went with it to the scrap yard.
I know most of the stories that my cars would tell me but my wife’s car would say something completely different. We came out of a shopping center and I noticed that it had one hell of a hicky on the front fender, and an ass load of cops way down at the other end next to the street shoving someone into the back of the ambulance. My wife asked me if this was what she thought it was and I said “yeah that’s a bullet”. That’s about the time when it asked “Why did this happen to me………You got shot” Needless to say we got in and headed back to the house. Just another day the in Memphis hood
I would hope mine would have enough decorum to keep their big yaps shut...... especially about the back seat.
I swear I've heard a couple of my hot rods say: "When is this idiot going to sell me to someone who know what the hell they are doing".
The Jalopy Journal
