Project 2012

By Larry Crisler

Terry Rolleurs is 67 years old but a novice hot rodder with a healthy checkbook. He yearns to build a new car doing as much of his own work as possible. The 1932 roadster he decides to buy has an interesting past that only adds to the intrigue. As Terry begins construction he encounters a mysterious man, Will, who is to become an essential part of the project. Terry and Will develop a mysterious, but extremely satisfying relationship. They successfully complete the project only to find that another, even more significant, challenge is revealed to them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Larry Crisler
• Release date: Nov 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301199167

Larry Crisler

I am a retired professor of Sociology, but you are far more likely to find me at the wheel of an old car. I will always try to suppress my smile as I speed past you. After nearly forty years of writing scholarly research in mangled jargon, I am finding it absolutely refreshing to write for entertainment. I hope my work brings you a smile, a laugh, or occasionally something interesting to think about. Please enjoy the capers of Terry Rolleurs and his assorted friends and acquaintances.

Book preview

Project 2012

By Larry J. Crisler

Copyright 2012 Larry J. Crisler

Smashwords Edition

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Chapter 1: One Full Size Model Kit

I imagined we looked like the beginning of an old movie. We were two men in a black roadster following the aged blacktop through fields of seed corn and soybeans. Coal black hair blowing in the wind…well, our hair was gray and we wore baseball caps to protect what hair remained on our heads, but we were driving a fenderless Deuce roadster on a gloriously sunny day. It was unusually warm for mid April. Phil Pope and I were on our way to look at an old car.

The throaty rumble of the engine was soothing, but I couldn’t help imagining what ominous sounds it might be masking. I am very confident of its mechanicals, but as the road deteriorated, I began to worry that those throaty engine sounds were sparing me the anguish of hearing thwack’s of road debris on painted and plated parts.

Hey, Terry, where’s the smile? I could tell by the broad grin on his face that Phil was relishing my growing discomfort.

The road was now downright bumpy and my brow began to furrow. Just ahead, I thought I could see the end of asphalt and the beginning of oil on gravel-- the Midwest’s favorite road surface and pure torture for drivers young and old.

What had begun as a joyous drive to check out a disassembled 1932 Ford Roadster was becoming altogether too serious. I glanced quickly at Phil so as not to hit any large potholes. There was no sympathy from him. He simply shrugged and continued grinning. His ’34 pickup still wears the original paint and Forestry Service stencils from its first life. I began to wish we had brought my Ford Ranger rather than this fiberglass roadster.

I slowed to a crawl as we approached the oiled road. Fortunately, it was not freshly oiled, and the day was cool enough that there shouldn’t be any of those ominous thuds of oil-soaked gravel hitting the flanks of the car. As long as we did not hit fresh oil—or worse—I thought we would make it.

My old friend Karen (the female Australian voice packaged with Garmin GPS units) announced that we were approaching our destination on the right.

We were far enough into the countryside that there were no house numbers on the street-side mailboxes, only names and the occasional route number. I spotted a large mailbox crowned with a rusty, two-dimensional cutout of a rat rod.

This must be the place. I slowed and crept up the freshly graveled driveway past a white farmhouse. Around a sharp bend appeared a large silver pole barn. I was not ready for what we saw resting in front of the building.

Laid out in pieces, as if an old AMT model kit with all the parts cut off the sprue, was what appeared to be an amazingly complete 1932 Ford Roadster. It did look for the entire world like a model kit. The complete roadster body, apparently still bolted to the frame, sat to the right partially shaded by a small maple tree. Just to the left, on the concrete apron of the shop entrance, was the ghostly silhouette of a bodiless car.

Closest to the shop door the grille shell and radiator leaned up against a sawhorse. Just behind that, a dashboard stretched between two jack stands. Further back stood the firewall proudly guarding a bare top frame. Then reposed the gas tank, and, literally bringing up the rear, sat the spare tire mounted on its holder. The fenders were lying on the ground roughly where they would be when mounted to the frame. I saw only one running board lying on the concrete.

Almost hidden in the shadows were the front and rear axles and brake drums. Finally, standing on its rear edge was the original four-piece hood. There was no engine, no transmission, no wheels, no interior, and no steering wheel.

I had been searching for a project car, but there was something slightly ominous and forlorn about viewing this once functioning automobile displayed as if it had just been blown apart by some kind of controlled explosion. There was something forlorn, yet promising about its appearance. I felt a compelling urge to make it whole again.

Phil was grinning ear-to-ear as he jumped out to start documenting our find with his camera. I was getting cold feet. What was I about to do? Let me take you back a few months to the real beginning of this story.

My name is Terry Rolleurs. I have been a checkbook street rodder. I wasted my youth and young adult years following my parents’ advice to study hard and do well in school instead of working on cars.

In the attic and basement of two separate houses, I have stored nearly every issue of Motor Trend, Road & Track, and Car and Driver published since 1957. As my interest in hot rods grew in the mid 1990’s I started purchasing, and saving, issues of Street Rodder, Rod & Custom, Street Rod Builder and Super Rod (the last two are now out of publication).

Hot Rod is noticeable by its absence. Ever since they misspelled my name on my 1963 letter to the editor, I have refused to buy their product. By the way, my letter complained about their recent price increase from thirty-five cents to fifty-cents an issue. They further embarrassed me by titling it Sour Grapes.

I have been a member of the two largest street rodding organizations--Goodguys and NSRA--since 1997 (somehow, I have found the courage to throw out past issues of the Goodguy’s Gazette, and NSRA’s Street Scene). Despite all this reading, I found myself horribly ill prepared to enjoy the street rodding hobby upon my retirement. I lacked both the skills to do my own work and the financial wherewithal to purchase the work done.

My current collection of hot rods consists of a 1961 Ford Falcon and the black ’32 Ford roadster Phil and I drove to look at this pile of parts—there will be much more about that later.

I purchased the Falcon as a completed car from a young enthusiast living in Southern California. This car was very similar to my first automobile—except it had a vastly superior suspension, a roll cage, and a 408 cubic inch Ford SVO engine producing a solid 575 horsepower. The only details I can take any credit for are the installation of a Tremec five-speed manual transmission and rear disc brakes. I am working on upgrading the interior, but that will still be someone else’s handiwork. I enjoy the car; I just did not build it.

My ’32 Ford roadster, named Forsche (Ford with a Porsche-style interior) really is not a 1932, nor a Ford, nor a roadster. I purchased it back in 2007 with some of the money I inherited at my Father’s death. For all practical purposes, it is a new car. It has American Stamping frame rails with Heidt’s independent suspension at each end, a brand-new Coast-to-Coast fiberglass body with roll-up windows and a self-storing convertible top. The Tremec five-speed transmission was new in 2008. The only used part on the entire car is the engine. It is from a 1993 Chevrolet.

I love driving the roadster. The general public and other street rodders admire its styling. However, when I stop driving and start talking about it, I always feel like a second-class rodder since my only contribution to its build was to write checks—many, many checks.

Although friends like Phil never make a point of it, I know they find me a bit of a nuisance. I make no bones of the fact that I enjoy caravanning to shows with them. They know I have an ulterior motive. I enjoy the sense of calm that comes from knowing these good friends can easily fix any problem that I may encounter on the road.

I have been lucky so far. Even on last year’s trip to Colorado, my roadster performed flawlessly. While I enjoy their tales of building and re-building their cars, I want some stories of my own to contribute. For some time, I have been feeling the need to build a car with my own hands. That is why Phil and I are staring at this kit laid out on the concrete.

Wow, said Phil, This is in fantastic shape. The primer may be covering some rust, but it looks darned good. All the body parts and fenders seem to be in the same general condition, so I really do think this is one roadster and not just random parts thrown into a pile…er, uhm…a neatly arranged pile. All the hard-to-find parts are here. The missing running board is no problem. You can get a re-pop. You would replace the engine, transmission, and wheels anyway. After all the time, and money, you spent on the Forsche’s interior I would guess you’d build a new interior as well. This looks good.

At that moment, a young man emerged from the shop door and walked up to us. Hi, I’m Mark Walker, are you Terry?

Yes, that’s me. This is my friend Phil Pope. I hope you don’t mind that I brought him along to help me out?

No problem. Have you had a chance to look it over? Do you have any questions?

Well, Mark, I was wondering how you came to have this roadster—and why it is disassembled?

Terry, this was the last project my Dad and I started. I had been working with him since I was about six years old. I swear he used me as slave labor, Mark chuckled, "He taught me to block sand before he ever threw a baseball around with me. I hate to think what chemical fumes I have inhaled along the way, but I loved the time we spent together. Dad never had much money to spend. This farmland kept him busy when he wasn’t welding for the IH—International Harvester--dealer. We must have built a dozen cars over the years, but none of them was a really desirable model. None of them was an open car and most of them were odd rods—neither Fords nor Chevies.

This was going to be our last project. For that, we searched for a real steel Deuce roadster. Every time we’d get a line on one we could not come up with the necessary cash. If we did hear about one we thought we could afford, it was a piece of sh…well, terrible. We couldn’t afford new steel, like a Brookeville and didn’t want ‘glass…

I know, mine is glass and it’s just not the same.

Oops, sorry, Terry. I meant no disrespect.

That’s OK, Mark. I really want to build a car on my own. It must be steel and traditional. Sort of like the car my Dad and I might have built—if he had ever decided to do something frivolous for himself.

So, you two never worked together?

No, Mark, we never did. In a way, we both enjoyed model railroading, but even then, he was into Lionel as I was turning to HO. Ironically, I’m now heavy into Lionel’s—too little, too late to work with him…

"Well, Terry, let me tell you a little about this car and then I’ll leave you two to go over just what all is included here. I just couldn’t resist laying the parts out like this. I wanted one last image of what it might have looked like.

We located this car just forty miles away in Trenton…

Amazing, Mark, I was born and raised in Trenton.

Really? Well we found this car in a garage behind a crumbling house. Interestingly the garage opened onto the alley and the old man who built the garage had installed a turntable to simplify getting into and out of it…

Mark, you’re not going to tell me that garage was located in the eight hundred block of South 16th Street, are you?

Well, not entirely. It was in the 800 block, but of South Fifteenth street!

Unbelievable. That was old man Paige’s house. I never saw that particular car, but I remember a coupe he owned—probably a Model A. All the neighbors considered him a strange old fellow. I don’t think I ever spoke to him, but I remember watching him come and go while perched in the cherry tree in my grandmother’s backyard. What a small world!

Dude, this is an omen, drawled Phil, What are the chances?

Anyway, Mark continued, "when Dad and I found it he had just passed away and his daughter was desperate to get things cleaned out. All she knew was that the car had not started for years. The top was rotted and the entire car was filled with mouse turds and nests. We just got there at the right time and before the real vultures. Dad was a real charmer, and he managed to convince her to part with it for $7,500 in 1996 dollars. I now feel pretty guilty about that price, but we just couldn’t afford much more. She agreed and we used that turntable to get it out and onto our rollback.

We brought it back here and blew it apart to get rid of the rodents and their housing! It was a real mess. We sold the engine and transmission as well as the wheels to a guy in Tuscola. Shortly after we began the bodywork, Dad was diagnosed with lung cancer and the treatment simply took all his energy. The car has been sitting in pieces until today. I have had a couple of inquiries online, but I really would like to keep this car local if possible.

…and you’re asking twelve grand?

Yep. I should not have told you what we paid for it; should I? We did do the bodywork on the shell, but not the fenders. Remember, this is a real Deuce roadster with a legitimate VIN number. Some guys are willing to buy only the VIN tag for not much less than that.

Well, I dunno. Phil, do you have any questions?

Phil shrugs, but still seems to be looking over the kit with a glazed expression.

OK, Mark, let me give this some thought. There is an awful lot of work to be done—work I have very little experience at. I’ll have to sleep on this.

No problem. I would like you to have the car, let me promise to call you if I get any other serious inquiries. We might be able to negotiate the price a bit.

Thanks. I will get back to you tomorrow evening at the latest. See Ya.

Bye.

Phil and I got back in the roadster, fired it up, and delicately headed back onto the road. He was silent for a while, and then finally spoke up. It was like when E.F. Hutton speaks, people listen.

I think it’s a great opportunity, Terry. In a way, you have ‘history’ with the car; maybe could have even seen it when you were younger. The body is solid and I believe they did the major bodywork quite well. I know you have never tackled anything like this, but I would be glad to help. It would be fun to help finish a real father-son project. I never had that opportunity with my Dad either.

Phil, my dad could have done this, but he would never have let himself get into something so frivolous. Moreover, my mom…she would have had a conniption fit over the very idea. She would never have allowed a disassembled car in ‘her’ garage. Furthermore, she would never have ridden in a topless car. Man, it would have been great to work with him on it though. I felt like those parts had a soul, and that soul was whispering to me to take it home and make it right. I feel strangely compelled to buy it. You know me; I’ll probably spring for it tomorrow.

Just don’t wait too long, dude. He was right; some fat cats would pay about twelve grand just for the VIN number.

OK, I need to look through some catalogs and get an idea what the total would be for the required new parts. I would still need to have the paint and upholstery done professionally. Do you really think we can handle the rest of it?

Sure, and we can always get others to help. It’s really pretty simple.

Phil, I can’t even weld. Welding has always seemed like magic—like the key to making hot rods. How long do you think it would take to make me an acceptable welder?

Well, now that might be a problem. I looked over to see Phil stifling a guffaw at the thought of his joke. I have all the equipment you would ever need, and I can do the critical stuff for you.

Hmm, I just might take you up on this offer.

* * * * *

Chapter 2: Wish Books Galore and a Restless Night

We both knew I was hooked. We drove back to Mendon silently. I thought I noticed Phil humming a tune as we drove. Finally, I could contain myself no longer.

Phil, I’m going to buy it.

Now you’re talking. You can’t go wrong. Even at the full twelve grand it’s a steal. I feel sure you could resell it tomorrow for a tidy profit.

Well, Phil, you will be hearing from me soon.

I am at your service. You’ve got my number.

After dropping Phil off at his garage, I drove home and immediately called Mark. As was my habit, I didn’t even haggle over the price. I promised to bring him a cashier’s check on Monday. It was time to start making the grand plan. I have always been good at planning—even if not so good at the actual execution. I have a history of over-designing my projects.

For example, there was the deck I designed while still married. It wrapped around the side and rear of our small ranch-style house. There were no ninety-degree corners to be found. Furthermore, the flooring was to run at a forty-five degree angle to the sides of the house. Oh, and the entire thing was to be constructed on a steeply sloped lot. I drew up a fantastic set of plans. When I finally realized I did not have the skill to construct such a behemoth, the professional contractor I hired complimented me on the quality of my drafting abilities.

Then there is the full-basement model railroad I am building in my current bungalow. Progress has been non-existent for the last five years as I ponder how to suspend the second level. However, I digress.

Surrounded on the couch by a stack of catalogs, I began to visualize just what I wanted to do with this roadster. For a rodder who once stated he did not want a deuce roadster, I was getting terribly excited about building a second one. This time not only was I going to do most of the work myself—even if it might require the multi-talented Phil Pope to supervise the trickier aspects of the build—I was determined this would be a traditional hot rod. This car was to be one that I might have constructed as a young man in the sixties. However, for this project I will spend whatever is necessary to build the very best roadster I can.

Having read about hot rodding nearly all my life, I have general notions of how to proceed. If I were to buy the Paige kit, I would have all the sheet metal parts to construct a roadster, but about the only other usable pieces would be the chassis or frame, the dashboard, the top frame, and assorted hardware items. The rest I would need to locate and purchase from the aftermarket.

As I start thumbing through the Summit Racing and Speedway Motors catalogs, I felt an ominous sense of déjà vu. I remember a Christmastime, probably about 1950, when my dad and I were sitting on the very same chairs currently occupying my kitchen, and looking through the latest Sears’ Christmas Catalog. We were looking at the latest in Lionel trains. I recall how young my dad looked then. There was a twinkle in his eye (he had only one eye remaining, the other having been lost in a bullwhip accident when he was a teenager) and a smile on his lips.

Lionel trains were not a part of his childhood. He grew up during the Great Depression on a hardscrabble farm in Southern Illinois. Despite tales of rolling a DeSoto and scaring the bejesus out of my mother by popping the ball joints of a ’34 Chevrolet, I had never actually seen my father indulge himself. However, we did spend a long time poring over the latest items in that catalog. We made no decisions that I can recall, yet I remember feeling very content during that evening.

Tonight, I am alone (not technically alone, I guess, I do have my black cat, Auto, perched on the arm of the couch) and poring over several catalogs from the burgeoning street rod industry.

Previously I had skimmed through the two bibles for confirmed street-rodders—Summit Racing and Speedway Motors. Both were very comprehensive, but necessarily short on specifics. As the evening progressed, I made a trip out to the garage to select several additional catalogs from more specialized manufacturers. Although I have been entirely a checkbook enthusiast, I know what is available and where to find it. I started sorting through the pile although I was not sure just what I was looking for.

There are several choices for a basic, traditional ’32 Ford frame. For some reason I have kept the catalog from The Roadster Shop, but I am still very dissatisfied with their work on my current roadster. I really don’t need something as trick as the performance-oriented chassis from Art Morrison. So, I focused my attention on the many variations offered by TCI. I have always liked their company name Total Cost Involved, as I never seem to actually allow for the total cost in ordering from other manufacturers.

TCI’s frames are primarily traditional, yet completely boxed which means the C channel of the frame rails has been completed with additional metal to form a complete rectangular shape. Boxing makes the frames much stronger—and is one of the tricks of early hot rodders as well.

Their illustrations include, on page 43, the picture of a red-painted frame with a traditional dropped front axle and, on page 44, another illustration of a yellow-painted one with a modern, Mustang II-based independent front suspension. Just as my dad and I did years ago, I pored over all of the detailed specifications for both. I prefer the handling potential of the IFS to the simpler straight axle front end. As I pondered my choices, my aggravated, and aggravating, enlarged prostate called me to the bathroom. When Mother Nature beckons, I respond—and quickly.

When I returned, I picked up the catalog to continue my shopping. Funny, it is open to the picture of the red, straight axle frame. I could have sworn I left it open to the yellow frame not the red one. Interesting. I continue to read about the traditional setup, but it just does not seem like the kind of performance I prefer. After all, the current roadster has Heidt’s independent suspensions front and rear and it is a blast to drive. I have even run it in several of the low-speed autocrosses offered at some of the Goodguys events.

This time I bent over a corner of page 44 and set it aside for future deliberation. Just to be sure, I also closed the entire catalog so there could be no accidental page turning. My first decision had been made. I needed the independently sprung frame illustrated on page 44.

There are still several decisions to be made that will affect the details of the frame. One of them is the choice of engine to power the car. My current roadster has the ubiquitous small block Chevrolet engine with a five-speed Tremec manual transmission. It runs cool, sounds good, gets good mileage, and can be repaired anywhere by nearly anyone. That seems like a good idea for this car too. I love the Ford V-8 in my Falcon, but I have heard of many problems associated with squeezing the stock Ford oil pan into old frames. Since I plan to do as much of the work as possible myself, simpler seems better.

I am convinced that I want to stick with the manual transmission. In fact this will make the third (or fourth if you count the one shipped to me in the roadster, but without any fluid, by The Roadster Shop) Tremec I have purchased in the last few years--about time to get a frequent buyer’s discount.

Moving along with my shopping, I opened the Summit Racing catalog to the appropriate sections and folded back the pages for the SBC crate engine (page 126) and the TKO-500 transmission (page 211). The rear axle will be a 9-inch Ford with disc brakes. I can order everything from TCI.

Now all I needed to complete a rolling chassis is a set of wheels. Of course, there was no real decision to be made. My current roadster has American Racing five-spoke wheels (fifteen inch in the front and seventeen inch in the rear), and it looks just right. I would let Mendon’s Smith Tire recommend a set of Michelin radials to create the proper Big’s n Little’s look.

I thought I had done well for one evening’s shopping. I had picked out a traditional, but roadworthy rolling chassis, a dependable drive train, and polished rims with modern radial tires. I carefully closed the catalog and looked at all the folded over pages. This is the way real men shop. Tomorrow I can go online and place my orders.

Oops, I guess I have decided to purchase the Paige roadster after all!

As I removed my glasses and got up to go to bed, I could not get the mental image of those old Lionel trains in that Sears catalog out of my head. While I have no memory of the actual trains we might have looked at—and read all the details about—I do know we had no money to place any orders that night. I do believe, though, that somehow Santa had been watching