Tinkering With Old Cars

By John Dalton

The last thing the state trooper said to us was, “You boys got two minutes to get this junk off my highway!”

It all started a week earlier with a phone call from my high school buddy Ron. He said he had blown the engine of his 1950 Plymouth and need help making repairs. I went right over to his house.

There was a replacement engine lying on a sheet of plywood next to the car, and we were to somehow lift out the old engine and drop in the “new” one. Yup! Heck, those engines only weighed a couple of hundred pounds. Three trees would form a tripod base for the block and tackle to hoist the engines out of and into the car.

We began stripping the engine of accessories like hoses, pumps, wiring, etc. That done, we then chopped down three poplar trees and lashed them together near the top with a length of twoinch chain and also added a large double pulley.

Hey, we were all Explorer Scouts and knew how to set up tents and shelter frames. Voila—an engine hoist!

At dark, we stopped and discussed what had to be done next and some minor tech stuff like the fact that the new engine was from a 1952 Dodge. Ron’s car mechanic/advisor had assured him it would fit just fine when he bought the engine. We knew the first problems would be locating the engine mounts to line up with the car frame holes and even more critical, the alignment and fit of the clutch assembly.

The next day, we removed the old engine via the hoist in less than an hour. Ron lay under the car to disconnect the clutch and engine bolts. Fortunately, none of his fingers were crushed or broken. Now, you have to realize that this was a straight six-cylinder, manual stick shift engine without an oil cooler, air conditioner, pollution control equipment or seven computer chips.

We then reversed the process on everything we had done and installed the new engine. After some troubles with the clutch assembly, we achieved success. Miracle number one. We began adding accessories, hooking up wires and hoses, adding oil and fluids.

The third afternoon was spent checking and rechecking hookups, clamps, nuts and bolts. Everything seemed to be perfect. Miracle number two.

Miracle number three was that the tree hoist didn’t break.

Ron checked the gear shift and clutch numerous times and was happy. Then, he got the itch. The three of us—with smiles hiding our fear—all agreed.

We added a couple of gallons of gas, about 44 cents worth in 1959. The car started up and sounded sweet. No oil leaks. We threw the hood on top of the car. Lacking any clamps to hold the exhaust pipe to the manifold pipe, Ron tied an oily rag around the connection.

We drove to a nearby intersection with a four-lane divided highway and took the car for a spin. Man, we were excited.

But there were a couple of surprises in store for us. At about 45 miles an hour, the hood suddenly began to rise, and then it flew up over the car and skidded along the highway upside down. It eventually stopped on the side of the road without hitting anyone or anything behind us.

Next, we began leaving a trail of heavy smoke as the oily rag caught on fire due to the hot exhaust pipe. Ron stopped the car, got out and began pulling away pieces of burning rag from under the car.

We didn’t notice the state trooper until he asked if we needed help. Ron said we had a rag caught up under the car. The trooper looked at the car decked out completely in black primer and no visible hood in place and asked how far we were from home. Ron told him we were a mile from his house.

That’s when he gave us the two-minute warning. We picked up the hood the next day. Enough tinkering with cars for one day.

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John Dalton lives in Powder Springs, GA.