I bought this old truck about five years
ago. I was getting some
Mexican breakfast food at a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant in a run down
part of town. Across the street was a building that looked like it had at
one time been of an automotive purpose. There were several guys standing
around under the garage door opening. Inside there were
several contemporary cars in various stages of semi-professional type
body work. Off to the left I
saw and old gray hulk up on a frame rack. That is what lured me in.
I walked up and said "good morning" to the apparent proprietor. When asked
about the old truck he said I could look at it. I walked around to the
front and opened the hood with a bang and a creak. I climbed up on the
rack and peered into the engine bay.
It was a flathead V8!
Instantly I was aroused. Yes, almost that kind of arousal.
I had wanted an old truck for some time. An old truck with its original
flat-head V8
was almost too much to hope for. There was no bed or rear
fenders. The front fenders where just hanging on by two bolts each side.
The body had all been sandblasted and coated with cheap lacquer primer.
There was no steering wheel, shifter, air-cleaner, bumper, visor, radio or radio
blanking plate, exterior trim, side glass or vent windows. I asked if it
was for sale. The proprietor told me that it belonged to a one-time client
and that he would set up a meeting. I left with visions of driving up to
the local cruise night in my shiny vintage pickup with the flat-head V8.I got a call several days later that a meeting had been set up. I was instructed to bring cash. I arrived the next day to again find a group of individuals milling about the garage door entrance to the building. A not very attractive woman wearing inexpensive flashy clothes several sizes too small was among them. She was eating a pop-cycle in a rather suggestive manner. There was a fellow who looked to be in his
forties wearing older dress clothes. His shoes were of black leather and
the type you might see on a fast food franchise manager in 1968 Chicago.
He was dancing. There was no music in the building. He was not
wearing a headset. He had his arms bent at 90 degree angles and he was
slowly moving his feet back and forth to some wave-length that only he could
pick up.The proprietor was there with another woman who I learned was the owner of the truck. It was revealed that her late son-in-law, a drug dealer in life had started the restoration. I inquired about the bed and other missing items but what I saw was all I was getting.
I got the truck back to the shop and then it hit me. I'd violated several of the automotive-pro rules: 1) Never buy a project with missing pieces. 2) Never buy someone else's disassembled project. I didn't just have AA*. I must have full blown FF( Flathead Fever). How had I done this? Somehow the story of how the flat-head V-8 was born came into my consciousness. You probably know the story: Henry Ford wanted a V-8 engine that was economical to manufacture. In order to do this the cylinder block needed to be produced in just one casting.
When he told his engineers what he wanted they responded in unison,
"Impossible!"
Mr. Ford responded,
"Do it."
Suddenly I was inside the mind of each of the top engineers of America; locked inside a secret laboratory, day and night they toiled, with one phrase reverberating inside their heads,
"Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it."
I looked at the people assembled and said,
"I'll Do it!"
