It’s been one week, and I honestly didn’t know for sure that I would ever write, let alone post, this one. I wasn’t sure what angle to approach this from since I didn’t want to convey an inaccurate viewpoint. I suppose at the end, it’s best to just write and not think. It just seems to be easier that way. I’ll go ahead and apologize again ahead of time for making this so lengthy (as well as a bit technical). As I’ve said before, I really don’t know any other way to tell a story.
Just about everyone who knew my dad knew his car. It was a 1956 Chevrolet Bel Air, 2 door post, hardtop. Two-tone baby blue and white with American Mags. Black tuck and roll interior, 350 small block and a newly installed 700R transmission. I go into detail because even as I type this, I like to picture it for myself. I could go on and on about the minute details; everything from the cracked speedometer lens to the factory radio in the dash. From the flip down tail light gas door to the blue interior dome light. I literally knew this car inside and out. It was, after all one of the more paramount possessions in the household. I know that probably sounds a bit over-the-top to some of you, but it’s the only way I can think to describe it. Besides, the car had a lot of history. In our family, classic cars are somewhat of a tradition.
I’m not 100% certain on all the details, but I’ll try to tell it as I know it. My dad originally acquired the car for $25 from a friend. I remember him telling me the boy he bought it from brought it home, and his father told him to get rid it. I don’t know how old he was, but I’m pretty sure he was in high school (for some reason 15 was in my mind, but I could be wrong). He made a variety of modifications to the car over the years. Early on, he made it into what was basically a drag car that he drove on the streets. He gutted the interior and installed two fiberglass racing bucket seats (can you see mom sitting shotgun in a fiberglass racing seat? It happened!), and installed a 327 with tunnel ram, a 4 speed transmission and headers. He also took the front end off, and installed a fiberglass tilt front end. The hood scoop had a meticulously painted Rat Fink on it courtesy of my uncle. I’ve only seen a couple of pictures when it was in this state, and I just wish I could have taken a ride in it back then. According to firsthand accounts of people who were lucky enough to ride in it, the thing was a rocket on wheels. He used to tell me he couldn’t just drive it to the grocery store and back or it would foul the plugs. It wasn’t just meant to be driven around; it was meant to be opened up, foot the floor and blown out. Sure, it was legal to drive on the streets, but it wasn’t built for that.
Later on he returned it to more of a daily driver. He put the bench seats back in it, a much more modest 350, automatic transmission and real metal hood/fenders. This is how I remember it growing up. Of course, it was still a hot rod, and always would be. I remember lying under the car, working on it with him and seeing that Thrush bird looking back at me from the glass pack mufflers. Any time we would take a ride somewhere in it, and then return home, he would give me a special treat after we pulled in the garage. He would rev the engine real high allowing the glass packs to “backrap” (or “Make it ‘backfire’ dad!”). It was loud, it echoed and popped, but it was the greatest thing in the world to a 5 year old boy. It just sounded like a race car.
As the years went on, he continually worked on the '56, turning it more into a classic car that could be driven around, and even taken out of town. I enjoyed watching, and helping, the car evolve. It became a car that he was even able to enter in a car show (I’m thinking it might have even won something, but I’m not positive about that).
Unfortunately, after dad got sick, the car lived in the garage. He did a little bit of work on it at first, but for the most part it just sat on jack stands with a car cover on it. He had a laundry list of plans for that car, but just never got around to it. As the years went on, the condition of the car progressively got worse. Oxidation set in and the tires started to rot. It was sad to look at the car in that state, but it stood for something to look forward to. Dad and I would sit there for hours and just talk about the things we were going to do to the '56, “soon”. It was often times a favorite topic while we smoked our cigars. I almost feel a bit guilty about the times he helped me work on the Camaro, but we never really did anything to the '56. I keep thinking that we could have been spending time on his car instead, but it’s not something I regret. In fact, one of my favorite memories was us working on the Camaro together just this year (*Deep breath* focus).
After dad passed, it was only fitting that my brother get the ‘56. I’m so excited that it’s been handed down to him because I know he has the means to complete the list of things dad wanted to do to it, and make it the car he envisioned. Not only that, but he’s able to provide a perfect home for the car.
One week ago today, we finally got the car loaded up to be taken to Arizona. I can’t really explain the emotions or thoughts I had that day, because I don’t really know if I had any. I wasn’t sad, but I was. I was happy that the car would finally get the care it deserved instead of continuing to degrade in the garage. Seeing that blue and white beauty out in the driveway without a car cover on it for the first time in years, I did feel a little sad, but it’s the end result I had to keep reminding myself. I’ll never forget hearing that engine rumble to life for the first time in close to 10 years. I couldn’t do anything but smile. As I climbed behind the wheel and took the short but satisfying drive up the ramps of the trailer, I couldn’t help but thinking dad was smiling right along with me.
Take good care of her, Greg. I can’t wait to come down and see the progress it’s making!
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