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MY FIRST CAR by Mat Hurwitz
When I was 15 I
worked part time for my Dad in his repair shop. He was a used car
wholesaler and had a staff of mechanics, upholsterers, and detail men
to recondition the autos he and his buyers brought in to be resold to
small retail dealers from all over New England and New York.
He
used outside shops for body repairs and engine and transmission
overhauls. I was an apprentice mechanic.
One of his
mechanics, a young southerner with a thick drawl had a 1939 Ford
Standard Business Coupe. I fell in love with that car. It was jet black
and in very good original condition. I nagged Leo relentlessly to sell
it to me and eventually he relented. I paid the princely sum of $250
for the treasure. I planned to restore, repaint, reupholster, and soup
up this car so that it would be ready for me to drive legally when I
turned 16. I could drive when I was 15 but only ventured out onto the
roads illegally whenever I thought I could get away with it.
Now
I had a dream: to own a fast “sleeper”, a car that looked stock but
which would command the respect of the local Hot Rodders. I went about
restoring and modifying the car. I obtained speed equipment catalogs
and sent away to shops in California, the Hot Rod Mecca for
ideas
and parts. I installed a pair of Edelbrock high compression cylinder
heads, a Weiand dual carburetor intake manifold with a pair
of
Stromberg 97 carbs, a set of Belond exhaust headers, which fed into a
dual exhaust system with appropriately loud low-loss Cherry Bomb
mufflers. I also bought many chrome plated goodies including air
cleaners, head nut covers, a generator cover, a crankcase breather cap,
and spinner hub caps. The engine compartment looked very professional,
I thought, and with its big hubcaps, whitewall tires and fender skirts
it made an impressive visual statement.
In time I had its
few dents repaired and got the car repainted in glossy black Duco baked
enamel. My Dad’s trim shop re-upholstered the interior with
red
vinyl: including the seat, the door panels, kick panels, and the head
liner. The car looked sharp and a road test, with Leo driving and
helping with a few ignition timing and carburetor adjustments,
confirmed that the car was very fast. I was thrilled.
It
needed one final touch: a pair of 6 inch spring-lowering-shackles to
bring down the rear of the car and give it a racy look. I jacked up the
car by its rear axle banjo housing and crawled under the car on a
mechanic’s creeper to knock off the stock shackles. When I succeeded in
hammering off the last one the car chassis and body fell with a loud
thud covering my face with many years of accumulated dirt which
temporarily blinded me. I was a skinny kid and the chassis stopped
falling just short of crushing my chest. I was embarrassed and
frightened and was pinned under my car unable to move my arms or legs.
I needed help to extricate me. One of dad’s mechanics jacked up the
chassis to let me wriggle free. I then received a stern warning never
to go under a car without jack stands under the frame for safety. I
never forgot that lesson and taught it to my sons at an early age.
Finally,
three months before my sixteenth birthday, the car was ready. I kept
track of every dollar spent on the project; $750 including the $250
paid to Leo. I wanted to test it out on the road but decided not to
risk getting stopped by a policeman because I knew that would prevent
me from getting my driver’s license. Finally the big day came. I got my
learners permit and took my mother for a ride. The car was fast and
accelerated faster than anything she had ever ridden in. The loud
exhaust tone almost drowned out her screams for me to slow down. I
relented and chugged along at legal speeds. Before I knew it I was on
my own; my car set me free.
The faithful ‘39 coupe took me
everywhere, to school and on endless joy rides. I joined the Tyrods hot
rod club. The car met with the approval of the members. My best pal,
Wally, was my constant copilot. Sometimes I’d let him drive. An intake
manifold vacuum gauge on the dash told us when we were making maximum
fuel economy and it dropped to zero when we were racing. I installed a
water injector which was supposed to increase the effective octane
rating of pump gas. The car attracted attention wherever we took it. We
won many (illegal) street races with it. It handled great. It never
broke down. I drove it all year round.
In time I sold the
‘39 Ford to Wally for the same $750 I had invested in it. I will always
remember my first car. Since those teenage years I have owned several
more sophisticated hot rods, all faster and fancier than that car but
that 1939 Ford Coupe remains my all time favorite for the memories it
gave me.
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