Not that I'd ever pimp it out someday, but yeah, it's worth some money for sure.
In college, I drove my friend's older brother's car. She had it on loan, but hated it. I wanted to buy it, but the brother's b*tchy fiance sold it at auction for about 1/4 what I was willing to pay, me and the other interested party. It was a 1971 (or poss '70) Challenger with the 340. It was great to drive.
I had $200 and the farmer wanted $250 for it. I was 15 years old, just turned 15 as a matter of fact, and I gave the guy my $200 and a friend took me home to beg for the other 50. My dad wanted to see the thing before he gave me another 50 bucks. When he saw it he was in another world, transported to the days of his youth. He agreed to the loan of $50 and we hauled that thing to our garage.
My dad knew I wanted to make a custom hot rod out of the 'A' but we talked about it. He wanted to fully restore it to factory new quality with a USAAA certificate (United States Antique Auto Association). The more I thought about it the more sold I was on the idea.
One year later that car was perfectly restored and registered with the USAAA, and that's a hard registration to get. My dad and I got very close working on that car, as did my uncles and a few very good friends.
The day I took my drivers test for my first driver's license I took it in a perfectly restored 1929 Ford Model A Tudor Sedan, complete with shining chrome spare fender mounted tire and a real leather motor trunk. Two days before my driver's test I waxed (hard Simonize) that car and polished every inch of him (His name was Fernado Ford, I liked the Latin influence). The day of that test I was ready.
My friends had told me what a horse's butt these guys could be, so I studied and studied, and practiced and practiced. The day of the test my "testing officer" came to get me after the written portion was done. We very coldly walked out of the building where your "vehicle" was to be parked in 3 reserved places. A '59 Pontiac, a 52 Ford and Fernando. My dad came out with me and just stood there. The guy asked me which "vehicle" was mine, when I pointed to Fernando his eyes got bigger that a moon pies. He reverently walked around it, stroking the finish and smiling (something that these guys didn't do very often). He asked my dad for the title and registration for the car and my dad said, "Sir, my son owns this car, and it's insured in my son's name. Skip, give the man the papers". The man was more than impressed. He asked me if I had done the restoration and I told him that it was a group affair but I knew every inch of that car and I could repair anything if need be. Again, he was impressed.
During the driver's test the man was in a state of grace, I swear. He gave me instructions on what to do, but he was totally enjoying the ride. He became a poet of sorts during the "test", that had now turned into a joy ride for him. He observed, aloud, that the Model 'A' was a perfect automobile, functional, beautiful, simple, and durable. As we were out for a full hour, I didn't mind (the average driver's test in those days was about 30 minutes), as long as he wasn't writing on that terrible "clip board", and he wasn't.
When we got back to the License Bureau he and I got out of the car and he instructed me to come into the building and take a seat while he graded my exam. My dad was out waiting for us. The man stopped short and turned and said, "I didn't hear a horn, do you have a horn"?. I replied, "oh yes sir, we have a horn", and I blew it. Arrrruuuuugaaa, arrruuuuuuga, came the sound from my beautiful beast. His eyes lit up and then quickly narrowed again. "That's fine", he said, as we walked into the building.
The next thing I knew I had my driver's license and my Ford all to my self. I drove my dad home, gave him a hug and I was off to the drive-in for a little "show off" time. And I did show off. You see I kept Fernando a secret for a whole year while I was working on it. My friends all thought I'd be driving my mother's Opal Record when I finally got my license. Fooled them!
At 58, I'd like to do that all over again. Anybody know where I can pick up a '29 'A', in bad shape?
I used to have one just like this. I'm going to get another one. I need my Vette back.
It was often said that the lead sled had more rust than new cars had steel to start with, and it was true. If you got on the roof of any car from the modern era, and jumped up and down, you'd have ended up with a crushed roof ... if you tried that with *my* car, you'd just end up with sore ankles.
I went to school in Canada, and one night, on my way back to Waterloo from Toronto on the 404, I'd picked up a couple of hitchers, and I'd just said "Not too much breaks that I can't fix (as I reached over the seat to pat my large Craftsman toolbox).", when the green beast made a terrible sound, as it swallowed a broken piston.
I discovered then that in Canada, Pontiacs had been built with Chevy engines, so there were no Pontiac 389's to be found.
I ended up buying a small-block Chevy 350, and spending two and a half weeks at a junkyard where they thought it was really funny that this young American was determined to get the old green tank running again, with this unlikely engine swap.
Actually had to fabricate a driveshaft, from the front half of the Chevy and the back half of the old Pontiac one. The transmission shift linkage was also a bit of a challenge.
One of the motor mounts (had to do them from scratch too) ended up breaking loose from the frame the first time I punched it ... a visiting "professional" had done the welding ... and was later repaired by wrapping metal chain around the mount and the frame member and welding each link to the next and to the frame.
It was quite an adventure for me, at age 18.
my 22 year old has been driving his late grandmother's 88 Celebrity ... after reading this article, I've told him he's a trendsetter ... and at least he's not in debt for a set of wheels.
I thought of you when I read this article.
I'm going to have to keep an extra close eye on my car, now that I know it be a "scrayper". No wonder the young gangstas in my 'hood look at me strangely when I drive around.
Newsflash to Detroit WE WANTED OUR FATHERS OLDS!
The newer cars were a disaster. Saying "this is not your father's olds" was like saying we eliminated the cool.
Sigh, then again I like musclecars.
When men were men, cars were cars, and women were grateful.
With all the $$ you save buying an old "land yacht" car and on the price of the repairs/parts, you can afford to buy gasoline!
I was doing some work for an elderly lady back in the 70's and happened to take a look in her garage. There sat a 1947 Packard Clipper on blocks. I bought it from her for $500, changed the oil, put in some gas and a battery and drove it away. What a tank!