For those of you who may have missed
the first half of this story, which, short of the guys
at Zurgable Brothers, could be just about everyone, let
me recap the story so far. I met my wife because she had
the same car as I did and she acquiesced to date me out
of hope of finding relief from ever mounting car repair
bills. The uniqueness of how we got together was always
a point of interest with our friends, and on her wedding
shower cake, Audrey's staff placed two Fiestas under a
logo of "It’s Fiesta time."
After years of faithful service, my
car died, and I got Audrey’s clunker and she got the
new car. (Go figure!) Last spring, the second Fiesta
began to show its advanced age and with the memory of
Kermit Glass questioning my nuclear engineering
credentials fresh in my mind, I threw all greed and
humility to the wind and sought out Phil May's help in
rebuilding just about everything mechanical in it. Phil,
as it turns out, taught Ford just about everything they
know about how to build and repair cars. He did a
flawless job on the engine, and even today, a year
later, I am reminded of his quality workmanship every
time I turn the key and the engine jumps to life and
purrs.
Now, finding someone to do the
bodywork turned out to be a little harder than I
expected. Over the years, the car had developed a good
case of rust. Some might even have gone so far as
calling it a "rust bucket." Most of my
inquiries ended with the suggestion that it would be
easier to start with a body out of the junkyard. While
they were probably correct, it just wouldn't have been
the same thing. I had set about to restore Audrey's
Fiesta and that was what I was going to do.
After being laughed out of just about
every auto body shop this side of the Mississippi, Paul
at Zurgable
Brothers suggested I go see John Wood,
who runs a small body shop just off Route 15 and
Stineweir Avenue. Now I liked John the minute I met him,
especially since the first thing he did was offer me a
bottle of good English beer. I sat patiently while John
began to evaluate the condition of the car, which is a
nice way of saying that he walked around punching holes
through its rusty skin. After about fifteen minutes of
listening to what can best be described as the sound
made by four ten-year-olds popping bubble wrap, John let
out a "Finally!" Biting his bate, I sheepishly
inquired about its location and, with a smile, he handed
me the car's license plate.
While the offer of the beer
definitely influenced my decision, I asked John to do
the body work for four reasons: (1) the body work I saw
in progress in his shop was impeccable; (2) his price,
like Mr. Mays, was a downright steal; (3) he didn't ask
if I was an abuser of drugs for wanting to fix a Fiesta;
and (4), most importantly, was the fact that the rear
axle had almost come off when he tried to remove the two
by fours which I had bolted to support the frame, so the
car wasn't going anywhere anyway.
In spite of its dilapidated
condition, John happily agreed to take it on, explaining
that 'Its a little known fact that we in the auto body
business are required to do pro bono work. The way I
figure it, this project should keep my quota in the
black well into the next millennium. Now understand, I'm
going to take my time on this," John said,
"while I specialize in collision repairs,
restoration work is good for the soul, and working on
this little car will be fun. Bring it back in three
weeks and I'll get started on it. By the way, do you
want that two by four, or can I have it?"
The following weekend I began the
long awaited dismantling of the car. Everything that had
not been removed for Mr. May, door latches, lights,
windows, bumpers, seats, and nuts and bolts of every
shape and size were removed, bagged, cataloged, and as
usual, promptly misplaced or carried off and buried by
one of our dogs. Three weeks later, as promised, John
was ready to begin work on the car. Before the real
restoration work could begin, John had to spend a fair
amount of time undoing years of my patchwork. The two by
fours were removed with great care, lest the car split
in half. The plywood upon which the seats had sat for
the past few years was removed with great difficulty,
especially since I had super glued it in place. Then
there was the fourteen gallons of Bondo...
John surveyed my car like a surgeon
conducting triage. "It’s going to get a little
ugly, there's a lot of rust that's got to be cut out, I
think it would be better if you didn't stay around and
watch. We'll call you when it’s in the recovery
room." And with that, John turned to his assistant
and asked for the turbo-powered metal cutting acetylene
torch and the jaws of life. And with that, I was out
there.
Under what can only be called a
craftsman's hand, John managed to successfully strip the
Fiesta down to the bare frame and all the rusted parts
were removed, which--I soon discovered--amounted to a
rather sizable portion of the car. Following the removal
of all unusable metal, John handcrafted a new
undercarriage and welded it to the six remaining inches
of the original frame. With the body now ridged for the
first time in years, John set about installing new
rocker panels, new rear fenders and a used hatch back
from a local junkyard. With the exterior again bearing
some semblance to the shape of a Fiesta, John turned his
attention to the interior, again handcrafting all the
metal work, including the floor pans, spare tire
compartment and trunk.
Every few days I would eagerly stop
by John's to see what could truly be called a
metamorphosis. While admittance was always a six-pack of
good English beer, it was always worth the price. Once
the course bodywork was done, the fine work began. The
car was hand sanded down to bare metal, years’ worth
of minor dents and dings were revealed and masterfully
repaired, and all the major body components, e.g., the
door, hood, and hatchback, were realigned to their
original factory specification.
Following extensive priming, the
actual painting went quickly and flawlessly. Before I
knew it, John had turned the rusty gold Fiesta that I
had despised for so long into a sleek, metallic, dark
jade green touring machine, or something to that effect.
Even Audrey admitted that the car had never looked so
good, even when it was brand new. I was astounded with
John's impeccable work. I was even more pleased when
John's bill was exactly what had been agreed to, even
though the scope and depth of the necessary work proved
to be much more than he had bargained for.
With newly painted car in hand, I
headed down to Quality Tire to have tires put on the
newly painted rims. Bob Mort took one look at the new
paint job and smiled. "I heard from Paul at
Zurgable Brother's that you were restoring that old rust
bucket of yours. Audrey still hasn't found the right
medicine yet to keep you under control, huh?"
Chuckling to himself, he disappeared into the back of
his store and quickly returned with tires he had
specially ordered for me. I gingerly handed him the
newly painted rims, which he handled as if they were
gold relics. "I hear Phil May did your engine work.
Good man Phil. You know I sponsor his son's race
car?..." As we traded jokes about Thurmont, Bob
mount and installed the new tires without a single nick
to the rims, a feat I've unfortunately been unable to
repeat.
Recognizing that the quality of the
work on the Fiesta to date had been exceptional, I
decided that I would go all out and finish the car
right. I figured what was missing was something that
would make the car rather unique, like the real wood
interiors found in Rolls Royce's. As I was plotting my
strategy with Joe Wivell, Jr. (who managed to keep a
straight face through it all), Joe suggested that I use
walnut, some scraps of which he had saved from a project
many years back. Under the watchful eyes and skillful
hands of Ed
Reaver, Emmitsburg's Premier Cabinet Maker,
the scrap walnut was quickly cut, glued edge to edge and
planed down to size. What had been raw walnut boards
days before were now beautiful walnut panels.
Following Ed's detailed guidance, I
set about shaping the panels to fit the inside of the
Fiesta's doors and then with the help again of Richard
Broadbent, they were finish sanded, sealed and
installed. I then removed all the original fake wood on
the dashboard and replaced it with the scraps that Ed
had thoughtfully saved for me. For the coup-de-grace, a
walnut stereo deck was also made and installed.
After spending a week tracking down
the hinges, bolts, and other car components that our new
puppy had carted off, I was finally able to finish the
reassemble the car. And, after some minor shakedown
problems (e.g., the windshield wipers flying off at an
inopportune time during a heavy rainstorm), I was
finally able to return the car to its daily duty of
transporting me back and forth to work. Needless to say,
Audrey was pleased as punch with the results. She even
managed restrain herself and not mention that my
original time estimate of two weeks had turned into five
months, and my original cost estimate for the total
restoration, upon which she had based her approval, had
been exceeded ten fold.
In the end, the car Audrey berated
Ford for fourteen years ago is getting close to 37 miles
per gallon and is humming along steadier then ever.
Following the tightening of the last nut and taping of
the last electrical lead, I sat down and wrote a long
letter to the current Chairman of the Board of Ford
Motors, reiterating the story you have just read. I
attached a copy of Audrey's original letter, and photos
of 'My' Fiesta, just so he would know "...the rest
of the story."
Michael lives with his wife Audrey,
and PJ, his trusty Jack Russell, on their farm southeast
of Emmitsburg, where he eagerly awaits the arrival of
Strawberry Daiquiri season.