When we left off, I had just bought my first-ever car – a 1967 Ford Galaxie 500 convertible in splendiforous (or maybe putrilicious) Lime Gold Metallic. My own car! If this was not Heaven, it was surely close. And it wasn’t a boring old Oldsmobile or Pontiac like the women of my family favored. It was a Ford that felt and smelled and sounded a lot like my father’s 66 Country Squire, of which I had been so fond. So, what does a guy with a brand new car do on a school morning? I mean a new car without a license plate. The only answer was to take a completely illegal drive to school. The “complete” kind of illegal adds the lack of a school parking pass to the lack of a license plate. Mom had already left for work, so everything was fine. Until it wasn’t.
I opened the door and slid in across the cold, stiff black vinyl seat. I inserted the key into the ignition, which was as close to the center of the dash as any car I had ever seen. I had dutifully read the manual and had pressed the gas to the floor, let up and then touched it lightly. I turned the key – “reh REH reh Vroooommm sputter die.” Hmm, didn’t do that yesterday. Well, it’s cold.
Not my car, but a dash panel that was identical.
I turned the key again = “reh REH reh reh reh Reh reh reh reh REH reh reh reh Reh reh reh reh REH reh reh” Hmmm. I stabbed the gas a couple of times. reh REH reh reh reh Reh reh reh reh REH reh reh reh Reh reh reh. Shit. reh REH reh reh reh Reh reh reh reh REH reh reh reh Reh reh reh.
True, it had given no sign of an intent to fire after the first sputter, but I was an optimist. Right up until the battery gave out. The only thing stopping me from being an optimist with the battery from my mother’s Pontiac was those Delco side terminals in her car. So I walked to school, and not in a good mood at all. That evening I walked down to see my neighbor/mentor Bill after he came home from work and asked begged pleaded for help.
I must digress to add a word about my early influences when it came to learning about cars. Throughout my extended family, people were only interested in cars for how they looked, what they represented, or whether they were reliable. My father had been schooled as a mechanical engineer, and if anyone had the ability to be a car guy it would have been him. Unfortunately, cars didn’t really interest him other than in the ways just mentioned.
Down the street was a neighbor, Bill Colchin. Bill’s older son and I met in a kindergarten car pool when we were both excited over our parents’ new cars – ours was the dark green 64 Olds Cutlass and theirs was the red 64 Studebaker Avanti – and we were best friends for years. Bill had a well-equipped garage and both an interest in and an aptitude for mechanical things. He was an outlier in our white collar neighborhood, as a guy who worked at the parts counter of a local auto parts company. He was also a Studebaker man who kept a handful of them in his extended family running for years, in addition to working on race cars, go karts, and anything else with an engine. He was a quiet and patient man who never seemed to tire of answering my incessant questions as I watched him do tune-ups, replace brakes, or make other repairs. As I got older Bill’s son and I (who had never attended the same schools beyond kindergarten) grew apart, but Bill was always there with tools, advice, and most of all, discounts on parts whenever I was lucky enough to catch him on duty.
My school system went from grade school to Jr. High school at 7th grade, which brought kids from multiple grade schools together. Dan was one of those kids, and he became my new best friend for years and years. Dan’s father, Howard Shideler, was another car guy. Howard had owned something like 50 cars before Dan and I started high school. Howard worked in industrial sales and was not as much into doing his own repairs as he gained the ability to pay other people to do them. But then his cars were rarely old enough to need much. Howard was more inclined than Bill to give unsolicited advice, but it always came with a knowing grin that said “I know what will happen if you ignore me, and prepare for a good ribbing when things go wrong.” I think both of these men enjoyed the attention from a kid who loved cars as much as they did.
I did not see my father on a daily basis, and I guess I had a real craving for good adult male guidance wherever I could find it. These guys, who were the only ones I knew with anywhere near their level of knowledge and experience about cars, had a couple of things in common. Bill loved his Studebakers, but he was also pretty happy with things from Ford and Chrysler (and even the right AMC, as was proved when he picked out a red Javelin AMX to replace his wife’s Lark VIII in 1972). Howard was a diehard (but realistic) Mopar guy who was OK with Fords as a backup. The one thing they held in common was an unambiguous disdain for GM-built cars. Bill didn’t like the way they drove, and neither of them liked that the company was usually too eager to skimp on things that they considered important in a car. Right or wrong on those points, these guys were my influences and are probably the two people outside of my family most responsible for who and what I have become. I came to owe each of them large debts that can never be repaid.
I also need to mention my friend Lowell. Lowell’s family was not so well off and his father did car repairs more out of need than out of any desire, and among the kids my age it was Lowell who had the most hands-on wrenching experience. Lowell and I became great friends too. He had been with me when I bought the convertible and we were always there for each other whenever either of us needed brakes, exhaust, or something else. There was plenty of that because he had two cars – a well-worn 68 Cougar and a 69 or 70 Jeep Dispatcher (a/k/a Mail Jeep).
Anyway, Bill came down to our house that first evening (in response to my anguished pleading) and looked at the FODD (Found on Driveway Dead). Really, this was sort of Bill’s thing, to help out clueless neighborhood kids with their cars. Actually, he kind of had to help, since he had given the thing his stamp of approval a couple of days earlier. He knew it couldn’t be that serious as nicely as the car ran when he test drove it for me. His immediate guess was an accelerator pump diaphragm, something known to fail on Ford carbs, which proved right. Although that proof came after nearly a week of evenings under my hood because the diaphragm had looked fine when he eyeballed it and went on to trying other things before going back to square one because there was nothing else to do – a situation familiar to many of us. The man was a saint.
From that time the car and I were inseparable and thus began the slow, constant improvement. Every spare penny I had went into the car. I bought a re-chromed back bumper (when that was the kind of thing you could commonly buy) and a junkyard taillight. A better plastic panel for the dash face. A better wheel cover than the one that was partially caved in.
My first dissatisfaction was the wheels. There was nothing wrong with the normal Ford wheelcovers that came with the car. Except that they were on almost every single 67 Ford on the road (and there were still quite a few of them.) The answer was in the Ford brochure – the “styled steel” wheel covers with the holes for exposed lug nuts. A dedicated search of multiple junkyards got me four decent ones, but I struck out on the two-inch deep chromed lug nuts, because all of the ones in the yards looked terrible. I gave up and made my first trip to the Ford dealer parts department, which resulted in a special order for twenty brand new chrome lug nuts, at a mere $1.20 apiece (plus tax). “Mere” was not the word I said at the time, because $24 was a lot of money for fasteners in 1977. But I liked the look so much better, so the cost was worth it.
My non car time was spent in school or after school in the high school bands (marching, pep, concert), where I was a not-great trombone player. Though I was not really dating then, I had a group of friends (male and female) I was close with. To the outside world I may have looked like a real player, given the way the girls in the band and the flag squad liked riding in a convertible when we had to drive our own cars to events. The outside world had no idea that, nerd that I was, my chances of getting to first base with any of those girls was close to zero. But I was OK with that because that Ford was my best friend of all.
I should have treated the car better than I did. I pushed the poor thing close to its handling limits as Lowell and I did things with our cars that nobody should ever do. Everyone says they want fairness in life, but in a completely fair world both Lowell and I would have ended up either dead or in jail from our stupidity behind the wheel. Many say that guardian angels do not exist. I disproved that idea multiple times in 1977 and 1978.
It was during one of our exploits that I got to experience brake fade. I had read about it, but had no idea that what it really was. It turned out to be where you stood on the brake pedal with both feet and your butt six inches off the seat while the vacationing drum brakes brought the car to a stop only slightly faster than if I had just put it into neutral and coasted. Well, that was scary as shit. I mean when you have to run a red light in the process because you know you have no choice.
But the Galaxie could come through in a pinch, like the time when Dan and I were driving to a favorite junkyard in Howard’s 73 Dodge Royal Sportsman. I don’t know why we had Howard’s van that day, but we did. It had just gotten a new water pump at the Dodge dealer, but it was the 70’s and it was a part that came through the Chrysler parts system, so, yeah. That was all we could think about when the van began to loudly and violently shudder like a jackhammer – for about 10 seconds until the new water pump committed a dramatic suicide and blasted steam and antifreeze everywhere. I called home for my sister to bring the Galaxie and my big, thick tow strap, and we hauled the dead Dodge across nearly the entire span of Allen County (including downtown Fort Wayne) to get it back to Dan’s house. Howard was there when we arrived, and he seemed pleased at our resourcefulness. Funny, decades later my own kids’ first thought was to always call me. But then again, they had a “me” around to call.
It (which never really had a name, other than “my car” or “the Ford” or “the convertible”) was not a fast car but it got amazingly good gas mileage with the tall rear axle (2:75, if memory serves) – I could top 19 mpg on the road if I kept the top up and my speed reasonable, and could easily hit 16-17 with more normal speeds. Neither the sluggish acceleration nor the 10-12 mpg around town was great, but I was a realist and dealt with it.
The car gave me very little actual trouble. I did shocks, U joints, brakes, tune ups, but not a lot else in 12,000 miles over two years. I kind of wanted a little more open exhaust system (a Hush Thrush seemed like just the thing) but the system was so good that I couldn’t justify pitching a perfectly good exhaust system to make the change. I had helped with exhaust work on Lowell’s Cougar and hated it, so I dealt with the adult-level exhaust note – which was extra pleasant from a Ford 390.
The author’s car, pre-repaint (when the passenger side was the only one that was really photogenic). The family 1974 Luxury LeMans is in the background. Photo editing thanks to Eric703
I did have to replace the hood, grille and right side headlight door when I slid on a slick street and rear-ended another car. Good old Garmater’s Auto Salvage came to the rescue with a Lime Gold 67 Galaxie 500 sedan that had just been given its death sentence despite its beautifully shiny paint. The result was a completely bolt-on repair (and a lesson on how not every mass-produced body panel fits the same way as the one that was originally on the car). The only place my car was rusty was in the rear quarters, and I tried to stay ahead of it with window screen, Bondo and spray cans of Dupli-Color. My repairs were workmanlike but would not be confused with professional bodywork. I tried coax a shine out of the decklid, but no matter how much I polished or what product I used (up to and including red rubbing compound) any faint imitation of a shine would disappear after a couple of days.
It never occurred to me that I would not own this car forever, so I got the old-but-not-yet-leaking convertible top replaced that next fall and by the end of my senior year of high school had decided that I was going to take the car to a body shop to professionally fix the rust on the rear quarters and paint the car. I still hated the color but didn’t want to have one of those cars a different color inside the trunk. And I will admit that thoughts about changing the color made me feel unfaithful to the car.
The body shop was one of the good ones, and I did what I could to ensure minimum cost and maximum quality, by undressing the car before taking it in. Every piece of brightwork or trim below the beltline came off so they would not have to mask. They had the car for maybe two months, which seemed like an eternity. The guy knew I had high expectations and they took their time, probably not making a lot of money on the job. When I picked it up I was stunned – it literally looked like new – most of my photos were taken after that major upgrade.
I put it back together and for the rest of the summer of 1978 I had the most beautiful 1967 Ford in northern Indiana. People would compliment me on it and I would smile and say thank you. Summer evenings with the top down were a joy as the burbly 390 hummed away under the hood.
I was preparing to start college in the fall of 1978 and knew that freshmen were not allowed cars where I was going. I knew that the car would be sitting out in my mother’s driveway. I also knew how many drops of blood-tinged sweat I had put into the body of that car and could not bear to splash through the salt puddles or worse, have some yahoo in an uninsured ’61 Biscayne slide through a stop sign into me.
Most people might have started thinking about a garage. But not me – the thoughts went in the direction of Garage +. Clearly, a second car was what I was going to need – a sacrificial everyday driver parker in the drivewayer for winter weather that would keep my beautiful convertible all safe and warm for the following spring. I found both the garage and the car, but things didn’t go exactly as I had hoped.
Nice looking car but what a rear over hang!. Better if the rear axle was a foot back.
Jay Leno told about how he talked his dad into ticking the “427” engine option box. come pick up from dealer day. Wah,Wah. “It sounds lIke NASCAR!.” It rusted out in 3 years..
“… but in a completely fair world both Lowell and I would have ended up either dead or in jail from our stupidity behind the wheel…”
Ditto. My best friend (also a Robert) did things in our family cars (his a ’57 FireFlite convertible, mine a ’61 Ventura hardtop) that would not normally be considered sane, especially with bias ply tires and drum brakes all around.
“… rusty was in the rear quarters, and I tried to stay ahead of it with window screen, Bondo and spray cans of Dupli-Color. My repairs were workmanlike…”.
Mine were not.
“… I got the old-but-not-yet-leaking convertible top replaced that next fall…”.
Just the opposite for me. The Chrysler’s top leaked rain and snow during windy storms, but I never replaced it.
“… to bring the Galaxie and my big, thick tow strap…”
In my case it was a thick manila rope that was from my father’s old cabin cruiser. It takes a lot of perfectly synchronized actions on both the part of the puller and the one being pulled to successfully complete such a task.
‘… The outside world had no idea what a nerd I was, my chances of getting to first base with any of those girls was close to zero…”.
Yea, I represent that remark. I was in the band too (clarinet) but when we marched at football halftimes all the girls were gathered around the big sweaty football players while I and my cohort performed perfectly executed marching synch… oh, forget it; maybe I’ll become a monk.
Fun read.
“The Chrysler’s top leaked rain and snow during windy storms”
You remind me that even with a new top, there were crevices where weather could intrude. I remember opening the door and seeing a small snow drift of maybe 6 inches long and a half inch deep on the drivers seat after a heavy blowing snow. And I quickly learned to stuff some of that clay rope into the area between the top, the windshield header and where the vent window meets them, or else I got constant icy flow-through ventilation in the winter.
Me being a career musician, it’s fun to read a bit about other CC-ers who did the high school band thing—even if the instrument might have gone into the closet at age 18. It’s a broad stereotype, but I think of teenage boys who take up clarinet rather than, say, drums as pretty bright and thoughtful overall—the kind who grow up to be engineers or that kind of stuff.
Interesting comparison there, George. 🙂
I, too, did the band thing in high school and quit at 17. When I graduated high school.
Ray Liotta and a garden hose comes to mind here…
“ I bought a re-chromed back bumper (when that was the kind of thing you could commonly buy)”
The brackets & frame mounts for the rear bumper on my green ‘71 Galaxie rusted through and the bumper nearly fell off. I took it the rest of the way off, but never replaced the bumper. Fortunately, for the general public, I only kept the car a few more months.
Is that shadowy vehicle in the garage ahead of your convertible an example of foreshadowing? 😉
“Is that shadowy vehicle in the garage ahead of your convertible an example of foreshadowing?”
Not really. That was my grandma’s silver 69 Catalina sedan. I am trying to remember why it was in our garage, and I think I remember she had gone on a trip for a few days with a friend, and they had met at our house and taken the friend’s car. The car gets a brief mention next week, but it was never a car I enjoyed driving.
The more I look at your beautiful Galaxie, the more I am reminded of how I thought about Fords back in my youth. There was something quintessentially “American” and solidly mid-century, middle class about them in their flat slab-sided understatement. Or at least that’s how I saw them. They just looked official in some way (presidential limos and constant viewing of Quinn Martin productions only reinforced that youthful belief).
There was also the fact that for reasons I’ve never understood Fords seemed to be forbidden automotive fruit for my family. My mother’s family, which had very strong brand opinions, favored Chevrolet, GM, and occasionally Chrysler (in that exact order of preference), but for some reason disdained Fords. In all likelihood, there was some longstanding beef with “that Henry Ford”…which would have been entirely bereft of factual basis, as is often the case with those kinds of opinions, and my mother’s family’s opinions in general. And once my parents were out on their own and I was around, it was pretty much Chrysler most of the time…Fords were never considered. Thus, I grew up thinking that Fords were for “other people” (I recall once in elementary school being shuttled to one of the “popular kid’s” birthday parties in his family’s Country Squire wagon), and government agents.
I love how your story is unfolding, and thanks for some insight into how the other half lived.
The long-standing beef with “that Henry Ford” could have indeed had factual basis. Ford was a staunch anti Semite that Hitler used as an example to sell his propaganda to the Germans in his rise to power. He was fiercely anti union also. Have you noticed how when Ford Motor company talks about their heritage, they mention the Model T? Never Henry Ford.
Henry Ford was a virulent anti-Semite who, in addition to running the Ford Motor Co., ran The Dearborn Independent, a local newspaper dedicated to anti-Jewish rants. He was a noted Nazi sympathizer during the thirties, openly professing his admiration for Adolph Hitler. After Pearl Harbor, when FDR directed the auto industry to cease domestic production and devote their resources to the war effort, Ford initially balked. He relented only after FDR threatened to seize the company. Hitler kept a framed photo of his friend Henry Ford in his office.
I know of Jewish families who to this day will not consider a Ford product due to Henry Ford’s Nazi sympathies.
Dave Z, the moderator of the allpar.com forums, still holds Ford responsible, even in some of today’s posts, for Henry Ford’s views 80 and 90 years ago. He will not consider purchasing a Ford.
It is interesting how families differ when it comes to car brands. My father favored Fords until he died, and my mother had never been anti-Ford, having grown up with a 1935 V8 sedan that her family had for an eternity. At our house it was Chrysler that was for other people. Other than a 55 DeSoto my grandma bought used after she was widowed (which I had never known was a ChryCo product at the time she had it) I cannot remember a single one on either side of my extended family during my lifetime until my college years.
One upshot about that shade of green being on so many ’67 Fords is you didn’t have to paint anything after your oopsie. I’m really trying to put a positive spin on the color.
You treated that Galaxie very well, making a lot of improvements in a very short time. Others who have owned Galaxies didn’t even do a fraction as much in a greatly longer span of time. Well done.
The Pontiac in the last picture has me curious. I shan’t ask any questions as I don’t want to risk ruining any upcoming chapters.
” you didn’t have to paint anything after your oopsie”
Your comment brings two thoughts to mind. First, it is amazing that after all of the crazy stupid stunts I pulled with that car, the only time I hit anything was on a winter night on the way home from work where I bumped the tail of a 71 or 72 Skylark, and left a dime-sized dimple in the bumper of that car. I recognized the teen-driver’s name as probably related to a woman active in city government. As an adult, he has been active in government and political interest groups. I run into the most interesting people. 🙂
The other thought is that I will never forget what a beautiful sight that donor car was at the junkyard. It was still parked out front of the office where it had been parked by its last owner, and had not yet been touched by the yard guys. I had to use a shim at one hinge I made out of some red-painted scrap in Howard’s garage where I made the swap. That was how I figured I would ID the car if I ever came across it again.
As for the Pontiac, I mentioned that in the response to PRNDL’s comment above.
Somebody didn’t have Kodachrome in their camera… 🙂
Yes – if only I had known.
But fortunately, photo editing software can correct our oversights from days gone by:
Ooooh, nicely done sir! I will replace my old photo with your new and improved one.
Glad you like it! I’m far from an expert on photo editing, but if you have future photos you’d like me to take a try at editing, just let me know.
Incidentally, I think the Lime Green color doesn’t look too bad on the Galaxie, but I think it looks very good on Mustangs. I took this picture of what I believe to be a Lime Green ’68 Mustang a few years ago:
Very good editing. The next few weeks of Saturday COALs have some edited pictures taken about three days after dirt was created and the editing was done via Apple’s photo software. Not nearly as good as what you have done.
I just have Photoshop Elements, which is a good – well, elementary – package for doing things like editing photos, etc. Even though it’s not considered pro-level software, to an amateur like me it seems more than adequate.
I recently went through old family photos my parents had that I had never seen because they were on slides, or negatives without the associated prints (from mostly 1950s and 60s). All of the Kodachromes look like they could have been shot yesterday, whereas Ektachromes had mostly turned monochrome red and white. Some were on a non-Kodak competitor called Anscochrome which still had their colors but less vivid than Kodachrome. The negatives were mostly B&W from the ’50s and prehistoric for me. Early Kodacolor prints (not available in 35mm until 1961) have that faded, grainy look that everyone tries to get using Instagram or VSCO filters nowadays. Their negatives hold up better than the prints themselves. Polaroids look almost like paintings to me.
When I was a kid I assumed Ektachrome must be better than Kodachrome because it was more expensive and also faster (higher ISO) so you could take indoor shots in brighter rooms without flash, which meant using up flashbulbs in those days, so I rarely shot Kodachrome (fortunately, more modern Ektachrome formulations seem to have much better archival properties, though we won’t know for sure until decades from now). Then, like many others, I abandoned slides for prints in the 1980s. Now we have digital photos, which theoretically can last forever without degradation, but only if you frequently copy them to your new phone or storage device, update the formats, and such. How many of our photos and videos are wasting away on floppy discs, VHS tapes, and obsolete hard drives?
I hoped to find a photo of my parent’s old black 1953 Chevy that I’ve never seen, but didn’t. A few slivers of our 1960 Falcon peeking out from the background that was the oldest family car I was around for, but not the whole car. Nothing of our 1971 Plymouth Cricket that replaced the Falcon and went to the junkyard five years later. Lots though of our ’66 Polara wagon that looks weird to me all shiny and new, since I remember it only as a faded old (but reliable) jalopy.
I’m enjoying this series so far, well-written and for me, especially relatable, as I am just a couple years younger and spent my elementary school years in Fort Wayne.
That 1967 Galaxie 500 was a real looker and yours appeared to be in good condition. It seems the 1969 and later Fords developed major rust much faster than models of this vintage. I remember a neighbor’s otherwise handsome 1971 Country Squire rusting through not only the rocker panels but the top of the right front fender by the antenna post in less than 2 years, at which time we moved away.
Thanks, William. Yes, that famous Ford Rust really got bad. But it was tricky because the cars had not been any worse than average for several years, but starting with the 1969 models it got really bad within just a few years.
I think it was when I had this 67 that I recalled seeing a car parked outside of the place where Bill worked. You would probably remember Hires Auto Parts on Coldwater Road just south of Coliseum Blvd. They did service too, and I recall seeing a really rusty yellow 66 LTD 4 door hardtop. The right rear wheel was displaced to the rear by maybe a foot. I asked Bill about it and he just shook his head in amazement, saying the frame had rusted. That was the first time I ever heard of frame rust that bad. And these were the cars that were terrible for it. I always figured that mine being a convertible may have used a heavier gauge of steel, but that is just a guess.
A friend’s family had two 1969 Ford Country Sedans, and my father’s cousin had a 1969 Ford Galaxie sedan, until the early 1980s, and none of were especially rusty by the time they were sold. (They were not worse than competitive models from that same year, and Pennsylvania had fairly strict standards for rust as part of its mandatory annual inspection process.)
Given that Ford had installed the e-coat process at some plants, and some Ford models were built at more than one plant, I often wonder if the car’s rust resistance depended on the plant where it had been produced.
I believe that all 1967 Fords still used the fully boxed frame, and it’s my understanding that those frames would sometimes rust from the inside out.
Always enjoy your posts JP, life long Fort Wayne native here. My best friend in high school introduced me to the Ford frame rust phenomenon with his 68 Galaxie hardtop sedan. It was a beautiful Turquoise machine with the black vinyl roof and torquey 390. He bought it cheap. The frame was rusted through and cracked underneath the drivers rocker panel. Going over bumps resulted in extra thumps from the frame hitting the bottom of the body. Unsafe? Probably, but we had big fun in it until he traded it for a ‘71 Javelin.
PS. Hires was just NORTH of Coliseum. Can remember many hours waiting in line to reach the parts counter there on Saturdays- all the while listening to the phone ring that no one would answer.
Doh! Of course Hires was north of Coliseum. It has clearly been too many years since I have lived there.
Your comment About the lime gold green metallic color suggested a certain ambivalence. I did not realize how much I liked it and or it was imprinted on the until the 2005 Mustangs came out in nearly that same color. I haven’t researched it but I suspect there was a early hot wheels painted in a similar color and I also clearly recall my matchbox mercury cougar in a darker metallic green. Suffice to say when I saw that color I felt “ Where have you been my friend?” It’s on my near term plan to pick up a late 2000sish Gt 5 speed in same.
The Matchbox Mercury Commuter station wagon, which was based on the 1968 model, was also metallic lime green.
For the ’05 Mustang that was called “Legend Lime” and it was especially nice on the GT coupe with the polished aluminum wheels that looked like de-chromed classic Cragars.
Another Matchbox in Mercury “Lime Frost Poly” was the ’77 Cougar Villager wagon.
More good stories, I’m loving this .
-Nate
This is going to be a treat every Sunday morning. It’s great to have a lot of the details filled in from your previous comments and such; sort of like having that rust repaired in the body repainted of your lovely Galaxie. It enhances the appreciation.
Isn’t drum brake fade wonderful? The last time it happened to me was in the F100 with a full load of household stuff and a loaded trailer when we were moving from CA to Eugene. It literally wouldn’t come to a full stop on the side of the freeway on a long downgrade when I had to pull off. I thought I was going to bend the brake pedal hanger.
“I thought I was going to bend the brake pedal hanger.”
We shared the same optimistic thought – If only I could put more pressure on that pedal, the brakes will work. Uh, no.
The discussion here sent me to the Wikipedia page about brake fade, since I was curious how friction somehow can fail to slow a wheel completely if the brakes get hot. There I read:
“Recent studies have been performed in the United States to test the stopping distances of both drum brakes and disc brakes using a North American Standard called FMVSS-121. The results showed that when newer compounding of friction materials typically used in disc brakes is applied to drum brakes that there is virtually no difference in stopping distance or brake fade. As the United States changed its FMVSS-121 rules for Class Eight trucks built in 2012 to reduce stopping distances by about 1/3rd there was no recommendation to use either drum or disc brakes in the current law.
Newer drum technologies and turbine cooling devices inside of these drums has also eliminated any edge disc brakes may have had in heavy duty applications. By installing brake turbines inside of a specially configured drum, temperatures are many times cut in half and brake fade is nearly eliminated”.
Whoa, this is news to me. Is “disk brakes are better” one of those obsolete notions I should drop just like “body-on-frame cars are quieter” or “front drive=torque steer” or “turbo V6s aren’t as reliable as V8s”?
I’ve been somewhat aware of the issues of drums vs. discs in HD applications, but I’m not at sure that these developments would directly apply to automobiles.
The HD trucking industry has a very strong motivation to keep drums as they provide compatibility with existing fleets units, both tractors and trailers. IIRC, disc brakes would require different braking pressures, and as such would be incompatible to existing drum fleets.
In Europe, discs in HD trucks are now ubiquitous, but they operate their fleets differently, with the tractor and trailer generally always staying together as a unit. In the US, trailers in large fleets are constantly being dropped off and interchanged; hence the industry’s aversion to moving to discs. Presumably these changes in HD drums were instigated by the brake suppliers to allow the industry to stay with drums and also have improved performance to meet increased govt. standards.
I seriously doubt we’ll see a reversion to drum brakes on passenger cars and light trucks. The existing investment in making them very cost effective and perform with the automotive ABS/ESC systems, which are all integrated in all modern cars, will almost certainly not be changed, and it probably wouldn’t be any cheaper, even if it could.
This is a great series. Our neighbors had a 1967 LTD hardtop sedan, which was a sharp car. Convertibles of any make or model were rare by the late 1960s and early 1970s. This car was thus quite a find. Your mother’s Luxury LeMans (complete with fender skirts!) was also not a common sight, as the Colonnades were much more popular as coupes.
I also remember doing foolish things in my father’s 1973 AMC Gremlin, which had lousy drum brakes and nose-heavy weight distribution. That back end would break loose without warning even in light rain, let alone snow!
You remind me of a story I once told on my blog about a series of stoplight drag races I got into with some dude in a Gremlin with a 304 and a stick. Neither of us was able to beat the other before I had to break it off.
https://jpcavanaugh.com/2020/11/20/my-short-career-in-street-racing/
Eric703 could have probably taken care of that rust on the other side for you as well… 🙂
That snippet of the Luxury LeMans in the driveway picture really foreshadows the styling of that same section of the 1991 Caprice 14 years ahead of its time, it’s uncanny.
What a great looking car (yours I mean). I’m still trying to figure out the analagous modern day counterpart to it for a high schooler…maybe a fifteen year old Mercedes E or CLK -something convertible? Or probably just a ten year old Yukon with 22s to get the comparative en vogue – ness right…
That is a really great question – what would the modern analog be? I have never really hit on the right answer. Maybe a high-trim mid 90s Ford 4×4 pickup?
That Luxury LeMans was a car with a style I really came to love. Cutlasses and Centuries (and Malibus) were everywhere, but these were not. That one with the skirts and no vinyl roof was sleek in the way not too many cars were in the mid 70s.
Another post which highlights the geographic and cultural differences across our great country. I’m a few years older than Jim, in California, but can’t recall many friends from high school on, who owned a full size American car. Lots of imports, Mustangs, a Chevelle, a Satellite, a Corvair, a Dart, a Gremlin and a Matador. Just one college classmate had an immaculate and mildly modified mid-60’s Chevy, and that seemed like such an anomaly; our peer group of mechanical engineering students all thought it was kind of weird. But I think if his Chevy had been a convertible we all might have loved riding in it. A great story of life and cars, and looking forward to many more.
I won’t argue that the big cars were the most popular among my age group – Mustangs and Chevelles were the hot ones. But a lot of parents had bought them, so a lot of kids drove them as hand-me-downs. I grew up riding in mid-sized cars and always looked at the big ones as “full flavor” where the mid-size was “Lite”. 🙂
It certainly highlights the differences between America and Australia at that time. There was only one kid I can think of in my senior year who drove a car to school. For the rest of us it was walk, bike or bus.
Your stories about your friends and their families who shared your automotive interests got me thinking.
Throughout my equivalent high school years, I had a few friends who shared my interest in cars, though none had much mechanical interest – and neither did any of my friends’ fathers. My own father was perhaps much like yours, with an impressive mechanical aptitude, but he preferred things like construction over auto repairs, and his temper kept me from wanting to work with him much (one of my biggest regrets in life is not dealing with his temper and learning from him anyway).
Regardless, it’s interesting to read how your friendships (both friends and their families) shaped your future automotive interests.
Also, regarding all of your body work and repainting, I remember quite a few dents that my first car came with. I was lucky because a friend of my folks own a body shop, and we sent my car there a few times for dents and painting work. Like you, I assumed that I’d own that forever. Plus, I loved just hanging around the body shop watching cars get repaired, and to this day that unique body-shop-smell (of bondo and other stuff, I presume) is one of those odd scents that brings back pleasant memories for me.
Oh yes, I always loved that body shop smell!
How did Fort Wayne fare during the winter of 1977-78? My wife and I were newly married at that time and living in the Indianapolis suburbs. That winter was infamous for the amount of snow received, including the Blizzard of 1978, in which 15 inches of snow fell, but high winds produced drifts several feet tall.
We had no garage at our townhouse, and the engine compartments of both of our cars were filled with snow during that event. (Better than the MG across the parking lot, which suffered an interior full of snow.)
“How did Fort Wayne fare during the winter of 1977-78?”
The blizzard in early 1978 was epic! I think we got something like 17 inches of actual snowfall and the wind caused drifts many times that. That last picture shows the front of our house with the low part of the roof all across the front. We faced east and had a drift all along the front that was within a foot of the gutter line, so that we could not see anything but snow out any of the front windows. We got both cars in the garage that winter and it was a good thing. I think we were out of school for a week, which was unheard of at the Fort Wayne Community Schools of the 1970s.
The 390 actually is a nice sounding engine. This past week, I installed a steering rack and hoses in my dad’s ’88 Mustang. Well, the first 10 or so years of that car’s life was spent as my mom’s year round commuter, and I had some issues with that old devil rust and the job spilled into day two. Anyway, to get to the point, Dad drove my T-Bird home, and I listened to it drive away, something I don’t normally do. After a long day of fighting his car, I thought that my old T-Bird sounded pretty good.
Enjoying the is COAL immensely, and really getting “your it’s my first car, and I want to keep it, and keep it well” vibe.
But 2 tons (?) and drum brakes? Quite!
While in our world, even a lowly Morris 1100 had front discs.
The American makers were definitely slow in adopting disk brakes. Ford to its credit was ahead of Chrysler, and both were ahead of GM.
My first car was a ’70 Galaxie 500 sedan in a very similar green. Never learned to like the color. Fond memories, bias ply tires, drum brakes, throttle linkage that would stick open. My Galaxie was short lived, but to be fair it was pretty well used up when I bought it from a relative for $100.
One of my neighbors in our little town in Ohio had a beautiful 1967 Galaxie fastback that was his daily driver. It was gold with a white vinyl top and the white (vinyl) interior. He had that car until his passing in 1978 and it held up rather well for it’s age in Rust Country®. He was a WWII vet, a steel worker and sadly, a raging alcoholic. I think at the time of his passing the car only had 40K miles on it, as all he ever did was to drive from his house, to the mill, to the bar and then home, rinse and repeat every day of his life. I never knew what drove him to this behavior, because when sober, he was a hell of a great guy.
At the time of his passing, his nephews (he never married) took control of the house and property. Our families were friendly and I thought about approaching them about the car, but the family had already disposed of the car by the time I inquired. It could have been my first car and it would have been glorious.
Hey George, glad to see you. Isn’t it funny how we remember certain cars owned by random neighbors when we were kids. My memory like that was the elderly couple down the street who kept a black 59 or 60 Buick until they either moved or died, I forget which. It was certainly into the early 70s.
When I owned my 67 there were still lots of these on the roads, and I remember a long streak when I started counting to see if it was still at least one per day wherever I went.
A great series JP – a worthy reason to look forward to Sundays! In high school I had a friend who had a 1966 Ford 7 Litre. It was fun, would hold a bunch of us teens and reasonably quick. I always liked the mid 60’s FoMoCo full sized line up. Between his 7 Litre and my mom’s Mercury Park Lane, they seemed like well built vehicles to be used for teenage terrors. We too should have been killed or jailed for the bias ply smoke that trailed the cars.
I’m glad that Im not a teen again, and I’m glad to live vicariously through your adventures.
Thanks Ed – It was probably a good thing mine was not a 7 Litre or I might have succeeded in killing myself. Fortunately I wised up.
A little late to the party here JPC, but wow, what a beautiful big Ford. After owning one of those, it’s no wonder you weren’t a fan of my own first car, also a big Ford. (The ‘73 LTD about which I was reminiscing when I found CC so many years ago when I found your post “Bring on the Bloat”. ;o)
I always wanted a big Ford convertible, having fallen in love with a ‘72 LTD in my area.
One way I can relate here is our ages are nearly the same, as I graduated in 1978. I think I’m a year younger. While not in the marching band, having that big comfortable Ford was a blessing (and a curse due to its terrible gas mileage) with always being volunteered to drive my friends around, many of them female with which I had nearly zero chance of getting anywhere. It was always fun, though.
Great series so far Jim… looking forward to more from both you and Jason!
Wow, a 1973 car was practically a new car in my eyes in 1978. My mom’s LeMans was a 74.
I think it is a fair statement that my time with the 67 kind of ruined me for the Fords of the 70s. Where mine came across as lean and relatively athletic (as athletic as a big Ford could get anyway) the 73s really lost me. Your car was surely smoother and quieter, but I would not have traded. And yes, having a big car seemed to make us the drivers when a bunch of friends wanted to go somewhere. 🙂
Great series and looking forward to the next installment. The day I turned 16, late 1967, Dad took me out of school to get my drivers license and handed me the keys to his 1963 T-Bird. Perhaps because I had been missing the morning school bus for months and I had talked him into buying a 1966 T-Bird a year earlier when he thought he wanted a new mustang. First day driving to school, two blocks from home, downhill on a little dusting of snow slipped into a stop sign. My life was over! Upon close inspection not a mark on the car but the stop sign no longer facing the correct direction, Drama over, I drove on knowing everybody in the neighborhood knew they should stop at that intersection regardless if the stop sign was indicating falling objects should stop. Months later in the school parking lot turned a corner to sharp, rubbed a post putting a dent in the door. My life was over! After school myself and two car buddies tried to fix the dent but no match dealing with dent repair on the thick steel used on cars in the ’60s’. As it happened Dad was out of town until the next night. That next night i picked up three school friends and drove to our local drive-in which had a large circle driveway with hundreds of mostly young GI’s with fast cars parked facing the circle of autos just cruising. Back story: This Vietnam period, in a military town, mostly young GI’s with fast cars would hang out at this drive-in and Dad banned me from going there (however myself and school friends were well know there especially my T-Bird.. So I am doing the slow circle drive and then a young GI, to many beers pulls out of parking hits my drivers door. Everything comes to a stop, someone calls police, city police arrive, see my car has Air force Officers tags, car hit me had Army base tags, city police call military police, military police see officer tags on my car, track down my Dad and get him out of bed. Dad arrives at the drive-in about 1:00 (at the drive-in Dad told me not to go), city police, military police. The damage to my T-Bird door was at the same spot I had slightly dented the day before, but more extreme. My Dad talked to the young GI, talked to city and military police and arranged no charges would be filed as long as the GI got a ride home. Dad even paid for a cab to take my three friends home. My Dad was exceptional, he kept a young GI from going to jail for a stupid mistake, he never mentioned I was someplace he told me not to be at, he repaired my 1963 Bird.
A few years later, home from out-of-state college, Dad borrowed my 63 when his 66 was in shop for a tune-up Dad wreaked my 63, he then gave his 66 Bird. Months later he borrowed my 66, wreaked it
It was only days before I had to return to an out of state college. Dad gave me a blank check to see his friend at a Chevy dealership. My instruction’s were to not go nuts and not buy a Camaro. So I bought a 1970 Nova SS 396 only because I lost my T-Birds.
Dad and I joked about this purchase for decades My Dad grew up during the depression, he wanted his children tp have more.
Perhaps based on my history I now have a restored 1966 T-Bird conv. and a late model Camaro. Think my Dad would enjoy my current autos.
Wow, getting a late model TBird in high school – that would have been great. Well, less great when I went to high school because it would have been a 70s TBird, but you know what I mean.
And you really got lucky when someone hit your door right where you had already messed it up.
The 67 Ford is the most beautiful car of the 60’s in my opinion. My Dad had 2 of them. Both 2 door hardtops.