tired of it or you find a new project you want to tackle. Don’t put your sweat and elbow grease, let alone your heart and soul, into fixing up or rebuilding a car just because it’s free, it’s there (and you drove it through high school, or whatever), or because it was your uncle the priest’s, your father-in-law’s, or your grandfather’s. I’m guilty on every one of those counts. I know what I’m talking about. And I still have my grandfather’s free, 4-door sedan (that I drove through high school) to prove it. I put way too much work into it. And I’ve tried every way I can think of to sell it, with no results whatsoever. It wasn’t what I wanted in the first place. I don’t like it now. I don’t want it. But it’s too nice to donate to the Salvation Army. And I wouldn’t get much of a tax break for it, anyway. It’s got a beautiful, show-winning paint job. But it’s a hundred dollar saddle on a ten-dollar horse. You’re not listening are you? I can tell you’re not.
Here are some examples of ones that should have been fixed up, starting with some close to home. When I was in high school, my dad bought this ’47 Chevy convertible from a co-worker, in decent shape, for $50 because he wanted the wheels and tires. I gave him $50 for the rebuilt engine. Then he parked it on our ranch (as seen). A few years later he sold it to someone for $50, and I spotted it at a swap meet going for $350. No rust, no dents, all there—but we weren’t into convertibles in the ’60s. Sigh.
I nabbed this ’32 Tudor sedan for $900 because it was too good to pass up. It had lots of surface rust, inside and out, but no real cancer; it was surprisingly straight; and it came with rear fenders and an extra floor (behind car). This was a very restorable car but, again, I had no place to keep it. A friend let me store it on his property, and I collected swap meets parts when I found them, cheap. After several years I hadn’t touched it, and someone made a ridiculous (low) offer and took it to Sweden. I won’t admit the price, but the grille, hood, firewall, and gas tank were worth much more than he paid (not counting the quickchange rear axle). I just hope it finally got built.
Hey, it’d be great if your grandfather—or uncle the priest—drove a ’57 T-Bird and willed it to you, even a clapped-out one. That’s definitely worth fixing up. But not aunt Meg’s 4-door Corvair, or the family ’75 Suburban, or much of anything else made in the ’70s or ’80s, for that matter. There are exceptions, of course, which price guides can help you understand. But if you want to put a whole bunch of hours into fixing up some 4-wheeled stray dog primarily because it has “personal attachment” (or, worse, just because it followed you home), fine. Just plan on being personally attached to it for a long time. If you really do love the car, for whatever reason, and you really do plan on keeping it indefinitely—go for it. Give it the personal attention and loving care only you can.
I got this ’62 Grand Prix convertible from a college friend for $100. I rebuilt the radiator and heads, and did the little bodywork it needed. It had the good wheels and all the trim. But I had nowhere to keep it. So I rented a little compressor, painted it light blue primer, and tried to sell it. No luck. So I gave it away. Ugh.
I saw this convertible at a swap meet. If it were just a ’67 Fairlane ’vert, even apparently complete and running, it probably wouldn’t justify the $4,500 asking price. But this is a GTA with a “numbers correct” 330-hp 390 big block. Yet, that’s Midwest road-salt rust showing in the wheelwells, so you know there’s plenty more you can’t see underneath.
This is a ’36 or ’37 Ford Tudor body I saw at a swap meet in Kansas. Even if it were a ’32, I’d question trying to save this one. As it was, I didn’t even ask the price.
For example, here’s a ’55 Olds that looks straight, with only surface rust…until you start poking around down under the chassis, where the road salt has been eating it away. Not only do you have to deal with rust rot on such cars, but every nut and bolt down there has to be removed with a cutting torch.
More important and more serious is trying to assess the true condition of the vehicle you plan to spend some real time fixing up and painting. Since we’re concerned with the exterior surface here, we have to leave it to other sources (and your trusted mechanic) to determine its mechanical well being, but that of course should be taken into strong consideration. In the case of straight restorations, you must consider the rarity of the vehicle and the consequent availability (or unavailability) of replacement parts. In other cases, where originality doesn’t matter, one good option is to transplant newer mechanical components that are fresher or rebuilt, are readily available, and fit the chassis directly or reasonably easily.
Even on relatively new cars, like this Honda, this is the stuff to watch out for: big bubbles in the paint and holes through the sheetmetal, especially around wheel openings. This isn’t surface rust. It can’t be fixed by a paint job. It’s coming from the inside out, and like cancer, it will grow back if you don’t cut it all out and replace it with new metal. Is the car worth it?
Our concern is the exterior of the car. Check two things first: the originality and completeness of the vehicle, especially an older one. If the car still has its original paint job, even if it’s faded, chipped, cracked, or peeling, good. The worse the paint, the less the car costs. That’s a big part of the point here. But look closely to make sure it’s really the original color (there’s usually a “color code” number on an I.D. tag on a doorpost, but that’s hard to verify on the spot). If the car’s been repainted, you can usually see where masking wasn’t perfect, overspray got on non-painted parts, or areas didn’t get fully resprayed, such as under the hood, trunk, or wheelwells and rockers. Next look for areas that might have been touched up or spotted-in. If the paint is old, these areas might be shinier or a slightly different color. This is an indication that bodywork has been done. Then the question is: how much, and how well? If the panel looks straight (not wavy or bumpy) and fits properly, you can at least assume the job was done well. If so, such areas can be sanded and repainted without further work. If you can see ripples, waves, pinholes, bubbles, or grinder marks—or worse, if it’s already cracking or even falling out, you know it’s a problem area that has to be stripped of filler, cleaned, straightened, and re-worked. Also check the gaps and fit between body panels and parts such as doors, hood, and trunk. If any of these are uneven or
