My father was trained as a mechanical engineer in Finland before immigrating to Canada in 1928 because of he language barrier like most Scandinavians took to the woods for a livelihood.
Through his education and work had a very interesting mix of company knocking on our door, we had a welding blacksmith combination shop and most people coming wanted something either welded or machined.
Outside the shop there was what most would call a scrap pile, in actuality this was our inventory. Folks without the means to pay for a repaired item would bring something useful to add this pile, our chicken house long in disuse was full of small engines that would require more $$ to fix than they were worth the customer would abandon these as scrap but all were saved for parts.
At age 8 I received my first motorcycle an old Villiers, since my father worked away from home during he week I had to learn how to do my own repairs if I wanted to ride.
One day a neighbor brought over an old Chevy that he had changed the bearings in while the engine was still in the car by removing the oil pan and dropping the crankshaft. While the crank was down the timing gears became detached causing them to be out of time.
I was like 10 years old and wanted to tackle the repair, pulled the vibration damper off then removed the timing cover putting the timing marks were they belonged. Asked the old man for some money for a gasket when he points me to a roll of tar paper felt and says make your own.
I've been tapping out my own gaskets ever since, these days I have to proper hammer, it called a pinking tool a small ball peen weighing a few ounces.
Back to the car, after I got it running the engine lasted about a week before a connecting rod let go, the neighbor could have used some lessons on keep the work area clean and proper torque specs along with the right bearing clearances.
This is the first car if many to cross my path as a youth as each one died it was pushed to the back corner of the property were a large collection begun to gather, you would have thought these things were breeding on their own.
Age 12 I buy a 47 Hudson from a neighbor, no matter how hard you drove this car you could not kill or maim it. I remember this car very fondly, it measured 22 1/2 ft bumper to bumper.
The battery never had enough charge to start the car, so I would turn on the ignition out the car into first gear then push start it with the tractor then hop off the tractor to run after the car as it idled away from me. Yea I could run fast back in those days.
Now at 14 years old I have quit a collection of cars and engines strewn about the yard when a friend of my dads shows up one day with a pick up. He decides to teach me the merits of scrap, we load up his truck and he takes me down the the scrap yard. I'm in awe with the amount of junk plus the fact they paid me money for mine.
Someone actually wanted these engines with seized pistons and blown connecting rods. Like wow my father saves all this stuff when he could be selling off the junk in the coop.
The 47 Hudson is like the one I owned, mine was Burgundy. I moved away from home at 16, when the old man called up a scrap guy to clear the yard there was 37 cars. I was really pissed that he sent my Hudson to the scrap yard.
The woman Aida Fox beside my father, this is her 104th birthday, father is 86 years old.
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Originally Posted by injunjoe
Thanx for sharing Gus!
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