My Motown Mopar Story

My name is Steve Legel, I live in metropolitan Detroit, and I am a car guy. If it’s OK with Bad Mirada, I’d like to share my experiences with you.

When you grow up in Detroit, in the 1960's and go to high school in the early 70's, you can’t help but be a car guy. I cruised Telegraph and Woodward in my buddy’s yellow 351 Mach 1. Half my uncles and both grandfathers worked among the Big 3. As an independent business owner, I have felt the fortunes and demise of the domestic auto industry and its intimate relationship with Michigan’s economy.

My first car was an 11 year old 1965 Plymouth Belvedere I bought from my dad’s uncle for $25.00. Its workhorse 318 had over 97,000 miles in it, as the speedometer had not worked for the past few years. The car came with a list. Monday put in oil, Tuesday put in air, Wednesday put in water, Thursday put in gas, drive over the weekend, start again on Monday. Rust holes had been covered over with tape and painted with Sears Weatherbeater white, a close match. The driver’s door handle did not work. You had to get in and out through the passenger side and slide across the bench seat. My great uncle was very frugal, and when the passenger side wiper blade gave out, he did not replace it. The resulting scratch arched across the windshield an eighth of an inch deep.

It was on this car I developed my affection (or affliction) for auto restoration. I used window screen and bondo to fix the rust holes and used my uncle’s air compressor to spray a runny metallic brown paint job. I took the driver’s door apart and found the clip that connects the linkage and the door worked well after I reconnected it. One summer Sunday afternoon, as I was returning to my dorm at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, the speedometer sprang to life. A friend had totaled his Cougar, and I took his black leather bucket seats, drilled holes in the floor boards and bolted them in. I applied woodgrain contact paper to the aluminum dash. Another talented friend helped install an FM Converter and wired a single speaker in the rear seat package tray. I painted the meshwork of the grill satin black, leaving only the prominent cross pieces in stainless. How was I to know the 2006 grill on the Magnum and Charger would mimic my creativity 30 years later? One battery post was cracked. I found that if I packed aluminum foil into the crack, the post would wedge enough to make contact inside the battery. I remember well my summer of painting garages for cash, “Steve’s $60.00 scrape and paint special”. At the end of one such long day, my Belvedere would not start, and I had no more of my stash of foil under the seat. I knocked on the door, and asked the housewife (they had those in 1972) if I could borrow some foil to start my car. She in turn offered to just give me some foil if I would show her how I used it. With her watching over my shoulder, I retrieved the blackened, oxidized old foil from the post, rolled up a snake of foil and with my screwdriver, packed it down inside the loose terminal. I turned the key and the 318jumped to life

I drove that car through high school (class of ‘74), college and part of Dental School a the University of Detroit. I replaced it in 1978 with a blue over blue 1972 318 Dodge Challenger. Before being hooked on the back of a scrap yard tow, I sold my buddy’s leather bucket seat ($50.00), pulled the starter, wheels and tires, and received $35.00 for the scrap metal I drove on parts of my 65 Belvedere used on my 72 Challenger for years to come.

The 1972 Challenger was a simple car with auto trans on the column and carpet over the trans tunnel, between the bucket seats. Stock hubcaps, and plain gas cap. I did some rust repair on it and had it painted at MAACO. When the power steering and water pump went bad around the same time, I sold it off, and drove a series of reliable, sensible used cars through Dental Schoo

 

Fast forward, after dental school, establishing a practice, married with a first born, and my desire for a special car resurfaced. A project car 1955 Thunderbird came my way. Far more severely gone than my '65 Plymouth, I saw in it the potential reborn. Held together by only the transmission hump, my Thunderbird Blue '55, became my tuition car as I learned the ins and outs of restoring a Classic Thunderbird. Once bitten, but not satisfied with the outcome, I sought a better raw car to restore. That is the car featured here.

This Dusk Rose 1957 Thunderbird (orignally Willow Green) was advertised for sale as a rust free California car. I was eager to build a true show car and having experienced the frustration of the rusty 55, this seemed to be a perfect project. The car was indeed rust free, and to its credit, it did have a black California license plate in the trunk. As I stripped the many layers of paint and body filler, it became apparent why the car was rust free. Every body panel had been replaced in whole or in part, at least once. Once stripped, I counted no less that 18 times the car had been hit. There is a body man in heaven who had sculpted so nicely the blending of imperfectly aligned body panels on this car. The car was completely disassembled, body left bolted to the frame. I spent 3 years preparing the car and enjoying the quiet personal time tinkering away, and the sense of accomplishment seeing each part come back to life.

Tha amature restoration is 10 years old. The body panels do not line up perfectly, the doors are hard to open and close. The hardtop remains disassembled. The engine is not original. The laquer paint is showing cracks and pops. The chromer ground out the rust, and the bumpers are wavy. The engine, brakes and gas tank need overhaul. It has, in its time, been persnickety to run.

Yet it is a head turner, and always a show stopper when I take it out. This car has atteneded the Revvin' with Ford Charity Previews at Woodward Dream Cruise, the Thunderbird Unveiling Day at Ford World Headquarters 2001, the Ford Centennial 2003, and recently the St. Ignace, Michigan Antiques on the Bay show, featuring Ford Thunderbird 1955, 1956, 1957. The car shows well to passers by. I think driving it as an open roadster (and yes, I've been caught in the rain) welcomes folks to take a look. The Dusk Rose color is popular with the ladies, and they always tell me they "love my car". When parked with classic Thunderbirds belonging to other members of our local American Road Club, I immediately see that other cars have straighter lines, crisper dash, more recently detailed engine bays. Yet, it is my car that folks take photos of. At the Ford events, I routinely invite folks to sit in the Thunderbird, and I'll take their picture with their camera. Thunderbirds make people happy!

Life goes on. My family grew, so did my dental practice. My Dad, also a Dentist, retired from the family business. I had purchased some other classic cars (59 Chevy El Camino and 1970 Dodge Challenger RT/SE 440 Magnum). I had purchased commercial buildings to store and restore the cars, as well as establish a full-blown working shop complete with hoist, welders, sandblasters and engine lift. I can talk the talk and walk the walk. In the mean time, priorities changed and working on the cars was sidelined. In its place came collecting Thunderbird memorabilia and its inadvertent fame.

In 1999, a patient of mine, who does commercial video work was freelancing at the Detroit Auto Show. He was given one of the original 1999 Thunderbird concept press packs, which, he in turn, gave to me. I started collecting memorabilia pertaining to the new Retro Thunderbird with a passion, and never looked back. In 2000, Mike Lamm was commissioned to write a book about the history of the Thunderbird in anticipation of this new generation auto. Unlike previous books, Lamm's effort focused on the dev

 

RESURRECTION CHALLENGER

It was a small ad in the Detroit News that caught my eye. “1970 Dodge Challenger, 440, orange, and a phone number.” On one hand, the brief ad described a car I had wanted for 24 years, on the other my building was crowded with projects and my list of unfinished tasks was long. I clipped the ad and set it aside. The small clipping haunted me for two months. One day, curiously, I dialed the number. A woman answered. She did not know any details about the car, only that they still had it and yes, it was still for sale. I left her my phone number and told her I was in no rush. A few minutes later, her husband, Mike returned my call. We spoke a bit. Mike assured me that the car was a gem, that he’d been working on the car, that it was an early build with a double data plate that had been decoded by Grovier himself. From his description, the car sounded “just right.” His small rural Michigan community was far from home and inconvenient for me to go for a look. We left it at that. More than a month later, I had occasion to visit Lansing, Michigan, and would be passing close enough to look at the car, if it was still there. When I called, I learned that the Challenger was still available, that there had been no other calls, and he had been hoping I would call back.

At the agreed upon time, I met Mike and he pulled aside the large sliding pole barn doors. Indeed, there sat an orange Challenger. It’s grill was askew, the vinyl top tattered. It sat deep in the dirt floor, the right front tire was flat. Still the Challenger was clearly muscular with its belt line kick as sassy as ever. His description of the car had not been untruthful, it was however optimistic.

He had worked on the car from time to time, taking off the door handles and draining the fluids. It sat nearly axle deep in the dirt floor of the pole barn. Rust was everywhere, the upholstery in shreds, the windshield was cracked. There was no way to tell what worked and what did not, every component needed attention. There was however the RB 440 stuffed into the K member and 2 data plates riveted to the inner fender. We haggled over price. “Do you know what this will be worth when it’s done?”, he asked. “Yes, and I know what it will take to get it there,” I countered. “I’ll cut it up and sell it for parts ” He screamed. “You can’t sell a broken windshield or a bent hood.” I explained. I offered to buy the block and the data plates if he threw everything else in for free. “Get off my land ” he exclaimed. “It’s been for sale for four months, I’m the only looker and the only offer, there is no one in line behind me,” I countered. A deal was struck with the stipulation that I’d move the car within a week.

Arranging a tow, among my car buddies was an easy task. But actually moving the Challenger was another altogether. Mike was supposed to arrange some friends to help push the car out of the dirt and onto the trailer. At the appointed time, Mike and crew were replaced by his wife carrying her newborn infant son. Mike had instructed her not to let me touch the car or have the title until she had the money in hand ($2,000). I counted out the $100.00 dollar bills on the fender, and she produced the title and keys. With her baby in one arm and her purse over the other she took a position, her hand on the trunk, ready to help push. Thoughtful, yet ridiculous.

Together, Jay and I wrapped a heavy chain around the Challenger’s underbody and to the hitch of Jay’s truck. The aging Challenger groaned as it lifted out of the dirt and creaked into daylight. Car guys do dumb and unsafe things and live to tell about it. We had no winch to pull the Challenger up onto the trailer. Compounding the Challenger challenge was the flat front tire and 500 pounds of dead engine weight. The property there was on a hill side, the driveway on a steep slope. We decide to position the trailer at the bottom of

 

Welcome to the site, Steve! I didn't read through all of that but I also have had a passion for cars ever since I can remember.