Restoration

 I own a 1950 Plymouth Special Deluxe.  People are always asking, “What is it and what year is it?”  It is a beautiful automobile.  Another question asked is, “Can I take some pictures of it?”  Usually the photographers are women.  Young women, most often Hispanic, want their picture taken with it.  I tell them go ahead.  I do worry about their boyfriends.

Lots of men my age salivate and drool and have to see under the hood.  Young hot rodder give a thumb’s up, blink their headlights, or try to buy it.  I tell them it is not for sale then they offer a ridiculous low price.  I usually them that their will buy them a look or the offer might get you the wheels.  Old timers say, “You got a lot of money tied up in the car.”  Some will ask where I found it and bought it. 

As of this article, I have been driving the Plymouth over sixty years.  That’s right.  I started driving it when I was twelve.  Mama taught me to drive it.  Back then it had a flathead six-cylinder engine, a three on the tree shifter, and a clutch.  I can still hear mama fussing and sometimes cussing me when releasing the clutch and the Plymouth hopping and jumping.  

Trying to shift from first gear to second was even more exciting.  I kept trying to shift it up and going into reverse.  The grinding sound was loud, but momma was louder.  I knew how to shift our Farmall Cub tractor.  It was a stick shift on the left with the gears marked and moved a whole lot slower.  I eventually got the hang of and started driving it. 

The Plymouth has been in the family since 1957.  Mamma’s brother worked was a body shop in Brent, Alabama.  I never knew what Uncle Gerald did in repairing it.  I never found any evidence of a collision.  He sold to his dad, my Grandpaw Chapman.  It was baby blue, two-door sedan.  My fondest memories are Grandpaw driving the Plymouth to our house on Saturday mornings brings us groceries because dad was out of work, which meant out money and out of food.  The Plymouth was quiet and sounded like a Singer sewing machine running.

Grandpaw became disabled due to his age and could not drive anymore, and daddy bought the Plymouth from him.  Daddy drove it to work each day for a few years.  The Plymouth had approximately six-eight thousand miles on it when a rod started knocking in the flathead.   Daddy asked, “Do you want a car?”  Boy did I.  Hot Rod magazines tantalized and owning a car was dreams come true for this fourteen old.  You read that right, 14.

Plymouth behind me

We had used the Plymouth for everything one would use a farm pickup to do.  We hauled firewood in the trunk.  Pulled farm equipment and pulled logs using chains connected to the bumpers.  We used the bumpers push and pull a wide variety of stuff.  There were bent, gouged, and scraped.

I started driving the Plymouth to school, to the store, and to church.  I bussed football players home, drove girlfriends' home, and when I got a driver’s license, I drove it to work at Hiwassee Land Company for two summers.  The first summer I earned enough to paint the Plymouth crystal blue on honor of Tommy James’ song “Crystal Blue Persuasion.” I drove it to the prom with plastic over the passenger window.   The second summer I had rolled and tucked interior installed.

During the years between age fourteen and eighteen, I replaced the flathead with one from a 1953 Plymouth Coronet.  I replaced the transmission and rear end, never bought new tires.  I never had the front end aligned.  I bought old junk Plymouths for ten to twenty dollars and used the good tires from them or picked up good ones in trash dumps.

When I graduated and later married, I drove it to work.  I drag raced it when challenged.  The brakes were bad, and it would not start when hot.  We always had to push it a few a few feet, jump inside, push the clutch, shift in first gear, and pop the clutch.  When it rained, was foggy, or a rat peed on the distributor it would not start.  My hot rod dream was to build it up from the ground up. 

Back in July 2012 our house in Jemison, Alabama burned.  I was Director of Missions in Linden two hours away.  Angela, my daughter, had the fire department pull the Plymouth out of basement storage and away from the house before it completely burned.  That’s when I carried the Plymouth to Linden and started six years of restoration.

Because the Plymouth was so unfaithful, I had named her Jezebel.  After the fire and restoration, I named her Phenix in honor of the mythical bird that rose from the ashes.  Phenix has a 3.5 Dodge hemi engine and automatic transmission, fat boy front end, 9” Mustang rear end, four-wheel disc brakes, high end vinyl bucket seats, power tinted windows, chrome mag wheels and tires, and painted Porsche Meteor Grey.

A family heirloom

The Phenix is a conversational starter.  It is an opportunity to tell of God’s transformational power.  It is a display of how something can change when loved and given a new start.  That’s what God does with us.

Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new (I Corinthians 5:17 KJV)

Now for a little Bible humor:

What automobile does God drive?

Plymouth Fury - Behold, I will gather them out of all countries, whither I have driven them in mine anger, and in my fury (Jeremiah 32:37 KJV)

What was the official car of the early Christians?

Honda Accord - And when the day of Pentecost was fully come, they were all in one accord in one place (Acts 2:1 KJV)