As far back as the first spark of auto enthusiasm for the American hot rod culture ignited, body shops and metal workers have been synonymous with the custom hot rod.

Finding myself smack in the middle of a good old fashioned one yesterday, I decided to chronicle that visit with this blog post. It seems to me that when speaking of a typical, old-time body shop, regardless of the skill set, experience or money involved, that auto fanatics everywhere sought them out like the Romans and Greeks sought out sculptors and painting artisans of their day.

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A little too dramatic of an example, you say? Well, maybe but then maybe you’re not a car nut. Because as every SERIOUS car crazy knows, sooner or later the stock wheels, tires, fender-shirts, decals (Heaven forbid ) and mud flaps, etc., must give way to a mild or radical body and paint treatment if you really want to own a true hot rod.

 

Enter the body man at your local body shop. Found in just about any town or city both large and small, these are the guys (no women allowed) who have helped shape the dreams and fantasies of every car lover from the poor to the very rich.

Recently, my son began to take the next step towards acquiring another notch in his auto belt by starting a semi-restoration of his 1976 Ford 4X4 factory pickup truck. Now, while he is not planning any radical body alterations, he has commissioned a local body shop named Nick & Nooty’s to handle the arduous task of stripping ’er down to the bone, removing the rust and reassembling it together with a kick-A factory Ford red color. This truck is one of those famous and rare "factory-models" that come around every once in awhile that look great right off the showroom floor. Though as high as this 4X4 sits, I kinda doubt it ever actually sat on a dealer’s showroom floor.

Anyway, after first consulting two of the best body men (and family friends) in Joe Ciarrocchi and Joe Vavrek, Joe C. recommended that Bernie pay a visit to a father & son team of Nick & Nooty, not too far from where I’m now living. They’re neighborhood body men who seemed up for this type of bulky, shop hoggin’, profit lean project. So Bernie goes there and after taking his truck over for some negotiating and a little ballpark accounting (only the best use this type of pricing), a budget was drafted. My son gives me a call to come down and pick him up.

So far so good … until I walked in the front door and saw what any warm-blooded hot rodder (and wife’s worst nightmare) would love to restore and drive. A less-than-half-finished pickup truck/hot rod, make and model unknown. Now, despite a lifetime (I just turned 50) of drawing, collecting, building, photographing and striping cars and trucks of all kinds, I had no idea what make this thing was, let alone the year.

Of course I played it cool and chose not to divulge this embarrassing fact to anyone who may be watching. But then, after I knew I would never guess, I decided to just come out and ask: "What year and make is this thing?" (hey, no big deal and besides every auto owner loves to release the suspense as soon as they can anyway). Upon hearing the answer I was somewhat relieved to find that at least it was a make from a manufacturer that I have had the least exposure to. Although I still should have known the make, and possibly within five, the year it was. And, of course like any unfinished hot rod taking up space in a body shop it was doubling as half storage rack and half coffee table.

Now, I’ve pretty much been out of the auto lifestyle for some time now … but still found myself pretty excited because hot rodding isn’t something you ever quite give up.

Nevertheless, I was there to pick up my son. Since he could see the way I was looking at this thing, he began to urge me to get moving and return to my domestic (and blessed) life and the reality that usually goes with that. So after assuring him that I was done looking at it and ready to go I burped out a typical and hypocritical: "How much do you want for it?" as if I was serious.

Now, that is most commonly as far as it goes with most normal people. But I ain’t normal so after getting in the car and assuring my son that I would not bother his mother with the idea of buying it and restoring it for myself, we went home for some supper.

But once in the door and seated quietly at the dinner table, that is when I decided to take it to the next step which is lighting the wife’s hair on fire by telling her I just found my next dream truck (no. 347 and counting). Now we’re having a family meal and I’m dodging in and out of my son’s participation in the conversation by trying to tell my wife that it would be a worthwhile project along with another 500 useless reasons to buy this truck.

All this is not too surprising to her. Not to mention the fact that she is just barely recovering from dream vehicle no. 346 that I happened upon earlier this summer. Oh, what a trip through domestic purgatory that was … worth every drop of agony it caused, though, because it was a 1974 Ford Econoline Van that still had traces of a great all-over candy-painted mural and gold leaf lettering on it.

In reality and knowing full well that I will no doubt lose this argument and fall short of hot rod ownership, for now I decided to trunk the entire debate, surrender the argument, admit to her reasoning and live to dream another day.
Or, at least until I can get back over to Nick and Nooty’s body shop and stripe the fridge or something …