MattStrube
12-12-2003, 09:18 AM
Restoring Order:
For Iraqi Car Buff,
That Means Pistons
MOSUL, Iraq -- When Basman al Saffar finally bought the 1946 Ford he had lusted after since childhood, it had a rusty frame, a cracked windshield, and so many broken windows that leaves and garbage blew in. The engine looked as if it hadn't seen fuel or oil in decades.
He wasn't deterred. Like many Iraqis, Mr. Saffar had learned how to scavenge for old car parts during the long years when United Nations sanctions on Iraq made it nearly impossible to find new ones. He found an original Ford battery in a junkyard in the Kurdish city of Kirkuk and door handles in the Shiite holy city of Najaf. An elderly man in Mosul who had once worked for a Ford dealership in Turkey sold him several boxes of pistons, crankshafts, gaskets and oil seals. After two years of scrounging, he managed to completely restore the car himself.
Settling in behind the steering wheel recently, Mr. Saffar turned the key and listened to the old Ford's engine rumble to life. "Welcome to the past," he said.
Mr. Saffar and his car have rolled their way through recent Iraqi history. He tried to enter the Ford in international antique-car competitions, but the Hussein government wouldn't let him. When the regime fell, he used the car to ferry books from a university library where they were in danger of being burned.
As a young boy here, Mr. Saffar, who is now 36 years old and works in his brother's general contracting business, was told the old car at the end of a neighbor's driveway had been purchased in 1948 by the elder brother of Iraq's then-prime minister, Arshad al-Umari. But the car was in such bad shape, that was hard for him to imagine.
Still, he wondered whether the car could be saved. Scouring old magazines in his school library, Mr. Saffar found a picture of a similar car and was struck by the gracefulness of its design. He spent nearly 15 years begging the owners to sell it to him so he could try his hand at restoring it, but they always refused. Mr. Saffar's neighbor said that his father had bought the car in the early 1950s, shortly before he died, and the family wanted to keep it as a remembrance.
Finally, in September 2000, the family relented. The head of the household was a state-employed physician unable to support his family amid the continued drop in the value of the Iraqi dinar caused by the U.N. sanctions. Mr. Saffar's neighbors sold him the old car for $2,000.
Mr. Saffar had the car towed to a warehouse in a seedy part of town and went to work crisscrossing the country looking for vintage Ford parts.
Gradually, he began to find them. In Baghdad, his search for old valves brought him to Dosh Abbas, 56, who runs a large auto-parts store. In his youth, Mr. Abbas had apprenticed with an older brother who ran a Ford repair shop near a dealership that specialized in American cars. The car dealer did a lively business until it was shut down by force in 1963 when Saddam Hussein's Ba'ath Party took power and tried to rid the country of foreign influences.
Mr. Abbas says that when he saw the valve Mr. Saffar was trying to replace, he assumed it was for a lawn mower or tractor. Mr. Abbas led Mr. Saffar up a short flight of stairs and then guided him through a labyrinth of shelves overflowing with old and new auto parts. The older man bent down, picked up a small dust-covered box and blew on it until the Ford logo was visible. Mr. Abbas told Mr. Saffar that no one had asked about such an old valve in almost 20 years -- and gave it to him free of charge.
"He was showing that Iraqis were such good mechanics that they could even bring a dead car back to life," Mr. Abbas says.
After another company put in a new leather interior that exactly matched the color and stitching of the original, Mr. Saffar's final decision was what color to paint the car. It was originally a light green, but that color had been banned when the government decided to reserve it for military vehicles. The car's previous owners had painted it white, but Mr. Saffar thought that made it look cheap. A religious man, he ultimately settled on dark green, the color of Islam.
By late last year, the car was finally fully restored, at a cost of $4,000. Mr. Saffar celebrated by driving it from Mosul to Baghdad, a trip of about 250 miles.
He tried to fulfill a lifelong dream by entering the car in international classic-car contests and races but couldn't get permission from the Hussein government to travel abroad. Some organizations, meanwhile, made clear to him that he wasn't welcome because he wanted to represent the pariah nation of Iraq. "One organization told me I was a spy and then hung up the phone," he recalls.
All that changed when the Americans deposed Saddam Hussein. The old Ford had small rods on the side of its hood meant to hold flags, something the original owner had put on. The day the statue of Mr. Hussein was knocked down in Baghdad, Mr. Saffar says he attached Iraqi flags to the poles and drove through Mosul with his horn blaring.
Several days later, Mr. Saffar noticed smoke rising from the grounds of Mosul's main university. He drove there in time to see small groups of young men, faces masked, roaming across the campus with cans of kerosene. Afraid that they would torch the library, he raced the Ford to a nearby mosque, enlisted three friends who owned trucks, and returned to the campus to load books from the library's reference section and Assyrian civilization collection. The men hid the books in three classrooms of a local high school and guarded them until the unrest in the city died down.
A framed certificate in his office signed by the president of the school thanks him for his "good offices in protecting the central library's books at the University of Mosul."
Mr. Saffar has sent photos of the car to several international vintage car organizations and hopes to enter the Ford in antique-car races next year in Italy, France or the U.S. He has also begun restoring the two other antique cars he owns but says it isn't as much fun as working on the old Ford. "That was love at first sight," he says.
For Iraqi Car Buff,
That Means Pistons
MOSUL, Iraq -- When Basman al Saffar finally bought the 1946 Ford he had lusted after since childhood, it had a rusty frame, a cracked windshield, and so many broken windows that leaves and garbage blew in. The engine looked as if it hadn't seen fuel or oil in decades.
He wasn't deterred. Like many Iraqis, Mr. Saffar had learned how to scavenge for old car parts during the long years when United Nations sanctions on Iraq made it nearly impossible to find new ones. He found an original Ford battery in a junkyard in the Kurdish city of Kirkuk and door handles in the Shiite holy city of Najaf. An elderly man in Mosul who had once worked for a Ford dealership in Turkey sold him several boxes of pistons, crankshafts, gaskets and oil seals. After two years of scrounging, he managed to completely restore the car himself.
Settling in behind the steering wheel recently, Mr. Saffar turned the key and listened to the old Ford's engine rumble to life. "Welcome to the past," he said.
Mr. Saffar and his car have rolled their way through recent Iraqi history. He tried to enter the Ford in international antique-car competitions, but the Hussein government wouldn't let him. When the regime fell, he used the car to ferry books from a university library where they were in danger of being burned.
As a young boy here, Mr. Saffar, who is now 36 years old and works in his brother's general contracting business, was told the old car at the end of a neighbor's driveway had been purchased in 1948 by the elder brother of Iraq's then-prime minister, Arshad al-Umari. But the car was in such bad shape, that was hard for him to imagine.
Still, he wondered whether the car could be saved. Scouring old magazines in his school library, Mr. Saffar found a picture of a similar car and was struck by the gracefulness of its design. He spent nearly 15 years begging the owners to sell it to him so he could try his hand at restoring it, but they always refused. Mr. Saffar's neighbor said that his father had bought the car in the early 1950s, shortly before he died, and the family wanted to keep it as a remembrance.
Finally, in September 2000, the family relented. The head of the household was a state-employed physician unable to support his family amid the continued drop in the value of the Iraqi dinar caused by the U.N. sanctions. Mr. Saffar's neighbors sold him the old car for $2,000.
Mr. Saffar had the car towed to a warehouse in a seedy part of town and went to work crisscrossing the country looking for vintage Ford parts.
Gradually, he began to find them. In Baghdad, his search for old valves brought him to Dosh Abbas, 56, who runs a large auto-parts store. In his youth, Mr. Abbas had apprenticed with an older brother who ran a Ford repair shop near a dealership that specialized in American cars. The car dealer did a lively business until it was shut down by force in 1963 when Saddam Hussein's Ba'ath Party took power and tried to rid the country of foreign influences.
Mr. Abbas says that when he saw the valve Mr. Saffar was trying to replace, he assumed it was for a lawn mower or tractor. Mr. Abbas led Mr. Saffar up a short flight of stairs and then guided him through a labyrinth of shelves overflowing with old and new auto parts. The older man bent down, picked up a small dust-covered box and blew on it until the Ford logo was visible. Mr. Abbas told Mr. Saffar that no one had asked about such an old valve in almost 20 years -- and gave it to him free of charge.
"He was showing that Iraqis were such good mechanics that they could even bring a dead car back to life," Mr. Abbas says.
After another company put in a new leather interior that exactly matched the color and stitching of the original, Mr. Saffar's final decision was what color to paint the car. It was originally a light green, but that color had been banned when the government decided to reserve it for military vehicles. The car's previous owners had painted it white, but Mr. Saffar thought that made it look cheap. A religious man, he ultimately settled on dark green, the color of Islam.
By late last year, the car was finally fully restored, at a cost of $4,000. Mr. Saffar celebrated by driving it from Mosul to Baghdad, a trip of about 250 miles.
He tried to fulfill a lifelong dream by entering the car in international classic-car contests and races but couldn't get permission from the Hussein government to travel abroad. Some organizations, meanwhile, made clear to him that he wasn't welcome because he wanted to represent the pariah nation of Iraq. "One organization told me I was a spy and then hung up the phone," he recalls.
All that changed when the Americans deposed Saddam Hussein. The old Ford had small rods on the side of its hood meant to hold flags, something the original owner had put on. The day the statue of Mr. Hussein was knocked down in Baghdad, Mr. Saffar says he attached Iraqi flags to the poles and drove through Mosul with his horn blaring.
Several days later, Mr. Saffar noticed smoke rising from the grounds of Mosul's main university. He drove there in time to see small groups of young men, faces masked, roaming across the campus with cans of kerosene. Afraid that they would torch the library, he raced the Ford to a nearby mosque, enlisted three friends who owned trucks, and returned to the campus to load books from the library's reference section and Assyrian civilization collection. The men hid the books in three classrooms of a local high school and guarded them until the unrest in the city died down.
A framed certificate in his office signed by the president of the school thanks him for his "good offices in protecting the central library's books at the University of Mosul."
Mr. Saffar has sent photos of the car to several international vintage car organizations and hopes to enter the Ford in antique-car races next year in Italy, France or the U.S. He has also begun restoring the two other antique cars he owns but says it isn't as much fun as working on the old Ford. "That was love at first sight," he says.