Uncle Jim’s ’32

Uncle Jim’s ’32

It seems like everyone’s ultimate fantasy is stumbling across some dusty, historically significant hot rod in a barn—frozen in time, perfectly preserved not by intention, but by neglect. A car untouched by clumsy hands or misguided restorations. I know guys who’ve hit that jackpot—guys who now own pieces of rolling history, hot rods that they pulled from the jaws of oblivion. There’s a certain honor in that, no question. Being the custodian of something so pure and iconic comes with a badge of pride… but also a crushing weight. The pressure to “do the right thing,” to keep it frozen exactly as it was, unmolested, like a museum piece on wheels. It’s a beautiful prison—a jail cell in paradise.

Because of all that, I’ve often thought it might actually be more fun, more liberating, to find an old hot rod in a barn that’s completely free of significance. No magazine features, no folklore, no old-timers to track down for details. No sacred text to guide your every move. Just a blank canvas, an unfinished dream someone else abandoned. It’d be on you to make it all happen, to breathe life into it the way you see fit. No history, no rules, no pressure—just possibility.

And in a lot of ways, that’s exactly what Brian Berger found—only better. Back in the early ’60s, his uncle Jim built a ’32 roadster, got into trouble with it, and was forced to park it in a barn. Not for a few years. Forever. That is, until Brian got his hands on it. What he’s working on isn’t just a rebuild; it’s a resurrection. A 1932 roadster that’s been dormant since the Eisenhower administration, waiting for its moment to roar again.

This is one of those build threads you need to follow. Trust me. Go here. Dive in. You’ll be glad you did.

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