I am finishing up a 40 Ford sedan that has fought us every inch of the way. Not that I have "built" many hot rods, but I have had several muscle cars & rods over the years. Nothing has gone smooth from the day I bought it. 1) I am in Nebraska, bought it from South Carolina. seller took my 69 ElCamino in trade with us meeting in StLouis for the trade. My brothers new Suburban broke down there stranding him there for 4 days while Chevy got the parts. I drove the Ford back to Nebr. 2) I drove it for a year then tore it down to fix some mechanicals & get it painted. After stalling me for 1-1/2 years my usual body man told me he was too old for this shit anymore & to find someone else. took me a year to find someone that would do it a reasonable price in a reasonable amount of time. 3)I bought a new rad/trans cooler/a/c cond unit for a 40 Ford Deluxe. Mine is a standard & the radiator shop had never heard of one being different. The mounting tabs were off 1" so I had to send it back to be re-done. mounted it while the front sheet metal was off prior to paint. 4) the new body man said the more sanding & stripping on the body I did the more I saved. I found 7 layers of paint so I sent out for media blasting. Now even after blowing it out with an air hose, I still get dirt & grit in my face every time I am under it. 5) it was painted a year ago & every thing went smooth except coming over budget by $1000. 6) my new body man is now installing glass. I bought a 1-piece w/shield for it but it was 1" too big all around. the glass company said just sand it down with a belt sander. the body man didn't want to chance it so I ordered a 2-piece & sent back the 1-piece. another 10 day delay. yesterday installing the new w/shield pieces they tore the w/strip & have to reorder one. another week delay. I had it painted black with a witch pinup on it titled "Black Magic" (my avatar). I think there must be some kind of voodoo curse on this car. I'm beginning to wonder if we will ever have it completed.
Cars have souls..yet some are simply bad...I had a '57 Chevy that hated me, owned the car for five years yet could never put any long distance miles on it because every time I took it out for a drive, something broke. To wit: a freeze plug disintegrated six miles from home...the front wheel fell off 5 miles from home (and I distinctly remember checking the lug nuts before I left). All electrical quit while out driving even tho the battery was new. Running/brake lights quit working one night and I got a fix-it ticket, yet I could find nothing wrong and they worked fine in the morning. The gas gauge was never correct and stranded me more than once...and the list is endless. I doubt I put 500 miles on that car in the years I owned it...sold it at a loss just to get rid of it...!!! R-
49ratfink and I usually agree, but this time no. I truly believe it is possible for cars to be cursed in some way, and I have come across that through experience. Just last night I was explaining a Corvette a buddy of mine owned about 15 years ago. Larry had always wanted a new 'Vette, and even though a wealthy man was way too penurious to simply go out and purchase one. As an accomplished later model rebuilder sort of guy, he jumped one afternoon at a 3 month old 'Vette that crossed the block with its tail squished hard... Hard enough that the original purchaser wasn't around to talk about what happened - that hard. Suddenly, the rebuild got easier when a second car was purchased that was equally crunched up front, a few weeks later, even the same blue-purple color. Most of us in the local hot rod crew helped at some point joining the two, and about three months later, Larry was very happy with his "new" car. Until... He was stopped at light about three blocks east of his shop complex, where a large hotel was being built. In a freak occurrence, the brakes went out on a cement truck, and it ran over the car from the windshield forward, pinning Larry's feet in the car and landing him in the hospital for several weeks. This was less that two weeks after the car was back on the road. Larry recovered, and the car was covered and pushed to the back of the shop for a few months. Long story short, Larry determined that it was once again recoverable, and went through the process a second time, turning out a nice clean, nearly last year's car at this point. You guessed it, three weeks later an illegal alien smuggling truck took it out in Southern Arizona... Larry lived though it just fine, the 'Vette and a couple of the occupants of the van did not. Sorry, but that car truly was cursed. During the second rebuild (trust me, Larry NEVER gave up on anything) it just felt eerie to work on, like this shouldn't be happening. 911 Steve, no offense intended, but your deal just seems like typical crap that goes on when you build a hot rod. I wouldn't worry too much about the final outcome.
having built at least a dozen 40's I have had some that gave me fits and others that went smooth. Current std under const, is giving me more trouble than usual but don't think it is cursed-just being difficult. Wife and I have installed glass in all of the 40's and this one was double tough for some reason. Rear window-one went in in 15 min and the other took 1 1/2 hrs and 6 attempts before it went in and fit right-a lot of loud discussion was involved as well-just happens sometimes. If it was easy everyone would be building them.
Cursed, Mean, Nasty, Uncooperative, whatever you call it - they are out there! I'm currently working on a small Formula S open wheel race car that falls in this catagory - NOTHING is easy, just fight us at every step. I swear when I walk out of the gargage and see it sitting over in the dark it has that little Cristine grin on its face. Creepy, but it won't win!!!
My '64 MG Midget was cursed. Nearly killed me a couple times. Watched wheels fall off twice while driving. (Stop every 100 miles to tighten the knockoffs!) The left front wheel passed me on the inside of a curve in Logan Canyon. I lost another in town & it bounced off the door of a big Caddy. Nearly drove it over a cliff into the river once. The first gear was made of goat cheese and just crumbled. I shorted out the + ground electrics more than once. I broke the crank on a cold-start in Utah. That car was impossible & I loved it irreparably. Sometimes I still dream about it at night.
Steve, I had a friend who acquired a '34 Ford Coupe. . .read his story here: A Gripping Tale of Suspense from the Midwest by William Wonder Now, I’m sure we’ve all had the desire to find out a little something about the past history of the cars we put so much blood, sweat and tears into restoring or street rodding. You know, the obvious things, like who owned it before, where has it been. . .you know. Well, this is a tale about a friend of mine who, like many of us, was interested in this sort of thing. However, this tale carries with it a valuable lesson. And that lesson is, “be careful what you ask for”. Of course, my friend Duane didn’t much care about all that when he first made the long trek to North Dakota to purchase his gennie steel ’34 Ford 5-window coupe. All he did know, was that it had been street rodded back in the ‘60s and was reported to be noted in that area for “terrorizing the streets” of Grand Forks on a regular basis. That is, until an accident put an end to the car’s roadworthiness. By the early ‘70s, subsequent owners would disassemble the car and eventually put it into “long-term” storage in a building on a farm on the outskirts of Grand Forks. There, the car would sit for over 20 years before Duane ran across it. Before he purchased the car, Duane was a little concerned about the condition of the sheet metal, after a friend of the guy he bought it from alluded to the fact that it had once been laid on its side and actually caught fire as fuel spewed from the ‘34s original rear tank. Although the subject changed abruptly, Duane pursued his line of questioning until he received enough information to learn that the former, young rodder and previous owner, had, in fact, met his maker behind the wheel of the ’34. Assurances were made, however, that the car had been straightened and after close inspection, was purchased and came home to Iowa with Duane. At the time, he didn’t feel that it was necessary to elaborate on the fate of the former owner. Little did we know what kind of attachment one particular, “previous owner” had to the car at that time. Now, because the discussion had been cut short, not much else was ever known about the old rod, or its former owner. For the most part, Duane never really thought that much about it – until much later, when a series of small experiences and unexplained occurrences ultimately made things clearer. Since he acquired the car, Duane had painted it a total of three times, in as many years. The first time, it was painted Navy Trainer Yellow, followed by a bright Purple. Then, Duane settle on the current, more traditional black finish with classic white-to-orange-to yellow flames. It should be noted that, even though the coupe was covered with red and gray primer spots when purchased, much of a former black paint job was still visible. We now fast-forward to the summer of 1997, to one of those extremely hot and humid Iowa afternoons that happen at the end of July. It was on one of these days that Duane was making repairs to his Chevrolet 4 x 4 pickup, under the a shade tree behind the garage, in his backyard. After a lot of cussing while removing the front drive hubs from the truck, Duane moved into the still hot confines of his garage to work on the pieces in his vise. While hammering away on the parts in the vise, he was surprised by a CountySheriff’s Deputy that he knew. The Deputy came up behind him to ask directions to a neighborhood resident he was looking for to serve papers to. After a brief conversation, the deputy left, only to return a short time later to thank him, again startling Duane as he diligently worked on pickup parts. It was clear that the hot, sultry weather was seemingly getting the better of him. Now comes the eerie part – Duane says he was hammering on the part in his vise, and felt what he described as the thumb and forefinger of a hand that grabbed and squeezed his neck and shoulder. Thinking that the Deputy had returned yet again, Duane spun around to say something smart. To his surprise, he found that there was no one there and that he was alone in his garage. Shaking off his weird feeling, he concluded it was just a muscle spasm clearly caused by his hammering in the hot garage. Taking the part from the vise, he returned to his truck, which rested outside in the pseudo-shade of the tree in the backyard. He had no sooner crawled underneath when he heard a tremendous crash come from inside the garage. Jumping to his feet, he rushed back into the garage to see what had happened. To his amazement, his large, roll-around tool box, which is normally situated next to the vise on the workbench, was now in the center of the garage floor – some eight to ten feet from where it should have been (and had been, just moments before). Worse yet, it was completely upside down (wheels in the air). The drawers and most of the tools strewn about his garage in every direction. That is, with the exception of items in the top compartment. You see, the top latch, which has been broken for some time, should have flung open, releasing items from the top of the box immediately – instead, the heavy box was apparently propelled and slammed with such speed and force that the top didn’t have time to open and spill its contents before smashing onto the concrete floor. Now, keep in mind, that this tool box stands some 5 feet tall and weighs at least 350 pounds, and would take one burly individual to move. . .let alone toss and slam with any authority. Not quite understanding how, or why his tool box had been so violently displaced, Duane began picking up the pieces and rolled the tool box back to its normal spot in the garage. While still puzzling over what might have happened, he thought to glance over at the ’34 to make sure it had remained unharmed by the flying tools and tool box. It was then that he was shocked to see what was clearly someone sitting in the driver’s seat of the car. His immediate thought was that someone was “messing with him”, and that same someone was responsible for knocking over his tool box. Duane told me he stood there for a moment and just stared at the car, getting a “real good look” at the fellow behind the wheel of his ’34. “He was wearing a bright, lemon-yellow T-Shirt,” recounted Duane. A shirt that stood out very well within the tight confines of the black coupe’s black interior. Duane continued, “He was wearing sunglasses and had shoulder-length, rather shaggy blonde hair.” Duane says the vision was so clear that he could even see a couple of days growth of orange/blonde beard stubble on the guy’s chin and face! Not recognizing the phantom driver of his coupe, Duane says he stared in disbelief as the guy leaned over to the passenger side of the car to look past the familiar slanting windshield post of the ’34, and gave him what seemed to be a favorable grin. Realizing that shadows don’t move, let alone smile, Duane quickly glanced out the window over his work bench to make sure that his son was still in the backyard with a neighborhood friend, and neither were in the garage. When he turned back to look at the car again, there was no one there. During his quick glance out the window, Duane hadn’t heard the car door open and thought the intruder might be hiding on the floorboard of the coupe. Armed with a heavy piece of iron from his workbench, he cautiously approached the driver’s door of the coupe. Looking inside, he was surprised to find the car empty, but extremely cold inside – so cold, in fact, that he says he could actually see his breath. Remember, this was a very hot and humid Summer day with temperatures into the triple digits. What’s more, and not to sound like a ‘60s commercial, Duane says the car was filled with “that distinctive smell of Brute aftershave”, which Duane says he doesn’t care for in the least. At that point, he says an eerie chill crept over his body as other instances began to click in his mind. Instances where he had smelled the pungent odor of Brute inside the coupe before. He rushed out into the yard to reflect on what had – or hadn’t happened! While sitting there having a smoke, he remembered once, right after getting the car running and painted yellow, he took it out on a “shakedown cruise” around the neighborhood. . .without any doors, fenders or window glass, and the strong odor of Brute filling the car’s still unuphostered interior. Yet another time, after our Club had participated in a Car Show in a small town some 14 miles away, we saddled up to return home when he said the car again reeked of the potent aftershave odor. Duane had shrugged that off, thinking that it was possibly deposited by a spectator who had stuck his head in the window during the show. It would seem after today’s experience, maybe Duane had an unknown passenger all the while, perhaps a previous owner riding with him in the coupe. A previous owner from the ‘60s, who favored Brute more than Duane. Now, anyone who remotely knows Duane will tell you that they can vouch for his credibility. The fact that he takes this “other-worldly contact” very seriously, and visibly shows outward signs that it bothers him and is distressed to even talk about it, only adds to the believability of the story. Although things have been quiet regarding the coupe since that fateful day in July, Duane says he’s still a little gun-shy when it comes to loud noises, falling objects or sudden movements in his garage. Duane’s wife suggested that maybe the former owner simply returned to give his approval of what’s been done with the old coupe after so many years of sitting idle. Duane says that’s fine, but he didn’t have to destroy the tool box to do that. His wife simply said because you ignored the touch on the shoulder, the poor guy had to come up with another way to get his (Duane’s) attention. Being your basic, one-dimensional, black-and-white kind of individual, Duane says he still doesn’t know if he actually believes in ghosts or the paranormal, but after what happened that day, assures us that he got a very good look at the guy in the front seat of his coupe – and no one will ever convince him that he didn’t see what he saw that day! Well, this is a TRUE STORY, and whether you believe it or not (and it was not embellished at all from the way it was told to me by my friend Duane) it’s got to make you wonder if your car has a past of its own – and a previous owner who approves. . .or disapproves of what you’ve done with it!!
Hi. Well I have sure cursed at several thru the years. I don't think there is any curse on my 46 coupe but I think everyone I try to get or get to work on it has the slow to no go curse. I have been broken down since last November & have no clue when I will get it back on the road. It likely has a weeks worth of work remaining & I will be lucky to get it back this year. First mehanic I approached was local & said he would get right on it as soon as he finished an older Mustang he had been doing some engine work on. After 2 months nothing seemed to be moving on the Mustang & I asked how long he had had it in the shop. With his answer of 3 years I quickly moved on. After several dead leads & found a mechanic 2 hours away that said he would get right on it. I purchased a 57 235 engine for him to overhaul & build up to get it back on the road. He started in early April & new engine installed but not to the point of getting it running & broke in yet. Have no clue how long it will take to get the fuel lines & throddle linkage hooked up so he can run in the engine. Personally it looks like a disease mechanics get when taking on old cars. Wish I could find the cure. He is not overcharging & does good work but is going to the extreme with slow. Jimmie
OP, your old car isn't cursed. It's just doing what old cars do. They take up time, money and sometimes cause frustration.
I don't curse at my car, I just call it "speaking in tongues". Sounds a little more civilized, but provides the same feeling of satisfaction.
Not cursed ,but sure as hell fought me to resurrect it. Got the bucket 7 yrs ago and drove it 3 times. This needs a bigger cam I said to myself , so I pulled out the cam and with it came the front came bearing in chunks. No biggie I have a completely machined block,new crank,pistons, cam, dart heads ect. Just needs assembled. Got it all built and on the last two head bolts and one pulled. Heli-coiled it ,new gasket and pulled 3 more. Long story short block threads were junk. Slid all that under the table and started on the blower motor I had everything for,just needed machine work. Got all that done and professionally assembled, put in the engine wired it all up ready for ignition. Starter just clicked, checked all grounds,unhooked blower belt, same thing. Starter had a hair line crack by mounting flange. New starter and ready to try. Spun over but wouldnt start. Figured I got boned on the msd box i bought off ebay, I got another distributor that didnt need a box to run. Still no start, turned out the new coil was bad. Got new coil and finally got it to start and idle only to find the head studs were leaking anti freeze. Just about pushed it out of the garage and lit it on fire. I hate it and it hates me, but my wife hates it the most and wouldnt ride in it if it was done. I think all I need is trans fluid and its done,but of course the battery was dead when i finally wanted to work on it again.
I had a 54 chevy that was owned by a woman, was her daily driver for many years, taken on many family vacations etc, then sat dormant when she got to old to drive and eventually passed. Was pretty beat! I grabbed it, did some custom work to it, flat blacked it etc. Was always fine when I was hauling my kids around in it, or just crusing it. However, I swear whenever I put modern music or punk on it hated it! Would run like shit or break down. Got to the point where I just quit playing any old punk, that's when I started listening to rockabilly. That was passable, weird.
I had a 64 Falcon convertible I used to think was cursed but looking back from an old man's perspective it was just a piece of crap.
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