Both of my grandfathers were wood workers, carpenters. I do some carpentry; I built the addition on my house with Cousin Bob, and I’ve built a few decks. I do some carpentry, I’m no carpenter.
I have some of the tools these men worked with. No electric drills, or circular and table saws, no, these were primitive, man-powered. Tools designed to be used in the age before electricity. Brace and bit for drilling and large hand saws for cutting and big heavy hammers that could drive a 12-penny nail in a couple of well-placed blows.
Wood and screws and nails and big bolts and sweat powered tools were the cutting edge of their technology. These guys made the transition, before they retired to electric tools. They stood on the bleeding edge of their tech.
My dad was an auto-mechanic, and he sold auto parts. Like his father and grandfather before him he immersed himself in the technology of his day. Dad was a well-known “Ford guy,” I guess if you had a problem with your Ford, dad was your guy. He died a long time ago, the mid-nineteen-sixties, this was the time when cars were transitioning from the ancient tech of the 1920s to what would evolve into the modern car and eventually the self-driving computers on four wheels we see today. He could hold his own with a hammer and nails, but the mid-century automobile was the edge of his tech. His sweet spot.
I’ve been in IT for the past thirty plus years. Pretty much since the advent of the personal computer. Thinking back to the now laughable functionality of those early machines, much like my grandpa’s tools before “Mr. Edison went and done electric’d up the whole damn country.”
I’ve watched my tech evolve at a sometimes-frightening speed. I often wonder what my dad would think if he could wake up after his nearly sixty yearlong nap and see some of this stuff. I bet he’d think it cool and want to know more, but maybe he’d also suspect a bit of witchcraft got tossed into the mix.
I’ve always loved cars. Most boys of my generation did. A lot of girls too for that matter. Much of my childhood was spent building model cars and dreaming of one day owning real cars to take apart and put back together. Today I have three automotive Frankenstein-like science projects. Two Mustangs in varying degrees of repair and the ‘51 Ford Custom Deluxe convertible.
I have no doubt my love of cars comes from my dad and his brothers, my uncles. I’m sure I’ve received my less than stellar carpentry skill from my grandfathers.
I’ve learned to work on automobiles built from about the mid-1960s, to the modern era. Some of the bleeding edge stuff today makes me take a step back. About mid-2010s may be about the edge of my abilities. I love to work on this stuff. It’s my hobby, it’s a diversion from the madness of IT and book marketing. I can figure just about anything out. It may take me a while, but with the help of a few cousins, Chris and Bobby, and friends like Mark and Carlos I usually find my way through the problem.
I guess my point in this is that I believe men, women, people in general, we all achieve a level of technical comfort and that’s where we stay. Kind of like water finding its own level.
I’m sure my grandfathers were mystified to a degree with the cars of my dad’s era, just like he’d scratch his head in wonder at some of the modern tech I take for granted or find annoying to troubleshoot and maintain.
So anyway…
The 1951 Ford is identical to one of my father’s favorite cars. I mean, kind of spooky identical. It’s the car I always have associated with him. It’s the car I first turned a wrench on so long ago. I lean on the fender and mess with the distributor, and I see six-year-old me sitting on the wheel well in the engine bay asking my father a million questions while he tried to fix something. This car is a relic from another time. When it was showroom new and Sputnik was a bit down the road yet. Harry Truman was President.
For almost the past two weeks now I’ve become immersed in this car and how it works. So few things make sense to me and my twenty-first century perspective. Six-volt positive ground electrical systems and points and condensers. I’ve been reading, with great focus and intent the shop manual for the 1949-1951 Ford and getting a genuine sense that this tech is rooted deeply in the 1920s. When electricity and radio and airplanes and telephones were still somewhat newfangled.
I bought this car as something of a tribute to my dad and his brothers, Ben, Rick and Art. All guys I knew to possess different talents and abilities, a couple of them were downright brilliant men, but the common denominator in all the Lobb brothers was cars. My desire to keep the ‘51 all original has taken me down some rabbit holes that I now have my cousin Chris, a well-known quantum physicist working on it with me, taking a deep dive into DC electrical systems and magnetism. I’m sure Chris is contemplating changing his phone number by now.
DC motors that don’t behave the way DC motors should, reversed polarity and ignition timing that on a 2024 car are a precise science, but in 1932 to 1952, were a more laid back, “do what feels right” kind of vibe.
The best thing I’ve read about these engines was from an old hot-rodder in a forum. He said, “I like to time my engine where she wants to run, not where she’s supposed to run…” poetry, man!
This morning, at 5am, lying in bed I was hit with an absolute conviction that the kid who installed the battery in my ‘51 before I bought it, put it in backward. Anyone who knows anything knows batteries are installed, in cars to TV remotes to smoke detectors, knows the negative side is ground and the positive side is “hot,” and that’s all true, but it wasn’t true in early twentieth century Fords, or Chevys or Dodges. The reason for doing so is a bit long, and I’ll spare you. The point is, I think, I tend to believe older technology as primitive. A prejudice, but sitting in this old car on a hot night I now see a lot of thought and reason and engineering went into this system and they used the bleeding edge of technology of their time.
I have long felt it a privilege to live in the times I have lived, regardless of how screwed up things are now. I’ve known men, grandfathers and great-grandfathers who were horse and buggy men, pre-electricity men. My grand babies will probably see in their lifetime colonies on Mars. That’s quite an expanse. Out of all the gifts I’m realizing come to me with this ancient car one of the greatest is the perspective of time and how far technology has moved in my life, a blink, less than a half blink in the grand scheme of things.
I’m sitting here on the passenger side of this ‘51 with its laughably analog knobs and mechanical controls, like the carburetor choke, and I’m typing this note on my cell phone, much more powerful than the desktop computers I dealt with early in my IT career, more powerful by factors of thousands than the tech my dad never lived to see that took men to the moon and return them safely.
I can sit here on this hot July night and find myself in the bleeding edge present and in the past that predates me by a few years in the same place and at the same time. This Ford may be giving me fits trying to get the timing right, so it runs a little smoother, but it’s also a Time Machine, and that’s really pretty cool.
That’s all I have for this week. Here are some books to look at.
Stay safe, it is getting weird out there!
Bill
My first and most favorite car ever? 1967 Mustang black top.