About 4 years ago, I was told of a ’62 Dart 4-dr that had been sitting in a yard for years, up on blocks. Supposedly, there was 2 NOS front fenders hanging in the garage for the car. I was given the approximate location of the car. So I started looking. Almost immediately, I came across a ’62 Fury 4-dr. That wasn’t the car, but a good find none the less.
I spent 3 months, checking every back lane starting where I was told the car was, working my way outwards. Finally, I did find the car. After covering every back lane in an area that was probably 5 miles by 3 miles. The house looked somewhat run-down, but there were signs that someone was living there. I constantly kept checking back, trying to get an answer at the door. Finally, about a year after the fist time I rang the doorbell, I did get an answer. An old gentleman hesitantly opened the door. Because he seemed rather afraid, I quickly pointed to my ’62 Dart that I had driven there, and explained that I was interested in his.
He looked at mine from the door, then suggested we go to the back and look at his. While it was probably only about 50 feet from his door to the car, it took us 20 minutes to get there. It was clear to me that this gentleman did not have much time left with us. He was probably late 80’s, and had a lot of difficulty moving. But was insistent that we look at his car.
When we got to the car, the stories started. He talked at length about the trips him and his wife had taken in it, and all the work he had done to keep it on the road. Tears and emotions slowed his stories, but he seemed much more alive telling me these things. So I let him. Truth be told, I was actually enjoying them. I love the background stories on cars. Finally, as he slowed down, I asked about purchasing the car. He told me he would never sell it, that he was going to fix it up and drive it again. I knew that he would never drive again, but didn’t tell him that. Over the following years, I would stop by every once in a while and talk with him. Always letting him know that if he changed his mind, I wanted it.
I learned a little about the car. It was still plated & insured. This was because of local bylaws preventing the storage of beaters. After he had parked it in about 1984, a neighbour had complained. So he insured & plated it every year since. He also had been starting it on a regular basis, to ensure the engine never seized. He had stopped around 2000, as he had found pine cones behind the battery. He thought neighbourhood kids were messing with the car, and took the battery out.
Then came the day when I could no longer get an answer at the door, Finally, I tried one of the neighbours. That’s when I was informed that the old gentleman was in critical care at a local hospital. I was also told that the province had taken over the estate, due to outstanding taxes and the old gentleman having no family they could locate. I was given the phone number of the person that was in charge of the estate. I tried calling about once a month over the next year, always getting voice mail, and never a return call.
Then, this summer, I get a text from a friend of mine, telling me that there was a ’62 Dart up for auction with a local auction house. I checked their Web site, and found the car I’d been trying to buy for almost 4 years. I have to assume that the gentleman had died, and his estate was now being auctioned. That turned out to be the case, the weekend prior, they had auctioned of a Dodge Custom Royal that had been in the garage.
Of course, I went to the auction. The car was now sitting on pavement, and I could see that it was worse than I suspected. The front right was pretty much on the ground. So I knew the torsion bar mount was rotted out. The floor pans were pretty much non-existent as well. The floor pans were pretty much completely gone. AS I had suspected, this car would be parts only. But it did sport a Poly 318 with 4-bbl carb, and A/C that had been dealer installed in ’63 (according to the owner). Also at the auction was the owner of a Mopar scrap yard. So I knew it might be a battle. I had had to pay $500 for a ’65 Coronet at another auction ~5 years previous because he & I were both wanting the car.
The bidding started at $300, as they had accepted a phone bid for that price. Quickly it came down to just the two of us, the scrap yard owner and I. When he saw that I was all in and he held the highest bid, he turned to me and asked what I wanted off the car. I told him I owned one, and wanted everything. SO he told me I could have it. So I bid again, and got the car. With the cost of the car, taxes, and commission in, it wound up being just over $600. The fenders and hubcaps came up next. The were not NOS as I had been led to believe, but rather used fenders in very good shape. I did want them, but at about $100, I decided to return the favour I had been given by Dennis, and let someone that needed them more than I did have them.
When we got the car home, we decided to see if it would start. A jerry can of fresh fuel & an electric fuel pump were hooked up, and the float bowl filled. 2 pumps on the throttle, and ignition. The car immediately fired right up. We topped off the rad, and let it run. It purred like a kitten, with no sign of burning oil. Topped up the trans, and it goes into gear with no hesitation. The A/C was even still fully charged.
Now, I have had the car for a couple of months, and have been slowly pulling parts off of it. Normally, I would have had it stripped down in a day or two to the bare shell. For some reason, it’s taking me a long time to tear this thing down. Maybe it’s because I know the story on it, and know how much it meant to the old gentleman. The car is simply too far gone to ever be fixed, so it can only be for parts. But somehow, it seems to be a horrible shame to tear it apart.
Ina weird way, it’s like it’s going to be almost as hard for me to part with the car as it was for the original owner. It’s like he passed the emotional attachment on to me.
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