'58 Imperial. Larry Noska asked, so the saga continues...

["Larry Noska" <lnoska@xxxxxxxxxxxx>]

I tried this off line but it would not mail?

Lawrence R Noska
lnoska@xxxxxxxxxxxx
Hauser, ID 83854

-----Original Message-----
From: Larry Noska [mailto:lnoska@xxxxxxxxxxxx]
Sent: Sunday, April 11, 2004 2:42 PM
To: PNKMoore@xxxxxxx
Subject: RE: IML: '58 Imperial. Larry Noska asked, so the saga continues...

Patrick

How can you resist the urge to tinker with the car?  My dads 82 has a coolant 
leak I changed the lower radiator hose last week, the leak stopped for a few 
days.  I took the car for a ride and it leaked more coolant.  The drops are 
coming from around the end of the crank shaft. In my thinking that leaves only 
one possible curl pert the water pump.  This car has spent a lot of time in my 
dads garage the last 18 years, in California it has 23,000 on the odometer. I 
drove it to Idaho about 1,800 miles.

We went to church last night, so this morning I snuck out to the garage to look 
at the water pump replacement.  If I would have been caught-- "on Easter Sunday 
working on a OLD car" girls just don't under stand.  Ha Ha  

I sent this of line because it might be construed as a personal message.

Doesn't look like a big project to change the water pump, will do it next week.

I enjoyed your report on the car.  Where did you find get the car?

Lawrence R Noska
lnoska@xxxxxxxxxxxx
Hauser, ID 83854

-----Original Message-----
From: mailing-list-owner@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 
[mailto:mailing-list-owner@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx]On Behalf Of PNKMoore@xxxxxxx
Sent: Sunday, April 11, 2004 10:47 AM
To: mailing-list@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Subject: Re: IML: '58 Imperial. Larry Noska asked, so the saga continues...

I had my inoperable but intact 1958 Imperial 4dr hrdtp delivered last Monday.
 Since then I've sent out questions and received many notes of good advice
and encouragement.  On the assumption that anyone is interested, and since Larry
Noska asked, the saga continues...

Yesterday I pushed!  Having spent the better part of Friday afternoon washing
a few layers of crud off of the entire car and motor, I went out Saturday
morning with my wife and children to a local animal park to redeem part of the
family weekend.  (Global Wildlife.  Very cool place here in Southeast Louisiana:
http://www.globalwildlife.com/) I wasn't able to stay away from the car in
the afternoon, however, and went over there as soon as I could get away.  "Over
there" means that the car is parked behind a house that belongs to my parents
about a mile from my house.  That house has an available garage and has the
added benefit of keeping the car from under my wife's appropriately critical
eye.

Seeing that car and trunk had totally dried from the vigorous pressure
washing I'd given it the day before, my plan was to try and push it into the 
garage.
 That meant that I first had to clean the last of 10 years worth of junk out
of the garage, sacrificing stuff I'd once held dear enough to store in there
in the first place, etc.  On Friday, while I was washing the car, my Dad had
come over and cleared out most of the junk. I was ruthless with the remnants,
because the Imperial is so long and I knew I'd need every inch.

Then I pumped up a low tire, by hand.  Stupidly I'd left my compressor in my
daily driver when I sent it to be painted a few weeks ago (another story).
I've needed the compressor about three times since then, which is ironic because
it usually bonks around in the trunk for a year or two between uses.  500
strokes with a bicycle pump later, and I have enough air in the tire to roll the
car, or so I thought.

And then I pushed, and pushed, and pushed.  I got about 6 feet across
leaf-strewn gravel and decided that unless I wanted an emergency  hernia 
repair, I'd
better get some help.  I used to push my old cars around when I was younger,
but I guess I'm out of practice. (or just old and used up, but we won't go
there). I drove off and found a hapless neighbor and together we shoved the 
thing
about 1/3 of the way into the garage where it stopped and refused to budge
another inch.  Besides being only just over 19 feet long, the garage was built
for narrow cars or horse carriages or something, because it's a bit skinny.  As
a result, we were extra careful not the take out a wall and I aimed the car
over and over by easing the steering wheel while we rolled it.  What we figured
out, amid a whole lot of bitching, sweating and laughing (he's from Rome and
he kept cussing in Italian and Latin, which sounded hilarious for some reason)
was that the parking brake or one of the shoes was clinging and preventing a
free roll.  At least it wasn't only because I'm pushing 40!  At that point, I
sent my sweating, aching, cursing neighbor off to his house and went home.

I'm disappointed because I particularly wanted to get it inside since it's
supposed to rain tomorrow (Easter Sunday).  The trunk seal is missing, thanks to
the squirrels, and I don't want it to leak again.  I went to dinner tonight
with visiting family and my mind kept wandering back to the half-protected car
and the problem of moving it a few more feet.

This is not to say that I wasn't entirely without triumph.  While shoving, I
spied the VIN plate on the driver's door frame.  I had fleetingly wondered
where it was, knowing that I would need it eventually when I re-title the car.  
I
wrote it down and tonight ran it on the IML website's VIN finder.  I was
delighted that it popped up as a '58.  I knew it was a '58, but only by the 
grill
and other body studies I'd done off of the Internet, so I was only pretty
sure of the year.  It's cool to see it in print.

I'm sure to get the car covered by some means as the days progress.  I'm
waiting for my hydraulic jack and some jack-stands to arrive so I can creep 
under
the car (and yes, I've cut some 8x8s the shove under the rocker panels as
back-up.  Thanks for the tip!) and worry off the oil pan.  I anticipate, thanks 
to
some advice from Hugh or Dick or Randall(I can't remember which) having to
release a torsion bar or some front end part in order to free the pan. It'll be
my first glimpse into the motor.  I can hardly wait.

I'll keep you posted!  Anybody know how many Advil you can take without
killing yourself?  My muscles ache.


Epilogue:

It's the next day, Easter Sunday: I worry that I'm obsessed.  I thought about
the car being exposed when I woke in the night and early this morning when
the kids were hunting Easter eggs (in the house, sadly, because the rain did
come).

We went to church this morning.  My wife and I went in separate cars because
the kids and I arrived early to get seats. After church I planned to ride by
to check the bumper height on the loaner that I'm using while the other car is
being painted.  Outside of the church, however, I was waylaid by yet another
neighbor, Ralph, who had driven by when we were unloading the car last Monday.
He wanted to know all about it, and once his wife walked away with a sigh of
resignation, he offered to come over right then with his truck and help me
push.  This is a pretty tiny town, so this all takes place in the space of about
10 square blocks.

In our Easter best we pulled up to the house and tried to maneuver his Ford
to meet the bumper of the Imperial and push.  The Ford bumper was much too
high, but since I had his help I drove the loaner into place, which is a 1986
Mercedes 300D.  We mashed a thick cushion from an old lawn chair between the two
vehicles and I very, very gently revved up the diesel.  Slowly, the Imperial
eased back into the garage like an obedient cow.  I felt like cheering!  I was
very grateful for Ralph's help, and promised him a ride on the maiden voyage.
I didn't even pop a sweat or get a speck of dirt on my church clothes.

I'm sure some of you can relate to the immense sensation of relief that I
felt when I finally shut the doors on the massive grille and headlights of the
car.  I've been trying to get it here for weeks, and to finally be able to shut
it up and walk off knowing it was protected and in my possession really felt
like an accomplishment.

More to come!  I'm off to Easter dinner at my parent's house, at which I will
undoubtedly be staring out the window, musing about the next task.  Oil
pan.... oil pan...oil pan...

Patrick Moore
Southeast Louisiana.