Shoebox

A 1951 Shoebox Ford (a Crestliner). (Photo by Dan Lyons.)

Yrs trly cut back from blogging my seven calendars to only my four train-calendars, mainly to reduce the time required.
I actually have eight calendars. Number-eight is my Rescue Irish-Setter calendar. I have a rescue Irish-Setter.
Eight calendars is silly, but to me they’re wall-art that changes monthly.
The other calendars are -a) my four train-calendars (I’m a railfan), -b) two car-calendars — one of which is hotrods, and -c) one WWII propeller airplanes calendar.
Only one calendar is an actual calendar, my hotrod calendar in my kitchen.
I also have appointments in my iPhone.
One calendar I no longer blog keeps beckoning. It’s my Classic-Car calendar, which this month has a 1951 Ford Crestliner (above), last year of the the early-‘50s Fords that saved the company.
By 1949 Old Henry was gone.
He died in 1947.
Ford was now headed by Henry Ford II, “the Deuce,” grandson of Old Henry.
The Deuce realized Ford couldn’t continue building antiques, that is, cars Old Henry preferred.
Cars that did the job, but were antique in engineering.
Cars had moved beyond transverse buggy-springs.
Ford was not awash in development money, so couldn’t develop a modern overhead-valve V8 for the 1949 model-year.
But it could develop a more modern car in concept: the 1949 Shoebox Ford.
(It was called “the Shoebox” by hot-rodders because of its squarish styling.)
Doing so was revolutionary for Ford Motor Company, tied as it was to antique engineering, particularly buggy-springs.
It was do-or-die for the Deuce; Ford Motor Company had been faltering.
The Shoebox still had Ford’s original Flat-head V8 introduced in 1932. It also had the six-inline introduced in 1941 — Old Henry once refused to build a six-inline.
But it was a modern car, revolutionary for Ford.
It was also a smashing success.
As such it saved the company. Ford at last moved beyond its antique roots.
Highways were no longer the rutted dirt-tracks Old Henry’s Model-T conquered.
The Shoebox went all the way through 1956, although rebodied twice with significant suspension upgrades.
Ford couldn’t afford a replacement until the 1957 model-year, and it was larger.
The ancient Flat-head V8 lasted until the new Y-block V8 introduced in 1954.
A “Crestliner” is a special Ford made to compete with Chevrolet’s pillar-less  1950 Bel Air hardtop. The Chevy lacked the door-pillars usually in a sedan. It mimicked a convertible.
(Pillar-less hardtops are no longer made = rollover consideration.)
Ford couldn’t develop pillar-less, but it could apply distinctive trim to its two-door sedans.
Ergo, the “Crestliner.” Special two-tone paint, and applique on the roof.
Those early Shoebox Fords were attractive to hot-rodders. They still had Old Henry’s Flat-head V8, the foundation of American hot-rodding.
A friend of mine, also a retired bus-driver like me, was very much into hot-rodding.
He had a gigantic cache of tools, and built hotrod motorcycles for himself and friends.
He always wanted a hotrod, so was building a Model-A roadster powered by a souped-up ’56 Pontiac V8.
He almost finished it but developed Parkinson’s Disease.
He also came up against the bane of all hotrod mechanics: wiring and electrics.
His car also had a serious problem. Mainly its ’56 Pontiac V8 had a 12-volt generator, yet a Model-A was 6-volt. He’d install bulbs in the car’s taillights, and they promptly blew.
I guess he switched to 12-volt Pontiac taillights, but wiring became a mess. People came out to help, trial-and-error, and things never worked. He’d start it, and the horn began blowing.
To a shade-tree mechanic wiring is spaghetti.
His car was due for inspection, and he ran out of time. He never could get it passable.
Another problem was the car’s front-end was now supporting at least 150 extra pounds. A Pontiac V8 weighs way more than Ford’s engines.
The front-end essentially collapsed; shocks bottomed.
I don’t think the frame was Model-A; it was actually a heavily cobbled ’46 Ford chassis.
But still the front couldn’t support that heavy motor; it needed suspension designed for it.
His Parkinson’s also got worse.
He had to give up and sell the car.
At which point another retired bus-driver weighed in, suggesting a completed hotrod.
That would be his ’49 Shoebox, complete and ready-to-roll.


My friend’s hotrod ’49 Shoebox. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

A great-looking classic, with original Flat-head V8; but in need of tender-loving-care.
It was still in excellent shape, but aging.
Paint was chipped here-and-there. Plus there was incredible slop in the steering, at least three-quarters turn each way.
He decided to overhaul the steering-box, and since I have a pit he drove to my house — a 20-mile trip.
The Flatty puked antifreeze all over — it probably overheated.
(Ford Flat-heads do that; exhaust is routed through the block.)
The other bus-driver and I would help. We unscrewed and dismounted a lot of stuff, but couldn’t remove the steering-box.
The poor thing sat that way at least two weeks, until another guy came out to remove the steering-box. There was a trick. Ya hafta remove floor-panels.
He then set to overhauling, but didn’t.  Shoebox Ford steering-boxes have a lotta play in them. The solution is to cobble-in a Volvo steering-box.
The car sat another week or so, but then the friend reassembled everything.
The picture is my friend backing his car outta my garage. Even then, he could hardly drive it. The Parkinson’s was making him weak.
A Shoebox Ford ain’t power-steering — he could hardly steer it. Parallel-parking was impossible.
He died perhaps a year later. The Shoebox was still in his garage — along with his gigantic cache of tools.
No idea what became of everything. That Flat-head was worth a fortune. It had rare Offenhauser (“awf-en-HOW-zer;” as in “awful”) cast-aluminum high-compression cylinder-heads.

My friend’s Flatty (Offy heads). (Photo by BobbaLew.)

I sat in the car’s driver-seat occasionally. Fuzzy-dice dangled from the rear-view; it had a floor-shifted standard three-speed (converted from three-on-the-tree).
Scared me stiff. That thing was probably good for 110-120 in its day.
But the metal dash awaited my face, and the steering-column would impale my chest. Seatbelts? Are you kidding?
I never liked Shoebox Fords that much.
I remember a relative long ago showing up at a family reunion with a Corvette-powered Shoebox.
The styling is plain, but they’re the car that saved the company.

• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. My friend was ahead of me in seniority, and we had many similar interests. My stroke October 26th, 1993 ended my bus-driving. I retired on medical-disability. I recovered fairly well.