Ah, the joys of owning a 33 year old vehicle!!
I have been trying to get my 1970 New Yorker ready for the Packard /
Imperial meet in Anniston this coming weekend (okay, it's neither a
Packard nor an Imperial, but close enough) and it's been nothing but
fun, fun, fun, since the monent I started!
If I were a poet, I'd write a poem. But I'm not, so you get a
narrative:
First, you spend close to $300 having someone else fix the exhaust leaks
in both exhaust manifolds (I am not adventurous enough to go breaking
off old bolts, so I let someone else do that).
You get the car back and-- good news-- it sounds great and nothing else
was busted (so I really should be grateful-- my usual experience with
mechanics is: fix problem 1, create 3 more problems in the process).
The first time you drive it anywhere (that night) it won't start back up
after leaving it parked 15 min. (Here is where our plot thickens!) You
call a tow truck, pay him $30 to jumpstart you, and you get home. You
suspect the alternator and/or volt. regulator.
Next day, you go to your trusty local parts place, where you run into
MR. MOPAR EXPERT. This is a nice guy, very helpful, and seems to know a
lot about Mopars. He drives a Duster and raves about how he loves
"those old C bodies," and you think: well, he must know what's he
talking about.
He brings out an alternator and plops it on the counter. You look at it
and think "Hmm, this looks different." You say: "Are you sure about
this?" Him: "Oh yeah, that'll fit anything from '70 on, Dodges,
Plymouths, Chryslers, whatever." You push your doubts aside and head
off for home, feeling confident. MISTAKE #1.
On the way home, you start planning out your day: "Okay, this should
take me about an hour, maybe two hours tops. Then I'll start cleaning
the car and getting it ready." FAMOUS LAST WORDS. Nothing ever takes
an "hour, 2 hours tops" when it comes to old cars! At least not in MY
world!
Having jinxed yourself with your foolish optimism, you set about trying
to replace the old alternator with the new. Now, I'm not a wizened old
pro at car repair, by any means-- mechanically, I'm close to being an
idiot. But I've changed out at least half a dozen alternators in my day
and it's usually a piece of cake.
First thing I notice is, the pulley on the new one is smaller than the
old one. That means I now have about 2" of slack in my old belts. I
call up Mr. Mopar. "Oh, yeah, it does have a smaller pulley, but it
shouldn't make that much difference. You sure you got it on there
right?" After long discussion, I drive back across town and he has a
pair of belts waiting for me. I compare them. They are wider than the
old belts by about 1/32nd of an inch. I point this out to Mr. Mopar.
He tells me "wider is better. You really want a wider belt in there,
anyway." I am skeptical, but whaddoIknow? I'm just a weekend mechanic,
this guy works behind a counter in a car store. I take the belts.
MISTAKE #2.
I get back home and resume my Alternator Adventure. But this sumb#$%
will not go on, no matter what I do. The back end of it is slap up
against the engine block, and the side is pinching the fuel line that
runs up between there. Plus, the bolt hole at the bottom will just not
line up with the slot in the bracket, no matter how much Manly Strength
I exert on it (or how much I verbally abuse it).
Here is where you get religious. I actually start praying to God to
help me get this alternator on! As if, with a war going on, God really
cares whether or not I get my car running again! This makes me laugh
now, but I wasn't laughing yesterday!
Anyway, when the miracle doesn't happen, you call up Mr. Mopar and ask
him again if he's sure this is the right alternator. By now he's
irritated and tells me most definitely that is the right alternator,
he's changed a hundred himself, etc., etc., and the alternator he sold
me is really a BETTER alternator for my car, despite the differences.
So I go back to struggling and praying, cursing and struggling, scraping
knuckles, bleeding all over, using mirrors and prybars and flashlights
and anything else I can find-- and the sum$@%# just will not go on.
As darkness falls, I quietly concede defeat and go into the house to
drink a beer and nurse my wounds. Soaking in the tub I vow, like
MacArthur, to Return on Sunday.
Sunday morning, I decide "I don't care if the new one is better, if it
don't fit on the car it don't do me no good!" So I say "to heck with
Mr. Mopar, I'm going to go find an alternator that looks like the old
one." FIRST GOOD MOVE. So I drive to Pep Boys, lay the old one on the
counter and say "I want one that looks just like this." He brings me
one-- and some shorter belts that are the SAME width. I go home and
start all over again.
Thirty or forty minutes later, I am done. The car starts, nothing
explodes, I haven't tangled the belts, everything works. Hallelujah!!!
The moral of the story: I hate working on old cars. I have nothing but
respect for the folks who do this for a living. My back is aching from
being bent over in the engine compartment all day, and my fingers are
numb. I really don't know how you guys do this for a living.
Okay, that wasn't a moral, it was a complaint. Here is the moral: If
you get the wrong part, IT WILL MESS YOU UP. Secondary moral: Just
'cause they talk like an expert, don't mean they is. Third moral: take
the old part with you & compare (I knew that, but forgot it).
Final moral: start preparing for the next show now!!! :)
Mark M
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