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

[PNKMoore@xxxxxxx]

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.