The Saga of the '56

In 1973, my Dad was living in Oakland, California. Back from Vietnam and newly discharged (honorably) from the Marine Corps. It was at that time he purchased a 1956 Chevrolet 210 from a middle-aged Italian lady for $50. Two-tone green and a damaged fender. That car would later carry him back home to Minnesota, where I was born. My Dad still drove the '56 throughout the 1980s, now painted all white, with a 327 small block engine. I remember riding in it all the time when I was a kid...for awhile there, I think it was Dad's everyday car. I remember sitting in the driver's seat many times when it was parked in the driveway, steering the wheel, pretending I was driving the beast. When I was 7, I slammed my right thumb in the passenger's side door, breaking it (my thumb, not the door). A few years went by and the ol' 56 began to get neglected a bit. It wasn't driven as often. It sat parked for years...in the driveway, in a barn, it even sat in a cow pasture for a year or so. After awhile, we made the decision to get the '56 back up and running again. Repainted and tuned up. A lot of body work needed to be done. Thus began the process that took years to "complete."....

The old beast is flat black now, with semi-gloss black flames. It's still got the wicked 327 engine under the hood. It's my daily driver in the Spring, Summer and Fall. That's what these old vehicles are for. You try to keep them running, then drive the piss out of 'em. No trailer queens allowed.
 I'm still working on it (with help from my Dad and my Uncle Marv). I'm often asked "when will it be finished?" God, what a terrible thought. What a shame it would be to have completed it. To have nothing else on it to fix, modify or customize.

The '56 went from California to Minnesota, from white to black, and from one generation to another.