Breakfast at the Best Western revealed a car-enthusiast waitress, who came out with the cook, dishwasher, and general manager to see our stately departure from the parking lot.
The view from the Best Western St. Paul
Ominously, the generator light would not go off and the needle read “discharging.” Not encouraging. Still, we managed to make it the 3.4 miles to Schelen-Gray Auto Electric (since 1922). Unfortunately, their rates have gone up since then to $98 an hour. But Schelen came very highly recommended from John Kincade, a fellow Cadillac & LaSalle Club Member and owner of both a 1930 V-16 and 1941 Series 62 convertible sedan, we took a risk and told the shop to get busy.
After 40 minutes of running various tests on my car, the verdict was not good: the generator was potentially fried like the bacon sandwiches my mother used to make. More bad news: it would take 3 hours to remove and diagnose the generator. It might take a day to repair it, depending on the condition of the armature. Or, it might simply be the field wire or some brushes.
I nodded and grunted, pretending to know what an armature is, helpfully adding, “I hope it’s not the armature.”
Kim, who I banished to the waiting room for burning shop hours by chatting up the $98-an-hour mechanics, tried to cheer me up by showing me a picture of a stork swallowing a frog.
Never give up.
I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to be the bird or the toad.
John lingered to tell us about his cars (to which he’s added power steering, incidentally). For my part, I tried not to be nervous and instead think positive thoughts. We waited in a cramped room where a Coke machine served as the primary decoration along with the stork-frog illustration.
Our waiting room parter helpfully suggested, “In the old days, we used to get out and hit it with a hammer. It usually worked. For a while.”
A few silent moments passed as I pondered the inherent wisdom of that approach.
He suddenly blurted, “You can buy a hammer at Home Depot for $1.50. Cheaper than $98 an hour.”
We passed a few more silent moments as I contemplated the location of the nearest hardware store.
“Wouldn’t it be something if that worked?” he asked in his flat Minnesota accent. “You’d save $96.50.”
Why was this mechanical genius here at the shop? His cruise control was broken. He had taken his own advice and hit it a few times with a hammer. “That helped it for a while, but then it broke again. I think it’s a plot from Ford. Planned obsolesce,” he muttered.
Kim agreed that it was probably was a plot, and also speculated why the pantyhose manufacturers couldn’t make a run-free model.
“Back in the day, you could really beat on those cars. You couldn’t hurt them. These days you dent ‘em pretty good doing that.” He continued,
“If Honda made a refrigerator, I’d go out and buy it right now. I have a Honda mower. You pull the string and it runs all summer. Try pulling the string on my Mercury and you wouldn’t get three blocks.”
Now I was enthralled with the man, and he launched into a full-scale story assault. “I had a new 1956 Chevrolet back when I was 19 and was down in Waseca, Minnesota. I went down there to get some fishing tackle and was going to show off my car. I seen a guy coming up behind me pretty quick and I decided I didn’t want him to pass. So I floored it and took off, getting up to 80. Well, that car came right up behind me and passed like I was standing still. It was a Cadillac. I gave up trying to keep up when my Chevy began blowing blue smoke.”
After six hours and many other tales about Mexican pennies, casinos, and Coke machines, we received some good news. The generator was fine. The new voltage regulator was the wrong model, capable of 30 – 40 amps. The generator was cranking 50-60 amps, and that’s why I’ve gone through 3 regulators on this trip. Eureka.
Check out that center point: purple. Not good.
We also replaced the generator-to-regulator wiring, charged the battery, tested the voltage drop from the front of the car to the rear, and replaced the connectors on the ignition switch.
The final bill: $550.
At last, after 2 pm, we made our way onto 94 West and lit out for Fargo. The drive was smooth and beautiful. Great rolling plains gave way to big sky country. Traffic was at a minimum.
Then something wonderful happened: Kim turned on the radio and the mast rose slowly out of the fender. “It lives!” I cried, as the radio cracked to life for the first time. We tuned the radio to the loudest station, KFGO, and wow, it sounded beautiful. So I phoned the station and asked what was going on in town tonight.
The power of radio. The AM lives!
In true midwest fashion, the host said, “Come on down to the station–I’d love to see the car.” While I was driving there, evidently the phones lit up with classic car buffs calling in to tell the station about the huge cruise-in being held this evening. By the time I got there, I found myself answering people’s car questions on the air.
Kim and I wrapped up the evening at a fantastic car show, full of friendly folks (and amazing cars), passing out t-shirts and answering questions about the Brougham from throngs of collectors. What a day.
Frog? Stork? I’m just glad I didn’t give up.