The Story

When I first moved into my neighborhood in Queens 16 years ago, the first neighbor to introduce himself was a man named Bob. He stood tall behind my front doors and I heard his voice say "I know you don't know me so you don't have to open the door. I just wanted to say welcome to the neighborhood." From that day on, Bob would end up being the neighbor I grew closest to. He loved telling me about what new cat toy he invented as well as recounting me details about his time served in Vietnam. One day he invited me to the back so that I could grab something from his garage. As he opened the heavy garage door with ease, I saw something AMAZING. There it was, a strange green car sitting on all its tires blown out. Dust covered everywhere from the chrome to the dull green paint and spiderwebs littered the undercarriage. A gray blanket partially covered the hood and boxes sat all over the body. In my mind, I saw a relic - A car that in its former glory was a proud piece of American Engineering. A vehicle that was made to last and a time capsule that has soaked in so much history. This car was the Chevrolet Corvair.

​

Seeing my genuine interest in the Corvair, Bob told me that the car was a low mile car, with original paint and only a little bodywork. He said that he drove the car for a while, parked it in the garage one day and it never came out after. His son in-law owned a repair shop but always said the car would cost too much to restore, so it continued to sit in the garage. Bob then said "Since you like the car, one day when you hear I pass away, I wan't you to come over and pull the car over into your garage."

​

Bob and I continued to be close over the years. Every winter we would have snowball fights and had a competition of who could get the snowmall in the "O" of the stop sign. We would ride bikes together and eat ice cream and cookies till we were stuffed.

​

Unfortunately, as time went on, Bob's speech started to become slurred. Understanding what he was trying to say became more and more difficult. After a lot of testing, he was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's disease. However, at heart, Bob was still the same person he always was. I clearly remember one memory from when he was pretty sick. At this point he needed an aide to walk but when he saw me, he tried to lift the garage door open which was then beyond his strength, to show me the car.

​

Bob passed away after a tough battle and a year or so later, I recieved a call from one of his daughters. She told me that the house was being sold and the closing was at the end of the week. If I wanted the car which was in Bob's will for me, I should get it out before the house closes. The day before the closing, I assembled a team of two of my closest friends Jeremy and Joshua, my cousin Salim and someone named Greg who would be my guru on my journey of restoration.

​

Taking the Corvair out was a real pain. Since all four tires were blown out, we had to jack the whole car onto wheel dollys. We then pushed the car off the bug riddled carpet and tried to push it out of the driveway. The uneveness of the pavement and the narrowness of the driveway made this task a nightmare. Greg's '98 Ford Explorer was the only vehicle capable of pulling the Corvair that we could find, which could fit in the driveway.

​

The car was pulled into my driveway and I gave it the first wash it received in over 30 years. That alone made me feel as if I were unearthing a time capsule from the years of grime, dirt and filth which enveloped the car. My mom shook her head as a piece of "junk" was now going to sit in our garage.

​

It was time for work to start on the Corvair.