[plexitim]

Chapter one. Flash back to 1980 and I have nearly always driven hot Chevrolet cars. My wife at the time was indulging my madness in my quest for a solid 1970 Chevelle SS396. We saw a bunch that were supposed to be ‘numbers matching’, or ‘has potential’, or ‘nearly finished’.

You know the feeling when your heart sinks, when there is more plastic and fiberglass in the body panels than a Corvette is supposed to have, right? That was what it was like trying to find a good Chevelle. Long story short, some guy’s ad went into the wrong place, advertising a “Ram Air GTO” in the Chevelle section. Whatever that was. It was a 1969 model that had a 4-speed and rally gauges. It was supposed to be orange. Hmmm. The price was right, we went that same night but by the time we got there, another buyer had left a deposit. Dang. And so here I am, in the street, imprinted with all this bow tie stuff about how a car is supposed to be, looking at a 1969 GTO that is about ten shades louder than pumpkin orange....but just somehow captures something so very different than your garden variety Chevelle. Sadly, I get back into the family station wagon and leave, taking the long drive home. Starting to think though, that these GTO cars are really pretty cool, very different, and what was my obsession with Chevelles anyhow?

OK so a week later I get this call, and the orange GTO guy is saying the buyer who left the deposit never came back for the car, won’t return his phone calls and am I still interested?

You betcha, I say.

And so we drive an hour only to find the guy who left the deposit and his buddies climbing all over the car, mumbling amongst themselves, feeling the trunk surface and stuff. Seller does not know what to say or do. He is embarrassed. The three guys going over the car are serious. And I am kinda pissed. But the uncomfortable feeling vanishes when the deposit guy approaches the owner, says it needs more work than he thought and either the price comes down or he wants his deposit back. The owner gets a grin on his face, looks over at me, I grin back at him as he hands him back his envelope and hands me the keys. It was an amazing October evening, dusk was falling and the dried leaves got whipped up on the pavement of the roadway as the Ram Air rumbler shifted smoothly through the gears and off into the night. The car was not what I would call fast, but it had enough power to push you back in the seat. It cornered nicely, and stopped beautifully. It had this delicious whine of the 4-speed trans, and you knew the car was packing something big under the hood. Mostly, I loved the styling which was a lot more sleek than the ‘guppy’ look the 1970 Chevelle had. More like a Coke bottle, I suppose. I remember the test drive was long, maybe forever. When we got it was dark though, and the moon was rising in Oakland New Jersey. I did not debate over the price because the truth was far more simple than that. I wanted THIS car. I could identify with this car. This was MY car. My GTO. Period.

Chapter two. Seven years of enjoyment. Over the years, I would learn about PHS and send away for documentation, only to discover the car was originally a Judge model, whatever that was. But the ‘Judge ness’ did not matter so much to me, all I cared about was the way this thing drove, handled and looked. Over time, I had come to realize the reason the car had no spoiler was that an earlier rear end accident had required some pretty advanced bodywork to be done including replacement of trunk lid and one quarter panel. And where that work had been done, body rust had begun to get bad. So I had started to stockpile parts with intentions of doing a proper restoration. But by then our first daughter (now 17) was born, we needed money and I ended up abandoning the restoration effort midway, selling the car to a bodyman who promised he would not part the car out but restore it to its original glory. When my daughter was four years old, Tom (the guy who bought the car) invited me to his house. The car was mint. DEAD mint. He had shown it at a NJ meet and placed well, and my heart melted when he offered to let me drive it. God, with the fresh WS motor, what a total machine this thing had become.

Chapter three. Fast forward two more kids, and a few years later. Newly on the hunt again, but this time for a ’69 Judge. Not a Chevelle. In the forlorn corner of New York state, after seeing a few decent Judges for sale, was “the one”. A one-owner North Carolina car whose body was nice, but the interior was toast from the heat down there. A picture in my head of a station wagon with the little missus, and two daughters all of whom gave me the thumbs down on this car that needed so much work. Me? I liked the parchment interior. I loved the purple tinted windows which clashed so terribly with the carousel red paint it was cool. I loved the one owner status and GMAC paperwork that came with the car from 1969. And the 4-speed. And dear God that beautiful throaty rumble that only a Ram Air GTO with lumpy cam and mufflers about to fall off can make. Car needed a new everything? You bet. But I am, after all, old school. I am not a money guy or a speculator. I am not a dealer. I am a car guy. What matters to me is the car. I guess that getting a real Judge that deserves to be brought back from many years of tough service, and made back into what the General originally intended, is what this hobby is about for me.

This is not something that makes particular logical sense. And it sure does not make financial sense either. Restoring old cars is a matter of emotions. It is a matter of frustration and love for the cars. It is a journey of the heart.

That this particular Judge needed a new everything was not my concern. What was my concern was that this one was cool and unique, it was PHS documented. And even though we had seen some better Judges along the way, this one – for whatever reason – made my heart speed up when I sat behind the wheel. Some things you can’t explain. You just know.

Not long after that, I was given a gift of sorts. I have a picture in my head of my son who was then about a year old. He was in the Judge, in diapers, standing on the driver seat bouncing up and down, pretending to be driving the car. My son gets it, you know. Even to this day, my daughters feel the car is a heap and why could I not have started with something….well something that seems to be a little more like a car? But then the change happened. My oldest daughter helped me when it was time to cut out the bad metal from the trunk and mig in new sections. My son enjoys working with hand tools, and is helping with some interior work. Which I kind of figured one day he would when he took my then-mint ERTL die cast Judge that used to be mine, and it became his constant companion in the tub, on the bedroom floor, down the stairs. More than anyone of my kids, my son IDENTIFIES with the ’69 Judge. I cannot explain why.

All I know is that one day, if my plans work out, there will be yet another beautiful Judge that was brought back from the dead. It will be shiny carousel red with factory stripes down the sides, and a parchment interior. And a twist of the ignition key will rumble the ground behind it, with the authority of what a GTO – the original Legend – is about. If everything goes as planned, it won’t be my car though. It will be my son’s. Just as my one daughter fell in love with my old and crotchety Z/28 and one day perhaps it will be hers….my son gets it about ’69 Judges. And me? Probably as many of my kids as still want to be around this crazy old coot at that time, will pile into a car after we scour the want ads, looking for another ’69 Judge for dad to pick up and start the process all over again.

Something that needs a little work would be OK, you know.

Maybe something in blue next time.

But definitely a ’69 Judge.

Definitely 4-speed.

Definitely Ram Air.

Because now I know what the word ‘Judge’ means.

It means nothing else even comes close.

[plexitim]

Chapter one. Flash back to 1980 and I have nearly always driven hot Chevrolet cars. My wife at the time was indulging my madness in my quest for a solid 1970 Chevelle SS396. We saw a bunch that were supposed to be ‘numbers matching’, or ‘has potential’, or ‘nearly finished’.

You know the feeling when your heart sinks, when there is more plastic and fiberglass in the body panels than a Corvette is supposed to have, right? That was what it was like trying to find a good Chevelle. Long story short, some guy’s ad went into the wrong place, advertising a “Ram Air GTO” in the Chevelle section. Whatever that was. It was a 1969 model that had a 4-speed and rally gauges. It was supposed to be orange. Hmmm. The price was right, we went that same night but by the time we got there, another buyer had left a deposit. Dang. And so here I am, in the street, imprinted with all this bow tie stuff about how a car is supposed to be, looking at a 1969 GTO that is about ten shades louder than pumpkin orange....but just somehow captures something so very different than your garden variety Chevelle. Sadly, I get back into the family station wagon and leave, taking the long drive home. Starting to think though, that these GTO cars are really pretty cool, very different, and what was my obsession with Chevelles anyhow?

OK so a week later I get this call, and the orange GTO guy is saying the buyer who left the deposit never came back for the car, won’t return his phone calls and am I still interested?

You betcha, I say.

And so we drive an hour only to find the guy who left the deposit and his buddies climbing all over the car, mumbling amongst themselves, feeling the trunk surface and stuff. Seller does not know what to say or do. He is embarrassed. The three guys going over the car are serious. And I am kinda pissed. But the uncomfortable feeling vanishes when the deposit guy approaches the owner, says it needs more work than he thought and either the price comes down or he wants his deposit back. The owner gets a grin on his face, looks over at me, I grin back at him as he hands him back his envelope and hands me the keys. It was an amazing October evening, dusk was falling and the dried leaves got whipped up on the pavement of the roadway as the Ram Air rumbler shifted smoothly through the gears and off into the night. The car was not what I would call fast, but it had enough power to push you back in the seat. It cornered nicely, and stopped beautifully. It had this delicious whine of the 4-speed trans, and you knew the car was packing something big under the hood. Mostly, I loved the styling which was a lot more sleek than the ‘guppy’ look the 1970 Chevelle had. More like a Coke bottle, I suppose. I remember the test drive was long, maybe forever. When we got it was dark though, and the moon was rising in Oakland New Jersey. I did not debate over the price because the truth was far more simple than that. I wanted THIS car. I could identify with this car. This was MY car. My GTO. Period.

Chapter two. Seven years of enjoyment. Over the years, I would learn about PHS and send away for documentation, only to discover the car was originally a Judge model, whatever that was. But the ‘Judge ness’ did not matter so much to me, all I cared about was the way this thing drove, handled and looked. Over time, I had come to realize the reason the car had no spoiler was that an earlier rear end accident had required some pretty advanced bodywork to be done including replacement of trunk lid and one quarter panel. And where that work had been done, body rust had begun to get bad. So I had started to stockpile parts with intentions of doing a proper restoration. But by then our first daughter (now 17) was born, we needed money and I ended up abandoning the restoration effort midway, selling the car to a bodyman who promised he would not part the car out but restore it to its original glory. When my daughter was four years old, Tom (the guy who bought the car) invited me to his house. The car was mint. DEAD mint. He had shown it at a NJ meet and placed well, and my heart melted when he offered to let me drive it. God, with the fresh WS motor, what a total machine this thing had become.

Chapter three. Fast forward two more kids, and a few years later. Newly on the hunt again, but this time for a ’69 Judge. Not a Chevelle. In the forlorn corner of New York state, after seeing a few decent Judges for sale, was “the one”. A one-owner North Carolina car whose body was nice, but the interior was toast from the heat down there. A picture in my head of a station wagon with the little missus, and two daughters all of whom gave me the thumbs down on this car that needed so much work. Me? I liked the parchment interior. I loved the purple tinted windows which clashed so terribly with the carousel red paint it was cool. I loved the one owner status and GMAC paperwork that came with the car from 1969. And the 4-speed. And dear God that beautiful throaty rumble that only a Ram Air GTO with lumpy cam and mufflers about to fall off can make. Car needed a new everything? You bet. But I am, after all, old school. I am not a money guy or a speculator. I am not a dealer. I am a car guy. What matters to me is the car. I guess that getting a real Judge that deserves to be brought back from many years of tough service, and made back into what the General originally intended, is what this hobby is about for me.

This is not something that makes particular logical sense. And it sure does not make financial sense either. Restoring old cars is a matter of emotions. It is a matter of frustration and love for the cars. It is a journey of the heart.

That this particular Judge needed a new everything was not my concern. What was my concern was that this one was cool and unique, it was PHS documented. And even though we had seen some better Judges along the way, this one – for whatever reason – made my heart speed up when I sat behind the wheel. Some things you can’t explain. You just know.

Not long after that, I was given a gift of sorts. I have a picture in my head of my son who was then about a year old. He was in the Judge, in diapers, standing on the driver seat bouncing up and down, pretending to be driving the car. My son gets it, you know. Even to this day, my daughters feel the car is a heap and why could I not have started with something….well something that seems to be a little more like a car? But then the change happened. My oldest daughter helped me when it was time to cut out the bad metal from the trunk and mig in new sections. My son enjoys working with hand tools, and is helping with some interior work. Which I kind of figured one day he would when he took my then-mint ERTL die cast Judge that used to be mine, and it became his constant companion in the tub, on the bedroom floor, down the stairs. More than anyone of my kids, my son IDENTIFIES with the ’69 Judge. I cannot explain why.

All I know is that one day, if my plans work out, there will be yet another beautiful Judge that was brought back from the dead. It will be shiny carousel red with factory stripes down the sides, and a parchment interior. And a twist of the ignition key will rumble the ground behind it, with the authority of what a GTO – the original Legend – is about. If everything goes as planned, it won’t be my car though. It will be my son’s. Just as my one daughter fell in love with my old and crotchety Z/28 and one day perhaps it will be hers….my son gets it about ’69 Judges. And me? Probably as many of my kids as still want to be around this crazy old coot at that time, will pile into a car after we scour the want ads, looking for another ’69 Judge for dad to pick up and start the process all over again.

Something that needs a little work would be OK, you know.

Maybe something in blue next time.

But definitely a ’69 Judge.

Definitely 4-speed.

Definitely Ram Air.

Because now I know what the word ‘Judge’ means.

It means nothing else even comes close.

[79TA455]

Great story.

[Meridian]

Very cool story.

I wish my neighbor would fix the 69 Judge he has in his driveway. It's just sitting there rotting.

[plexitim]

Thank you for the kind words of encouragement.

I will post updates from time to time as more progress is made on bringing this one back. In my case I do not have the money for a high-end restoration, and can do much of the work myself. Perhaps this is your neighbor's situation also.

But let's face it. For a lot of folks owning a special interest vehicle is not at all logical, but a matter of emotions. Perhaps you could appeal to your neighbor's emotional side with photos of completed Judges. You know, like "...you HAVE one of these in your driveway.... you could be out cruising.... what are you thinking?"

Failing that, maybe you could make him a fair offer on the car and save one more Legend in the process. Never hurts to ask.

[plexitim]

You have spoken it very well, David.

I have, at a few times in my life, been told not to bother, the car is not worth it. by people supposedly more experienced and wiser than I. Logically I knew it would be a losing proposition in terms of what it would cost in time and money, versus what it would be worth in the end. Thing is, I don't do this for money or profit. I do it because the cars came from a time and place that was, and will never be returning again.

I am, after all, not a speculator or a money guy. I could give a rat's ass how much a car I bring back from the dead, is worth on the market. Because I bring them back not to sell but to drive and enjoy. I am a hobbyist.

Fortunately there are places like PY, AMES, Year One and OPG, who happen to feel there are enough hobbyists who just love the cars, that they will source darned near everything you need to do a correct restoration from T3 headlights to your lug nuts.

They know that the true reward comes from sitting behind the wheel and envisioning how it will be once completed. Regardless of who believed in your vision or not. The true reward comes from, after years of hard work, turning the key of a car that used to be a roach, and tooling in to the local McDonalds on cruise night and being with a hundred other like minded souls who also remember what theirs used to be.

[Gas455]

That is exactly how I feel about cars as well.....I'm going to look at a 1938 Chev pick up truck on Sat....it needs a lot of work.... But as Plexitim said

"They know that the true reward comes from sitting behind the wheel and envisioning how it will be once completed. Regardless of who believed in your vision or not. The true reward comes from, after years of hard work, turning the key of a car that used to be a roach, and tooling in to the local McDonalds on cruise night and being with a hundred other like minded souls who also remember what theirs used to be."

I mate of mine has seen the pic of the truck....and said " Smith, What the F#ck are you doing??"

But I have a vision!!!!

[plexitim]

Hi, GAS455. It's a strange and beautiful thing when we come up to an old project car be it a '38 Chev or a GTO. Sometimes your heart will ache for the forlorn beast but realize it should be someone else's problem to deal with. Other times you can just see yourself behind the wheel and doing the serious work needed. It is this SECOND kind of response that says "I can do this" - put in the blood sweat and tears needed - to transform the car into all it could be.

[mike nixon]

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-title">quote:</div><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-content">Originally posted by PlexiTim:
Hi, GAS455. It's a strange and beautiful thing when we come up to an old project car be it a '38 Chev or a GTO. Sometimes your heart will ache for the forlorn beast but realize it should be someone else's problem to deal with. Other times you can just see yourself behind the wheel and doing the serious work needed. It is this SECOND kind of response that says "I can do this" - put in the blood sweat and tears needed - to transform the car into all it could be. </div></BLOCKQUOTE>

i think that most of us on this site have the same feelings for these old cars.

the truth is it's an addiction, once you've gotten the bug it never really leaves you. an old car rolls by or you see one sitting and you get the itch again.

glad to see that someone else is passing on the interest to their kids.hopefully this will keep the hobby alive after all the "investors" have jumped ship and the prices fall. this will happen, and when it does the common muscle cars will become affordable again.

mike

[nicko72gto]

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-title">quote:</div><div class="ip-ubbcode-quote-content">I am not a money guy or a speculator. I am not a dealer. I am a car guy. What matters to me is the car. </div></BLOCKQUOTE>

you quoted that perfect. its exactly what ive been trying to say about the restoration process on my GTO

[cwolf]

Same here my friends thought I was cazy to buy my ventura.I know it'S not going to be easy but so far I am enjoying everything that I am doing along with my son's.

[nicko72gto]

yea i know what you mean when i brought my goat home every one was calling it a piece and saying that it will never get done and that id never finish it, so far ive got all the frame work done painted and everything, and im about ready to start my engine again (torn down at the machine shop getting valve job and bored) all i know is that when im done it will be worth it no matter how hard the work was

[plexitim]

Possibly one of the most satisfying things, Nick, has been the enjoyment of seeing a project that some said "what a piece of C$%p" start to look more like a real car, and begin to share the vision that it CAN be done.

There is no magic. Just vision and a lot of hard work and determination to take you there.

[nicko72gto]

just watching it be reborn is enough for me, knowing that with your hands you can bring back to life something many others would have been consedered dead long ago, ill be posting pictures of my progress soon

[Gas455]

I love seeing a car come together.....from nothing to glory.

I have a few projects going on at the moment
1962 Holden(Bear metal respray)
1967 Pontiac GTO ( bought as is: Body on 4 44 Gallon drums, Chassis in front...stripped completely....

Then if I get this 38 Chev Pick up....it also needs finishing.....But I do know what I want these cars to look like when they are finished...I just need to find the time and money to get them all going!!

I work in an office all day long...I enjoy having a go at putting these cars together...I do need help along the way...But I love seeing them come together...then taking them for their first outing!!

Gas

[plexitim]

I am totally in synch what you are saying here, GAS455 (and Nick and others)! Even during this restoration of the project I am working on - a labor of love - there have been times when I have thought that maybe I should have started out with something that needed a little less work. It can be scary when you remove the interior, nose, doors and engine and realize you are past the point of no return in that your "vision" of how this car will look when finished....well it looks like even less of a real car than when it arrived. But then I think about it some more, I realize that who I am is someone who likes to tinker. And then I think about the small victories along the way. Right now I am getting ready to cut off rusty metal on the front fenders, and weld in patch panels and re-install the front end sheet metal. It is a small victory as was the re-installation of the restored doors. But it is one more piece of the GTO that I have personally been through, repaired and made it roadworthy (or show worthy) "the right way". I know that once the fenders are repaired, I can re-assemble the nose and then I will have something that begins to resemble a real car again. And then I realize that step by step, the Legend is getting reborn.

There are, I am sure, people who can afford to buy a completely restored '69 Judge for some very serious dollars that needs nothing but to turn the key and enjoy. I am not one of those fortunate few. What I am - and a lot of my friends are - are the old school die-hard hobbyists who realize the value of a properly done GTO is emotional gut reaction not financial, and have an intense satisfaction realizing that each piece of their ride is something they personally have handled, worked on, fixed and then reassembled.

Seems like it is contagious. In a few weeks, we will have the start of the swap meet season (Englishtown NJ). And like every year since they were born my kids will go to sleep the night before in their clothing because their nutty old man gets on the road at 5:30am and they don't want to miss the morning french toast sticks, the haggling over the right part at the right price, or coming home with more memories of stuff needed to bring her back to bone stock.

Onward, man.