History
The following few paragraphs were originally written by me for a club newsletter, which was published in August, 2003. For reasons which will become obvious, it was titled ‘Mechanics for Non-Mechanics.’
Soon after taking delivery of my Stude, in 2004, I spent the best part of three days under the car fixing oils leaks. Being a motorcyclist, I don’t take kindly to cars dumping oil all over the road. I’ve skated down the road many a time, leaving leather, denim and skin in my wake. I blame slippery, oily road surfaces, that and a young man learning just how far over a motorcycle will go before it breaks traction with Mother Earth. To the average observer, motorcycles defy the laws of physics and this may be so, however even the fixed principles of physics wont hold up when the road is greased with oily deposits.
My Studebaker came from a farm in the Southwest and it spent a great deal of time parked on the earthen floor of a shed which served as the car’s garage. The dark clay surface made it hard to notice significant oil leaks but when the old 64 Cruiser came to live at my house I became concerned at the oil deposits on my otherwise very clean concrete floor. Concern gave way to disgust and finally panic. As a motorcyclist I didn’t want to be held responsible for dumping oil everywhere my Stude went so I resolved to repair the leaks, after all, it couldn’t be that hard, just like a motorcycle only bigger.
I have been told from many sources that when oil leaks from the back of the engine it’s the rear main seal that is responsible. Likewise the front (felt) seal is probably responsible for the oil coming from up forward. At that time, my car had had two previous owners, spending most of its life on farms in Harvey. It had 40 years of built up cow-shit, dirt, gravel, insects and small fury animals. Naturally all of this sediment made it rather difficult to tell exactly where the oil was coming from.
I parked the Stude on my drive up-ramps, which gave me an extra 220 mm to crawl under the car, a location where it immediately became apparent I was destined to spend some time. I can’t remember the order in which the bits came off but it went something like; grill, radiator, water pump, fuel pump, harmonic balancer, timing cover (then back on to keep the afore mentioned cow cow-shit out whilst I set about working elsewhere), starter motor, sump (and I now know the steering was supposed to come apart prior to removing the sump), aft bearing cap, rear main seal – sort of.
Pulling the car down provided a good opportunity to clean everything up. On the down-side, I found every time I put my head anywhere near the underside of the car dirt and grease would end up in my eyes, hair and face.
To set about installing the rear main seal I loosened the crank off, as suggested in the shop manual, and the new rear main went in a treat, so too did the front seal when the time came. The oil pump went back in nice and easy then I went off and sourced a tension wrench to torque the crank up.
Putting the oil pump back on without first torquing up the cap screws was a mistake but nothing too dramatic but, a word of advice here, one shouldn’t try to torque bolts up to 90 ft/lbs using a universal joint because when they fly apart those little pieces of forged shrapnel can be quite lethal!
The drama really started when it came time to put the sump back in place. For some reason known only to them, Studebaker had a four-piece gasket set-up. I remember thinking ‘who thought that little number up?’ If I subsequently learnt there was a one-piece rubber gasket, and, I can’t see why there shouldn’t be, I would have probably cut my wrists, except I had already done that during the installation process, the result being blood, sweat and tears mixing with the mess on my once spotless garage floor. Isn’t it funny how one can inflict these huge lacerations to one’s hands whilst working in awkward conditions without actually feeling it?
With the sump back in place I turned my attention to the front of the engine. It was about that time I noticed the engine mounts were not really mounting, more a stop-gap to prevent the heavy 259 cubic inch V8 engine from falling out. Seriously, both mounts were broken and the old donk was just lying there, on these awful pieces of greasy, perished and compressed rubber. A trip down to a local auto parts provider revealed Ford shares a similar mount and after a few mods they fitted a treat. I think my new thermostat housing was also destined for a Ford (but that’s another story).
Juggling new mounts into place also proved to be a bit of a hassle, particularly working alone, but it did help having the radiator and grill removed. Day three under the Stude went quite well, with the odd trip down the road for those extraneous bits and pieces to ensure the whole thing goes back together properly (this also helps to lessen the grief caused by all those extra nuts and bolts that don’t seem to have a place at the completion of the job).
Then it came time for start-up. I considered having a counselor on standby – just in case the engine leaked oil when it was fired up, I really don’t think I could have coped with that. However there was no need, the engine held up, tight as a drum.
Which brings me to that old “Drum” tobacco commercial with the fellow sitting next to his MG rolling a smoke, the caption reading “the satisfaction of doing it yourself”. Yes, I had done it myself but, not being a smoker (nor MG driver for that matter), I felt it was was time for a little reward and set about enjoying a frosty VB. Just as soon as I cleaned the floor.
