How I restored a 1937 International D2 pickup truck

How I restored a 1937 International D2 pickup truck video

When I told my mother I’d bought a 1937 International D2 pickup truck, she rolled her eyes. When I told her I planned to restore it myself, she said ladies normally don’t do that sort of thing.

Don’t I know.

Before I saw the truck on my friend’s picture car lot, I’d only changed the oil in my daily driver twice – and that was 15 years ago. Under the dust and the leaves and the housepaint someone threw on it while filming a movie, however, I could see the truck’s classic curves. It has an art deco dashboard, even the heater as rusty as it was, looked like the Empire State building.

There’s a song that goes, “Girls don’t like boys, girls like cars and money.” Well, I like it all. And in June, I talked to my husband, made a pretty good deal with Jim and then looked at my “new” antique auto.

It was an impulse buy. While still shaking Jim’s hand a few words flashed across my brain’s synapses, “Uh, wonder what I’m going to do with that?”

Lucky for me, around this same time our buddy, Rob, bought a 1955 Packard Panama Clipper from Jim and started working on it in the same shop. We made a deal to help each other out and if it hadn’t been for him this truck would probably still be in stage one of disassembly.

I decided to approach the process like an Army general. My first plan of attack was body work. That would give me time to order pieces and parts so everything would be together by the time I tackled the engine. Trucks are great for first-time restorers, I learned accidentally.

During the sanding and rust removal phase we took the bed off, which is held on with only six bolts. This opened access to all the brake lines, gas lines, the gas tank, shocks, behind the wheels – a whole world of stuff to fix or replace.

Naturally, the plan of attack became more a suggestion of a police action than anything else. Turned out, we worked on what needed to be done as we saw fit. That meant coming in every day after work, after walking the dog and after a quick bite to eat (around 7 p.m. ) and staying until midnight sometimes. Most weekends were at least eight hour days.

Some nights we got a lot done and felt great. Other nights, it seemed, the truck just didn’t want to cooperate and we only accomplished one thing. But it was one more thing than we had done the night before.

During my first stint at antique car restoration I learned a lot very quickly.

A little grease and dirt never hurt anyone. Sharp, rusty metal and brake fluid, however, are killers.

If, as you’re cleaning a 70-year-old glass fuel pump, you joke about it breaking – it will magically slip from your fingers and shatter on a cement floor. Joke’s on you.

That’ll be $45.

Truck mojo is linked to gremlins.

Never tell anyone when you estimate the truck will be done. If you do, the gremlins will make sure you never get it done.

Always bring your old nuts and bolts to the hardware store when you’re looking for replacements. My workbench is covered in nuts and bolts I’ll never use. I always wanted to open a bar, but I have a head start on a hardware store now.

Steel is harder than human knuckles.

You know you’ve been accepted when you walk through the door at any local auto parts store and three people greet you by name and ask how the truck’s coming along. Norm on Cheers! has nothing on me.

Good deals on old car parts are the exception, not the rule. Pay the fair price, don’t complain and if you happen to get one good deal, leave some beer out for the gremlins.

Wiring is fun. Cutting rusty bolts is not. Yeah, it was really funny when the windshield wiper motor caught on fire, not so funny trying to remove it.

All mechanics should be up to date on their tetanus shots.

Sometimes irony is funnier if you keep it to yourself. While the bed was off and I had just painted the chassis, an old guy who owns a junk yard walked through the shop with Jim and my husband. As he passed my truck he looked at it, whistled and shook his head. “Would you look at that,” he said. “They near ‘bout did a complete frame-off restoration on that thing.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, “They certainly did.”

He still has no idea.

One last thing I learned really brought me back full circle to why I bought the truck in the first place. I wanted to learn, I wanted to be self-reliant, I wanted a break from the mental fatigue at work. But mostly I bought it because it reminded me of exploring Fort Fisher with my dad in his old International Scout. I used to hold the light while he worked on the engine.

One night at the shop, I heard voices and pulled myself out from under the truck. I was wearing green army coveralls and dripping with sweat, grease and rust particles. Steve, my husband, had brought in an older gentleman who was friends with Jim.

He introduced himself and we talked a little while before he asked me what my maiden is. When I told him, the old guy grabbed his heart and stumbled backward. Steve found him a chair and when he sat down, he put his face in his hands. His eyes were watering.

Wayne was the man’s name and my dad, it turns out, was his automotive mentor. This was before the internet, he said, and Model T parts were very hard to find. My dad ended up making a lot of parts for his car from scratch by turning them on his metal lathe.

And that’s why every night after work we always grab a beer or a Coke from the minifridge, sit back, look at our work and review the day’s progress. You don’t want to lose those memories.