Monica’s Restoration

People order things online all the time—books, clothes, electronics, and so on. Not many buy a rusted out British sportscar and ship it 400 miles, uncovered, in northeast November weather. And, for those that do, few of these projects become completed, road-worthy cars. And of those that get finished, I only know of one that was restored in an apartment building garage in The Bronx, NY, by a 15-year-old and his father…and it’s mine.

Jason and Monica, the Bronx B.

I am now a High School senior, and I’m a car guy. I love cars—old cars, new cars…if it has wheels and an engine, I’m probably interested. As a novice I wanted to restore my own project for a first car. Everyone loves the late-60s GM muscle cars, so I began my search for, you guessed it, a 1969 Camaro Z/28 with a 4-speed manual (because, what fun is the automatic?!?) I immediately found a problem. A “Z” with no engine or transmission and a tree growing through the rusted floor was at the least $6-8,000, way above anything I was realistically able to spend. But one Sunday in October of 2011, I surfed across this nasty, barn-find 1973 MGB roadster. It was up for a low price with no reserve, and there was a video of it running and driving, so I clicked on the link. Somehow, I convinced my parents to let me buy this car—they entered the credit card, I paid them back in cash, and I arranged to have the car shipped here from Akron, Ohio. In retrospect, convincing my car-guy parents wasn’t too difficult—my Dad still has a ’74 B he bought when he graduated High School, in which he then installed an aluminum Rover V8 with a 5-speed. My Mom owned an ’80 B for a time.

The first picture I saw of the car, from the listing on eBay.

When the car arrived on the truck, it had a short in the alternator that made the ignition light come on as soon as a live battery was connected, even with the key in your pocket. And there was an exhaust leak that made an 1800 cc 4-cylinder sound like a machine gun from a World War II movie. We parked the car in a corner of the apartment building garage on November 10^th, 2011, exactly 25 days before my 15^th birthday. From that weekend on, for approximately a year and a half, I would come home from school, and as soon as I finished my homework, my dad and I went downstairs to the garage, usually before dinner. On weekends or vacation days, we would be downstairs until two in the morning, sanding bodywork, applying Bondo, fixing rust, and priming the new bodywork. Everything except minor welding and paint was done in the garage of my building, at a ridiculous hour of the night when all the people without MG projects were fast asleep.

The passegner side beam installed. It fits right into the inner sill.

My MG was quickly nicknamed “Tetanus” for no hidden reason—it was rusty. The car was so rusted in the rocker sills that it folded when it came off the truck; the passenger door wouldn’t open because it was butted up against the rear quarter. There were two holes in the upper front fenders big enough to pass your clenched fist through. The transmission mounts were like old kitchen sponges, and the transmission squeaked and banged against the walls of the tunnel. But miraculously, the Ghost of Joseph Lucas didn’t reside in my car—everything worked electrically, right down to the dimmer switch on the dashboard.

I tried to keep the project as inexpensive as possible, and therefore used as much of my own time and materials as I could. For example, instead of buying new rocker sets and paying to have them welded, my dad and I realized that the inside of an MGB rocker is 2” x 4” – dimensions of common steel square box channel. A section of about 4’ long is now bolted under each inner sill, one on each side, installed by jacking the car up by the beam itself and gauging how high to jack by the opening in the door gap. I paid a grand total of $73.00 from PBZ Steel in Pennsylvania for what would have become a costly rocker sheetmetal replacement and welding job, and the passenger door opens with ease. Not bad! We even riveted “L-channel” onto the bottom of the beam on each side to give a straight edge for the new outer rocker covers, doglegs, and lower front fender panels to tie into. I also used as much of my father’s miscellaneous MG parts collection, seeing as it’s there and, well, he wasn’t using it!

New underlayer for the interior, before the carpet, console and seats. The wires exposed are speaker wires I am hiding with the carpet, riveted in place with the front of an old antifreeze container! The two bolts exposed at the top are holding the passenger side “frame rail” in place!

I kept a detailed log of all the work done on the car, from hand-cut carpet for less money than any commercial kit, to a brand new seat upholstery that I installed myself, to electronic ignition conversion, to new front brake calipers and pads, to new chrome molding, to a new top, and even more. In total, I’ve spent a manageable sum of money for the restoration, and except the shipping and a few gifts from family and friends, I’ve paid for all of it. My B is something I can be proud of and it’s a car that’s fun to drive, fun to look at, fun to be around, and fun to talk about. Different from the stereotypical father-son project, my car brought my family and neighbors closer, with my mom and younger brother helping when they could with riveting new sheetmetal, waiting to eat dinner, and just giving their support and enthusiasm.

I’m a firm believer in learning to drive a manual transmission car.  I think that all the computer-assists to driving in a modern car make driving too easy, especially for a teenager, a new driver.  Driving is an activity that needs to be respected and valued for its spirit and risk.  Its gravity needs to be appreciated by everyone behind the wheel, and modern driving can make that appreciation too difficult to grasp.  Driving a 40-year old car with a manual transmission, I am forced to listen to every noise the car makes, every shudder I feel in the steering wheel, and every behavior the car relays to me.  I am forced to understand how my machine works, and therefore I operate it to the fullest, safest extent possible, for me and everyone else on the road.  It puts the appreciation and the respect back in the activity of driving.  Driving an MG is not a task – it’s a measured desire, an opportunity to relax at 60 mph and enjoy the simple pleasures of music playing and the engine humming.

Driving the MG is so much more than a trip to get groceries or to pick up a friend.  It’s an interaction between you, your car, and some clever engineers in England, who 50 years ago gave the B its athletic handling, great drivability and timeless spirit.  It’s one of those experiences you can’t think about or do without a big smile on your face.  Sometimes, the car will impress me on those cool autumn nights when it will pull hard in 4th gear, and sometimes I just sit back in the driver’s seat and enjoy how nicely it drives or much fun that little car is for everyone in it or around it.  My MG has an energy that can’t be defined.  It’s the energy that simply says it’s ok to go the long way when I’m coming home from work, just because…well you know, just because!

Father’s and Son’s – 1973 and 1974 MGB roadsters.

I recommend to any crazy kid with not enough space and a lot of enthusiasm to tackle a British car—they’re fun, they’re puzzling, they’re British, and they turn heads everywhere. I’m not sure where the road will lead me and my Damask Red B, but I know it won’t be the last MG I work on. What I’ve learned from the frustration of rusted bolts and sheetmetal, and the reward of new bolts and sheetmetal, is invaluable, and I think this project was a major step from “novice” to “experienced” car guy. I’m applying to college for Mechanical Engineering this fall, and I can’t wait to pull up at school with my B shining in the sun. As someone great once said, “An MG restoration is never finished…When one is not working on it, it is merely resting.” Safety Fast, everyone.

By Jason Levy