The Grand Illusion that is a 1937 Ford Model A Roadster

With all the recent talk about traditional rods and what they should and shouldn’t be, wouldn’t it be interesting to see a genuine hot rod from back in the day? Not some over-restored example of yesteryear’s iron, and not some electronically fuel-injected, crate-engined, 17-inch-wheeled modern interpretation of a classic hot rod, but a true specimen from the golden era.

Well, this isn’t it. Despite this roadster’s authentic vibe and its finely weathered patina, it’s only been a rod for about a year. In fact, it’s only been a car for about a year. Don’t feel bad if you mistook it for a recently exhumed barn treasure—so did most people attending Hot Rod Magazine’s Power Tour last spring, when Norm Cooper’s recently completed retro rod went cross-country. Norm’s ruse had indeed been finely crafted, but why put such effort into building a clapped-out beater?

The origins of this particular roadster stem from the period it emulates. Back in the late ’50s, Norm was a youngster, no more than 12 years old, spending his summer at camp. One day, one of the camp kids got a visit from her older brother, who pulled up in a Model A roadster that was, as Norm puts it, “beat to death.” It was several shades of black primer with steel wheels, a flathead, homebuilt headers, and something that loosely resembled a seat. Of course, like most motorheads (even those still in training), Norm looked past the rough edges to see one of the coolest cars he’d yet witnessed.

That infectious encounter left a lasting impression on Norm, and by the time he was 15, he’d scrounged up a Model A of his own. Soon the coupe had a flathead with a ’39 trans and whatever else he could cobble together. Norm remembers driving it for the first time—before the body was even in place—right past his high school. “Which wasn’t too smart,” he recalls, “because I’d skipped school that day to work on it.”

Decades passed along with a number of other car projects, many illustrating that this hobby can get spendy in a big hurry. Yet despite the success of some of his other builds, Norm couldn’t help thinking back to the days when rodders made do with what they had. That notion served as the inspiration for a new project, one that would be enjoyable while maintaining a fairly tight budget. Helping to kick-start the effort was the fortuitous acquisition of a fiberglass Model A roadster body in a straight trade for a gallon of paint (right place, right time). Norm is quick to point out that all he got was a shell with two left doors; no firewall, floor, dash, etc. We still say it was a helluva deal.

The ball was now in motion. Norm stepped up and purchased brand new aftermarket ’32 framerails for about $700, only to be told by a neighborhood kid that someone down the road had the same rails rusting in their yard. Sure enough, the alleged rails were exact matches for the new ones, even showing the same packaging, but they’d been left behind when a kit rod project had been sold. After seven years, the owners felt it was a safe bet that the kit buyer wasn’t coming back for them. Norm scored ’em for $150, and proceeded to weld up the new ones with a set of crossmembers so he could sell them as a frame, which quickly netted some profit for the project.

In the meantime, a friend had purchased a ’37 Ford as a project of his own. The car had been turned into a street rod years prior, and not a very good one. Norm’s pal resolved to slide the original frame from under the ’37 and replace it with an aftermarket assembly, but as he was about to call the scrap collector, Norm came in to scoop up the remains. From that, he netted a 4-inch-dropped axle with hairpins and Ford drum brakes circa 1947, plus a ’55 Chevy rear axle, fitted with a transverse buggy spring and split radius rods. Even the banjo-style steering wheel and column now in the roadster were cast-offs from the ’37.

It was around this point that Norm realized that the used and abused parts he was amassing didn’t look so much like junk as they did like something from back in the day. In fact, he quickly found that instead of wanting to clean, sandblast, paint, and plate everything, he wanted to preserve the patina. By the time he had located a ’47 flathead from a local farmer, he took great pains not to disturb the grunge on the outside as he dug around on the inside to de-goo the oil pan.

Of course, not everything could be found pre-aged, so many items had to be conditioned to match. The wheels are cheap chrome jobs Norm hit with various paints and oversprays to simulate the ravages of time; likewise the triple-carb intake, which, by the way, functions using only the center carb. The grille shell is a repop primed for effect and fitted with a homebuilt grille displaying a few intentionally deleted bars. Headers were also fabbed by Norm, with an eye toward the past and a coat of cheap silver paint, which was quickly scalded to suit the mood.

Amid all of the effort to mimic an era gone by, Norm still managed to conceal some modern trickery. One of the slickest bits is the T5 five-speed trans, pirated from a late-’80s Chevy S-10 truck. Using an Offenhauser adapter that’s been manufactured since the ’50s, Norm was able to marry the flathead with the five-gear, gaining full synchronization and an overdrive. A Ford ¾-ton pickup shifter handle spliced onto the T5 shifter maintains appearances.

With so much of this roadster made up of ancient piece parts, discarded remnants, cobbled widgets, and deceptive finishing, it might seem like little more than a prop. Yet Norm’s trek from his home in Vassar, Michigan, to California not only reached the end of the Power Tour in San Bernardino, but all the way to the absolute end of old Route 66 on the shores of Santa Monica. He even had the nerve to turn around and drive all the way back home. Sure, there was a glitch—a failed generator, repaired inside of 45 minutes by some friendly local mechanics. Other than that and the 66 quarts of oil consumed by the flathead, it was nothing but bliss. “I never thought I could have this much fun with a car,” Norm says. “They say you can’t go back, but I guess I just blew a big hole in that one.”