It's 'all about the wrench' for Chapter 75 Davenport builder
Todd Welvaert, twelvaert@qconline.com
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He pushes one lever forward, pulls another back, turns the key and the engine in the cream-yellow Model T pops to life and the smile on Jim Smith's face spreads into wide grin.
It's not the simple act of turning a key on the almost 100-year-old car that drives his expression, it goes much deeper than that. It runs like the electricity through the wires and wood-boxed coils and plugs, through the engine and the intricacies of the transmission bands that power the wood-spoked wheels and into the very paint that covers the car.
There isn't an inch the 67-year-old Davenport man hasn't touched, not a bolt that he didn't turn, not a detail he didn't, in some way, sweat.
It's not the Model T that powers that grin, it's the wrench. The car wouldn't explain the planes, or the old houses or the buildings. He's a tradesman, he will tell you, and it's always been about the wrench.
"I think Beverly says it best," he says of his wife of 45 years. "When I first started, I'd buy these dogs -- buildings or old houses or cars -- and Beverly couldn't see what those were going to look like when I was done, but I could see it. All she could see was a mess. I can sit here and look at whatever it may be that needs, you know, a whole lot of attention, and I can see the finished product. I can see it in my mind, it's already shining. But you got to run the wrench, you got to run the hammer. This is what I do. I don't go golfing; I don't sit in taverns; I don't watch ball games. I run a wrench or a hammer or what have you."
He's a plumber by trade, worked at it for 10 years before becoming the training coordinator for the next 30 years with the plumbers and pipefitters apprenticeship program. Asked if he's retired, he only replies, "Kinda."
Aside from restoring the Model Ts, two sit in his drive, he's also built several airplanes. Almost all the work was done in either his basement or his garage. He was honored with an outstanding workmanship award for his plan-built Starduster Too biplane at Oshkosh, America's largest gathering of flying enthusiasts held every summer in Oshkosh, Wisc.
Do-it-yourself airplanes come in two forms these days, plan-built or kit-built. Manufacturers sell kit-built planes that come pretty close to allowing a customer to assemble the complete airplane out of a kit of materials and parts. Plan-built means it's up to the builder to assemble the materials, which Mr. Smith likes better.
"I like welding and painting and making things. It goes back to turning the wrench," he says.
He started building "air bikes" which similar to ultralight airplanes in the 1960s, when he also started flying. Since then, he's built "a couple" airplanes, including the Starduster Too and a Waco Cabin airplane that was originally built in the 1940s.
"The founder of EAA (The Experimental Aircraft Association) came up to my airplane and asked 'What are you going to build next Jim?' I said 'What do you mean?' He said to me 'You're a builder, you're going to be building something till you die.' I think that kind of sums it up."
He can't tell you what he enjoys more, flying or driving, but he has a special appreciation for the cars and maker Henry T. Ford and the engineering that made them possible.
"Henry Ford Made 15 million Model Ts and up until just few years ago there were still more Model Ts registered in the world than Volkswagons," Mr. Smith says. "That's just recently changed, maybe a couple years ago, but there's still lot out there. The problem is less and less folks want to mess with them. I think it's that age bracket is retiring. An antique to you is a 57 Chevy and a Model T is ancient. To me a 57 Chevy is still a pretty modern car. All depends on where your perspective is."
One of the Model Ts is a 1921 and as "close to 100 percent" as he can make it, and the other is a customized 1922, but he confides "there's a lot of 1912 in the that car."
He also owns a few rental properties in town, something he takes nearly as much pride in as any of his projects.
"I like being of service to people I guess is how you would say it," Mr. Smith says. "We bought a few places and fixed them up, gave some good people a nice place to live. I think they like having it too. It always amazes me how good people really are."
In the workshop, where Mr. Smith does much of his welding and painting, he pulls a box off the shelf. Inside, there are a dozen or so parts waiting to be treated against corrosion. He hefts one piece in his hand, a length of beveled and welded steel with three exact, threaded holes.
He explains where it's going to go on his airplane and what it will end up doing, and as he holds it a grin slowly spreads across his face.
It's all about the wrench.