THIS FORMER BARN-FIND 1931 MODEL A FORD COUPE HAS BEEN REINVIGORATED WITH MORE POWER, RELIABILITY, AND DRIVING PLEASURE
Readers may recall the introduction of my family’s late-1931 Ford Model A coupe (Garage Time) in the May 2023 issue. To recap, Douglas Eller accepted it in trade at Eller Motors in Spokane, Washington in 1969. It was later passed down to his son, Dick, and was then a fixture in various Eller family garages and barns, where my wife and her relatives created memories with the Ford, even though it never moved under its own power.
It was also far from stock. The exterior wore “any car, any color, $29.95” paint from the 1960s that saw body, fenders, and wheels sprayed a medium green metallic whose sheen disappeared decades ago. Also, ’39-up hydraulic brakes were installed by a previous owner, and the entire interior was trimmed in a root-beer-colored, textured, Naugahyde.
A dozen years ago, Ford was given to us, and we soon formulated a suitable plan to revive it. The first step was to remove the package shelf and shift the seat back in the name of greater comfort for my stature. Thereafter it was a matter of how far to take things mechanically. As it was no longer stock, improved drivability was the end goal, yet we didn’t want to turn it into a hot rod; simply put, merely improve what was already present without losing its identity.
How did we get there?
First, I put my faith in someone who has good word-of-mouth around town. For me, that was Troy Jonas in Phoenix. As the builder of a 120-hp Model A coupe with plenty of time on the dry lakes under its tires, he’s been fiddling with A’s for about as long as I’ve been alive. He was recommended by two people whose opinions I trust, and who didn’t know each other. After a chat with fellow Hemmings staff member David Conwill, to make sure that what I wanted to do was achievable, Troy and I completed the plan, budget, and timeline, bolstered by some of his own ideas from his own experience.
ELECTRICS
We started with a 12-volt conversion. It was necessary, as the original, extra-crispy cloth-wrapped wire had been crimped and electrical-taped half to death, and a modified GM/Delco alternator replaced the generator. The car already wore period B-L-C sealed-beam headlamp conversion buckets, so a standard set of parts-store 12-volt sealed beams plugged right in.
The new wiring also allowed for low- and high-beam lamps, new turn signal indicators under the de-chromed headlamps, and a Speedway Motors universal turn signal lever that now lives to the left of the steering column. It doesn’t self-cancel, and activating the right-turn signal puts the end of the lever beneath the instrument panel, but that’s all right.
Next, we removed the spark-control lever and the parts connecting it to the old distributor, then ditched the old distributor and replaced it with an electronic 12-volt FS Ignitions conversion kit. No more points, no more spark adjustment, no more fretting over whether I’m doing it right. Just turn the key, goose the gas, and press the start button.
We also ditched the ammeter and went with a newer parts-store voltmeter. It appears to be from the same family as the 6,000-rpm tach that’s now attached to the top of the dash. I had hoped for the tach to mount to the steering column, but there’s really not room to do so, plus it’s better placed for visibility.
Troy also moved the start button to the left side of the dash for easy reach and to prevent accidentally pressing on it. That’s because Ford put the round button on the floor, between the steering column and the cowl, which looks like the accelerator button. The new, small metal button on the dash is unobtrusive.
ENGINE
The basics of our engine—block, pistons, unbalanced crank—were solid, but everything else on board was altered. Because the block only has three main bearings, they can only take so much power—60-ish horses is a frequently mentioned figure that won’t snap the crank. On the one hand, just 20 more horses than stock? Yes and no. It’s also 50 percent more power than stock.
Snyder’s cylinder head was built to bump compression from stock 4.25:1 to 5.5:1. You could get higher compression heads, but top end can come from gearing. We discovered (the hard way) that a batch of heads were warped by .005-inch between the middle two cylinders and blew a head gasket on our test run. Some time at the machine shop perfected the plane (and bumped compression slightly).
A Ford/Holley 94 carburetor atop a Burns intake eliminated updraft carburetion but created an issue: Model A’s didn’t have fuel pumps. Fuel was gravity-fed from the cowl tank so the updraft carburetor could receive a steady supply. The downdraft unit saw the fuel line practically parallel with the ground and flirted with starvation, so Troy went with a NAPA-sourced, frame-mounted fuel pump and bent new lines.
I was given an exhaust choice: a stock manifold that would be quiet and cheap but wouldn’t help our power quest; a tubular header that was going to be loud and occasionally need adjustment; or a Snyder’s unit that split the difference. It cost about as much as a header but was a quieter choice that still helped power. An OE-style single exhaust gets the spent gasses out the back.
To show off the work, and for cooling purposes here in the desert, I elected to keep the sides of the hood off. The center-hinged two-piece hood tops remain. Troy builds a set of fasteners to keep the hood edges from flapping around, and he installed them on my Ford.
TRANSMISSION AND REAR
Purists will say the factory three-speed would do the job. I could’ve installed a period overdrive or perhaps a two-speed Columbia rear instead, but I chose a clean and (relatively) modern solution: an ‘80s-era all-synchro Borg-Warner T-5 five-speed manual from a four-cylinder GMC S15 4×4 pickup. Eighties’ Camaros and Mustangs used the Borg-Warner T-5 too, but their shifters are so far back on the tail shaft that a rumble-seat passenger could manipulate it. The 4×4 pickup’s shifter (a short-throw Hurst unit) is forward enough that it lands where it should in the A’s cabin. This is the most modern bit of technology on our coupe, even though it’s more than 40 years old. A Ford AA truck bellhousing, a ’30s V-8 Ford clutch and pressure plate, and a milled billet-aluminum conversion plate were the remaining needed pieces.
The torque tube had to be trimmed, which is where we ran into a surprise. Early Model A torque tubes were tapered, with the narrower end toward the front of the car, while later (’30-’31) units were the same diameter at both ends, which eases conversion jobs. An early torque tube was under our late ’31 A, but fortunately Troy had a correct-era piece to section.
First gear in a stock Model A transmission is 3.15:1; the T5 has a 4.03 gear, making 22 percent more off-the-line acceleration. Plus, the stock 3.78 rear becomes an effective 2.72 once you’ve selected 0.72:1 overdrive fifth gear—a lot less stress on the engine. But a 3.78 final drive ratio means you’re revving the engine pretty hard on the move. The popularity of the A, and related driving events, has led to the development of a reproduction “touring gear”—a 3.54 final drive offered through Speedway, Snyder’s, and others. (It’s made in Italy.) This means the new transmission and new rear together offer an effective 2.54:1 ratio when cruising in overdrive. That, with the added power as outlined above, should get us to cruise a steady 65 mph on freeways around Phoenix.
STEERING
Model A steering gears were straight-cut, making steering feel positively leaden, moving or not. The 1950s-era Ford F-1 pickup used a steering box nearly the same dimensions as the A’s, but its gears were helical-cut, making for far-lighter feel without resorting to power steering. We’ve seen ready-made steering columns in the aftermarket, but Troy managed to source an F-1 box plus sort out the column, installation, and bracketry.
WHEELS AND TIRES
Delivered from my mother-in-law’s garage, the car wore factory 19-inch wheels and Allstate tires, a brand name Sears nixed in the mid ’70s. New tires and cleaning up the wire wheels would have been easy; or 16-inch wires that came on later ’30s Fords that are popular for touring. But at freeway speeds, I’d like something more solid under me.
A friend located five crusty 16-inch 1940 Ford steel wheels. After Big O Tires ensured the wheels were round, they were stripped and powdercoated at Affordable Powdercoating in Phoenix. I chose a hue off its color chart called Venetian Copper, which I thought would pop against the faded green body. Eventually, a bodyside paint line, like what Deluxe models got, will be applied, either in dark green with copper edges, or copper with dark green edges. I also go back and forth on hubcaps and trim rings; or simply a set of acorn lug nuts.
As for tires, I knew I wanted blackwalls. This A is not, and never was, a whitewall kind of car, and while the car was going to be faster than stock, it wasn’t going to be so fast that I wanted to sacrifice the bias-ply look for the added security of a radial or a bias-ply-look radial. Troy recommended a 5.00/5.25-16 tire for the front and a 7.00-16 for the back. At the time of my build, tube-type Firestone 7.00-16s were out of stock, but Universal Vintage Tire Company wondered if the Firestone 7.50s they had available would fit. I wasn’t about to mix brands front to rear, and, while I had concerns about fender clearance, Troy said they’d be fine. He was right. Big O Tire mounted and balanced everything.
SUSPENSION
After 90 years, our A leaned five degrees on the driver’s side due to ancient springs and solo missions. Troy rebuilt the transverse leaf springs and reversed and rewelded the spring eyelets that brought things down between 1.5 and 2 inches. Because the springs remained stock, ride quality was meant to be the same. The knee-action shocks had long since departed; Troy used a set of SoCal shocks sourced from Vintage Parts of Arizona. We left the front axle alone.
THE RESULT
This A is now a little quicker and faster, but it’s very much an A. I don’t fret about murky shift quality, spark control, and a manual choke. Removing these anachronisms doesn’t make for an anodyne experience; if anything, I’m better able to concentrate on the pleasure of time behind the wheel, and feel what the seat, chassis, steering, and wind noise are all telling me.
There’s a reason these are called Bangers. Get moving off idle, and that aspirated poot out the tailpipe starts to sound like a propellered plane taking off. It’s a rough revver, and the higher you go, the more you consider whether it’s a smart idea to keep going: north of 3,000 rpm, you initially wonder if it’s supposed to sound or feel like that. If anything, the noise is a reminder that you’re in a 90-plus-year-old car and that you need to treat it as such. It won’t let you forget.
On the road, I worry less about the speedometer and instead cling to the tach. Indeed, it’s the engine’s life that I’m more worried about, which is why the 6,000-rpm tach is mounted on the dash. I do as Troy told me: 3,200 is absolute redline but shifting at 2,500 is advised. Engine speed drops down to about 1,500 rpm and gives room to rev and pile on the speed. The surprise: swapping out the ring-and-pinion to 3.54 touring gears, and even with the tall 7.50-16 tires, first is a crawler gear. Launch at a light and you’re shifting before you’re underneath the overhanging green; third by the time you cross the intersection. Launching in second is just as easy, and does little to harm forward momentum, or the clutch. Third and fourth are main gears around town.
Overdrive fifth does exactly what I hoped. I can run 65 mph—the speed limit on freeways in the city limits and on par with slow-lane traffic—while taching at just under 2,000 rpm. The bouncing brand-new speedometer suggested I was going 75, but seat-of-the-pants and ambient traffic suggested otherwise.
Previously, the lack of synchros and sloppy shift quality meant grinding gears and more coasting than driving. But with the full-synchro Borg-Warner T-5, selecting gears is natural, smooth, and unimpeded. The short-throw Hurst shifter prevents second from resting in your lap and smashing knuckles into the dash upshifting to third.
And steering? Previously, changing direction was a two-handed affair, whether at road speeds or while parking, and shifting needed to be done quickly. The phrase heard from people who had swapped to a Ford F1 steering box was that “installing it is like installing power steering.” I disagree: power steering is frequently numb, and depending on the application can be a little too fast for tires and chassis to comfortably cope with. This system transmits ample road feel through the wheel, but you won’t sweat changing lanes on the trot or making turns. There’s still a dead spot in the middle of the wheel’s motion—between 11 and 1 on the imaginary steering-wheel clock—so it’s not like the change made things twitchy. But it is a magnificent solution.
Is it perfect? Of course not. Is it done? Also no. The clutch is a little chattery—I’ll need to drive it more and see how it beds in. The baseball-card-size rearview is borderline pointless so I’d like a mirror on each door to see who’s next to me. The seat is kind of lumpy—a friend in the know suggested that a middle seat from a K-car-era Dodge Caravan is the way to go but I’d rather restuff what’s here. And I may also start saving to convert to a B-block. But the Ford is 98.6 percent where I want it to be, which is a lot closer than it was a year ago.
I once suggested that, rather than build a hot rod, I was going to build what I deemed a “warm rod:” stay true to what the car is, but with the wick turned up. The goal was to have a moving, drivable machine that could be enjoyed on the road; something that could keep up with traffic rather than be a moving pylon. The bulk of the technology we used was around in the ’50s and ’60s, if not earlier: only the ignition and transmission is less than half a century old. It is not the shell of an A on a modern chassis. It very much remains an A.
A stock A, even refreshed with decent tires, was lucky to go 40 mph. In a town where rural 45 mph roads are a license to go 70, I was an impediment, if not a danger to myself and traffic around me. I can now drive without imperiling myself or others. Freeway cruising in this Ford is more than I could have hoped for, and the changes make it feel more controlled and responsive. My wife, whose dad handed the A over to our care, described her first ride in it as “like skateboarding down a cobblestone street.” In other words, rough-and-tumble, but good fun, nonetheless. She’s not wrong. As it sits, her family’s ’31 Model A Ford coupe is not quite what it was. It’s far more than that—it is usable, drivable, tactile, and a pleasure to pilot. I think Dick Eller would agree.
The post This Former Barn-find 1931 Model A Ford Coupe has Been Reinvigorated with More Power, Reliability, and Driving Pleasure appeared first on The Online Automotive Marketplace.
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