She was the doctor’s car first, a two-tone Chevy with a 283, an automatic transmission and the tail fins that would make the ’57 famous.
Then she became the farmer’s project.
LeRoy Schafer paid $500 for her in the early 1970s. He cut a hole in the floor for a stick shift, drove it in a few Franklin County parades, then stashed the car in his barn.
He pulled it to another barn, and a third, always planning to give it fresh paint and a bigger motor.
“But we got busy with the farm, and he never found the time,†Joelene Schafer said. “He kept saying, at the first of every year: ‘This is the year I’m going to do it.’â€
Her husband died in 2010, the Bel-Air still collecting dirt and dust in south-central Nebraska.
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Until Joelene thought about the Chevy, and about LeRoy, and decided to finish what he had started.
* * *
Old cars come here to be born again.
A shop near Cornhusker Highway, bumper to bumper with Corvettes and Trans Ams in various stages of undress, duress, excess -- all waiting to be reshaped and rebuilt by a crew that learned how to make these models as good as new --sometimes better -- when they were young men and the cars were younger, too.
The freshest face at Muscle Car Memories Restorations is pushing 50. The oldest can see 70. Together, the half-dozen here have been doing this for more than 230 years.
And they’ve learned. Which gaskets to use on a Pontiac Super Duty 455, for example. How to sand, prime and repeat to make a Corvette hood straighter than when it came out of the factory. The different faces of gauges.
“Most of them have been working on cars since before they could drive,†owner Steve Schappaugh said.
“My guys are kind of like our customers. They just love their old cars.â€
His shop does small jobs -- a new fender, beefier suspension, finish work. And it does complete nuts-and-bolts restorations -- every piece of a car disassembled, rebuilt or replaced, then put back together.
It’s meticulous work, giving new life to old cars. His staff recently spent 2,000 hours on a 1968 Camaro, a car that likely rolled off the assembly line in just days.
“They’re not fast by any means,†Schappaugh said. “There’s no book that says 3.2 hours is all you’re going to get to replace a fender. We never want to get to a point where we’re hurrying through a project to finish it. The type of work we do, you can really tell.â€
And you can pay: a few hundred to make your paint look better; more than $50,000 to restore your car; more than $100,000 for an all-out custom rebuild.
But the cars keep showing up -- from Lincoln, Omaha, across the country. This month, nine of 15 projects at the shop had been hauled in from other states by owners prepared to spend 20, 40, 50 times what their cars originally cost.
There isn’t a direct return on investment. Put $50,000 into an old car, and it’s not necessarily worth $50,000.
It’s worth something else. Seeing your first ride reborn, or climbing into the car you always wanted but couldn’t afford, until now.
“From a financial standpoint, it’s not smart,†said Ed Dedick, who started this shop and sold it to Schappaugh.
“You’ve got to have some connection to it. Then it’s worth it.â€
* * *
In Franklin, Joelene talked to her sons about fixing the ’57. One of them had just restored his high school pickup, a ’72 Chevrolet shortbox.
Mother and son visited several shops, liked Muscle Car Memories and, more than a year ago, watched Schappaugh trailer the 55-year-old Bel-Air to Lincoln.
The team took stock. The paint was shot. The body needed some palm-sized patches. The motor needed to be rebuilt. And Joelene wanted modern conveniences -- automatic transmission, air conditioning, power steering, disc brakes.
She wasn’t in a rush. The car already had sat for decades.
The cost would total tens of thousands. So Schappaugh agreed to chip away at it, working on it a couple of weeks per month.
“Everything needed attention,†he said. “It had been sitting there many, many years.â€
His crew was performing another rescue: the ’68 Camaro.
“It was a very, very rusty car. Almost to the point of: This body shouldn’t have been saved. And most of it wasn’t.â€
Today, 15 percent of the original car remains -- the cowl and part of the floorboards. Schappaugh’s crew replaced everything else with high-performance parts, new sheet metal, a fresh 350.
The out-of-town owner didn’t cut corners.
“He just wanted to drive it and have a good time.â€
The driving part can be rare. Some customers spend so much they’re reluctant to drive more than on and off a trailer for car shows.
“When you get to a certain level, if they get very much use, it starts to devalue the car. You get a car and you want to improve it and improve it a little more, and the next thing you know, you have a car you don’t want to drive.â€
* * *
An Omaha Corvette owner could buy a nice house with what he’s paying to put his ’62 on a new frame with a new drive train.
A husband and wife from Lincoln restored the Ford Galaxie they’d bought new for their honeymoon – in 1965.
A St. Louis man sent the ’73 Firebird he’d started to rebuild but couldn’t finish.
A woman is spending more to fix her grandmother’s ’53 Chevy than it’s worth.
“They’re all people who have a love for the car and a real connection to it,†Schappaugh said. “The only common bond is these are folks who love their cars.â€
True inside the shop, too.
Schappaugh, 57, bought his first car in 1973, still a student at Northeast.
And it started.
“I’d buy cars, work on them, turn around and sell them if I found a better one.â€
After he graduated, he flew to San Diego to buy his first Super Duty Trans Am. The 19-year-old got only two speeding tickets on the long drive back to Lincoln.
He spent more than 30 years at Lincoln Electric but didn’t give up his hobby; by his count, he’s owned 250 cars, still has about 30.
He had people lining up -- wanting him to restore their cars -- so he started looking for a shop.
He found Dedick. The Malcolm man got his first job working on Corvettes as a 14-year-old at Automotion in Emerald. He worked for other shops and, in 2006, opened E3 Restorations.
Dedick liked working on cars, but he didn’t like being the boss.
“I had to ask myself: ‘What do I love doing?’ And it wasn’t running a business.â€
He sold to Schappaugh, who changed the name. They’re joined by decades of experience. Jerry Frye, 68, for instance, worked on a Chevrolet assembly line in Georgia and, later, fixed Corvettes at a dealership.
He was done working, retired, when he was asked to help on a ’56 Chevy. Then he was asked to help on another.
He’s been there since.
“When you get up and come to work, doing what you really love to do, and they pay you for it, that’s a bonus.â€
* * *
Joelene drives a Chevy TrailBlazer. About once a month, she points it north, to Lincoln, to check on her Bel-Air.
“It’s looking good.â€
It should be done, back home in Franklin County, by the beginning of summer.
And on the road again.
She calls herself “one of those little old gray-haired ladies. I might be 4-11, but that’s stretching it.â€
But she couldn’t keep a car like that just parked in the garage.
“I think I’m going to start driving it.â€