Want to learn how to fix your car? Take it on a 15,000-mile road trip. I promise–you will know your automobile, every blessed rattle, squeak, and rumble.

Better still, visit someone who owns your car–who knows each nut and bolt.

David King (owner of Brougham #615) and I have swapped many photographs and emails right here on Motorpool.com. But we’d never met in person–until this week when he graciously took time to help me on my Brougham journey. Tinkering in his Taj Garage, you won’t believe all we fixed. And man, was it handy to have four Broughams to compare!

Four Broughams--in one garage!

After tackling a bunch of minor electrical items (bulbs, fuses, etc.) we got after some bigger-ticket fun. While looking at my engine, David noticed I was missing the vacuum tube that runs up the back of the engine and screws into the right-side where the ground wire attaches to the block. The engine had it before the rebuild: if you look at the left-hand side of this really ugly “before” shot, you can barely see the tube in question. It is at the upper-left corner of the heads, adjacent to that pink wire.

Look closely, past the grease and grim, at the tube in the upper left corner

I would have never, ever noticed that missing item. Never. Here’s a “during” shot of us putting the engine back together. And yep, something is missing. That dern vacuum tube.

A few missing items, but looking good!

Important? Medium importance. The vacuum tube runs from the vacuum pump in the oil pan to supply extra vacuum to the brakes, windshield washer, windshield wipers, carburetor control, and automatic starter. The car was already generating vacuum through the engine, so the pump is simply a backup supply. Still, the tube bolts directly onto the block, and since it was missing, that meant there was a HOLE in my engine, sucking air directly into the oil pan. 

I’d carefully removed that whole enchilada a few months ago and sent the vacuum pump and oil pump to Terrill Machine in Texas for a rebuild. Vacuum pumps are nearly impossible to rebuild (or at least, so I’ve been told) and thus I was happy to hear from Terrill that mine was working well. But it was simply sucking air–not creating vacuum. Until today.

The oil pump and vacuum pump "before"

After a rebuild by Terrill Machine

David had an extra tube, which he’s graciously lent me for my trip (until I go home and find my original). He also had a check valve, which prevents oil from being sucked out and into the vacuum system. It needed some attention. The tiny spring in the valve was demolished. So a quick trip to the local hardware store, a purchase of some 30 gauge steel wire and a small dowel, and we’d whipped up the perfect reproduction spring.

I made the spring. I've very proud. Maybe I'm getting better at this auto-repair stuff.

It worked like a charm, that is, after David coaxed the steel seat to seal correctly. After an hour of fiddling, we managed to get the tube installed (boy, this would have been easier with the engine out of the car) and the vacuum tubes correctly routed.

Feeling encouraged, we decided to check the timing on the Brougham, set the idle speed down to 450 rpm (with the car in gear and the A/C on) and adjust the air screws on the carburetor. The car was running very rich. With the help of a tachometer and vacuum gauge, we adjusted the carbs to factory specs. 

What an amazing difference. The Brougham by no means ran poorly, but suddenly, she purrs like a new car. Smooth. Quiet. Vibration-free. Totally and utterly amazing. Then we hooked up the auto-start function.

That’s right. The Cadillac Eldorado Brougham can start itself. The driver turns the key to the on position and the car does the rest. I suppose holding the key in the “start” position was simply too tedious and labor-intensive for Brougham owners. Plus it really is a gee-whiz moment when the car fires itself to life. 

Mine works beautifully. And the car now catches instantly. Turn the key and VROOM, baby, the 365 fires to life in a tenth of a second. Its incredible.  David and I were like two 3rd grade boys, playing with a really big, heavy toy. 

WIth auto start fixed and the car running like butter, we were off to the races. Soon we had the passenger door lock repaired and the automatic locks clicking. More bulbs were replaced in the rear arm rests. David has the correct throttle springs for a 1958 tripower carburetor, which allowed me to remove my weirdo two-spring setup (which looked kinda ad hoc). We replaced fuses and tightened bolts. The valve covers were torqued down properly. The gas tank overflow line was secured. Relays were tested. Batteries charged. The voltage regulator tweaked. 

David’s garage, now dubbed the “Brougham Spa” was a flurry of wrenches, gauges, grease, and screwdrivers. I don’t think I’ve ever accomplished so much, so fast, on one car. Brougham 702 is getting her bits and pieces in order.

Once evening fell, David and I were both exhausted. A quick trip to Kroger provided all the ingredients for a meal that included the four Morgan food groups (salt, bourbon, fat, and pie). David’s lovely wife Becky baked some potatoes for us and we had a huge meal by the pool and congratulated ourselves for eating a meal that would make a 1958 Brougham owner proud.

Steaks, pie, brown liquor, and SALT. Fabulous.

The ultimate hosts: David & Becky (with Jack)

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Last night, I decided to stay at the nearby Worst Western. One word: mistake. It broke all of my top 10 rules about hotels, plus gave me some new ones. For instance, you know you’re walking into a seedy motel when:

1. Each motel door comes with its very own florescent bug light in a charming shade of Nuclear-Fallout-Shelter yellow.
2. The night clerk greets you with “Hey,” and gives you a creepy once-over as a cigarette dangles from her lips.
3. There is 4 inches of bulletproof glass between you and that cigarette.
4. You have to pay for your room before you get a room key.
5. The tap water in the bathroom comes out looking like pale GatorAid.
6. You’re excited there’s a chair in the room that you can lodge under the door handle.

Seedy motel security system.

1. You examine the window in your room with hopes that it’s made out of the same bulletproof glass as the night clerks’s.
2.   The night clerk calls you to tell you that there’s a breakfast bar, “with biscuits and sausage gravy,” the next morning. Note to self: check chair barricade. 
3. There is no soap in the room and all the towels are a bad shade of shag-carpet brown.
4. The night clerk calls to ask if you want a wake-up call. Add sofa to barricade.

I found myself pining for Monique and her bad directions. Where’s LeBron when you need him?

Thankfully, I didn’t get any visitors that evening and managed to sleep pretty well. And I did try those sausage-gravy biscuits, which weren’t half bad. While there, the night clerk and morning receptionist discussed American Idol, 

“That Adam Lambert. I like his haircut.”

“It looks like a girl’s haircut, but I like it.”

“He has pretty green eyes, it looks like”

“They’re supposed to all ten of them be going on tour.”

“Uh-huh.”

Sounded like it was going to be a long, long day at the Best Western.

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Antique Auto Battery is just South of Cleveland, so I motored over to return my defective unit. Their shop is a testament to what makes the old-car hobby work. A team of what appears to be seven or eight people take orders, assemble, and ship batteries from behind a residential house in Hudson, Ohio. 

I stopped in, returned the battery, and was on my way again in the span of ten minutes. They graciously took back the defective part and refunded my credit card with the full amount, plus taxes and shipping. I didn’t even have to ask, which was refreshing.

Visibility near zero: time to pull off

Heading towards Detroit, the sky opened up again and absolutely bucketed rain down on the 1958 Brougham. I moved over into the right lane and kept a steady speed of 55 mph. Big rigs passed me like I was in reverse. Other drivers, who evidently thought I was driving 2009 Ferrari, subtly disguised as an ancient Caddy, tailgated in hopes I’d speed up.

Tailgaters: what gives you the impression that crawling into my trunk will make me go faster? 

Getting frustrated and angry (no way to drive), I pulled off for a bit and waited for the rain to pass. It did, and presently I was back on the road, steaming at 60 knots for the home of Motorpool user, David King. 

David owns 1958 Brougham number 615, plus two others, which absolutely puts him into a rarefied class among collectors. An engineer and former GM guy, David knows cars and in particular, the 704 spectacular Eldorado Broughams built between 1957 and 1958. 

David King and Brougham 615

David’s Brougham is on air ride and will shortly be a masterpiece of Motordom. He’s rebuilt almost every mechanical component to the exact Cadillac specs. His lights all light up. His Brougham’s rebuilt radio plays with surprising bass and power on the original speakers. Even his clock works.

With incredible patience, David spent 9 hours with me and my Cadillac, looking at my various issues. My inoperative horn? A short in the steering column. Trunk light? Dead bulb. Low fuel light? Dead bulb. Glove box lights? You guessed it, dead bulb. We cleaned and sharpened the cars body grounds, which I think will help tremendously with my charging issues. We also spent a lot of time comparing one car to another.

My “Low Air” light was not responding to the new sending unit I had rebuilt by Mastermind. I called Mike a few weeks ago and said, “You know, I can’t even see where it’s supposed to say ‘AIR’ on the dash.” Mike told me the location, but try as I might, I really couldn’t make it out. So I looked at David’s for comparison. As you can see in this admittedly blurry photo, David has the Holy Grail of Brougham lights–they all work. Low oil pressure, high temperature, low generator power, and low fuel all come on at startup in David’s car. It looks like Christmas in there!  

The AIR light--missing on 702.

Look right at about the 60 mph mark and you’ll see a red glow. That says “AIR” on David’s car, which means that the air suspension system needs to pump up to the right pressure before you yank the car in gear and speed off for the country club, martinis with the Rat Pack, or down to the Jitney Jungle. 

Maybe just a bulb in my car was blown? 

Unfortunately, to change the dash bulbs in a Brougham requires one to be a contortionist. Two hours later, we’d pulled the instrument panel partially out and I found out why my bulb didn’t light. There was no bulb. The socket was covered in masking tape and adhered to the high beam socket wire. No problem, I thought, I’ll just un-tape this sucker, pop in a bulb, and push it into the socket . . . hey, where’s the socket?

The low-air light socket, wrapped in masking tape

To my utter disappointment, there was no socket, no place to insert the bulb. GM had deleted the AIR light in 702. I guess they got tired of all the customers calling that that light was always on, so they fixed the problem by deleting the light. Hmm. Then they wrapped the bulb in masking tape and fixed it to the high beam wire so it wouldn’t rattle. Those rats. Unbelievably, they didn’t even punch out the AIR light on the dash. I felt all around 60 mph back there–not a single indention that would hint of a special AIR light. 

Crud. I looked at David’s red and cheerful AIR light with jealousy. 

Then I made a vow to put in an AIR light someday when I had the instrument panel totally out of the car. Until then, I guess I’ll have to keep up with my own hot air.

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