With regards to scored drums, I guess I really never thought of it too much as we were always schooled to ensure that the drum surface should be smooth and uniform. And of course, in any of the shops I worked in, that blue Ammco brake lathe was a standard fixture.
I guess you can make the argument about scoring providing an increase in surface area - although this seems marginal.
The question remains if this would be offset by reduced contact in areas where the scoring might not be consistent. Certainly a rough surface is going to accelerate lining wear. Depending on the severity of the scoring, it may also produce a brake pull on the fronts if the surfaces are inconsistent between the drums. So, to do the job right, the drums should be resurfaced if they are beat up. I too, like HRL's suggestion about using sand paper to re-arc the shoes. Very clever...
That said, when I was just a wee lad, I remember watching my Dad, a consummate do-it-your-selfer, perform brake jobs on the family vehicles in our driveway. ("Always replace those shoes before you get down the rivets!" I can still hear him say.) Since having drums turned cost $$, I don't think he ever turned a brake drum in his life, and somehow our vehicles always stopped and we all survived. Although, I also think the asbestos linings of that era were a lot easier on drums than the friction materials of today. He must have also gotten lucky with the shoes he picked matching the drum diameter, because I know re-arcing, like drum turning, was never a part of his standard service procedure. I am in no way promoting this - but when you had a limited budget, and kids to feed, you do what you have to.
John,
There actually is a story behind my moniker. I worked for an OEM, and the building we were in had fairly strict union work rules. When we received instrumentation or equipment in wooden crates, we could only open them only if they were nailed shut. If the lids were attached with screws, requiring the use of a screwdriver, we had to get a union carpenter to open the crate for us. (Sounds insane, I know, but those were the rules).
Since we were often impatient, and a carpenter was not always around when you needed one, I brought in one of my Dad's old crowbars - one of the classic ones with the rounded end. (You know - the kind that Moe always hits Curly or Larry over the head with.) Screws or nails, it did not care, those crate lids came off with a degree of plausible deniability in case we got caught. ("I could have sworn those were nails.... You mean that little cross on the head means its a screw? … I didn't need to use a screw driver!....")
I kept it in my desk, where it just barely fit diagonally in the bottom drawer.
One day some millwrights were placing a piece of equipment and were having some trouble getting it located properly. They were lamenting that one of them would have to go back to their work area to get pry bar, when I opened up my desk drawer and offered up the use of my trusty crowbar. They were greatly amused that I even had such a tool, let alone how fit it into my desk. Since my name is Bob, they started calling me Crowbar Bob, and the name just kinda stuck. Years later, I would pass one of those guys in a hall, or even in another building and they would yell out: "Hey! Its Crowbar Bob!". Which was fine with me.
I have been called much worse..
Best Regards...
