1952 Chev SuburbanBeastie
I’m passionate about old iron, and a little long-winded, so bear with me…
Sometime in the mid 60s, my Aunt and Uncle bought a 1952 Chev Suburban from a friend. They are in their 80s now, and my Aunt and Uncle don’t recall for certain, but believe they paid around $200 for it. They say it was “Beautiful … in perfect shape.” They were young newlyweds at the time, and with a twinkle in their eyes, casting knowing glances at each other. In what I suspect to be an intentionally edited version of the story presented in an effort to maintain the saintly image they’ve established over the years, they vaguely describe the “fun” they had in the Suburban, driving around with all their friends, the weekend trips they made from their home in Ogden Utah down to Salt Lake City “to concerts and shows and stuff.” It WAS the 60s…
It seems the party wound down after awhile. My cousins came along. The Suburban transitioned from the party wagon to my Uncle’s commuter. It became what I suppose would be considered a “beater” in today’s vernacular. Sometime in the late 70s, the Suburban was abandoned at my Grandfather’s property after my Uncle picked up a newer G-Series Chevrolet van, but not before stripped the seats out of the back of the Suburban and installed them in his new ride that didn’t come with any. At that point, the old Suburban was really starting to show its age and use (or abuse) and the years it had spent traversing Utah’s heavily-salted winter roads.
The Suburban added to my Grandpa’s collection of antiques he had acquired over the years including a 1926 Chrysler Roadster, a 1928 Hupmobile, a 1930 Ford Model A Roadster, 1935 Ford Slantback Tudor Sedan, 1940 Oldsmobile 4-door Sedan, 1958 Cadillac Fleetwood, 1960 Chevy Impala, and a 1967 Chevy Impala SS (his daily driver).
In 1980, when I was 8-years-old, my parents divorced and my Mother moved us from Arizona to live with my Grandparents in Utah. My Grandfather took me under his wing. He became my best friend. He put a wrench in my hand and told me what to do, then a torch … then a grinder... I came to love the smell of PB Blaster and lacquer, associating it with that dear old man.
Without backseats, the old Suburban was used like a pickup truck by my Grandpa. I recall many trips as a kid sitting on that little front folding seat on the way to and from the dump or the salvage yard, the 216 clattering away, watching the road roll by through the holes in the floorboard. Before I could even reach the pedals, well my Grandpa put me in the driver's seat, and behind the Suburban wheel that I could barely see over -- I mastered the art of the stick shift.
When I turned 16, my Grandpa let me drive Suburban “to school.” That probably wasn’t the best idea. Suffice to say the Dionysian spirits conjured up by my Aunt and Uncle were reawakened by me and all my rowdy friends who sat in the back on beanbags … and a cooler… It was during that period, the moniker “The Beastie” was affectionately and fittingly coined for the old behemoth. And the good news is, after a couple of years, and before I did anything too stupid, I eventually earned some money and bought my own truck, and I gave the keys back to my Grandpa, the Beastie not too terribly worse for wear.
Growing up in the shadow of my Grandfather, it was natural that I took a job in a garage after high school. And in 2003 when my Grandpa passed away and willed his collection of beautiful restored automobiles to his children, because of how tight we were, and as the only member of my family with any kind of inclination and mechanical ability, it was no coincidence that Grandpa willed all of his
unrestored vehicles to me including the '67 SS, the '35 Ford, and the '52 Suburban.
I was newlywed then. My own little people coming into the picture. Money was scarce. I sold the Impala to my nephew (still has it). And when the master cylinder started to fade, and then the fuel pump went out, we pushed the Beast into the back yard and sort of forgot about it. And the vines took over…
A decade and a half later, college and graduate school behind me, I’m working as a counselor at an experiential-based boarding school for teens. And when the pandemic started, things got weird. We couldn’t even hang out at the local park without getting chastised by police. We had to get creative to keep the hooligans occupied. So I came up with the idea to give the boys a little auto shop experience.
So we woke up all the spiders and chased them off. Brushed away the cobwebs. Filled the rotten tires that miraculously held air long enough for the boys to get the Beast pushed into my garage. We pulled out the greasy, rusty 216, stripped it down and sent it to Jenson Auto, the best machine shop in town. The crank and updated bearing inserts my Grandpa had fitted were still in good shape. The block was bored, new pistons & rings, block and head resurfaced, valve job… Radiator and fuel tank removed and sent out for service, local armature shop went through starter and generator. We installed a new new fuel pump, new belt and hoses, new master and all new wheel cylinders, shoes and drums, packed wheel bearings, new wiring harness, new battery. We fixed all the corroded grounds and got all the lights working, cleaned the mouse nests out from under the seat and glove box, 4 new tires…
While my students and I were in the process of putting everything back together, I took a trip out to my Grandpa’s shop that the family still owns and where my 1935 Ford is stored (in pieces… (my Grandfather was in the beginning stages of that resto when he became ill…). I happened to glance up at the ceiling, and there in the rafters covered in the most obnoxious mustard colored corduroy and backed with thick, disgusting, '70’s era shag carpet were both the Suburban back seats. Apparently, my Uncle had the presence of mind to remove and save the seats before he junked the G-series back in the '90s. Pretty sure I heard angels singing.
It took us several months but we got the Beast all put back together. I was surprised by how enthusiastic my students were. Working in my garage became their favorite activity. We’ve had a blast. We’re still working out the bugs, but the Beastie runs and rides pretty dang good. My old trusty FJ60 that’s been my daily driver for years has recently developed some engine issues, and so while I get that sorted out, and just like old times, the Beastie has become my daily driver... my Grandpa’s ghost smiling, sitting shotgun.
So now I have old Suburban on the brain. Whenever I have down time, I find myself scouring over this forum, watching YouTube videos, looking through parts catalogs. I’ve fallen back in love with this thing. I have big plans to start a frame off restoration. I’ve been building and off-roading Landcruisers for years, and I know very well how helpful a prolific technical forum can be. Super glad you guys are out there and I found you. I have so many questions I don’t even know where to begin. Looking forward to becoming part of, and hopefully a contributing member of the community ya’ll have built! And thanks for giving me a place to tell my story.
Shawn from Utah
