1950 Oldsmobile - The Polynesian

Can you pinpoint the moment when the custom car bug bit you? Gene Blackford can.

It was the summer of 1953, and 12-year-old Gene was walking with a buddy through the Portage Lakes resort area near Akron, Ohio. A crowd of people had gathered near a roadside custard stand, and Gene wandered over to see what the commotion was about.

"Somebody in the crowd said 'What is that?'" Gene remembers. "And someone else said 'A California custom.' And here's this purple car. I was just mesmerized. And that just soaked in really far, you know, as a kid."

The car was none other than the Polynesian, Jack Stewart's sectioned '50 Oldsmobile, fresh from the West Coast after being built at Valley Custom in Burbank. The encounter made Gene's day. Little did he know then how its lasting impression would affect him decades later.

The car Gene saw was not just any California custom. It was perhaps the best-known car to come from one of the most respected shops of the 1950s: Valley Custom. The Burbank-based business was a partnership of future National Rod & Custom Car Hall of Fame members Neil Emory and Clayton Jensen. From 1948 to 1960, they worked their hammer-welding magic and lent a simple-yet-sophisticated design sense to dozens of custom cars and street roadsters, including Ron Dunn's sectioned '50 Ford and Dick Flint's iconic Model A track roadster.


According to a 1990 interview with Emory, Jack Stewart had just returned from military service in the early '50s when he saw Dunn's Ford in the Motorama show in Los Angeles. An Ohio native, Stewart talked to Emory and Jensen about giving his '50 Olds 88 a similar treatment. Unlike most customers of the day, Stewart didn't want to fool around and have the headlights frenched one month, the taillights done the next month, and so on. He wanted the whole car customized, start to finish, at one time. He was the type of customer most shops dreamed about.

Stewart's Oldsmobile got the full custom treatment over the course of about nine months. A 4-inch body section was its definitive modification, but it also got reshaped front wheel openings, custom fender skirts, and a bold front bumper/grille built from a '47 Olds bumper in a custom opening with a shapely lower pan. The headlights were frenched and recessed using handmade and drilled stainless rings, while frenched '52 Studebaker taillights got a similar treatment. Emory and Jensen were true craftsmen, preferring to hammer-weld and metal-finish the body panels rather than slather on lead filler. Very little lead was needed before the metallic orchid paint was applied.


The car's construction was thoroughly chronicled in the emerging enthusiast media. Hot Rod and Rod & Custom ran stories in their September 1953 issues, while the 1954 Motor Trend Custom Cars Annual contained dozens of pages of buildup photos. At some point prior to its completion the Olds earned its Polynesian moniker, a name likely derived from the Tiki bars and other South Pacific influences in Southern California at the time.

Just Another Used Car Stewart returned to Canton, Ohio, shortly after the Polynesian's completion and, like most customs of the era, used it as regular transportation. It even served as his wife's car for a while, until she became pregnant and couldn't fit behind the wheel. In the ensuing years, the car turned up in several East Coast magazines-including the pocket-size Custom Rodder-and, as Gene discovered, caused quite a commotion wherever it went.

It's hard to believe today, but the Polynesian's luster began to fade with the changing tastes and times of the late '50s. Detroit's finned and chrome-laden offerings soon made simpler early customs look plain by comparison. Stewart eventually sold the car, and it went through a succession of owners. One of those owners (nobody will admit to it) "updated" the car with short fins, '57 Plymouth taillights, and extra grille bars. By the early '60s, the Polynesian had disappeared, and it seemed that nobody cared or noticed.

Gene Blackford remembered. By the early '70s, Gene had opened up his own autobody and restoration shop, the Red Lacquer Room, in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. He was at a New Year's Eve party with some friends when the topic turned to cars and Gene recalled his childhood encounter with the Polynesian. Someone at the party said he also remembered the car, and recalled seeing it on the Kent State campus while attending college in the early '60s. That meant it had still been on the road, and in Ohio, within the previous decade.

His curiosity piqued, Gene found Jack Stewart's number in the Canton, Ohio, phone book and called him. To Gene's surprise, Stewart was quick to share information. He had sold the car to a guy by the name of Zagray, who indeed used it to commute from Canton to Kent State (about 40 miles round trip). So Gene tracked down Zagray, who gave him the name of next owner, who gave Gene another name, and so on.

The last guy on the list, a man named Stark, did not have a phone number, but did own a body shop in a rural area near Canton. Gene went there one Sunday and tracked him down. Stark said he had sold the car to a local named Warren Wise, and helped Gene call him so he could ask the fateful question: "Can I see it?"

The Wise property was tucked back in the woods of a hilly mining area southeast of Canton. The car was in a barn. "It was just like in the movies," Gene says as he describes the barn door opening to reveal the classic custom. "That's a famous custom," Wise said proudly. Gene offered him $1,000 but was quickly turned down. "I'm saving it for my son," Wise said. A few weeks later he changed his mind, called Gene, and accepted the offer.

35-Year RestorationTracking down the Polynesian was only part of the battle. Restoring it proved to be a bigger challenge.

It's not that the actual restoration was terribly complicated. The car was surprisingly complete, although there was rust in the floor, and the driver-side door and rear quarter still suffered from poorly repaired collision damage. Surprisingly, the original taillight openings were still intact under the fins, and Zagray called to say he had the original taillight bezels stashed away in a box.

What got in the way were the usual priorities of life and business. Gene was raising a family and had just opened his shop, so the Polynesian was soon stashed away in his mother's garage where it stayed out of sight and out of mind. An earnest restoration effort was begun during the first custom car comeback in the mid-'80s, but quickly lost steam.

What Gene needed was a kick in the shorts, and a deadline. He finally got both in September 2004 at the Glenmoor Gathering of Significant Automobiles, a concours show in Canton. Gene coordinates the event's art exhibit and is on the show board. At the awards ceremony that year, Gene's friend, Myron Vernis, announced a custom car display for the 2005 event and, without warning Gene, told the crowd that the long-lost Polynesian would be there. Suddenly, Gene had a year to complete a task he'd been putting off for more than three decades.

Gene sheepishly admits to procrastinating for a few more months before another friend, Jim Hamilton, offered up shop space to dedicate to the restoration effort. Gene finally got the car out, and before he knew it he had many other friends and associates stepping up to offer assistance.

Though short on time, the restoration didn't take shortcuts. Body and frame were separated, and everything stripped down to bare metal. In honor of Emory and Jensen, Gene used a gas torch to perform body repairs, which included replacing the driver's doorskin and rebuilding the left rear quarter. Gene uncovered a portion of the car's original color on the damaged doorskin after stripping five or six subsequent layers of paint. "The lacquer thinner would not touch it," Gene says.

We questioned Gene on the interior color, which we didn't recall being so bright. He says the lemon yellow and eggshell white were matched to remnants of the original upholstery, which was still in the car when he got it.

Like any good custom project, the Polynesian's restoration was completed just in time for the 2005 Glenmoor show. In fact, it was a couple hours late. It didn't seem to matter, though. The important thing was that this significant custom, long thought by many to be lost, was once again in the sun. Jack Stewart, who lent advice on the restoration, was even on hand to see it on the Glenmoor grass.

"It was a big effort," Gene says of the restoration. "I still haven't recovered from it. If it wasn't for about 12 of my friends, this car would never have gotten done. They busted their butts on this car." In addition to Myron Vernis and Jim Hamilton, those friends included James Mark, Jim Remick, Ray Blake, Gordon Smith, Bob LaPolla, Andy Levitsky, Danny Moore, Jack Knecht, Dave Cardina, Dave Dettling, Russ Johns, Richard Cerrito, Jeff Thomas, Rizz, Curly Brannon, Frank Todaro, Chuck Schilling, Rick Ilcisko, and a few others that Gene probably forgot. "It was very emotional for me at [Glenmoor]," Gene says, "because these guys just stepped up and got this car done.

While he's rightfully proud of the restoration, Gene is quick to acknowledge the car's original creators. "I give all the credit to Neil Emory, Clayton Jenson, and Jack Stewart," he says. "I just restored the car." Gene's biggest regret is that the Valley Custom team didn't get to see their masterpiece restored. Jenson died more than 20 years ago, and Emory passed away in late 2004. Gene says he hopes to honor them by sharing the car at as many events as possible. "There are cars that you want to see in your lifetime," he says. For custom enthusiasts, the Polynesian is definitely one of them.
SOURCE
National Rod & Custom Car Hall of Fame Museum
55251 E. Hwy 85A
Afton
Ok  74331




Read more: http://www.customrodder.com/features/0609cr_1950_oldsmobile_polynesian/

There are cars that, for one reason or another, carry with them a certain mystique that lives on long after the actual automobile has ceased to exist. One such example is the sectioned '50 Olds hardtop convertible dubbed "Polynesian." Neil Emory and Clayton Jensen, partners in Burbank, California's famed Valley Custom Shop (see this issue's Hall of Fame for more on this dynamic, customizing duo), built the original car in 1951-52. While customizing was underway, a ton of photos were taken to document the process, many being published in car buff magazines of the era (Hot Rod, September 1953, Rod & Custom, September 1953, and the 1954 Custom Cars Annual). Upon completion, the car was a real hit on the show circuit, but at some point in time (after a subsequent owner had "updated" it with fins) it was either destroyed, lost, or misplaced, who really knows for sure? (Note: if you do know the answer to this riddle, please contact CRM offices, they'd love to hear from you.) Anyway, with it apparently gone forever, it opened the door for one John Ballard of Anderson, Indiana, to clone the car.







The actual work took some five years, and when completed in 1990, John enjoyed it by both driving and displaying the car at shows for several years until an unfortunate incident destroyed the hood, windshield, and top cosmetics. While all of this was going on, Jack Walker of Belton, Missouri, had been trying to purchase the car to add to his fine collection of wonderful customs. And even though it had been severely damaged, he was willing to spend the time and money required to return it to show condition.