I owe Cliff Ruggles a mammoth thank you for all of his help. Without his assistance with the chapter on transmissions, I wouldn’t have been able to get it done. Thank you.
The same goes for Todd Ryden, without whose assistance the engine chapter would’ve been extremely difficult to complete.
A hearty thanks to Lonnie Thompson of Carolina Kustoms. I made a phone call to him out of the blue, then visited his shop, and he opened up everything to me. Then, after I left, he kept sending me pictures that he thought I might need. He’s a great guy.
Finally, a few other people who have helped me on my path: Ronnie at C10 Talk/C10 Nation for tearing apart his crew cab for me, twice; Kevin Aguilar at Street Trucks and C10 Builder’s Guide for his assistance; Seth and the crew at Switch Suspension for generally being awesome; Todd at Lowboy Suspension for being amazing; my editor, Paul Johnson, for his incredible patience; Marie Look for her moral support; and everyone else who has helped me along the way. Thank you.
I can honestly say that writing a book is one of the hardest things to do. Holy cow was this challenging, but it’s also been one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve ever had.
In the mid-1980s, when I was growing up in Framingham, Massachusetts, my mother owned a Chevrolet Suburban. It was a white, four-wheel-drive truck, and she named it Martha because it seemed to have a personality. The windshield wipers randomly turned on and off in that truck, and no matter how many times we took it in to have it fixed, Martha still pulled those wipers across the windshield. And she continued that process until we sold the truck in 1988.
Twenty-some years later, I picked up a 1984 Chevrolet Silverado. It was blue, the tailgate was some art piece that looked horrific, and it had a keyhole in the driver-side fender. I loved that truck. However, I eventually came to the conclusion that I could not complete the restoration myself in a reasonable time frame, so I sold it and moved on. But the bug stuck, and eventually I bought a 1987 Silverado. It was also blue. It sat and languished while I focused on other projects, such as the 1987 crew cab dually I bought without a bed. Or maybe it was the 1986 two-wheel-drive Blazer without a frame that a friend gave me. I’m not sure; I had a lot of those things.
Eventually, the whole lot was sold to a buddy of mine, and now the dually is painted and restored, and it looks amazing. My second blue truck went to another good home, I donated the Blazer to another friend, and because we moved to a new house without a mammoth side lot, my life with multiple random projects seemed to be over.
In the process of making this book, I decided that my itch for a new project had to be scratched, so I went looking for a 1973–1987 of my very own. I found one in Stockton, California, approximately 12 hours away, and picked it up for a ridiculously small amount of money. We loaded the family into our crew cab truck, hitched a flatbed trailer to the back (borrowed from Dino at Dino’s Chevy Only), and headed toward Stockton. After a minor detour to Santa Cruz, we went back home with a 1981 Chevrolet Silverado (and a few black widow stowaways, too).
I did some digging on the VIN when I returned, and learned that the truck was built in Fremont, California, approximately 60 miles west of where I picked it up. The guy I bought it from found it in Tracy, California, which is even closer. And, in a weird twist, we drove right by that same GM factory on our way to Santa Cruz. Basically, I found a truck that spent the bulk of its life within a 75-mile radius of where it was built and took it home to Arizona.
That’s either incredibly depressing or super awesome, depending on your perspective.
I love those 1973–1987 Chevy trucks. My friends and I always referred to them as “Squarebodies,” which is ironic considering that General Motors called them the “Rounded Line.” I actually have a custom license plate with the Squarebody moniker on it, even though it never was screwed to that dually (although I hope it will find its way onto my 1981).
The Chevy truck line can be separated into eras: 1947–1955 first series, 1955–1959 second series, 1960–1966, 1967–1972, 1973–1987, 1988–1998, 1999–2007, etc. The one that stands out is 1973–1987, which includes the longest run of Chevy trucks in the company’s history.
For 14 years (more if you count the 1-ton trucks that carried on into the early 1990s) General Motors produced essentially the same truck in various forms. It was the first to have a factory crew cab. The company had the first dually designed for the regular buyer and not just for fleets. It had Suburbans, Blazers, long beds, short beds, Stepsides, and everything between. The Squarebody Chevy is the one that pushed the line to where it is today. That has to be worth something, right?
Historically, previous generations of trucks received all the attention. The 1967–1972 has been an extremely popular truck to restore, particularly in the early 2000s. That popularity, plus the relative rarity of the design, has raised the prices substantially in recent years, making them unattainable for most builders. The 1960–1966 has picked up steam as of late, but it’s still not as popular as the 1967–1972. Previous generations of Chevy trucks are becoming more difficult to find, and if you want a 1947–1955, good luck; Old Navy bought and sold a ton of them years ago, and now people want upward of five grand for something without floors.
That leaves the 1973–1987s. Tons of these trucks are out there in every incarnation possible. Yes, the earlier years are harder to find (and therefore more desirable to some), but they’re still affordable. You can find these trucks for a song, and if you’re willing to put in the work, they’re worth something in the end.
More important, these trucks are fun. You can find them with low mileage, believe it or not, as well as big engines. There’s nothing wrong with a 454-powered standard-cab short-bed Silverado in my book, and because most are pre-fuel injection, carburetor junkies can have their fun tuning them to death. If you want a truck from the 1970s, this one almost bookends the era, and it does the same for the 1980s.
Before I bought my 1981, I started looking for one of these trucks, and I came across a 1980s-era Suburban. It was white, with four-wheel drive and a few other accessories, and it looked familiar. Could it possibly be the same truck that my family drove West in 1987? Maybe. But alas, the owner sold it before I could find out.
Someday I’ll own a Martha as my mom did, and maybe it will have the same issue with the windshield wipers. If not, maybe I’ll “fix” it until it does.
The best restoration project begins with a solid foundation, and that means a solid body. These trucks have very little rust and need very little mechanical work. Trucks in this condition are more difficult to find and highly sought after. On the other hand, if you start with a truck that needs substantial restoration and bodywork, you are going to spend much more for the restoration. In other words, you get what you pay for.
Before you embark on a restoration project, carefully evaluate the condition of the truck and assess the time, expense, and parts required to bring it to original condition. Some trucks are far too rusty and in such poor condition that a restoration is just too costly. In that case, a better option is to sell the truck and find one in better condition for restoration. Chapter 2 discusses how you come up with the total cost for a restoration.