by Barbara Spear
When I was a kid, I dreamed of having a fleet of Corvettes. To satisfy my youthful ambitions, I bought and assembled many Corvette models. Not being especially well coordinated, (okay, call me fumble fingers) my models never looked quite like the real thing -- but they did let me acquire a large fleet of Vettes within my very limited budget.
One rainy Saturday when I was cleaning the family junk room, I stumbled across a box containing some of my old models. They were a sorry looking collection of Vettes. Most of the wheels were bow-legged and wobbly, the hoods fell down, and the moveable doors hung precariously at odd angles when opened. The 1953 which I'd painted white was now faded to a dirty cream color and the detailing on its transparent headlight covers looked like wax paper. The paint jobs, never one of my specialties, betrayed my haste with telltale drips and embedded fingerprints. Missing parts and smudged chrome hardly enhanced the fleet that had once been my pride and joy.
As I dug towards the bottom of the box, I found a 1967 Corvette still wrapped in cellophane. Beside it, in a shoebox, were my model-making tools. A quick inspection proved the glue and paint to be dried solid. Only my Xacto, the paint brushes and some toothpicks could be salvaged.
I picked up the kit and felt challenged. Could I possibly assemble this kit with more precision than the others? I'm older now. Of course I could do better!
Full of foolish enthusiasm inspired by a soggy Saturday, I rushed down to the local hobby store. I didn't need much, just a tube of glue and a couple of bottles of paint. As I brought my selections to the register, the kind clerk surveyed my selections. "What are you making?" he asked. I told him of my find and my plans to create a weekend masterpiece. After nodding thoughtfully, the clerk said cautiously, "You know, model making techniques have changed a bit since you last put one together. You might find it easier if you use some of the new materials that are available."
The clerk then led me back to the supplies area and showed me a new bottled glue called Super Weld. Instead of spreading tube glue on both halves of a part then watching the excess squish out when you pressed the halves together; he explained that with this new liquid glue, you press the part halves together first, then "paint" the glue along the seam. Enough liquid seeps in to bond the pieces, and any spills evaporate. A neat way to eliminate glue globs! Naturally, I exchanged my tube for a bottle -- I may be older, but I'm not that set in my ways!
Next, we explored the paint section. After showing me some luscious colors in spray cans, I traded my bottled body paint for something more exotic. "Just remember, spray several light coats -- and always spray in one direction. When you weave back and forth, you're more likely to get drips," he advised. This guy must read me like a book, I thought.
"What about the chrome trim I'll need to paint?" I asked. The clerk showed me a wedge-shaped felt-tipped marker which I could use for painting tiny chrome lines around windows. "If you want to get really fancy, you could use some of this special adhesive foil paper," he suggested. Remembering my ability to work with tiny pieces of anything, I passed on that option.
On the way back to the register, we paused briefly by a large display of paint brushes. I already had brushes, but after seeing the fine tips and good quality of his selection, I decided to replace my five-and-dime brushes with something better.
When we reached the register, I decided to take a few more minutes of this nice clerk's time and pick his brains. "Before I make the same mistakes I've made in the past," I began, "could you answer a few questions ... ?"
"How can I prevent bow-legged and wobbly wheels? What causes the moveable doors to hang at weird angles? How can I paint realistic looking dashboard details? And how do I get the hoods to stay up without toothpicks?" I blurted.
The clerk looked at me and smiled. "Everyone asks those questions," he said reassuringly.
He explained that the 1/25 scale models that I build are accurately made to scale. That means that everything is sized correctly. Unfortunately, because the parts are all plastic, the tiny hinges aren't really capable of withstanding the stress of movement (like the opening and closing of a door or hood).
After giving me this very logical analysis, the clerk said, "to put it simply, a moving part is a broken part." He recommended glueing everything in place -- especially the wheels. "The only thing you get with moving wheels is a Vette that rolls off a shelf and crashes."
As far as hoods go, the clerk said that many experienced model makers don't attach them at all. When they display the model, the hood is usually displayed to one side. Another simple solution to a perplexing problem.
His answer to my question about dashboard details was not to try too hard. He reminded me that most people would look at my models from a few feet away, so a few well-placed lines or spots of color would be enough to suggest the dials and knobs on the dash.
I paid for my purchases and was about to leave when a fellow walked in with a stunning 1/25 scale 1969 Fathom Green Vette. When he set the model down on the counter, I peered inside and was amazed to see what looked like vinyl upholstery and real carpeting! "How did you do this?!" I asked, in amazement.
He explained that he had a Corvette that was exactly like the model. He'd spent months building the miniature. The paint was genuine Corvette paint he'd applied with an airbrush after pre-treating the plastic body so it wouldn't disintegrate. He'd even applied a clear finish coat for extra shine. For the interior, he'd scoured the doll shops. The upholstery and carpeting were made for doll houses so the grain and weave were down-scaled perfectly. He then flicked a tiny switch under the car to show me how the headlights and tail lights turned on -- thanks to doll house and model train wiring and lights.
With renewed enthusiasm, I left the hobby shop and headed for home.
Working long into the rainy night, I carefully separated, assembled, then painted my model. The clerk had been right. My new tools were much easier to work with than the stuff I'd used as a kid. Even though I discovered that age doesn't necessarily bring dexterity, I found that the new glue and paints were much more forgiving. Without glue globs and paint drips, my model certainly looked more realistic. I even managed to control my urges to "test" the wet paint, and thus eliminated my trademark fingerprints.
When I finished, my miniature Corvette looked great! (It even looked great when I took a second look the next morning!) Oh, it didn't have the snazzy vinyl upholstery or the correct carpeting; and I hadn't used real auto paint for an exact color match, but this was by far the best model I'd ever assembled.
Now I don't pretend to be a first-rate model maker, but I still get a thrill from creating a Corvette from all those plastic pieces. Having rediscovered Corvette model building and the materials improvements that have taken place in the last 20 years (was it really that long ago? Gulp, I guess it was!) I'm anxiously awaiting the next rainy Saturday. Hold the dirty laundry! Forget about cleaning the basement! You'll find me at the hobby shop buying another Corvette model -- or maybe two...
Special thanks to the folks at War &
Pieces in West Hartford, CT
for teaching an old model maker some new tricks.
Copyright 1996 Barbara Spear
