WWII gave a massive boost to shops like Wombwell. During WWII, new cars and even new parts for cars already on the road were almost non-existant to the civilian market. Coaxing worn engines and drivelines in older cars to run a bit longer was the name of the game for owners and mechanics.
A fellow at Marquette Auto parts told me a story of inventiveness during WWII. A flathead inline 6 cylinder engine broke a connecting rod and tore up the cylinder wall. The car owner needed his car to get to work. Parts were not available, and a proper repair would have meant boring that cylinder oversized and shrinking in a sleeve, then fitting a new piston. The mechanics did a stopgap repair: they took out the busted con rod, and wrapped the crankshaft journal with a piece of gasketing and hose-clamped it. This was to maintain oil pressure and flow to the rest of the engine. A wooden plug was turned to a tight drive fit in the damaged cylinder and driven into it. This let the remaining cylinders maintain manifold vacuum. Pieces of sheet metal were slipped between the manifold connections and the block at that location to blank off the exhaust and intake manifold. The car owner drove his car on 5 cylinders for the balance of WWII until new cars and parts came available again.
The automotive rebuilding machine shops were quite common when I was a kid in the 50's and into the 60's and early 70's. Working hand and hand with the machine shops were "ignition" or "auto electric" shops and "carburetor shops". Each of these shops specialized in rebuilding and bench testing of more specific parts. There were also shops that specialized in speedometer repair and made up drive cables for the mechanical speedos, along with working on taxi meters. Another facet of this sort were the automotive radiator repair shops. This was a messy sub-specialty. When I was in college, I had a 1969 Volvo 144S. It split a top seam on the radiator. I took my father's Prestolite torch (with its B tank of acetylene) and some lead-tin solder, soldering paste, wiping cloth and soldering copper out into the street. Try as I would, I could not quite get the leak to dry up. The only thing to do was to take the radiator to an auto radiator shop. I took the radiator out of the Volvo quite easily, since it had a manual transmission. I walked to the corner and got on a NYC Transit bus with the dripping radiator, riding it some distance to Bay Ridge (we lived in Midwood), and dropped off the radiator. The fellows there said they'd call me when it was done. They dunked the radiator into some kind of hot tank, probably mild acid, air tested it, soldered the leaks and air tested it again. I got a call a couple hours later, so was back on the bus to get my radiator. I think the tab, in 1972, was maybe 10 bucks. I got the radiator, still tacky with fresh black paint and a shop tag from the radiator shop soldered to it, and rode home on the bus with it. Back into the car and back in business before supper time. Today's auto radiators use a lot of plastics and aluminum, so not so easily repairable or rebuildable.
The automotive machine shops, along with the "ignition shops" and the carburetor shops all had their niches. The ignition shops rebuilt distributors and had a test stand for them, usually with an oscilloscope and a few meters. The carb shops usually had a flow bench to test the carbs on. All of these shops used to send out drivers to pick up parts needing rework and to deliver finished work. On some parts, there was a core exchange- stuff that was common like carburetors, distributors, generators and starters. Even electromechanical voltage regulators went to the auto electric shop for repair. Cars had mechanical fuel pumps, worked off the camshaft. These used to be rebuildable, not that there was a whole lot to them- a new diaphragm, valve discs and valve springs being about it. If you went into an auto parts place, you could buy the thin synthetic rubber to cut a new fuel pump diaphragm from.
The rebuilders all had either panel delivery trucks, pickups, or step vans for the pickup and delivery of parts. When I was a kid in Brooklyn in the 50's, these shops were using "trikes"- made by Harley or Indian. I remember them quite well. Spit shined, gold-leaf pinstriping, and the name and phone number of the shop in bold lettering. In the second set of photos Lathefan has posted, there is a fellow in what look like jhodpurs (riding breeches) and high riding boots. Chances are he was the delivery driver and ran around on one of those three-wheelers or a motorcycle with a sidecar. The delivery drivers who rode around on the trikes or motorcycles with sidehacks used to wear quite the uniform- shined riding boots reaching to the knee, breeches, a uniform jacket (with the shop name embroidered on the back) , a military styled cap, and a necktie. Different era, for sure.
The mechanics and machinists wore shop coats, also having the shop name embroidered on the backs. They wore caps supplied by the various vendors such as Raybestos brakes, or various sparkplug and ignition parts companies. If the mechanics did not have a cap supplied by a vendor, they took the crown of an old felt hat and cut off the brim, and cut the edges in a zig-zag pattern and turned them up. This made a handy cap to wear when under a car as it did not have a projecting bill. Some shops provided uniform caps styled after the US Army "overseas" caps, the kind that fold flat.
Our son was wrapping up a semester of study in Amman, Jordan a few years back. He speaks pretty good Arabic and is fearless. He and a schoolmate ventured into Cairo, Egypt on their own (long before the Arab Spring). As our son told it, they wandered around Cairo late into the nights. On one of these late night forays, they chanced upon what my son called "the street of the mechanics". As he told it, mechanics were working under streetlights on anything from scooters to heavy trucks and busses, doing heavy repairs in the street. I had told my son of my own time in South America and how the mechanics were resourceful and fixed stuff where it broke down and made parts. My son and his pal walked the streets, watching the various mechanics at work, kidding with them in Arabic. My son looked in the open window of a small shop and saw a fellow running a geared head engine lathe. My son knew what that was, and the fellow running the lathe made eye contact with our son. I had told my son there is often a special bond between people who work at the "real" crafts that transcends politics and religion- I had experienced it many times overseas. The fellow running the lathe stopped the lathe and my son called a greeting out in Arabic and then said in Arabic: "My father is an engineer". That was all it took. The whole shop stopped work and insisted my son and his pal come in, asking lots of questions about life in the USA and much else, and insisting they all have mint tea together. They showed our son what they did in that shop. The speciality was rebuilding automotive water pumps, and if it took making a new shaft and fitting new mechanical seals, or boring and bushing a housing that was worn, they did it. My son showed me the photos. I told him I was proud of him and to remember what he'd experienced. I also told him that was how things were in South America when I worked there, and how things were when I was a kid in the USA.
Our son said he had known the Arabic peoples to be hospitable, but he was surprised by the welcome he got from the fellows in that little automotive machine shop. There is no describing that sort of experience, and unless you work at some sort of "real" trade or profession, especially with your hands, most people never experience this sort of bond.
The other day, we went down to Kerhonkson, NY to do pushrod tube seals on a BMW Airhead bike. The bike owner has an oldtime repair garage. He repaired my chainsaw, and charged only for parts (a new chain bar) , lapping in the float needle to its seat. Having used my chainsaw for 25 years, it does not owe me anything. This fellow fixes chainsaws rather than throwing them in the dumpster and selling new ones.
In exchange, we came down to his shop to do the pushrod tube seals on his motorcycle. The woodstove was going, classic country music playing, and we got to work. It's an old shop with an ancient geared head lathe, anvil, and automotive rebuilding machinery. We worked on the owner's motorcycle, moving right along. A steady procession of local characters came in and out, one guy walking in barefoot despite snow and cold temperatures. We kidded, made all kinds of positively raunchy humor with double meanings related to mechanical work, talked of mechanic work, heavy equipment, welding, motorcycles, bad women and had a great time. We wrapped up the job, and I knew I was caught in a time warp. Old dusty chainfalls hung from the roof beams, rolling tool chest with the paint worn off, loaded with older US made tools, a wood stove and pile of split cordwood, and heaps of chainsaw parts to be reclaimed all filled the shop. Up our way, we still have a number of auto, truck/tractor and motorcycle shops heated by wood stoves, and customers are not kept out of the work areas. In the old shop in Kerhonkson, the fellow's father had sold Harleys in the 40's and 50's, and there were faded black and white photos of lineups of guys on Knuckleheads and Panheads outside the shop. Using a mike or knowing how to cut a gasket were all in a day's work in that kind of shop, as was making a bushing on the lathe or brazing up a busted part. Wombwell's shop and the shop in Kerhonkson we were at earlier this week are how it used to be. I am glad we have some of that still left.