Chevrolet, Ford, Pontiac, Mercury. Chevrolet and Ford again, and then… finally, a Chrysler at last. Not just any Mopar®, but a 1961 Chrysler 300 G. Tommy Almqvist’s dream car. “Chrysler has the most beautiful rear ends. Not all of them, but this one,” he says emphatically.
Every person carries their own stories: sorrows and loves. Almqvist is no exception. Partly, his fascination with American cars begins with a sorrow, a loss. This led him, at 14 years old in 1964, to hitchhike from the small town of Edsbyn in northern Sweden to the nation’s capital, Stockholm. The journey of approximately 300 kilometers (186 miles) didn’t go quite as planned, and he had to take a train to the capital after making it only as far as Bollnäs.
But let’s come back to what led him months later to stand on Sveavägen. One of the biggest boulevards in Stockholm watching American cars roar by. How he soon teamed up with some friends and bought his first car — a 1955 Chevrolet.
Instead, let’s begin with Almqvist’s Chrysler. It wasn’t easy to secure this specific car. Almqvist says he discovered the 300 G at a friend’s place nearly 15 years ago. That friend, Swedish rally driver Dick Larsson, had the car parked among his rally cars. Larsson had planned to restore it for the owner, but the car ended up sitting idle. Larsson hadn’t found the time.
So, Almqvist offered to repair it for Sture Tibblin, the owner. After all, Almqvist had a workshop with a chassis-straightening bench, where he usually fixed rally cars battered in the woods. However, Tibblin wanted a budget-friendly job and couldn’t afford to invest much. Almqvist, on the other hand, believed in doing a proper job while he was at it.
“The car’s body was actually in great condition, with just a bit of rust on the rear fender. But I can’t stand cutting corners on cars. Why not fix things like the bearings, brakes and everything else while you’re at it?” says Almqvist.
Having already set his sights on buying the car, he launched a “persuasion campaign.” Finally, with a little help (or quite a lot) from his friend Larsson, Almqvist managed to seal the deal.
“I quickly got Tibblin’s bank account number and transferred the money. I had a feeling this deal might fall through otherwise – that the owner might change his mind soon,” Almqvist says with a smile.
Once the car officially became his on May 31, 2011, Almqvist got to work. He repaired the rear fender, sent the interior for reupholstering, repainted the car in its original Alaskan White and restored the dual Carter carburetors. He fixed everything.
“I haven’t needed to touch the rest of the engine. Just oil changes. The V8 is in such great condition. Don’t mess with something that works well, they say. These are real engines. At 6,7 liters – 413 cubic inches – that’s some serious volume. 375 horsepower, according to the customs documents. Anything over 375 horsepower meant insanely high insurance premiums in the U.S. Americans know how to build cars; there’s no doubt about that. Yeah, this is the car I want,” Almqvist chuckles.
As for the brakes – they’ve been restored too, of course. The front features dual wheel cylinders, part of Chrysler’s “Total Contact” brakes. It’s somewhat of a precursor to power-assisted brakes.
“Really excellent brakes. Considering the car weighs nearly two tons, it’s crucial to stop it when you press the pedal,” Almqvist says.
Born in 1950 and raised in the small community of Edsbyn in Hälsingland, Almqvist’s interest in cars took off seriously a year or so before he was old enough to ride a moped (15 years old). This was partly due to all the American cars cruising around his town, and partly due to a family incident that led to a life-changing decision.
After a dispute with his father, who confiscated his beloved moped, Almqvist decided to leave home immediately. Together with his friend Persson, he traveled to take a job at Beckers Paint Factory in Märsta (north of Stockholm) at just 14 years old.
“It wasn’t such a big deal. My dad was a truck driver, and I’d been to Stockholm with him many times. But I only had 50 kronor (5 dollar/euro) in my pocket, so things were tight at first. At Beckers, we got jobs immediately. Persson cleaned paint tanks, and I became a trainee color mixer. I mixed 2,000 liters of paint and worked alongside a German dude. He was incredible at mixing. That was the autumn of 1964, in October, when I started working there,” Almqvist recalls.
At first, he and Persson lived in barracks near Arlanda Airport. The airport was a constant construction site for many years, and a few more workers didn’t make much difference. Without a driver’s license and with limited resources, they had to walk to and from work every day, easily covering ten kilometers (6,2 miles) in all weather.
“I became ‘the kid’ to the others. There were workers from Lapland, Skåne, and all across Sweden, building the country’s largest airport. Sometimes we’d go into Stockholm and Sveavägen to check out the American cars. There were many greasers (*) in the city back then. It was a great time,” Almqvist says.
When Almqvist and Persson arrived in Märsta and started working at Beckers, they each received a 500-kronor grant from the government. This came in very handy during one of their trips to Sveavägen. At the northern end of the street, near Norrtull, there was a car dealer selling American cars. Almqvist had his eye on a really nice 1955 Chevrolet.
“The car cost 1,700 kronor, 170 dollar. Persson, another friend, and I pooled 500 kronor each, and then we borrowed 200 kronor from Christer from Jokkmokk. The deal was done, but unfortunately, we didn’t get the ignition key. The seller couldn’t find it. Since we were eager to hit the road right away, he showed us how to hotwire the car and promised to send us the keys as soon as he found them,” Almqvist recounts.
Since Almqvist was only 14 years old, Christer, who had a driver’s license, drove the car. However, it didn’t take long before the ignition coil failed, and the car couldn’t be started again. Almqvist found a phone booth, called the seller and asked for assistance. He told the seller where the car was – on Södermalm in Stockholm, at the top of Katarinabacken, near a gas station.
“But we had to leave the car until the next day. The problem was that by the next day, the car was gone. I think the guy, the car dealer, scammed us. He must have picked up the car that same night and sold it again latter. He claimed he didn’t know anything about it. And we hadn’t taken out any insurance on it either,” Almqvist says with a sigh.
An expensive lesson. But that’s how life is sometimes. His love for American cars, however, was awakened, and it didn’t take long before the next American car was acquired – a 1964 Pontiac LeMans, which was soon painted glitter green with white stripes.
Yes, we all get scammed at some point, either directly or indirectly. In fact, Almqvist, in a way, scammed Beckers Paint Factory – albeit very much unintentionally. Before his 15th birthday, he had secured a seaman’s book and was ready to join a ship. So, he went to the personnel manager to tender his resignation.
“I told him that since I was turning 15 on Friday, I wanted to go to sea. The personnel manager’s jaw dropped when he realized I was only 14. ‘You can leave today if you want,’ he laughed. He knew full well he’d probably get fired if it came out that he had hired a minor. But I got a glowing reference and my final paycheck, so he was a decent guy,” Almqvist says with a smile.
Sixty years later, he may not work at a bank, but he’s rich in experiences – and owns a truly stunning 1961 Chrysler 300 G.
* = Greasers is called ‘Raggare’ in Swedish. Raggare is, in simple terms, a subculture that emerged in Sweden during the 1950s, inspired by American car and rock ‘n’ roll culture. It is strongly associated with large American cars from the 1950s and ’60s, leather jackets, jeans, rockabilly music and a rebellious attitude. The word ‘raggare’ comes from ‘ragga’ (to pickup girls), which means to try to impress and attract potential partners, often during car cruising through towns and cities.
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