Restoring Two Italian-Built American Limousines: What Actually Happens When You Open the Box

I bought both a 1963 Osca OSC and a 1965 Chrysler Imperial Ghia on the same weekend at an auction in Northern Italy. The Osca was sitting in a barn near Modena, wrapped in something that may have once been canvas. The Chrysler was in a warehouse outside Turin, sitting on three flat virgins because someone had let the air out of the rear tires in '89 and never put any back in. I thought I was getting two projects. I was wrong. I was getting two different kinds of grief. The Osca OSC is a fascinating piece of engineering that nobody really talks about anymore. It was built by the Maserati brothers — Castoldo, Benedetto, and Ernesto — after they left Maserati in 1947. They started making motorcycle engines, then moved to car engines, and eventually built complete cars. The OSC from the early sixties had a 1500cc twin-cam four-cylinder that made roughly 105 horsepower, which sounds modest but in a car weighing about 750 kilograms does exactly what you'd expect it to do. The gearbox was close-ratio four-speed, and it was mounted in a tubular space frame with aluminum body panels. Which is where the restoration problems start.

The Osca Osc And Chrysler Imperial Ghia A Restoration Deep Dive Into Two Italian Automotive Legends

I spent about fourteen months on the Osca before I ever got it running. The first issue was the fuel system. These cars had a habit of developing pinhole leaks in the steel fuel lines that ran along the frame rails, and when you find one leak you find three more. The original lines were routed under the carpet on the driver's side, and nobody ever checked them because nobody thought to check them. I replaced all the original lines with 6mm copper-nickel tubing from a specialist supplier in Bologna. Cost me about 180 euros and took a long Saturday afternoon. The fuel tank itself was actually in reasonable condition — the original Osca tanks were welded steel, not the problematic thin-gauge units you see on some British cars from the same era. I had it pressure-tested at a local shop for 40 euros, cleaned the inside with a proprietary rust solvent, and resealed it with new gaskets. The engine needed a full rebuild. The twin-cam head had worn valve guides — standard issue on these high-revving engines if they were ever run hot. I sourced replacement guides from a supplier in Modena who still has the original tooling. Not everyone does. There are replicas out there that are slightly oversized, and if you press them in without checking you will have a bad time. The crankshaft was original and sound, which surprised me. The connecting rods had some wear on the big end bearings but were within spec. I replaced the pistons with period-correct forged units from a company in Pistoia. The timing chain was stretched beyond useful life, and replacing it without also checking the tensioner and the chain guide rails will cause the new chain to fail within a thousand kilometers. I learned that one the hard way on a friend's OSC. The electrical system on the Osca is one of those things that sounds simple and is not. It uses a 6-volt system, which means every connector, every bulb, every wire needs to be treated with extreme care. I found three grounds that were corroded to the point of being non-conductive, and the ignition coil was on its last legs. The original Lucas components are available from specialists in the UK, but the lead times are measured in months, not weeks. I used a mix of NOS (new old stock) parts and carefully refurbished originals, and the car now runs acceptably. "Acceptably" is the right word. It is not fast, it is not comfortable, but it sounds like an Osca should sound, which is a very particular noise that involves a lot of metallic ticking and a high-pitched whine from the cam chain. The Chrysler Imperial Ghia is a completely different creature. This is not an Italian car in any meaningful sense, despite the Ghia connection. The body was designed and finished by Carrozzeria Ghia in Turin, but the mechanicals are entirely American — a 413 cubic inch V8, a Chrysler TorqueFlite automatic transmission, and a wheelbase of 131 inches. It was sold primarily in North America, and finding one in Europe is already unusual. Finding one that is remotely complete is rarer still. The first thing I noticed when I opened the door was the smell. Not the pleasant old-car smell you read about in books, but the sour, sweet, chemical smell of deteriorating vinyl upholstery and collapsed foam padding. The interior was original, which in this context means it had not been replaced by a previous owner, not that it was in good condition. The Ghia trim was genuine — the leather was hand-stitched, the wood trim was real veneer, and the carpet was deep-pile wool that had been crushed flat by sixty years of sitting. I replaced the seat foam with flexible polyurethane cut to the original patterns, which I traced myself using calipers and a flexible curve rule. The dash pad was cracked across the entire surface, and I had it refinished by a specialist in Chicago who does this for a living. That cost $420 and took six weeks to ship to Italy. Worth every cent. The V8 ran on its original carburetor setup — a two-barrel Rochester, I believe, though the literature is ambiguous. It fired, which was more than I expected, but it ran poorly and consumed fuel at a rate that made my wallet hurt. I rebuilt the carburetor using a kit from Advance Auto Parts, adjusted the idle mixture and the float level to specification, and the engine settled into a reasonable idle. The TorqueFlite transmission was the next problem. It shifted, but the bands were worn and the fluid was degraded beyond usefulness. I did a complete fluid flush, replaced the filter, and adjusted the valve body. The result is acceptable. The Transmission Fluid Spec is important here — these old Chrysler autoboxes are sensitive to the wrong additive package, and using modern synthetic can cause the seals to harden and leak within a year. Use Type F, or the equivalent from a place that still stocks it. The bodywork on the Imperial was in surprisingly good condition for a car of this age. The steel was thick, the paint was originally a single-stage acrylic enamel that is now crazed but intact, and there was no significant corrosion in the floors or the rocker panels. The chrome bumpers were heavily pitted, so I sent them to a plater in Verona who stripped and replated them. Cost about 2,200 euros for both front and rear. The Ghia badge on the hood was missing, and I found a reproduction from a specialist in California for $95 including shipping. Not original, but close enough that nobody who matters will notice the difference. Both cars teach you the same lesson, which is that restoration is mostly about patience and reading material. You will spend more time researching parts sources and cross-referencing serial numbers than you will actually turning wrenches. The Osca parts supply is narrow and fragile — if a supplier disappears, you may not find a replacement for years. The Chrysler parts situation is better but still complicated by the fact that most of the good stuff is in North America and importing it to Europe involves customs forms and VAT reclaim procedures that will test your patience. I keep both cars now. The Osca is too finicky to drive regularly, but it is rewarding when everything comes together. The Chrysler is actually usable as a weekend car, though you should not attempt any journeys longer than two hundred kilometers without a support vehicle carrying spare belts, hoses, and a spare set of points. These cars are not difficult to maintain if you understand what they are, but they are merciless to people who assume they will behave like something more modern. They will not.