March 29th, 2004, started like any other morning. Around 8:30 AM, with a cup of tea in hand, I was enjoying the daily crossword puzzle in my kitchen.
Then, a sharp crack followed by a resounding crash shattered the morning calm.
Crraaackkk….BOWONG!
It was the unmistakable sound of something heavy falling, and unfortunately, it landed on my prized possession: my 1959 Type 220S Mercedes-Benz Ponton. A substantial tree limb had broken off and fallen directly onto the car.
The images speak for themselves. For those who have followed the story of this car previously, you’ll know I acquired the Mercedes Benz Ponton with the intention of enjoying a classic car without the constant need for repairs. I was looking forward to driving and experiencing the vintage charm of the Ponton, not endless wrenching. Or so I thought.
That initial dream lasted about two weeks. While the car was indeed drivable and possessed the elegance I desired, the truth is, for a car enthusiast, there’s always something to refine, adjust, or improve. Minor fixes turned into a growing “restoration list” – a familiar slope for anyone in the classic car hobby. You know how it goes: fixing one thing inevitably leads to considering five others, each intertwined with more related tasks, and suddenly, you’re contemplating a full restoration.
Just before winter set in, a head gasket issue emerged, signaled by white smoke. The initial plan was a simple head gasket replacement, a few tweaks, and then enjoy the summer drives. The serious work, the “restoration time,” was earmarked for the winter months.
This is where many might ask: “How does a head gasket issue escalate into a full restoration?” And this is where we find the divide in the car world – those who ask this question and those who understand implicitly why a minor repair can trigger a complete overhaul. If you’re in the latter group, you understand the mindset.
For those of us who get it, it’s a unique existence. We are the eternally unsatisfied, the ones who see potential projects in every car, not just finished products. Tinkering is in our blood.
To the uninitiated – friends, neighbors, and perhaps the occasional therapist – let us clarify:
We Are Not Obsessed. We Are Really, Really Focused!
So, with that understanding of the mindset, the tree limb incident, while unfortunate, became almost… inevitable? Fortunately, the insurance settlement was fair, providing the financial basis to offset much of the restoration work that now seemed unavoidable.
With a bashed roof and hood, bodywork became a necessity. And bodywork naturally leads to paint. A fresh exterior demands an equally refreshed interior. It’s a logical progression in the world of classic car restoration.
But then, another opportunity arose. A Mercedes Benz Ponton in Arizona surfaced. Reportedly sitting for years, afflicted with “Restorus Interuptus,” it boasted good chrome, straight body panels, although the interior was described as “shot.” It sounded like a potential parts car – ideal for my restoration.
However, the seller was reluctant to part it out. A price was mentioned for the whole car. After some deliberation… deal made. The Arizona Ponton was heading my way, along with an extra hood, just in case.
Why the extra hood, you might ask? The Arizona car had a good hood, didn’t it? Well, there was also a Webasto sunroof and pillars located in Pennsylvania, waiting to be reunited with a Ponton. The pieces were falling into place.
The plan started to solidify. Instead of just parts, I now had a whole additional car. And a Webasto roof – something I’d always wanted for a Ponton. Two cars… why not keep it that way?
The revised plan: utilize the Arizona car as a donor, but instead of just stripping it, restore it too. Cut the roof off the Arizona Ponton, install the Webasto, restore its interior and mechanicals, repaint it. Then, for my original brown 1959 Ponton – remove the damaged roof, graft on the Arizona roof, use the extra hood, repaint, and address the original restoration list. Two running, driving Mercedes Benz Pontons. It seemed like a sensible plan.
Remember the mantra:
We Are Not Obsessed. We Are Really, Really Focused!
The “donor” Ponton from Arizona arrived, albeit with a slight delay due to transport issues. Unloading it at 12:30 AM in heavy rain added a touch of unexpected adventure to the project.
Upon closer inspection, the Arizona car was as good, if not better, than described. The interior was indeed in poor condition, but the body was surprisingly solid, with minimal surface rust and no significant corrosion. This discovery reinforced the idea of a full restoration for both cars.
The plan to transplant the Webasto roof onto the Arizona car seemed even more justified. Researching previous Webasto retrofits indicated that a complete roof swap would likely be more effective and result in a more “factory-perfect” installation.
The first step was to tackle the Arizona car’s interior. Starting with seat removal. The rear seats were straightforward – lift the base and remove. The upper section simply slides out.
The front bucket seats presented a minor challenge. Each seat and rail assembly is a single unit, secured by eight bolts to the car’s floor.
These bolts are somewhat hidden. To access them, the seat needs to be moved to its extreme forward and rear positions. Moving the seat forward reveals the rear bolts, and moving it back exposes the front bolts. Four of the rear bolts also secure the spring mechanisms for the seat adjuster lever.
A word of advice for anyone embarking on a similar restoration: meticulous documentation is crucial. I’m not naturally gifted with puzzles, so detailed records are my lifeline. A project of this scale can span a year or more, and memory fades. Details, especially about disassembly, become hazy.
At a minimum, bag and tag every nut, bolt, and small part, even those destined for replacement. Ziplock bags and permanent markers become your best friends. Label everything clearly, noting left/right, front/rear, or any distinctions relevant for reassembly.
Digital photography is invaluable. In the past, 35mm film was costly and development time meant uncertainty. Digital cameras eliminate these issues. Photos provide visual references that manuals and diagrams can’t match, especially when jogging your memory months later during reassembly. The investment in a digital camera pays for itself in film costs alone and is an indispensable restoration tool.
Back to the interior disassembly. The seats were moved to storage. Next: the carpets. Simply ripping them out was the order of the day. The Arizona Ponton had carpets front and rear, remnants of the previous, unfinished restoration. They were in poor condition due to weather exposure.
Historically, Pontons typically had rubber matting in the front, with rear carpet as an option. This car was missing the original rubber mats, except for the door sills, likely removed during the previous attempt at restoration. This is an aspect to revisit during reassembly.
Lap seat belts, added at some point, were present and solidly mounted. These were unbolted, and the backing plates were stored. The belts themselves were deemed too suspect for reuse due to age and exposure.
With the carpets removed, the floor structure became visible. The interior floor is a beam-reinforced tub. Cross braces run laterally. The rear floor is the tub’s bottom. The front footwells have custom-cut plywood or pressboard panels resting between braces, creating a raised floor for front occupants.
Next on the agenda: interior trim wood and headliner. The 220 Sedan models benefit from solid wood trim, unlike the veneer in coupes and convertibles. Solid wood is more forgiving for restoration, especially with fading or scratches.
Door wood trim removal is straightforward – screws out, panels off. Handle with care, as the wood can be fragile. In this case, the wood was likely beyond salvage due to warping and cracking from sun and moisture exposure. Screws were bagged, and felt damper pad locations photographed for future reference.
Windscreen trim removal begins with the rearview mirror. Grasp the mirror and rotate it 90 degrees upwards towards the roof. It’s designed to detach, revealing a bracket with three screws. Remove the bracket and bag the assembly. Then, remove the trim screws and the wood trim.
The windscreen trim should come out in two pieces, but often separates into four due to dried glue at the 90-degree bends. Handle carefully and collect the biscuit joints if they detach. These are needed for wood refinishing later.
Windscreen trim, ideally removed in one piece
The headliner was next. Before the headliner itself, the “B” pillar covers need removal. These are held by trim screws. Remove the screws and gently tug the covers off.
Handrails above the doors are next. Locate the recessed screw in the center support above the “B” pillar. Remove it. Then, use a flat screwdriver to pry off the chrome end fittings, revealing mounting screws. Remove the bars and remember to reinsert the small screws into the center support to avoid losing them. Unscrew the center support posts from the body and bag them.
Front and rear interior lights are next. The covers pop off with a flat screwdriver, revealing screws holding the fixtures. Remove the screws, pull out the fixture, and disconnect the wires. Bag the lights and screws.
Headliner removal was… perplexing. For this car, it was a rip-and-tear job, but intact removal seemed improbable at first glance. The fabric edges are screwed down under trim strips, which are themselves under the liner. A Catch-22.
Trim strip location for headliner attachment
It seemed like Mercedes employed a team of “Headliner Gnomes” for factory installation. The process appeared almost magically impossible for human hands.
Later, the method for human headliner installation (and likely removal) was discovered, but for now, the damaged headliner came out like dry parchment, possibly original. The headliner bows still had remnants of horsehair padding.
Regardless of removal method, pay attention to the steel bows. They are removed by pushing them rearward, then rotating them 90 degrees to release the tips from the support frame. Tag them in order, as each bow is shaped for its specific position. Mixing them up will create a challenging puzzle during reassembly.
A crucial note: wear a filter mask and safety glasses when removing carpets and headliners. Decades of dust, mold, and debris accumulate. The bow pads often disintegrate into dust. Protect your eyes and lungs.
Remove the fabric-covered cardboard insert under the rear window. In this case, water damage had compromised the cardboard, but it could still serve as a template.
Next up: the dashboard. Disassembly for easier reassembly is the goal, but the previous owner’s unfinished work presented a slightly different situation. Switches were in place, but the instrument cluster and upper dash panel were loose.
The upper dash, actually two glued wood pieces, had separated due to weathering. Salvageability was uncertain. Being already loose, the proper removal steps were unclear. A puzzle for later.
Separated upper dash pieces
Dash removal is necessary before switch removal. The lower dash panels need to come out first. Heater control levers are easily removed – just pull them off.
Starting on the passenger side, opening the glove box revealed screws on the vertical edge nearest the door. These secure the lower wood panel with heater controls. Remove the screws, and the panel comes out. The outer edge uses a pin and socket bracket, so only inboard screws are needed.
Repeat on the driver’s side. Removing these panels exposes the heater and air vent control mechanisms within the bulkhead.
Next, the glove box doors. Initially, removing them with hinges attached was attempted, but this proved difficult due to a spring-loaded mechanism on one hinge that secures the door open or closed. Removing the doors separately from the spring-mounted hinge is recommended.
The upper radio section was next, easily removed with just two screws, suggesting incomplete reinstallation previously. This section includes the bakelite panel, speaker, and tuner, wired to the power source under the passenger side dash.
With the radio out, clock removal was simple – two nuts for the mounting bracket, then detach three wires.
The instrument cluster was loose but still wired. The main electrical connection is under the cowl near the wiper motor – a rectangular brown bakelite connector, resembling an oversized AC plug. Loosen two small screws to separate the halves.
Detach the oil pressure tube with a small wrench. The speedometer cable is hand-turned. The trip meter requires knob and collar removal to slide out.
Temperature sensors in older cars like the Ponton have a long lead from the engine sensor to the gauge. Disconnect the engine sensor and carefully snake the lead out through the dash – detaching at the gauge while the cluster is in place is not advisable.
The steering column was also loose, its exact connection to the dash and instrument cluster unclear in terms of support. With the column free and dash loose, dash switch removal began.
Most switches are straightforward. Chrome and bakelite knobs unscrew, revealing a trim ring securing the switch body to the dash. These rings have small holes for a specialized tool. Snap ring pliers with curved inserts were used to grip and remove them.
Typical dash switch in Mercedes Benz Ponton
Switch removal should be methodical. If reusing the wiring harness, label every switch and wire as removed. Relying solely on wiring diagrams later can lead to frustration.
This is especially true for the headlight switch. It appears to be a central point for the entire wiring harness, with numerous wires connected. In this case, harness tagging wasn’t prioritized, as the brittle, cracked insulation necessitated replacement. A live battery connection would likely result in significant electrical issues.
The headlight switch removal differs slightly. The knob doesn’t detach conventionally. Unscrew the trim ring – this ring secures the entire knob and shaft assembly, allowing the front half of the switch assembly to be removed from the body.
Dash air vents are next. Cylindrical vents are held by a spring attached to a “C” shaped wire fixture at the rear. Detach the vent hose, then the spring, and the vent comes out.
With all components removed, the upper dash could be taken out, revealing the steel bulkhead. Note the locations of felt pads behind the dash – essential for preventing squeaks and rattles during reassembly.
With the dashboard disassembled, the day’s work concluded. The restoration log will be updated as the project progresses. The next installment promises to address the question of accessing hard-to-reach areas without specialized tools. Until then, Happy Pontoning.
Created: April 25, 2004 © www.mbzponton.org
