Car Storage Part 3: Sh**box Heaven in an Empty Foundry

Back in 1920, an enterprising man out of Statesville, North Carolina named C.H. Turner started a foundry. Being a smart guy in an agrarian place, he punched out a lot of farm implements and milling equipment using a constant supply of scrap metal made available via a rail easement. After World War II, Turner’s foundry focused on making Jeep-ready implements for the budget-conscious farmer. Production later shifted to castings to support the textile industry. And finally, in 2024, some idiot punk started parking strange cars in the foundry, with the adjacent idea of turning it into a clubhouse for his friends.

Hi, I’m the idiot. It’s me.

As you may recall, the derelict sock factory that I rent was starting to become somewhat of a headache. I’d put in a ton of work cleaning it up with the hopes it could serve as a suitable storage unit for my many weird cars, but the deeper I got into it, a few things became obvious:

1. It would never be mine.
2. There was no solid wood in the entire structure.
3. The wood floor construction limited vehicle parking significantly.
4. It was and always will be a neighborhood hangout for truant teenagers.

My eye was wandering.

While out on a neighborhood stroll, it wandered to a sign in front of the old foundry. My heart started racing like I had, I dunno, just seen an ad for a Lada on eBay Kleinanzeigen or something. I called the agency listed on the ostentatious yellow For Sale sign, fully prepared to hear a completely unobtainable figure. The voice on the other end of the line quoted a price more appropriate for a small bungalow on the shabby side of town. I repeated the number back to her, for clarification. She echoed it back to me, clear as day. Wow.

I looked over at my wife and mouthed the confusingly reasonable sum.

“This is all you,” she said, tugging at the dog.

The TI-83 graphing calculator in my head started summing up the foundry’s indoor and outdoor spaces, and what they could potentially rent for. How cool it would be to have a space where my friends and I could store prospective car projects and work on things in an automotive commune of sorts? This really could work!

While scouting the place out a little more, I noticed that the door of the depression-era brick auto shop across the street was open. I poked my head in. A guy named John came out from behind an old Land Rover Defender 90 and introduced himself.

Good vibes around here, I thought to myself.

John explained all of the recent happenings at the foundry over the past several years, some of them downright odd: inconsistent business flow, pink-painted window frames, and a “Free Hugs” sign zip-tied to the chain link fence. Eventually, the former renters had to be evicted with help from the Sherriff’s Department. The body shop inside the structure ceased to exist. It had since sat empty.

John, a native of Columbia, South Carolina, had been working at his auto shop for 25 years. He and his dog showed us around his various projects. I didn’t really want to waste any more of his valuable wrenching time, so before long we bid adieu and agreed that it would be nice to be neighbors. This, even though he seemed a little confounded about my dreams for the place.

Encouraged by our exchange, I called back the agency and set up a showing ASAP: the next day at 4:00 p.m. The tour started with a walkaround. The facility consists of three-quarters of an acre with a sprawling complex of several conjoined structures. A quick visual inspection showed a new roof and three new roll-up doors. And what’s that out back? Oh yes, a train stop! Back in the foundry days, this place was—and still is—connected to the local scrap yard by rail. Talk about convenience! The rail spur behind the shop floor features an elevated loading platform and a dedicated diversion for the factory. The days of me loading up a hulk and hollering “incoming!” in the direction of the scrap yard are probably far off, but the listing agent encouraged a call to the rail company, Norfolk Southern.

Facing the street is a 1500-square-foot garage area with big casement windows to let in natural light. When the listing agent slid the roller door up, I felt it: this was sh**tbox car heaven.

Well, not yet. A complete furniture set apparently from the lobby of a La Quinta hotel was lining one wall, while dog cages, trash, and a filthy stereo system occupied the rest of the space. On the plus side, the natural light was beautiful, and a wood stove in the corner was sure to work fine. Cozy morning wrenching did not seem far off. Dumpster first, dreams later.

The “garage room” feeds into the main shop floor of the foundry, all 12,000 square feet of it. With some of the panes having been shot out by local vandals, water had pooled in some areas following five inches of recent winter rain. It’s also possible that the open chimney of the smelter was funneling water in. (Bargaining point noted.) On the other hand, a pair of old Chevrolet trucks and heaps of old equipment and tools left in the facility could provide several weekends of quality entertainment. We followed a wobbly staircase up to a relatively nice loft, complete with empty water bottles and broken grow lights. It started to make sense why power had been physically cut to the property and the cops got involved.

Upon analysis of the facts at hand, it was clear to me: It was perfect!

Still, aiming to keep a cool head, I took the weekend to really think it over and crunch numbers. Given the age of the structure, many potential hurdles came to mind: financing, contingencies, inspections, incorporation, environmental baggage, insurance, security, maintenance… it was enough that my sleep suffered tosses and turns. In the morning, my engineering brain pleaded that I create a spreadsheet. Once the numbers made sense, I stopped by a nearby bank; locals were fond of the structure, and the people I met with were more than happy to loan on the property, provided a few conditions were met. (Most of these were already on my list).

I’ll spare you the gory details about weeks of environmental research, report writing, appraisals, and insurance quotes. Suffice to say, it all worked out. As of writing, we’re under contract, and by the time you read this, we’ll be just about closed, provided nothing goes sideways.

As soon as I e-signed the paperwork, I let loose in the group text chat with my car friends. Moments later, someone had volunteered up a Webb 2S mill (a Taiwanese Bridgeport copy) for donation. Many cohorts expressed interest in renting space in exchange for money, help, or both. Soon, my Holden, Studebaker, pair of Citroën Amis, Hobby 600 spaceman/motorhome, Moskvich, and whatever else I end up with will soon have a home. They’ll all soon have roommates, too. My foundry/car commune is imminent!