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REVIVING FOSSILS WITH CREATIVITY AND OLD-SCHOOL COACHBUILDING.

- Michael Jordan

What is the actual work in bodywork? You might picture panel beaters amid a whirlwind of pounding and thrashing metal. In shops that deal with modern cars, there’s liable to be more cutting, welding, and painting, as it’s often easier and cheaper to replace, rather than repair, damaged exterior components.

But the hardest jobs—cars for which parts are hard to find or nonexistent—require something else entirely: imagination. That’s the sort of bodywork Steve Hogue enjoys.

“Give us the one-off car where there’s no information—that’s what we like to do,” he says.

Steve Hogue Enterprises, now a three-man operation, opened 25 years ago as a more-or-less typical SoCal body shop. “First I was making muscle cars,” he says. “Then I did a lot of hot rods where a guy gave me a drawing and I built it.” As he gained experience, Hogue turned to large, coach built vehicles from Lincoln, Packard, and Stutz. Later on, his shop began working on cars that were once considered beyond repair—good enough only for spare parts. Then Hogue started restoring cars that were so far gone, some people wouldn’t even take them for parts.

These days, Hogue primarily sees vintage sports cars, which he has always liked best. “They’re just the right size, and they’re more fun to research.”

The rare breeds rolling into his Torrance, California, shop—Shelby Cobras, early Porsches—are often worn to flimsy skeletons by time, trouble, and neglect. “It’s kind of like working with dinosaur fossils,” Hogue says. “Not everything is there, so I have to figure it out and make it complete.”