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Pressure plate....hmmmm, is that anything like a dinner plate straining under the weight of a huge portion of Yankee Pot Roast, the kind they serve in an eatery in downtown Boston. The place is called Durgin Park.

You go up the back staircase, through the bar where you pick up a beer or whatever and move to the head of the line. Suits and hard hats sit side by side on picnic type tables and the place is known for its saucy waitresses. Yum! Crack wise and you may wind up with your lunch in your lap.
Jim Hallett, the owner of Durgin Park right up into the late seventies, took my Father under his wing during the darkest time in our lives. He saw in him a good man who had fallen very hard on the worst of times and honestly took him in as a son. From the moment of his intervention in 1960, we went from living in the top of my Grand Mother's old house to wanting for absolutely nothing. He bought us a new ranch house with a pool, a new car every two years, all of the food that we could eat, all of the clothes that we could ever wear, sent my parents on island vacations and sent us kids to the sea shore on the Cape. We played on the Kennedy Compound with the privileged, my Father traveled the world over with the Ancient and Honorable Artillery. We ate at the restaurant whenever we wanted as though it were our own kitchen and got treated like Old Boston Royalty every time we showed up. My father went in every night except Mondays just to hang around with Jim, they were like to kids with a huge play house. One Summer, my Father was the strawberry shortbread chef. He just went in and made deserts . . . he was VERY good at it, but still. Other times my Father and he would just drive places. New York, Miami, never really mattered. Mostly, they got together with a whole mess of other guys and toured Europe, or wherever. Again, like kids.

He would also arrange for me and Michelle to have unbelievably well paid "politically" influenced do-nothing jobs during the Summer months. A "greeter" at the State House, putting down rubber cones for the Highway Dept., running messages from the Lt. Governor's Office, stamping gun and fishing permits in Government Center. My weirdest job was installing and removing the air conditioner from the living room and bed room of his home in Milton. A twice a year job that paid around a $600.

Like having a fairy God Father, my life was changed in an instant, literally over a single weekend.

He and his wife were WONDERFUL ! ! ! ! ! And made the best oatmeal scotchies that I've ever tasted.


Another, "brush with greatness."


FP
Let me be the first to say that many, many people would travel from far and wide, JUST for the Strawberry Shortcake at Durgin Park. The strawberries were always fresh, even in the dark of Winter, and the whipped cream was freshly made from scratch - none of that canned or tubbed stuff for the Park!

Don't know if I've sampled that of your Dad, but believe me, desserts from there were of legendary goodness.

I was working at a start-up in the mid-1980's and we were trying to get a contract with IBM Europe so we took their visiting people to the Park for dinner. We all filed in (most of us in suits) and sat at the long, family-style tables with red and white checkered table cloths. Two of the group were from IBM in France, so they sat at one end of the table and were speaking French while the rest of us mostly ignored them and spoe English.....until our 80-ish-year-old waitress came back, glaring at them. She walked over to their end of the table, pointed right at them and in a make-no-mistake-about-my-attitude voice, yelled at them: "YOU! At MY table YOU speak ENGLISH!!!"

Scared the livin bejeasus out of 'em both and they spoke English for the rest of the meal. We also told them that they had better leave a good tip, because she looked like she knew guys from the Boston Mafia (and probably did, too).
Bill, I treat these problems like things in the fridge. When in doubt, throw it out. When I had my engine out with a similar problem I replaced the works with the hopes I won't hafta be pulling it out again anytime soon. That was about 8000 miles or so ago. I put in a Kennedy stage 1 clutch and plate with a new throwout and done.

~WB
This is a little late, but most pressure plates don't wear out..., the disc's do.
I've crack a few racing and showing my age in public..., but you'll find oil on the disc is the most common problem from a worn transmission or flywheel seal.

To answer your question: taking it out and looking for cracks, bluing, and or springs in the towers cracked or finger notched or broken..., anotherwords a visual inspection.
- Chattering is a sign of a warped plate.
- Crunching can be a sign of a broken spring.

Your question was a little vague, so my answer might be too.

That said, I've used many stock spring plates again. I just used a after market good bimetal disc with a spring style center.

David
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