In 1974 I was just a normal gawky nerd kid who played in the Junior high band, got good grades and delivered my newspapers every afternoon after school. Yeah.. that's right. I was the kid people were standing in line to beat up for no particular reason. I was just the perfect target. Along with the normal things 13 year old kids think about, I had an unhealthy obsession with old cars. I would dream of owning and doing a ground up restoration on an old Ford... preferably a Model A.
That summer, while I was away at band camp (I know... now you're thinking about beating me up too....) my folks, who were very tolerant of my geek nature, schemed a surprise for me. When I returned home from camp, I found in the garage a ratted out 1930 Model A pickup. I was absolutely beside myself with joy over this thing. I am sure the only person happier that day than me was the wife of the guy that sold that rattletrap to my Dad for a song and got it out of HER garage.
This was to be a Father/son project, but due to my obsession with the car, I had the old rig stripped to the bare frame before my Dad knew what hit him. You see, I was already sure I knew what to do. Prior to getting the 'A' I spent much of my spare time reading restoration guides and shop manuals. I swear I knew what was behind every inspection cover and in every corner of that machine before I ever touched it.
We got the chassis back together and running good that next summer. I would start that thing up and back it up and down our driveway dreaming of the day I get to drive it out on the open road. I recall a few visits from the local police scolding me to keep it in the yard. While I didn't have the guts to venture too far, I was often out in the road in front of our house. They never bothered me too bad... I think I just had a geriatric neighbor or two that were convinced I was up to no good and the cops felt obliged to at least be seen talking to me.
I wish I had saved more pictures of the car, but while a number were taken,there are only a few to be found anymore. Someday when my kids are cleaning out my attic for the estate sale they may find a few more.
I wish I had saved more pictures of the car, but while a number were taken,there are only a few to be found anymore. Someday when my kids are cleaning out my attic for the estate sale they may find a few more.
That old Ford was the start of a lifelong obsession with internal combustion. Cars, 4x4s, motorcycles, snowmobiles, boat motors, you name it. I could care less. If it would get me greasy and smelling like stale gas, I was up for it. I'm 48 now and it has only gotten worse...
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