In the the summer of ‘65 I was working at a local gas station/transmission shop . Pumping gas, checking oil, air pressure, and washing windshields. How ‘bout that?! Learning what I could about transmissions by watching, in between the, “gimme a dollars worth” requests. I lived about three miles from the shop and every day would take the same route home. The main drag through town. It afforded me the best chance of seeing some friends who for whatever reason, didn’t have to work or didn’t care to, and were able to just hang out. One day I was in a hurry to get home so I took a shortcut that went by a couple of farms. I had taken this route before and never gave more than a passing glance towards the farms. But on this day, there was a moving truck backed up to the front of the first farmhouse I came to. What started out as a casual look at the goings on turned into a head snapping, “what is that?! Up the driveway to the right of the house was a barn that looked like it hadn’t had the same level of upkeep over the years that the house had. It looked sturdy enough, just not painted as often. The two big doors were opened wide and toward the back was what caught my eye. The very distinctive grille of an old car. In my lathered up state, I guessed somewhere in the 30’s. I parked my car, ‘52 Chevy Business Coupe, and went up to the open front door. Just then, an older woman at least twice my age came out. She had to be 30 or so! I said “hi” and introduced myself. I asked if the “car” in the barn was for sale. She told me that it wasn’t a car but an old Ford truck that doesn’t run. She explained that the house and farm had belonged to her grandparents and that they could no longer work it so she and her husband bought it. She told me her husband had plans to turn the barn into a woodworking shop and would probably sell the truck. I gave her my phone number, (landline rotary dial phone basic black), and hoped her husband would call. An excruciatingly long week went by that saw me driving by and looking into the barn every day to and from work. Nothing, no call. Finally, early Sunday morning he called. He apologized for taking so long to call but explained he was busy moving in and now that he had a few free minutes, he thought he would call. He wasn’t sure what year the truck was and apologized because it wasn’t running and he didn’t know if it would. Then he said, “you’ll have to have it towed but if you want it, you can have it for $25.00. I was hoping that the screams of joy in my head weren’t creating some reverse eardrum effect and transmitting them into the phone receiver. Lest he hear them and raise the price. He said he would be there all day and if I wanted, I could come take a look. It probably took me all of seven minutes to get there. He was involved but told me to look it over and see if I wanted it. See if I wanted it?! Hah! I already had plans for my new truck. I was all over that truck and the only thing wrong with the body, was the door restraints on both sides had broken, allowing them to open too far and hit the fenders. So consequently there was a dent on the bottom of each door and one on each fender. That was it! Oh, and the petrified cow dung in the wheel wells that would have gotten the attention of any paleontologist worth their salt. I arranged with my boss at the shop to tow it to my parents house for five hours of gas jockey time. Which was probably the equivalent of ten bucks. He identified it as a 1934. None of my friends could believe that it had been hiding so close by for all those years. If not for my taking that shortcut, and those barn doors being open, it probably would’ve gotten junked. I was all over that truck. First order of business was to try to free up the stuck motor. Kerosene, Marvel Mystery oil into the cylinders, then stand on the crank hoping each time for just any slight movement. Looking skyward each time hoping for some “Andy” Devine intervention. In between attempts to turn the engine over, I scraped the aforementioned dung from the undercarriage and did a thorough clean up. I made a wish list of all of the things I wanted to do to personalize it. First was definitely a chop. New gauges, new gas tank........... I finally got the motor to start moving. I couldn’t afford to just yank it and have a shop do a rebuild so I hoped that sooner or later it would see things my way. Time passed and before I knew it, I was on my way to Boot Camp. My parents said that I could chose one vehicle to leave at the house while I was away. That was a no brainer for me, so I gave my ‘59 Chevy Impala with 348, two fours and three on the tree to one of my uncles . I had big plans for that truck. Fast forward about a year and a half to my homecoming after a government sponsored, all expenses paid trip to a foreign land. I was looking forward to seeing family and friends, and, my truck! The house sits up on a hill in the woods with a 100’ driveway leading up. I made that oh so familiar climb with great anticipation. I noticed that the driveway was freshly paved where when I left it had been just crushed stone. When I got to the top, I didn’t see the truck. Just as I started towards the back of the house to check for it, my mom came out and smothered me with oxygen depriving hugs. When the welcoming ceremony eased up a bit, I asked after my truck. “Oh, it was in the way when we had the driveway paved so I called the junkman”. At this point in my life, my hearing was still fairly acute but that didn’t stop me from barking out a “what!?” That day, I fully grasped the meaning of crestfallen. There was only one “Junkman” in town, Josie. He would let us scavenge for any parts we needed to keep our cars on the road and ready for “pick up” duty. I called him straight away. “Hi Josie it’s Jeff. My mom told me that you have my truck”. “Oh, you mean my boy’s truck! He just loves that truck, been workin’ on it non stop ever since we got it”. I realized then that it was truly gone. He got it on the road finally . He didn’t chop it, put some Volkswagen bucket seats in it, and a whole bunch of other tasteless touches, at least to my mind. I didn’t see it on the road often but when I did, it conjured up a host of memories of how one phone call can change the course of a life. Aside from that, life’s been good. Be well and safe Jeff Sent from here. Where? Here.