Our first vehicle we owned might not have been a new one but it is one we will never forget. For some it might have been a four door sedan, a V.W. bug or in my case a used 1953 F-100 Ford pick-up. Most of us had to work odd jobs, or several jobs, just to be able to pay for our own ride.
I’ve always been partial to pick-up trucks. You see I needed a truck to haul my Jon boat on and in the winter to haul a dog box filled with old hounds. Why, you might even consider me a Red-neck sort of guy.
The story of my first truck began when my Uncle Everett bought this spanking new ‘ 53 Ford pick-up. It was painted a shiny red, had a three speed on the column, and a flat-head V-8 under the hood with a whopping 100 H.P.
I thought my Uncle’s truck could fly compared to his old three-quarter ton work truck, which could only run 45 m.p.h. on a good day.
You see my Dad always owned a car, except for an old pulp-wood truck he bought when he came out of the war. My two Uncles were the truck men in the family. Why, both my uncles bought their new trucks in the year of fifty-three. Uncle Johnny bought himself a six cylinder Chevy with the rounded side windows while Everett decided he’d stick with another Ford truck.
During the years both trucks were well maintained, kept polished and prove to be good trucks.
Just so happened, both my uncles had eye problems and both had to give up driving about the same time. Uncle Johnny sold his truck to my first cousin and a few years later I bought my Uncle Everett’s F-100 Ford pick-up.
Uncle Everett gave me a good deal on the truck but to be able to pay for it I had to prime a lot of tobacco and mow a lot of yards. I’m proud to say that I made every payment on time and got it paid for just after I got my driving license at sixteen.
I really loved my old pick up although I couldn’t afford to put but a few dollars of gas in at a time, even though gas was only thirty-cents a gal. To try and save gas, when I would go down a hill, I’d shift the old truck into neutral and coast as far as possible.
Why I can remember many a time my friends and I would load my old boat, an old 5 H.P. Scott outboard, all the camping gear we owned in the bed of my truck and head over to Pee Dee River. It didn’t take much money back then to enjoy a weekend of camping and boating. With only a dollar’s worth of gas, it would get us over there and we’ve even have some left to run the outboard on.
On another occasion, my friends, Ray and Roger, and I were driving down a curvy one-lane sand road. I have to admit I was driving a little too fast but in a curve of the road we met another vehicle and came within inches of running head on into each other. I applied the brakes so hard the steering wheel spun around out of my hands. Finally, after both vehicles stopped and we were all alright, I got out and saw that both front tires of my truck were pointed out. Won’t no way we could drive my truck out of there because the steering rod had been bent and I mean bent.
You know country boys can figure out just about anything, so we figured with a tractor and a chain we could straighten that steering rod right out. Ray caught a ride to his house in the other vehicle and won’t long here he came with his Dad’s tractor and a long chain. Why with Ray pulling with the tractor, Roger watching the steering rod and my foot on the brake we straightened that rod right out. Afterwards, that old truck drove better than it did when it was new.
The only thing I didn’t like about the old fifty-three was it was light on the back-end. Why you could get stuck in the back yard if’n there was a big frost on the ground. I remember still having the truck after my wife and I were married. We were living in downtown Ellerbe, and I was working for D.O.T.
Just so happened, early one winter Sat. morning, it started sleeting and snowing. Our phone rang and I was told to get on down to the D.O.T. maintenance shed. I got on my clothes, kissed my wife good bye and started the old fifty-three up. While it was warming up, I threw what cement blocks I could find in the truck bed; hopefully, for better traction.
I pulled out on 220, headed South toward Rockingham on the two lane. The road was covered in ice and snow but I was making good time. Just so happened, when I fell off the hill at the old Gourd Stand a car in front of me applied his brakes and started sliding. I applied my brakes and before you could say, “don’t do it” my truck did a 180 degree turn and was sliding into oncoming traffic.
Most of you have seen the sign or heard the phrase, “God is my Co-Pilot.” Well, don’t you believe it, ‘cause He is the pilot. Only by some miracle of God, that old fifty-three caught traction and straightened right up and I continued on to work.
When I got to work, I told some of my coworkers what had happened and if’n it won’t for God being my co-pilot I might not have made it. One old feller spoke up and said, “Son, next time you’d better let God drive, ‘cause with your driving, you’re gonna kill him.”
Hope you’ve enjoyed this here story and hopefully it brought back some memories of your first vehicle.