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Remembering

By Marilyn (LaraOct7@aol.com)


I'm remembering the truck my grandfather used in his business. He owned and operated a country store and used the truck to bring merchandise from town, and also to deliver groceries and other items to his customers. Most of his customers lived in the Ohio River valley, along the main road, but there were many who lived several miles away, back in the West Virginia hills.

A couple might have walked several miles to buy food and supplies from my grandfather, knowing he would drive them back home. When my uncle was old enough to drive, it was his responsibility to make the deliveries. I went with him once and oh boy, what an experience that was. The roads were unpaved and he hit every hole. He was my mother's youngest brother and he eventually took over the business.

My grandfather would drive into town once each week and buy from the wholesale houses. I can see him yet, sitting behind the wheel with his hat pulled low. It was always fun to watch the cartons of canned goods, dry goods, etc. being unloaded. It was my grandmother who usually opened the cartons and put things on the shelves.

I have many wonderful memories and the picture of this truck takes me back. I saw it on a parking lot last fall when I was in Maine.








 


Remembering

By susi Taylor (Texaswishr@aol.com)


"Claude E. Stoddard, Carpenter", said the sign on the door
of my granpa's old Ford truck that he used
when he drove to go to his jobs
one arm out the window, he cruised


My grandpa was a handsome guy
wavy hair, bushy moustache, tall and lean
standing next to his truck
in his fresh pressed carpenter bib jeans


He supported his family, seven in all
four daughters and one "spit 'n image" son
they lived in the big house on the block
a happy place to come to when his jobs were done


I remember my grandpa even tho' I was young
one of his daughters was my dear mother
he was a really good guy and a hard working man
as a grandpa, i'd never want for another









 


My Dad Washing His First Studebaker

By Phyllis Ann (Starbird55@comcast.net)






The first car my Dad bought when he returned from WWII was a Ford coupe. It was a bright blue. He didn't own a car until I was in the sixth grade because when he came home from the war, he was what they called then, "shell shocked" and couldn't drive. My Mother learned to drive when he got that car. That was a fun experience, watching my Mother learn to drive.

I remember when I was in High School and my Dad bought a new Studebaker. It had a speedometer that went around like a compass, and the increments were different colors for every 10 miles of speed. I thought it was really a neat car, but the next door neighbors had a daughter my age, and she took it upon herself to make fun of that car. Her Dad had a new 1957 Chevrolet, robin egg blue. I thought it was very nice, and I didn't say anything mean about her or it. For some reason, she didn't like me. Now that I look back on it, I think she was jealous for whatever reason. I believe when I moved next door to her, she felt her social status was threatened, and the way she could stop it was to make fun of me, exclude me when possible and make fun of that car. She called it "the dopes taupe", which was the color - mauve taupe. I never will forget that remark or her. We never had a cross word. My way of dealing with her was to ignore her remarks, actions, etc. and move on with my life. I felt sorry for her and considered the source. We continued to have mutual friends, and I didn't consider her a threat. She often would have the girls over and not invite me, but they would invite me to everything they had going on. Didn't understand her at all.

Back to the cars. My Dad, for some reason, liked Studebakers. It was the second one that he owned. After he sold the Ford coup, he bought a green Studebaker. The next car, after the Ford coup and two Studebakers was a Ford Fairlane. It was a green color also. We drove it all the way to San Francisco from Indiana when we moved to Hawaii, and he had is shipped to Oahu with a lot of household items packed inside. When we left Hawaii, he sold it. So it didn't make the voyage back to the "main land".

I only owned one car while single. I bought it when I was 19 and learned to drive on it. It was a five speed stick shift on the column. I wrote a piece about it for the Den several years ago. It was green. What is this thing with green cars. My husband and I only had one green car, and it was a Pontiac Roadrunner. We have owned so many cars in 46 years of marriage that I can't even remember all of them. I think of them as transportation. My husband thinks of them as "wonderful". He has always had a love affair with cars.

Remembering....ah, yes....the golden age of the automobile. "Come see the USA in your Chevrolet" - that is, if you can afford the gas.








 


Grandpa's Truck

By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)




I remember, oh yes I do,
I remember that old green truck.
Uncle Buck bought it to haul coal,
But instead rustled cattle.


Aunt Mabel sold it for the funeral,
cousin Sam Snow bought it.
Hauled some wood and coal,
anything to make a buck.


Cousin Sam went to war,
from Germany, not to return.
It sat in the barn,
For about thirty years.


When cousin Sam’s wife passed away,
for ten dollars I bought that old truck.
Dragged it home and went to work,
ten years later, had it running.


Now I am an old retired man,
but that old truck I still drive around.
hauling this and that,
it is in better shape than me.


Memories and nostalgia are always about,
but that old truck is pure history.
So look, but please don’t touch,
I am still driving a long lost memory truck.









 


Remembering Gilly and the Truck

By Bob (C1ydeBunky@aol.com)




Gilly owned the truck. It was almost exactly like the one pictured, except it had a shorter bed, and wasn’t as good looking (or as new) as the one in the picture. Gilly was the local man contracted to get the overnight mail from the railroad station and take it to the post office in time for them to sort and get it ready to deliver each day.

I was a very young man at the time. I was in college and working the 5:30 AM to 2:30 PM shift as a ticket clerk/baggageman for the A.T.&S.F. Railroad in Las Vegas, New Mexico, the New Mexico Division headquarters for the Santa Fe Railroad main line between Chicago and Los Angeles.

5:30 in the morning comes awfully early, and that particular year was one of the colder ones in Las Vegas, which is noted for cold winters, being at an elevation of some 6,400 feet at the railroad station. One day that year I arrived at the depot and saw the official temperature there to be 22 degrees below zero!

But though I was always at work on time, Gilly was always there, waiting for me to open up the baggage room and help him load the mail to take to the post office. I would guess Gilly to have been an old man even then, and otherwise retired, but he was sturdy and had worked hard all his life and was as strong as I was in a prime age with a year or more under my belt as a baggageman.

So many years have passed since then, and I still remember Gilly as an influence in my life, as the epitome of dependability who helped me to become that way too, and as a symbol of what I still believe in, handling your responsibilities regardless of the difficulties. That old truck was just like Gilly, you know. Never failed!








 


An Untold Story

By Connie (CSThomas@aol.com)




In Nineteen Ninety Eight
Met this guy online
Said he had an antique car
One that was so fine !


Skeptical, I was
Figured he liked to boast
Detected a faint accent
Somewhere on the Northern coast


Figured him brilliant
A man of many words
Said he, too, was single
Hope that's what I heard


Weeks turned to months
Following him around
Arguments were many
Usually stood my ground


Sent me a mouse
One I still hold
He wrote a poem about him
The rest must go untold









 


Grandpa's Old Ford

By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)


In my grandpa’s old Model T,
He’d say "Baby Girl, come along with me,"
And he’d take me for a little ride,
Bumping and thumping by his overalled side.


A carpenter was he like our Good Lord,
And built a Church for his budding girls,
Bumping with lumber and ten penny nails,
It’s stood more than a century weathering nature’s gales.


His old body got a bit unworkable,
Tho his heart was never one shirkable.
To feed his little blinded wife,
He raised pansies the rest of his life.


Flats of flowers filled the old truck bed,
At twilight he’d come home tired near dead,
Rattling in his garage one side a chickenhouse,
The other side feed (where you’d might see a mouse).


He gloried in his children who he’d grown
To believe they’d be the flowers he’d sewn,
So proud he was to say,
"My girl and her husband have a Model A"









 


Old Truck

By Sharon (Sunyskys1943@aol.com)


HERE I SIT ALL OLD AND RUSTED
ONCE I WAS DEPENDABLE AND TRUSTED


I HAULED CHICKENS AND LUMBER TOO
SOMETIMES I HAULED COW PIE POO


MY TIRES ARE TIRED AND GOING FLAT
NO LONGER DOES MY MOTOR GO CLICKETY CLACK


OLD FARMER JOHN SAID HIS OTHER CAR
WAS A TRACTOR WHICH DIDN'T TRAVEL FAR


ONE TIME A HAYRIDE WITH A TEENAGE LOAD
ON MY BACK THEY ALL RODE


I CARRIED STUFF FROM TOWN TO FARM
MRS FARMER JOHN NEVER CAME TO HARM


BUT HERE I NOW SIT ALL OLD AND RUSTED
NO LONGER DEPENDABLE AND NO LONGER TRUSTED



end










         

 

 






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