Heres a published story about me and my Dad and old cars: DAD AND THE MODEL T TIME MACHINE By Michael W. Updike There wasn’t much a rebellious teenage boy and his Dad could agree on or find to talk about or share. But between the arguments and silence were the discussions about Model T’s and old cars in general my Dad and I had. We would ride, with me learning to drive, for hours and miles looking through the woods, behind hay barns, at the end of dirt lanes and out back of farm yards for any glorious sign of rust or rubber or glass or nickel. Just the sight of a squared-off hunk of shotgun hole-filled field ornament would have us grinning and talking like time had no ending and love had no bounds. One day, 120 miles from home, I spotted it! The girl of my dreams – a 1921 Model TT Truck. She was rusted out in several spots and there were no seats or even springs in the cab. There was very little black paint left anywhere on the exterior, didn’t matter. Because she glistened like 24 karat, pure obtainium when I gazed at her, because the farmer agreed to sell it and with a little assistance from Dad’s wallet, I was able to buy it. Dad and a friend hauled it home and there it was when I got home from school that Monday afternoon. I had no idea where to start, but with his help, I got it fired up and was able to move it around the yard. Someone had replaced the planetary transmission with three-speed stick in the floor. It had a starter, but it didn’t work. But cranking it by hand was so much cooler than simply turning a key and off we go. I scraped and sanded and fiber glassed and primed and painted the whole thing Black. I put a wooden bed on it and painted that red and black. It was a Cadillac to me, even with its solid rubber tires and fragile stance. I remember one cold Virginia January morning, my mother went out to leave in her almost-new Oldsmobile and it wouldn’t start. Being mischievous and just a little bit of a devil…I turned the gas on and gave the T’s hand-crank a tug and chug-chug-chug – she took off! I jumped in and stopped by Mom’s Olds and hollered, “19 degrees – mine starts and yours doesn’t, Mom!” She wasn’t very happy with me that chilly morn’, but that old car kept me around the house where she at least knew what I was up to. The local boys called me “John-Boy” derisively and would taunt me for being old-timey. Didn’t bother me, especially because I played guitar and all the girls in the neighborhood just loved to sit around and listen to me play all those John Denver and Bee Gees songs. Eat your heart out, boys! Old cars, girls and guitars – it didn’t get any better than that. Well, a few years passed and the old T got away from me (to someone who never paid me for it, no less!). Dad passed away, then Mom went to find him. But my love for old cars continued and now I own a barn-find 1924 Doctor’s coupe with 10000 miles, a 1929 Model A Roadster Pick-up with 26,000 certified miles, a 1963 Ford Convertible and several other vehicles. So, I’m lost in the generations – time out of time – I should have been born as a contemporary of Good Ole Henry Ford, but in the absence of a time-machine… I think I’ll just go out to the car-house and crank up some memories of Dad and the times we shared together.
Posted on: Wed, 27 Nov 2013 13:31:27 +0000
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