I grew up in the typical small-town USA neighborhood, along with all my good friends, and most of my other friends. Margie Walker, who was in my class at school, had 3 older brothers. The youngest of these, Nelson, was about 4 or 5 years older than us. They lived about half a block down the street from me.
When I was in middle school (they called it Jr. High back then), Nelson came home with a 1949, 5 window Chevrolet truck. It was in pretty rough shape, but it was complete, and it would run. He spent the next 6-8 months fixing, sanding, straitening, and painting everything on it. He replaced the chrome bumpers and grille, added a stereo, changed the steering wheel, and re-upholstered the interior. He painted it blue, and it looked something like this:
That's not his truck, but it shows you what one looks like. I wish I had pictures of it, but I don't. You never think to take a picture until it's too late.
Watching him work on that truck is what got me hooked on old trucks so many years ago. That seed slept in the back of my brain for a couple of years.
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