Date: Mon Jan 24 2000 Time: 07:23:00 Title: Three, Maybe Four Generations Story: That 1955 R-120 truck was purchased by my Grandfather in 1956 when it was one and I was three. It was a three-quarter ton, originally green, but Granddad had it painted red when he bought it slightly used. I remember he and I driving in through the pastures around Salina, Kansas, and feeding the cattle and checking all the fences in it. The first time I ever had the Biblical dillema faced by Lot's wife -- to look or not to look -- was when he did some barnyard welding on the spare tire carrier. Told not to look, how could a youngun resist? The noise way really cool, and the light was ten times better than a Fourth of July sparkler. Now some 40 years later, when I removed the spare carrier during the restoration, I was pulled through time to that day. Like a typical farmer fix, his weld job was pretty crude in appearance, but it is still holding. In 1989, Robert Franklin Burch was 88 and we were still using and abusing that truck. Frank used it as a scaffold the summer of 1989 when we painted his house, first standing on the roof (try THAT on a late model truck today!) then setting up the ladder on the roof when he needed to go higher. Frank hauled three and even four head of cattle in that R-120, some of the hefty bulls. The box floor and sides were heavily bowed when I started the rebuild. Frank sold the truck to my Dad for $1 about a year before his death. Dad's agreement with me was that he'd provide the funding, if I would do the work. The cost wasn't great, less than $4,000, but the hours mounted up. I was already well into the rebuild when I heard on the radio one night while working on that Binder that O.J. Simpson's girlfriend had been found murdered. Still, the restoration continues. I've got a list of at least 50 minor things that need to be done to her. My wife, kids and neighbors keep asking me when this project is going to be finished. Well never, I tell them. This is a hobby. If you fish for a hobby you don't just catch one fish then quit. If you play guitar, don't just learn one song. If you collect stamps you don't just paste them in a book then stow it away. What's really cool is sitting in that driver's seat and realizing that I'm the third son to occupy that space. That the reflection in the rear view mirror that I see could just as easily be my Dad or his Dad. That the shift lever has been pulled a million times by gloved hands, dirty hands, tired hands, young hands, wrinkled hands, cold hands, and warm hands, but almost certainly always by the hands of the same three guys. Hope my kid can learn to drive a shift. Contributer: Gary Burch Here is a picture of Gary's truck: |
