The Joys of Buying and Driving an Old Pickup

By David Davis
all rights reserved

You can be brainwashed if you watch too many TV truck commercials. Most of Ôem have a loud cross country soundtrack playing in the background, while you see some young so called farm boy running the guts out of a new $25,000 truck on some rocky desert that would tear the bottom out of an oil pan in five minutes. Then, they pull a house or barn or some other huge object across the screen while a Yankee announcer yells at you at the top of his lungs about cheap prices. The things usually end with a shot of some large corporate farm or ranch with dad smiling at his son who has just brought home the family truck covered with mud. If they really over do it, they show some sweet young thing, who would beat herself to death jogging, sitting on the tailgate. Horse feathers! Forget those over-priced new trucks! Old trucks are patriotic.

I drove an old 66 Ford because I wanted to build America. Let me tell you folks what I mean. In my tax bracket, a new truck is out of the question. An amiable ne'er do well writer like me has to shop the back lots of the used car dealers. Lots with a name like "Shady Deal Motors," or "Hannibal Lector's Pre-Owned Chariots." None of those clean cut yuppie car salesmen for me! If they have to go talk to the sales manager every five minutes to make a deal, I am in the wrong place! One gets to study the underbelly of capitalism when you try buying a vehicle from a "Flying Dutchman lot--and you learn a lot about human nature at the same time. This brings to mind the time I bought a truck in a small town in Texas.

I found my old truck at a lot not too far from the jail in a small East Texas town. That is a convenient location for a used car dealer. He can sell cars right up to the minute he has to start serving his time for fraud, and he can start selling cars again the minute he gets out. Not only that, there is usually a bail bondsman close by.

It was a hot day in May when I met the ole boy I'll call Oscar. I had sized up the trucks and stepped in the little one room office. An old electric fan was the only thing there was to move the air around. Oscar never came out to high-pressure me. He was the kind of guy that liked to let you hook yourself first.

There is a certain set of rules to stealing in the used truck business, and Oscar knew them all. Mostly, he had the right look. Sort of "working class merchant who needs to make a sale to eat" and " Good Ole Boy" rolled into one. He was a short guy about 45 with an ancient straw cowboy hat. His boots were polished though, and he put out his cigarette in on old distributor cap. His jeans were old but pressed and he smiled at me like a long lost friend. Or, at least, that was the smile he was trying for. It looked more like the smile of an undertaker before a gunfight to me. The only mistake he made was wearing the gold horseshoe ring with the diamond in it. This sort of killed the " poor old country boy just trying to make ends meet" image that he wanted to convey.

The dance began.

"You see something out there you like son?"

He knew damn well I did.

"Oscar, what would you take for that 66 Ford long bed out there?"

At this comment he frowned a bit.

"I hate to sell that one. I was thinking of using it out at my place to feed my cattle. I bought it from an old retiring dairyman near Yantis yesterday. The motor has been rebuilt--and that classic is a good farm truck for somebody. New paint too."

Now Oscar told me a lot with that short speech. What he REALLY was saying was this:

"I will sell that old truck as soon as the first fool with cash makes an offer. If I don't sell it soon, I will have to start driving the piece of junk myself. It is newly painted because it has been wrecked at least once. It would make somebody a good farm truck because it may not be safe on a state highway. The old blue Ford is indeed a classic. So old that she did not appear in the used car price books anymore."

Oscar quoted me a price that would allow him to have the beloved vehicle torn from his grasp. I laughed a little and snorted a small expletive. I allowed as how he was sure proud of his truck. I walked halfway to the door before he stopped me. He offered me a free coke and asked me what I could afford. I told him and he sighed a small expletive with a smile.

This little exchange told us where we stood. We both knew that his first price was just the opening haggling price, but none of that ever stated directly. I only let off with one expletive that was mildly naughty, which told him he was at least in the ballpark. My laugh told him I would deal. The short half hearted stroll to the door informed him that I was ready to hear his next revised offer. The free coke told me about his good will, and his mildly naughty barnyard expression told me that he needed a little more cash on the table.

We hemmed and hawed a little more, and managed to close the gap to two hundred dollars. He mentioned that it might do to have a little more rain for his hay. We both lit cigarettes in the silence. About this time, his teenage assistant walked in.

"Sikes called today and wants to see that blue 66 Ford after lunch."

Nothing more needed to be said. This little piece of fiction told me that Oscar had gone as far as he would go on the price. I pretended to look downhearted, and Oscar pretended to tell the boy to make an appointment with Sikes. Like any good country boy salesman, Oscar knew to leave something on the table for the other guy. He offered to throw in a fifth tire. This gave me a face saving out, and made up for some of the extra money I would pay him. We shook hands. Oscar had the truck washed for me, and he did turn down a genuine better offer on the truck before I could pick it up. After all, we had shaken hands on the deal. I got about the best deal you can get on a used vehicle. He only took me for a little.

I drove that old '66 Ford truck for over ten years. It warms my heart to think of the things I would have missed without her.

1. Learning lessons in humility:
   You won't get city proud driving a truck like that. My high school age kids made me drop them off two blocks from school so they wouldn't be seen getting out of it. The old truck also helped me realize that father time is getting me. You know you are getting on when you see a beautiful blonde coed in a sports car sitting next to you at a red light, and she says, "Where did you get that old truck, pop?"
   
   
2. Putting adventure back in driving:
   Most folks in new vehicles never wonder whether they are going to reach their destination when they start out. There is no tension in the journey. In my truck, I was like Lindbergh crossing the Atlantic for the first time. Would I make it? You have never lived till your linkage jams in downtown rush hour traffic. And don't forget the thrill of suspense every time you go to get an inspection sticker.
   
   
3. Supporting the Oil Industry:
   You know you are doing your part for Exxon when you step on the accelerator and it sounds like you are flushing a toilet.
   
   
4. Solitude:
   Since nobody else would be caught dead in my truck, I always had plenty of time alone to ponder the big questions of life. Secondly, I always had a sure set of wheels to go fishing. You don't think my son would borrow that old thing for a date do you?
   
   
5. A sense of history:
   I not only love history, I drove a piece of it. You just had to look at what I drove to know that I appreciated the past.
   
   
6. Fellowship:
   If I owned a new truck, nobody would ever know me. As it was, I met every mechanic in three states. In fact, many of the wonderful possessions and college educations of their children are due in large part to my long and frequent meetings with these gentlemen. Somebody once asked me if I was restoring my truck. I said no, not by choice. I was really just trying to keep it running, but they were not that far wrong.
   
   
7. Humor :
   Sometimes just for fun, I would drive into a new truck lot and ask them what they would give me as trade in value on my truck. It was fun watching the horror stricken looks. Also, a truck like mine was a good venue for bumper stickers such as, "Don't Laugh--It's Paid For," and "She Got The Goldmine--I Got the Shaft."
   
   
8. Building tolerance:
   I didn't mind my friends smoking in my truck. (I am not part of the smoking police.) Heck, you could have burned an old tire in the cab and not notice any change in smell.
   
   
9. Romance:
   Nothing made my wife want to stay home for a quiet night of romance like an offer to take her out to eat in my truck.
   
   
10. The work ethic:
    When you piloted a truck like mine, you had to keep writing constantly to pay the expenses. It may pay off though. Some local Ford dealer may want to give me a good deal on a new truck because they feel sorry for me. After all, I put enough miles on that old Ford to get to the Moon. That's a pretty good Testimonial. You think?
    
    

As Forrest Gump would say, "that's all I've got to say about that"