wingski
Senior Member
Well, you made me remember another one. I know it’s not about an A, bit it’s close.
Years ago, probably the mid-sixties, a friend told me about an old Ford pickup sitting alongside I-5. We drove down to see it, and I discovered it was a “34 with the model B four cylinder engine, and it was in pretty good shape. An old guy came out and told us that he wanted that thing out of his yard, and that we could have it for nothing. I smelled a rat, but really wanted that pick-up, so I insisted that we make up a bill-of-sale and I gave him a buck for the truck. If I hadn’t insisted on that piece of paper, I would have been soooo screwed.
I borrowed my folk’s neighbor’s new pickup and his flat-bed trailor and headed South. We hauled the ’34 back to my folk’s place because I was living in an apartment at the time. I was beat and went to my appartment and hit the sack.
About two AM, my Dad called me and said, “What the hell have you done this time?” Apparently there were two or three cop cars with their red light flashing at my folk’s neighbor’s house and the entire neighborhood was not real happy. I think everybody knew it had something to do with me.
I got dressed and high-tailed my *** over to Mom and Dad’s.
Surprise, surprise. I found out that there was an APB out for my neighbor’s truck. I can’t even imagine what went through the minds of my folk’s neighbors when they were woken up by a cop pounding on their door at 2 am.
That old fart that I bought that ’34 from had been trying to get the owner who lived a long ways away to get that pick-up out of his yard for years. When I came along, I was the answer to all his prayers. He just supposedly sold me the P.U and then called the state police to report a stolen vehicle and gave them the license plate number of my neighbor’s truck.
Holy crap, you can’t imagine the stuff that went on when I arrived on the scene of the crime. It was daylight before things were somewhat straightened out. I had to return that ’34, but the old guy sure didn’t want it back in his yard, and the actual owner lived in Prineville, Oregon. There was no way in hell that I was going to haul that damn truck all the way over to Prineville. I lived in Western Oregon and Prineville was in Eastern Oregon and the Cascade Mountains were in between.
Finally, some state cop came up with the brillant idea of me hauling it down to Salem and the state pen.
I had to borrow my folk’s neighbor’s pick-up and trailer again which wasn’t exactly appreciated after the first fiasco. However, Mr. Keller had known me since before I was born, and he knew that I wasn’t a bad guy. I just got in trouble a lot because I was so damn naive. He handed me the keys, and my friend and I loaded the pick-up back on the trailer and headed South.
When we arrived at the gate of the penitentiary, nobody had any idea of what was going on. After what seemed like hours, I was told to take the thing out into the back 40 and park it by the galvanized wire fence.
I want you to know that by that time, that pick-up had lost all its appeal to me. When we got out to that fence, I just hooked a chain around the rear axle and drove the trailer out from under the truck. I retrieved my chain and it was a very quiet drive back to Mr. Keller’s house.
For all I know, the ’34 is still sitting out behind the Oregon State Penitentiary. Any of you who are interested are welcome to it, but it’s been there for over 50 years now.
I just realized something. Thank god that fence wasn’t electrified, and that old guy was smart as all get out.
Mike
Years ago, probably the mid-sixties, a friend told me about an old Ford pickup sitting alongside I-5. We drove down to see it, and I discovered it was a “34 with the model B four cylinder engine, and it was in pretty good shape. An old guy came out and told us that he wanted that thing out of his yard, and that we could have it for nothing. I smelled a rat, but really wanted that pick-up, so I insisted that we make up a bill-of-sale and I gave him a buck for the truck. If I hadn’t insisted on that piece of paper, I would have been soooo screwed.
I borrowed my folk’s neighbor’s new pickup and his flat-bed trailor and headed South. We hauled the ’34 back to my folk’s place because I was living in an apartment at the time. I was beat and went to my appartment and hit the sack.
About two AM, my Dad called me and said, “What the hell have you done this time?” Apparently there were two or three cop cars with their red light flashing at my folk’s neighbor’s house and the entire neighborhood was not real happy. I think everybody knew it had something to do with me.
I got dressed and high-tailed my *** over to Mom and Dad’s.
Surprise, surprise. I found out that there was an APB out for my neighbor’s truck. I can’t even imagine what went through the minds of my folk’s neighbors when they were woken up by a cop pounding on their door at 2 am.
That old fart that I bought that ’34 from had been trying to get the owner who lived a long ways away to get that pick-up out of his yard for years. When I came along, I was the answer to all his prayers. He just supposedly sold me the P.U and then called the state police to report a stolen vehicle and gave them the license plate number of my neighbor’s truck.
Holy crap, you can’t imagine the stuff that went on when I arrived on the scene of the crime. It was daylight before things were somewhat straightened out. I had to return that ’34, but the old guy sure didn’t want it back in his yard, and the actual owner lived in Prineville, Oregon. There was no way in hell that I was going to haul that damn truck all the way over to Prineville. I lived in Western Oregon and Prineville was in Eastern Oregon and the Cascade Mountains were in between.
Finally, some state cop came up with the brillant idea of me hauling it down to Salem and the state pen.
I had to borrow my folk’s neighbor’s pick-up and trailer again which wasn’t exactly appreciated after the first fiasco. However, Mr. Keller had known me since before I was born, and he knew that I wasn’t a bad guy. I just got in trouble a lot because I was so damn naive. He handed me the keys, and my friend and I loaded the pick-up back on the trailer and headed South.
When we arrived at the gate of the penitentiary, nobody had any idea of what was going on. After what seemed like hours, I was told to take the thing out into the back 40 and park it by the galvanized wire fence.
I want you to know that by that time, that pick-up had lost all its appeal to me. When we got out to that fence, I just hooked a chain around the rear axle and drove the trailer out from under the truck. I retrieved my chain and it was a very quiet drive back to Mr. Keller’s house.
For all I know, the ’34 is still sitting out behind the Oregon State Penitentiary. Any of you who are interested are welcome to it, but it’s been there for over 50 years now.
I just realized something. Thank god that fence wasn’t electrified, and that old guy was smart as all get out.
Mike
