I drove three hours south to a funeral of an old friend. I arrived at his
house at 7 AM and went in to visit with the family. When they saw my 59
suburban with rustouts the whole family went wild. Seems the old boy was a
logger as the family was growing up, and drove nothing but crummys. They
looked at this rig as something coming back frome the grave.
What happend next was spontaneous. They ran out to a scrapped International
log truck and removed some old tin signs that bore the name of the dearly
departed. Then they went to the scrap pile ( that is basically their whole
yard) and found some RUSTY bailing wire and a RUSTY fish stringer, wired a
sign to each side of my truck on the door handles and rear view mirrors.
They declared this vehicle the official hearse.
My truck has a rear seat, so cannot take a casket so I sortof laughed this
off as venting stress. Driving to the funeral I lugged the truck like a big
dog cause that is the way that Bud drove. It struck everyone and they
laughed even more when i pulled the choke out to make it sputter.
In the church, I noticed he was cremated. Coffin size was no longer a concern
and after the funeral the oldest son backed the truck up to the front , he
threw the doors open and stood like a funeral driver while we loaded the
ashes, and all the flowers.
He drove away starting out in third gear , with the engine heavily choked and
took dad ,and five family members to all the local watering holes for a last
drink. Whenever the truck got to traveling speeds the driver and main
passenger had to hold their arms outside to pin the signs against the
doors.The wife complained , but to no avail. After the funeral the mom gave
me a big hug and told me how much joy the truck being there brought the
family. Then one of the sons tried to give me $200 in cash for the use of old
betsy ( now renamed Patricia hearst). I of course refused.
While driving home in the most photographed truck on the oregon coast the
following afternoon I stopped for gas , looked over at the passenger seat and
there was $200 tucked into a fold. Alls well that ends well.
Stan the man
Newberg, Or
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