Brad Nelson

I’ll hit the big 70 come August, and my body remains afflicted with eyes that see the world as though I was still 35. I still cuss the Ford Mustang for being too small in the driver compartment so I never even got to drive one.

This year’s annual meeting and show for the American Truck Historical Association was held at Salem, Oregon.

I had never worked on a diesel engine before. It was about 1969 and I was working for Charles Warnick at Pleasant Grove, Utah, while going to college. One morning, he asked me to grab my toolbox and drive over and help a neighbor.

I think it was about 15 years ago. I was minding my own business, getting a few groceries on my way home. The total fit into two or three plastic bags. The young teenage girl bagging groceries asked me if I needed help out with my purchase.

I taught my 14-year-old grandson how to open a can of chili with a pocketknife the other day. We were at a campground, and it was a “Grandpa and boy only” outing celebrating his birthday. The always-ready camp cooking box wasn’t, which we didn’t notice until we couldn’t produce a can opener.

The engine ran with a miss, but the truck was cheap, so I bought it. It was a Ford C-600, the old tilt-cab version, 1962 model, I think. It was two-tone yellow and black. I thought the engine was Ford’s venerable 292 C.I. Y-block V-8, but when we went for parts, we found out that it was the larger 332 C.I. engine.