Here's a '56 In Your Face

Twelve years ago, we were driving down the street in nearby Evans minding our own business.

Laura said, “Hey. Do you want to go around the block and look at that truck that’s for sale?”

We were cruising cool in a brand-new Ford F-150. I looked at her like she was, er, touched, and said, “Naw. What do I want to look at an old truck for?”

A week later she didn’t ask. She said, rather insistently, “Let’s go back and look at that truck.” She knew that the undoing of me is to test drive something. We drove it around the block.

We soon became the proud owners of a completely beat-up 1956 Ford F-600. It had 49,000 actual miles on the odometer, but it had been rode hard and put away wet, like we say.

The first expenditure to get this vehicle roadworthy had to be tires. We bought two used wheels, two new and four recapped tires, spending $1,200. We had paid $800 for the whole truck. That’s pretty much how it’s been since then.

The gross vehicle weight of the truck is 17,000 pounds. This means it can legally carry about five tons. It ain’t no big truck, by today’s standards, but I’ve never had anything other than half-tons. For me it’s a big truck.

Over the past dozen years, we’ve bought even more tires and we’ve replaced, repaired or modified: the bumper, radiator, water pump, fan shroud, carburetor, intake manifold, generator, oil filter adapter, starter, clutch and ring gear, muffler and exhaust system, windshield gasket, driver and passenger seat, rear view mirrors, door weather strips, heater core, heater motor, universal joints and pinion gear seal.

An acquaintance of ours built the steel flatbed with some of the original equipment and some new material. Another friend modified the bed-to-frame mounting system and replaced a broken section in the truck frame adjacent to the dual rear wheels and tires.

This is nowhere near a comprehensive list of what we’ve done on this thing in its dozen years in our yard. Once for Laura’s birthday we replaced the muffler, and when I showed her the surprise she said, “Oh honey, you shouldn’t have!” Then for my birthday we installed dual tailpipes. I was ecstatic.

The truck is powered by an early version of the Ford 272 cubic inch “Y-block” overhead valve engine fed through a Chevrolet two-barrel carburetor. (That lets us out of the Pebble Beach Concours Classic show, doesn’t it?)

The transmission is what Ford calls “Five Direct,” meaning it has five forward speeds with fifth gear being direct, engine to rear wheels with no change in ratio. The drive train features a two-speed axle, giving us ten forward gears and two in reverse. Absolute top speed is 65 miles per hour.

The vehicle gets an even seven miles per gallon, loaded with freight or empty, slow or fast, summer or winter. Before improvements (Chevvy carburetor) we were getting 6.66 miles per gallon. A twenty percent improvement is pretty good, we think.

Early on, we had the seat covered in leather, and we’ve worn it out. Today, the truck has 60,000 miles – actual miles – on the odometer. Do the math. That’s 11,000 miles since we’ve owned it. It’s not easy to drive it very far.

And now, we present:     Big Red Rose

“What year is your truck?” There might be a visual clue in the license plate – though the county issued this by coincidence.

The meaning of this sticker is lost on the owner. But it seemed as if it wouldn’t be politically correct, somehow, so on it went.

Save the Coal Act? That is for sure not a politically correct bumper sticker, now is it Mr. Tommy?

Remember Y2K Phobia? We were safe in Oklahoma, with the bumper sticker to prove it.

The brush guard was purchased for One U.S. dollar in a Boise thrift store. Our friend Hugh made the brackets and installed the important piece of hardware. . . . Like we go in the weeds with this thing.

This is the power takeoff. You could run a wheat thresher with this truck's engine, hooked up to this device. When we bought the vehicle, the PTO was hidden under about five inches of mud and grease. The previous owner didn't know it had a PTO.

This is a phrase invented long ago by Mr. Tommy. It's "faux Latin," and its intended English meaning is . . . "Don't let the bastards wear ya down."

Remember the Culhanes on Hee Haw? And is there any visual clue here as to the date of manufacture?

Hitchiker from Nebraska has stuck with us for years.

What a nice touch. Laura has her name on “her” door. How sweet, Mr. Tom!

This Mustang grill emblem may well be the shiniest thing on the truck. We had the horsie so we found a place on the truck for him. There’s also a Pinto.

What a birthday present! Mr. Tommy always wanted Twice Pipes and now he has ‘em. Fuel mileage and performance did improve ever so slightly after this attractive addition.

This ought to be bloody obvious. But in Oregon, they have teenaged losers fill your gas, so they might need a visual clue.

Though it’s a Ford, Fisher Body obviously built the rusty, bent parts.

Where once there was a rusty hole, now there’s a stainless floor by Mikey & Tom.

Garden tool rack can substitute as a grenade launcher.

Cows watch out! We’ve got warning bells.

Sure it’s hard to read it backwards, but the nickname in the back window is “Exxon-Valdez.” Any ideas why the truck has this nickname?

Our little duckie has a magnet in a tender place.

Mom assured Tom that a truck like that was incomplete without brass balls.  (MOM???!!!)

 Suck in your breath and check your bank balance when you go out to buy four of these 9.00x20 traction tires. Tom cut down the mudflaps from ones intended for an even bigger truck.

This is the End