1938 Chevrolet

Well hear she is, my favorite GMC, a 1938 Chevrolet half ton pickup, Model 1314. Built in Oshawa Ontario, it found it's way to the small town of Lorette in Manitoba after an undetermined amount of owners. In 1981 my Dad booked a flight to his home town of Winnipeg with my little sister Michelle in tow and explored the possibilities of purchasing a "classic" truck. Considerations such as Ford, Dodge, prewar, postwar, and Chevrolet were made. Well, a couple of weeks later my father approached me and asked me if I would be interested in a "little adventure" trip with him. Next thing you know, I'm in Winnipeg under the chassi of a 38 Chev, working on the exhaust system and simultaneously trying to identify all the grease points.

After one week of 14 and 16 hour days dedicated to maintenance. We were ready to begging our adventure. Just picture it, father and son taking a leisurely trip across the country from Winnipeg to Montreal. Loaded up with tool boxes, spare parts and camping gear. Now add 36 Chev 4 door sedan, a 15 foot tow bar and you pretty much got the whole picture. What! YOU WANNA TOW THIS HEAP WITH THAT HEAP ALL THE WAY TO MONTREAL! At the time I was only seventeen years old, but that's exactly what I said to my Dad when he backed the truck up to the 36. I was certain he had completely lost his mind as I tried to explain to him how a fun trip could turn into a nightmare if he continued entertaining such a reckless idea. If I recall correctly that was just about the only time I ever threw a tantrum aimed directly at my father, arms flailing, feet stomping, spittle flying, I was actually scared, no... afraid. I wanted nothing to do with it and was trying my best to talk him out of it. That's when he said the magic words; "the car is yours". Huh!? it was like somebody stuffed a sock in my mouth. Oh... um, what year did you say it was?

Three days later I was standing on the side of the Highway somewhere North of Sault Saint Marie doing the exact opposite routine. I guess you could say I had some what of a premonition on the outcome of the trip. While climbing one of the endless mountain roads near "The Sault", a horrible sound came out from under the Hood, we started to loose power. I climbed out on the running board leaned over the fender popped open the hood and... ooooh no. The fan and pulley had broken free from the water pump shaft and had chomped it's way halfway through the radiator. Now it was Dad's turn, arms flailing, feet stomping, spittle flying. That's when I said the magic words; "Hey the 36 got a Rad!" So there I was, standing on the side of the road next to my 36 Chev, watching the 38 limp away with the 36's rad fitted in place with bailing wire, a spit and a promise. Six hours later, Dad pulled up with a big smile on his face having completed all the repairs. Which is somewhat of a small miracle considering the fact that it was a Sunday in the middle of nowhere in particular.

My Father Edward, passed away in June of 88 shortly after he completed the restoration. I had moved away shortly after and except for a wedding occasion the truck has been sitting in the garage ever since. Years later the Car was sold to our next door neighbor and has since been shipped to Finland for it's restoration. Recently I've moved back to Montreal and have had the opportunity to reacquaint my self with the garage that my father and I built together and of course the truck that he had restored. It took me a couple of weeks but I got her running and in tip top condition. The other day I was cleaning out the garage and was taking stock of all the spare parts when I came across that old radiator from the 36. I sat down, cracked open a beer and let a flood of good memories wash over me.