Grandpa's Truck

Nothing brings a smile to my face faster than the image of my grandfather working on his pick-up truck in his cramped Cottage Hills, Illinois garage.

He had plenty of them over the course of my young life. They were all Chevrolets.

Jim Hodge, my maternal grandfather, was a simple man. He grew up during the Depression….found solace in hunting squirrels in Washington County…and found adventure in jumping onto southbound freight trains and riding them to other cities. He moved his family to Cottage Hills to gain employment at the local ammunition plant, which ultimately became the Olin Corporation’s Winchester division. There he operated the big cranes. When he got home, he reveled in his grandchildren. I was the oldest and I spent virtually every weekend with him and my grandmother.

In an age before car seats, I typically rode standing right behind Grandpa in his pick-up. If we had ever been in a head-on collision, I would have been a projectile. But again, those were different days.

I grew to love the sound of a Chevy truck as it wound through its gears. It was a distinctive sound…. one I can remember to this day.

About every two years, Jim would trade in his Chevy for the latest model. Whoever bought Grandpa’s trade-ins had to marvel how he had kept the vehicles so clean. They were immaculate…..even under the hood.

Jim Hodge and his trucks…..Ahhh….they still make me smile.

Now you have the subtext for my recent purchase.

We owned a 1994 Explorer that had been handed about the family for years and was starting to become undependable. So I convinced Carol it would be wise to put it out of its misery and get a second vehicle.

A pick-up truck.

I started at the local Chevrolet dealership and immediately found a 2003 Silverado with 100,000 plus miles on it. But it was spotless and looked virtually new.

When I test drove it, the sound resembled the whine of Grandpa’s truck.

And when I opened the hood and could not detect a speck of dirt or a spot of grease….I knew someone very similar to my Grandpa had previously owned it.

We bought it for a good price and it is parked outside our home at this moment.

Carol thought it would be good to have a truck to haul yard waste and junk.  And she was confused when I said “Crap like that could scratch the bed. I don’t think so.”

She finds it confusing that someone who doesn’t take any pride in the yard work or help clean inside the house would frown when she drops the paper from a straw on the floorboard as we drive away from Sonic….or why I park away from the other cars at Wal-Mart.

I understand her confusion. This is just an eight-year-old truck to her.

It is much more to me.

It is a connection to some of the best days of my life….and to one of the finest men I ever had the honor to know.

Strange behavior?

Maybe.

I am not sure I fully transmitted the Jim Hodge gene to my three sons. They don’t seem to have the same affliction when it comes to maintaining their vehicles.

But later this year, a little fella will be born back in Illinois.

And as he grows up….I would love to have him ride in Grandpa’s truck.