It was a 1958 blue, Chevrolet Apache pickup. It’s paint job was clean, very few dents, it was only five years old, there was just room for three adults in the front, but three kids and two adults would fit just fine, the kids in the back.
It was Daddy’s truck. It would be parked out on the street, the driveway had that big black Ford, four door, parked in the single car drive, not quite fitting in the garage, but giving Mom the choice place to park.
My brother and I would fit in there with Dad, to ride to the fairgrounds, to make the auction where everyone would sell their goods from different stalls, through different auctioneers, and pack them home in boxes and parcels in the back of the truck.
It was a four speed, on the floor, with a starter pedal just up and to the right of the gas pedal. The inside was simple, painted, no vents for air or air conditioning, the seats were packed with stuffing, and had factory covers. The noise on the inside was a complete picture of the outside, with clanks and cramps of steel unfolding, as along the bumps in the road it would go.
My brother tied fishing line from the door handle to the crab apple tree in the front yard, never telling. I came home from school on my bicycle, roaring as fast as I could go, to get inside, when I made perfect contact with my neck, (at full speed) and pulled myself up, off that bike, it flying forward, my little body taking a graceful moment back in time and space , and crashed full body to the ground.
No one watching, no one saw this clamoring of person and bicycle and fishing line and fear, and six year old tears all come together, no one saw, but me.
60 years ago. Many adventures in that truck; deer gathered and brought home, Dad’s Harley 50 hauled in the back, sacks of potatoes, vegetables and watermelons hauled, kids and camping gear, all because of that Apache.
Ralph E Peck
Photography by
Joy Scherpenseel
Nowata County Oklahoma
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