How old's the oldest H.A.M.B. member?60+?Tell us a cool story

"raaf, post: 14630927, member: 850"@jnaki - I think you may have had more fun in life than most of us!”

Thanks, @raaf

From an observation on another post:


Hello,

Thank you for your nice comment. We grew up in a very interesting location, the Westside of Long Beach. To say it was a tough neighborhood depended on where you lived and played everyday. Some parts were just a normal neighborhood, with mom’s talking over the picket fences to others, as they walked by. The local kids playing in fenced yards and/or the big gr*** area in the neighborhood park across the street. Since it was the last street of the whole Westside area, the streets were only for the locals and not a thoroughfare. So, street baseball and other activities were somewhat safe.

Other parts of the whole area were sometimes scary as the area was considered a “rough” street or “tough” streets. Nighttime walks were not the best thing to do back then. But, where we lived, it was fine for many years until we all grew up and moved away, carrying on with our 20 something lives.

Early on, as a little kid with a new basketball, we were shooting baskets at our elementary school and having a great time. Our snacks and drinks were sitting off the court with our jackets. Then a couple of older kids came by, grabbed our drinks/snacks and started eating/drinking, much to our surprise. When I confronted them about OUR drinks and snacks, the older kid pushed me down and said, “ So what.”

It was a difficult time as I saw we were outgunned by sheer size. They were each about a foot taller than us. Then the older guy grabbed my new basketball and started dribbling. He was not a basketball player and looked like a clown at a circus. So, I instantly went over and grabbed the ball as fast as I could. He grabbed me by the shirt and said that if I did not give him the ball, he would “punch me out.”

I kicked his shins and my friend and I took off for the major street nearby. We were faster than they were and outran them. We hid in some bushes and they went away. We were scared of those older boys. But, I told myself… one day…
#88
So, a several years later, I had grown almost a foot, had an athletic build, was good in sports and played on the varsity for our high school as a Sophomore/Junior/Senior. I was now, driving a 58 black Impala and were well into our teenage adventures.

We went to a juvenile detention living facility in a Pasadena area neighborhood, as a community involvement field trip in one of our H.S. cl***es. When I saw this guy from the old neighborhood, I was a foot taller than he was, he looked meek and thin, and was our guide to the facility. I instantly recognized him and thoughts ran through my mind about payback of sorts.

We were driving then, but had to take an official high school bus for those field trips. My friend was scared as he recognized him, too. But, we were both taller and more physically able to take care of ourselves. During our field trip, we had a plan to lure him away from the gathering of people just before leaving and beat the **** out of him. We nodded an agreement and set up our plan.

Jnaki

Well, our plan did not work as he stayed with his group, but on the way to the bus, I ran into him and gave him a shivering blasted, forearm to the body and said, “Excuse me, I tripped.” He fell into some bushes, as it looked like an accident, when we were all walking back to the school bus.

The guy did not know what happened, but we knew that waiting was good and it was... "Ha! an accident after all." My friend and I talked and laughed all the way home. All of the experiences we had growing up were similar to many others, it just happened here in a different part of good old So Cal. The guy was stuck in that place and we were driving home in a hot 58 Impala to the reward of "Gravy and French Fries" at our local teenage hot spot.

The things we endured and learned to cope, helped us grow up as teens into the hot rod world as well as drag racing. We did not have to back down and made adjustments in all forms of our lives growing up. “Endure” is a word heard all of time in our Westside of Long Beach house. Our mom was famous for saying this to both my brother and me. She wanted us to find something and stick with it through thick and thin.

At the time, we laughed at her words of wisdom, but it must have gone through our thick heads. Here we are as old grandparents, living a simple lifestyle, in a different part of So Cal, after “enduring” life as it has hit us from those little kid days. YRMV

 

Hello,

One late night, my wife and I had just finished a "20 something" meal at the local fast food place down the street from our place. It was around 10-10:30 pm. But for 20 something activities, it was early. So, after the meal, we were already bundled up from the late evening salt air and decided to take a bicycle ride along the beach parking lot and trail in a Southerly direction.


The El Camino was tucked away for the night, so we were off on a different tangent.

Both of us were warm, we had our 10 speed bicycles each and if the moist salt air was not around, it would have been a nice summer outing at night. The stars were out, the waves were crashing on the sandy shore and luckily, Coast Highway was relatively deserted. This was the major roadway to get from Los Angeles County to the South Orange County surf spots and we were quite familiar with the highway.

Our dad used to take us to the half way point on the highway sandy beach, where a huge cement pipe used to be buried in the shoreline. That was his secret surf fishing spot. A full ice cooler of all sorts of fish were caught every time he took us there. My wife and I were in the general area as the large pipe had been removed. A small rise in the highway was always a clue as to the location. But, the sand still had remnants of the location where my brother and I caught tons of fish, after our dad tossed the heavy sinker line way out there, where he new were a ton of fish.

Jnaki

When we got about half way into the beach area on the bicycle trail, we were stopped for a rest. The night was one of those nights that just makes things perfect. If there was a full moon, it would have been perfect. It was very romantic sitting on the sand enjoying the “dark.”

But, as there were only a few cars coming up or down the major Coast Highway, we both heard some rumbling back in the direction of the fast food restaurant. Then all of a sudden, we heard power like no other. The engine sounds, exhaust sounds and some fast shifting was the order of the day. We could not see what was making the noise, but certainly could hear it.

Soon, a set of high beam headlights came into the picture and we could see the sedan coming closer to us. The shifting was over and now he/she was in top gear on a full acceleration down Coast Highway heading toward Huntington Beach. It is a portion of the road that is almost 3 miles long to the rise leading to some oil fields, but the city of Huntington Beach proper. (and a cadre of late evening patrols)

We were about half way and the sound was music to our ears. What a way to enjoy the late summer evening… YRMV

 

Hello,

My wife and I were having a great time traveling, taking vacations as many time as we could and enjoying the 20 something lifestyle. We had been in college together, liked each other since 1966 and now as a married couple, was enjoying the individual lifestyle that most people looked down upon. Our high school friends were doing their thing in the chosen style for them. Our lifestyle was a little different and it did not agree with a lot of those teens I went to high school with for those cool years.

We knew that after high school is a big change in our lives and into the whole world that was waiting to pound down on us “newcomers” to the adult world. So, we took the path of least resistance with a simple way to look at who we were and how much we liked being together. Now, it became “us against the world” scenario.

Being individuals was our goal and we were moving in the right direction. But, our simple lifestyle did have its drawback at times. We were doing ok and when a surprise popped up, it interupted that way of living. We had to sell the 327 powered Ford Sedan Delivery, the Harley custom motorcycle and they both went to another young couple just getting started in the hot rod/motorcycle world.

We sold our custom house, moved to a single story home in a suburban area and began another lifestyle that we both had to adapt to and make it work. Our son needed two good parents for a stable home.

But, as things go, one Christmas was very tight and we cut back to not buying dead-live trees from the neighborhood tree lot. They were getting out of reach for us. Our mortgage was ¾ of our whole house income, but we still made it work. We got good at doing a budget and sticking with it. Making do with what we had was one step in the right direction.

Jnaki

We planned on digging up one of our small pine trees and putting it in a homemade redwood pot for our Christmas Tree. We visited our mom in Long Beach and she just happened to ask us about the yearly Christmas Tree for our son. The pine tree that somehow grew in our mom’s backyard, 100% great soil was also another choice to dig up and take with us.

When she saw us “eyeing” the pine tree, she asked what was going on with us. When explained that we were planning on taking the pine tree in her backyard as our annual Christmas Tree, she was aghast. “What a tree from my backyard for my grandson?” was the garbled words coming from her direction…

So, she and our neighbor with the 64 El Camino drove to the local garden shop owned by her friend and bought a nice Allepo Pine Tree shaped like a Christmas Tree. It was in a nice pot and was about 5 feet tall. The Allepo Pine was a good growing tree in the different soils in coastal OC areas. We were now confused. We were never in a situation like this and our mom was happy to accommodate us for the sake of her grandson’s experiences.

What became of that Allepo Pine Tree shaped like a Christmas Tree? It out grew the first pot in a year and within the next two years, the real “live” tree saved us plenty of holiday money. And it was the perfect tree every year, when we moved it inside for the month of December. Ice cubes kept it fed well and moist. But, after the third year, it outgrew our house and now we planted it in the front yard for our annual Christmas Tree Decoration for all of the neighbors to see and enjoy.

We got another “live tree” that fit into the same pot and worked well for that year. The old Christmas Tree was looking rather well in our yard. It was colorful and our son loved decorating it. Then the strangest thing happened… on Christmas Eve, late at night, I heard a motor idling in front of our house for a few minutes. I just told myself that it was our neighbor coming home late from a holiday party.

But, the noise continued and I got up to see what it was. When I opened the front door, I saw a small car with our Christmas Tree tied up on the roof and the lights/ornaments still hanging on for dear life. The small car just drove away. In the spot where we had planted the tree was now bare with some tree shavings on the dirt mulch. I was in a stupor. What the he#$#@! just happened?

My wife got up and came outside to see what was the racket. We were both confused and mad. We were struggling with our lifestyle, made it work with what we had and what we could afford. But, never resorted to theft or things just not the right thing to do. It takes all kinds of people, however misguided they are or were. Bad karma for them in their short lifetime… When it came time to plant the next line of our “Living Family Christmas Trees” in the yard, it got planted in the backyard fenced area. YRMV

 

S.F. Fog photo

Hello,

We all know about the everyday occurrence in the San Francisco Bay all year long. As a matter of fact, the phenomenon is relatively standard everywhere along the coastlines of the USA. The afternoon fog wins the battle of the ocean and land. When the land is hotter than the ocean, normally, the fog stays offshore, waiting its turn. As soon as the land begins to cool, the fog is sneaky and starts is creep toward the land.

Back in the 66-67 road trip season, we had several photo shoots and reservations at various motels along the coast. My wife and I had planned on a coastal cruise vacation to coincide with some photo business and we were a couple of happy 20 somethings. Concerts, dinners, car shows and freedom to see what we wanted and new areas for us.

So, after a nice sunny day in San Francisco and then inland across the bay, we were having a great time. But, on the way back to the S.F. City motel, we could see the fog bank taller than the buildings. The Golden Gate was not quite covered, but getting close.

By the time we got back to our room, it was foggy. So, our plan to go North past Bodega Bay along the coast was pending. Upon rising in the morning, the sun was out and we could see the blue ocean deep West for miles. Not a single fog bank in the horizon. Now, our plan was to drive a couple of hours North, along the coast and check out several properties for possible move or investments.

Jnaki

Well all good plans eventually have a roadblock or two. By the time we got to within 5 miles from our last destination along the rugged coastline, we were hit with a rolling fog that was so thick that we had to almost come to a stop on a narrow coastal road. The lights did nothing but glare off the big wall in front of us. So, could we plod along Highway 1 to get to our destination in this thick fog?

We had never been this far up the coast from San Francisco before, along the coast. It was rocky, a huge drop off on the ocean side and the road was low gear and curvy with some sloping surfaces. The thick fog made the road a little slippery. So, decision time. We 20 somethings were open to anything as we were like older teenagers that thought nothing would happen to us in our lifestyle. So, we plodded on, but very cautiously.

Finally, the turning point was a wall of water coming down like a sheet or buckets of water being thrown on us. That made us almost stop and at that time, the 20 something philosophy went out of the window and we turned around, saying there was always another time to see the area. So, we drove home around 10-15 mph along the narrow coastal roadway all the way back to San Francisco in the dark. It was the slowest and what seemed like the longest drive we had ever taken.

A nice dinner and a restful, as much as rest was appropriate, we were looking out for the modified vacation road trip to happen for the rest of the week. YRMV The El Camino handled well despite a sloshing of water in the back open area. As long as we were creeping along, no hydroplaning from the big wide tires. They gripped well on those curvy, angular roads.

We did like the area and at our last longer up the coast road trip in 2018, we saw some property and several homes for sale. But there were a lot of restrictions that did not coinside with our tastes. The weather was not like So Cal coastal areas and it was a nice place to visit, but So Cal is where we will stay.

Note:

We were almost caught out sailing on a clear day with the fog bank sitting about 10-15 miles offshore. It was a great sunny day and when the afternoon winds started cooling off the land, then we began to see the fog bank moving towards us, heading up the coastline from way down South. We were headed North for the Dana Point Harbor.

As fast as a sailboat could go, we made good time, but we could see the fog bank move with the wind. The wind was in our favor, making us go faster, but it also made the fog move closer to shore. We could see the harbor and that was definitely our goal. But the fog just seemed like it liked the winning battle against the warm inland heat. So, it pushed onward.

By the time we were starting our main sail drop, the fog was around us,but allowed us to motor into the safe harbor. When we got to our slip, the fog was all around us and getting thicker by the minute. The sailboat still needed a washing off of the salt water, but this time, we did not need to dry it as the moisture was building up all around us. The fog won again… water always wins…YRMV


Today, after a couple of weeks of rain, the fog has rolled in place and we cannot see the neighborhood homes. It sure is quiet and eerie… this morning. Look at the wallop we got last week that is now in the East. AND… the big comma radar front coming in this week…

“Get ready, so get ready ‘cause here I come
Get ready ‘cause here I come,
I’m on my way,
Get ready, ‘cause here I come…”

 

Hello,

It never rains in So Cal? Ha! The weather is usually based on the Pacific Ocean. It has been raining for the past several weeks. Rain in the coastline and valleys, plus snow in the upper elevations of the local mountains. When something is brewing out there, it heads East to California. Then, the rest of the USA.

But, in January, it is usually cold and for the mountain ranges, snowy. Sometimes, it is fluky and can be a total reverse. When our son was born a zillion years ago, it was 93 degrees for the weeks in January and there was a huge fire in the Camp Pendleton area heading for civilization, as usual.

For the above photo:
A snowed-in prospective from 1949. This old photo looks like the time our dad drove his 1949 black Buick 4 door sedan (on the right) or his last road trip in the 1941 Buick Fastback Sedan on the left. The guy in the photo has the requisite Dobbs Fedora Hat so worn by the “men” during that era.

In the early years, our dad drove all of us up to the local mountain area in a time when snow chains were not required, but what a surprise in the morning. Well, at least we were able to drive into town for a nice breakfast. The cabin was snowed in, the big Buick was covered with snow. But, the road crews were very fast, they had the roads plowed and cleared by the time we were ready to drive into the city for breakfast.

Jnaki

This must have been the start of the local Big Bear Mountain visits during the snow. By 1954, he was going to come up to visit me at a cabin where I was invited by our good neighbor friends. At the time, he had a set of chains in the trunk, but when the CHP closed off the road to the cabin area unless cars had chains installed, he had to turn around. His bad back did not allow for bending and lifting heavy objects.

So, he and my mom drove down the mountain road to the nearest gas station and had the attendant put on the chains. Then he drove up the mountain again to get to the cabin. It was snowing, but the roads were relatively clear. But, he needed to get to me, so he just “clunked” his way to the cabin doorstep.

Chains were not required near our cabin after the road crews cleared the roadways. But, undaunted, he did not want to get turned back again, so he clunked forward until he drove right up to the parking spots in front of the cabin.

On the way down the mountain, the weather was terrible and it looked like snow was going to come down at any minute. But, the roads were clear of any snow. Our dad just kept clunking. Which reminds me of an old funky song that had the lyrics: “keep on choogling…” a different meaning all together, but the tune of “keep on clunking…” kept playing in my head at this writing.

When I mentioned the clunking sound, he just said that the gas station attendant will take those off when we get down the mountain road. I scooted down in the seat all the way down the mountain…yikes… YRMV

 

Hello,

In the time we owned and drove the 1965 El Camino all over So Cal, coastal trips to northern California and down into Baja, Mexico, it had never faltered or required any mechanical work to keep it running. We used it for hauling our desert racing motorcycles 100s of miles into the inland areas, 100 miles South past the Baja, Mexico border, and a longboard to shortboard in the So Cal waves, everywhere.

We even hauled architectural parts of buildings back to our house for the decorating sprees.

When it was time to sell it for the next vehicle adventure, it had 125 k miles, but at 120k, I had to replace the water pump. That was the only repair I had to do on the El Camino. It probably heard us talking about selling and getting another car. So, it let me know in certain terms… HA!

The young guy that bought it was a surfer and sailor with a boat in the Dana Point Harbor. So, he was going to enjoy this El Camino for possibly another 100k. By the time I saw it a year or so later, it was painted blue, but still recognizable.

We had used the El Camino bed for its primary purpose, load stuff to move from one place to another.
One of the major things that fit in the El Camino bed was this 6 foot tall metal structure with wall hooks built in place. It slid over the existing concrete walls of any of the industrial buildings in an area of Fountain Valley, near the 405 Freeway/Euclid intersection.

The place was once famous for its occupants and production facilities. It certainly was a multi-million dollar business. But, by the 70s, it was closed and the whole place was empty for months. We drove by the place and saw it every time we went to Long Beach for a visit. It stood out like a sore thumb. It certainly was a good advertising plan. They even kept it plugged in for several months so, at night, the yellow plastic sign glowed in the dark.
The huge sign on the tops of the building, facing the 405 freeway, was the lit up Meyers Manx yellow sign.
Today, the building is a non descript white building with no insignias showing anywhere.

What used to be the view from the surface streets and the fast 405 freeway traffic.

But, back in the heydays of Meyers Manx There were two of the big signs hooked on the building roof lip. One facing Long Beach and the ocean to the West and the other facing directly towards the 405 freeway. I had to ask permission of the property manager and he said to go up the fire ladder. So, my trusty nylon rope was long enough to encircle the hooks and then I cut the electrical wires for access to the wires for power, when I got it home.

It was a comedy of errors as the weight of the whole sign was a little heavy, but my double lines secured and then released slowly with clips. The harnesses allowed me to lower, inch by inch in the direction of the ground. It was sometimes a leg against the roof wall to get to the next lower level.

After what seemed like forever, the heavy steel framed sign was leaning against the wall. I had to still keep it tied to the roof structure and climb down the emergency ladder. It was the only way I could move the big sign to the wall where I could drive up and load it in the back of the El Camino.

I unhooked one side each and then I lowered the nylon rope down to the ground. The red 65 El Camino was waiting on the ground. Did it fit? Yes, luckily with the tailgate up, I could easily transport it back to our house. But, first, I had to slide the huge sign in flat, through the open tailgate. The property manager thought I was a crazy person doing all of that work, just for a sign that lit up.

Then one more trip up the emergency ladder to get the original nylon straps still tied to the roof support structures. And finally, one more trip down the skinny ladder. It was a good thing it was 1970 and not today… HA!

Jnaki

So, one day, I thought it was a good thing to have as a collectible item and also, I was going to change the logo to our photo business, just for a “thing to do…” activity. It would glow in the hallway/stairway of our small house and be a part of the decorating items. Plus, I wired it so it would light up our hallway. The original Meyers Manx painted logo would get a lightweight aluminum frame and get put up on a huge wall that was empty for decorative artwork.

If it were still around, these days, it would look right at home at @ronfunkhouser’s house/garage compound. Even lit up remotely or with a wall switch. After several design decorating changes, I gave the lit up sign to a friend’s local Dana Point VW/Porsche repair business with the same size flat roofline and lip. They have yet to put it up. Probably using it as a home decorating item to show their friends… a moment in So Cal history, for them.

But our plan was to get two signs made for the sides of the 327 powered 1940 Ford Sedan Delivery for our business adventure. It was a nice plan, but plans and lifestyles change…

 

Hello,

My mom was always an adventurer. She told us of her early kid days playing in the shallow waters of a huge ocean bay, as a little girl. Her folks allowed her to go to the bay and play all day in the shallow waters. That sticks our in our story timeline as she continued to tell us of walking for a long distance while still only being waist high in water. It was low tide and her parents were not worried about dangers.

But, when it came time to get in the new age of a being a “teenager’s mom,” she could not sit by and see her two teenage sons drive away in a car or two. So, she got the gumption to learn to drive. She studied and read everything she could get. I even got some high school driver education books for her. There must have been all of our driver’s tests from the DMV that she had saved to go over and over.

Then, instead of us taking her on the road for practice, she went to a driving school for her help. She had gone to a driving school in 1953, p***ed the driving skills testing, but did not drive or want to drive until later. She actually did not like the big Buick sedans. Whew! Our dad was staying a long way away from any comments and my brother was taking the back road, leaving me to listen and answer any questions she had.

So, it was finally the DMV test day and she drove our dad’s big 57 Buick during the driver’s portion of the test. The written test? She flew by with a 95% score. So, now it was all driving for her final test. She scored a 98 in the big Buick and we all cheered. Now, we did not have to take her to the close by grocery stores or to her favorite stores in Gardena/Torrance area. She even asked us to take her shopping to the far away shopping centers in Lakewood and sometimes Los Angeles. Now, she could go with her own friends and leave us alone…

Jnaki

Then after several years of driving our dad’s Buick when he was on a day off and out of the blue, she takes a liking to the 58 Impala. A little smaller in overall size, easy to see out of in front and back,etc. So, she approached my brother for some driving lessons in the 3 speed stick shift transmission Impala.

WHAT? Driving lessons in the stick shift Impala for “a little old little lady from Long Beach…?”

Well, our dad declined, as usual, so did my brother, laughing… So, it was up to me.

We spent some time in the driveway going over the stick shift procedure and pushing on the levers. Then moving a little forward and backward. She got used to the hard clutch pedal, but was able to move the car with some ease. So, off to the streets we went. The first sign of starting from a standing start should have told me that it was going to be a challenge.

But, as I was accepting the bucking bronco starts, the shifts were smooth and ok. Wow! We tried to get the bucking bronco starts settled down by letting the clutch out a little and rolling along. That worked but, as bigger and stronger folks, our leg muscles can stand the strain of the heavy duty clutch we had installed in the Impala for the drags. Our mom was half our size and not as strong. She had a good drive in 2nd and 3rd, but it was that first gear start that was the killer deal.

So, after several miles in traffic and a very long two weeks of the summer, I asked my mom if she wanted to practice again. She had this look on her face and said no. The strong clutch and the awful starts from a stop light were a little too much. She wanted an automatic transmission like in the big Buick sedan. So she said she would pay to get an automatic in the 58 Impala. Again, a huge… WHAT??? Get rid of the 3 speed?

Random thoughts ran through my mind. My brother was now not the main driver of the Impala. He was heading for a surf van adventures. He allowed me to drive the Impala as the daily driver and cruiser/racer. (burn recovery/doctor visits, etc.) So, the door was open for an automatic transmission. A new company was just starting and our Los Angeles automotive connection told us that great things came from that place as the experience was the key. Those guys knew their stuff. No, not B&M, but a little shop in the Gardena/Torrance area, a short drive from our house.

Within a week of finagling, we were the owners of the only 58 Impala with a new C&O Stick Hydro transmission. What did it accomplish? Well, everything… now my mom could drive it anywhere in So Cal. Without me sitting shotgun or driving her and her friends to go shopping. The acceleration was amazing from a standing start. Between shifts, it was a neck snapper. But, put it in drive and it was a simple point and go cruiser for our mom. A fast cruiser at that, too…

Did it work out in the long run? Well, my brother did not like the Impala for our surf trips, so I got a Flathead powered 1940 Ford Sedan Delivery. He eventually got his surf van and our mom had access to the 58 Impala when I was not using it daily or on weekends. So, now we were a 4 car family with four cars and our teenage insurance went up a lot. Our mom was happy as a lark driving the fast, not for her, 58 Impala to go shopping alone or with her friends.

Did she ever floor it against anyone? She said she was afraid of the noise the motor made when starting and going away from the stop light… Ha! Perfect!!!

 

I'm one of the young ones here at seventy and one. In high school, circa 1966, I was the shifter for my neighbor's 1957 Bel-Air Chevrolet coupe with a 283 for a car load of us to ride to school. The column shift was long gone and he couldn't afford a floor shift for a semester so he gave me a left handed heavy work glove and I reached down in the hole in the floor and shifted on his command from 2nd to neutral and 3rd. He used 2nd gear to start from stop. Fun times.

 

Hello,

One year, we were surfing in Baja, Mexico and the Econolines, VW vans and Chevy station wagons were in full force at several locations. San Miguel was the most popular. While down the coast a mile or so, if you knew the entrance from the main highway, the another spot was there. Camping on the cliff top area and walking down the cliff trail to the surf break was the only way to see the waves. It was pretty secluded and a wonderful break kept gl***y all day due to the heavy kelp bed.


3 M’s was almost fully hidden from the main road. No surf could be seen and the place where the vans and station wagons were parked was on the cliff top area, but down in a lower level plateau area. So, it was sight unseen from the road. After other surfers followed some cars into the empty dirt road and acreage, they, too found the location and it got busy fast.

3 M’s was for Mickey Dora, Mickey Munoz and Mike Doyle... Hence, three M's... Currently, the spot is not for surfing. (although listed in various surf reports) If pollution was/is a concern, then this place got bad really fast and continues to have industrial outfall flowing into the break. That is awful…

Jnaki

So, as most of our group was surfing an inner peak just down the road at the Canneries. When we drove by, the row of old cars and station wagons lined up the side of the highway. So, A friend and I decided to paddle out across the harbor to the outside jetty. Why? The inner stacks area was crowded with our friends surfing some great waves. We could see some peaks breaking outside of the outer harbor jetty wall.

When we got around the end of the entrance to the harbor, it was breaking about 50 yards outside the long jetty protecting the harbor. We were out there in no man’s land and so, we said if one falls off, the other will surf in to get the board before it hits the jetty. But, we devised a way to not get knocked off of our boards in a critical section or a wall. Grab the nose, deep dive under the moving wave, the whole thing rolls over our heads and we pop out of the back, board in hand.

We noticed some large dark shapes below us and wondered what they were. But, caution was noted. Then as we were riding those excellent waves, we saw some fins near the mouth of jetty. Well, that put a stop to losing our boards and we rode our last wave all the way past the end of the jetty and then paddled like gangbusters to get away from those circling fins.

Note: When we were back at the little café in front of the roadside/beachfront location, the locals told us that the entrance to the harbor was a gathering ground for sharks and they follow the fishing boats into the harbor processing facilities. It did not help that the fishermen threw chunks of cut up fish being processed on the boats as they were heading into the docks.

From that point on, we never surfed what we called “Outer Stacks.” The “Inner Stacks” surf beach had plenty of spots for excellent waves. Why were those places called “Stacks?” For lack of a better name for us early exploring surfers, when we wanted to go there, there were 3 tall chimney stacks from the fish harbor processing plants that could be seen for miles in either direction.

Now, rows of buildings line up the highway and the view of the breaking waves is no longer seen as anyone drives by the location. But, who surfs in that polluted area, anyway these days? Hepa***is shots or not…

 

The older I get, the faster we wuz.

What I remember is not getting much sleep. Bobby Allison was national modified champion running out of the Mud Creek Racing Team. Bo Fields, a great American and my mentor, let Bobby use his garage. Huntsville, AL ran Thursday night, Midfield, AL Friday night, Montgomery, AL Saturday night and the State Fairgrounds in Birmingham on Sunday afternoon. Bobby usually won or finished high, so we'd get hamburgers on the way home. If he broke or blew, we'd work all night on peanut ****er sandwiches.

IIRC, something let go in Montgomery Saturday night and we had to drive a hundred miles, build a new engine and race Sunday afternoon. The BIR track owner, Tom Gloor, was also the local Chevrolet dealership. He called his parts manager and got him out of bed to meet us there in the middle of the early morning hours with a new Corvette FI short block. We bolted on the ported heads, Enderle FI, stabbed in the Chet Herbert roller cam and lifters and went racing. Bobby won his heat and the main. He was that good. I just washed parts and saw genius.

jack vines

 

After another extended social media break I was pleased to click on this thread and see it still has Hamber's posting on it in 2023. Unfortunately several of my long standing threads have bit the dust, but this one lives.

As it stands 60yrs ago was summer of 1963...if you were born then or before, share a cool story from "back in the day".

Don't be shy, don't hold back, I know you've got 1, or 3 or maybe 5 good ones lol. Your preserving something for future generations that would probably otherwise go quietly to your grave, and we'd all get a kick out of reading them.

Thanks to everyone who's previously shared.

 

I/we did so many things when I was a kid in elementary school from 1957-65 in London, Ontario that I never see kids doing today:

* Walking just over half a kilometre to kindergarten unaccompanied by any parent/adult in the fall of 1957. Walking unaccompanied the nearly two kilometres to grade school in the fall of 1958.

* Just leaving the house in the morning to go out and play with friends, whether it was baseball, football or whatever activity in the park, or hide-and-go-seek or any other game right out on the street. Sometimes we'd ride our bikes as much as a mile away to a particular park or street. The key though was that there was no need to report to parents, so long as we were home by the time it got dark.

* Trick or treating on Halloween with my buddies without any balls and chains(a.k.a. adults) in tow. Using a pillowcase to maximize my haul.

* Being given bus fare and taking the bus downtown by myself for French, Lithuanian or accordion cl***es at the Ontario Conservatory of Music. The latter of course required lugging a full-size accordion on the bus.

* Hitting up my parents for a dime to go to the skating rink or swimming pool with friends. No parents to supervise of course. Pools had lifeguards. What more did you need?

* Hitting up parents for the twenty cents to go to the Saturday afternoon kids' matinees with two movies and cartoons or Three Stooges shorts at the neighbourhood theatre.

* Going out for little league football (Chester Pegg at the Normal School Grounds) without the parents knowing anything about it. I mean why would they care?

* Reaching into ice water coolers in variety stores to select soda pop in dripping wet proper ten ounce refillable gl*** bottles. Such joy on a hot summer's day!

* Roaming streets looking for empty pop bottles for the two cent deposit. I needed the money for cards, comics and potato chips because I was always collecting something.

* Going to the local library several times a week to check out books and read the newspaper and magazines such as Boy's Life, Model Airplane News, Life and Look. I didn't watch much TV at all since we didn't get a TV until the summer of 1961 in the first place and we picked up only one channel anyway. Nor was I allowed to watch TV on school nights either.

* Looking through the spinner rack at corner variety and drug stores to select ten and then twelve cent (eeeeek!) comic books. Specialty comic shops weren't even imaginable, let alone comic books that cost over 25 cents.

* Sneaking peaks at the ***ty magazines in corner variety stores.

* Flinging baseball, hockey, etc. cards up against brick walls in winner take all games with nary a thought as to future "values".

* Selling newspapers and chocolate bars door-to-door.

* Having an early morning or after school paper route.

* Being sent to the store to buy cigarettes for my dad, or six bottles of pop for the family.

* Hitting up my parents for dimes and quarters to buy firecrackers before Firecracker(Victoria) Day. I mean what's wrong with young boys letting off firecrackers? Playing with caps all year round.

* Playing with marbles, Yo-Yos and Duncan Spin Tops. Sidewalks would often be taken up by young girls skipping rope. When was the last time any of us saw any little girls engaged in this splendid aerobic activity?

* My skateboard was a first generation wooden one with steel wheels very much like this Nash Shark model here:






We didn't do any tricks with it. We just did our best to navigate down hilly pothole infested roads (such as Cove Road) without wiping out.

* Doing wheelies on my bike. That's something rarely seen these days. Whether wheelies are no longer fashionable or whether kids don't get the chance to pop any wheelies under the ever present gaze of helicopter parents is a question I can't answer.

* Playing nickel pinball machines at local variety stores or diners. There were no pinball arcades in London at the time. Then the killjoys banned pinball machines as potential gambling devices for about a decade.

* Building model kits and slot cars. Racing these slot cars at the hobby shop track downtown (Cowans Hardware). Kids don't build models anymore. Kids these days aren't interested in anything that doesn't provide instant gratification, i.e. anything not TV screen related. Just check out the clientele of the few remaining hobby shops. They're all aging boomers.

* Firing up the .049 Thimbledrone engine of my Cox Spitfire gas powered plane in the house. What a racket! It was line control but I never mastered the trick of flying it without crashing immediately. I had to order a new body from Cox to replace the one I'd shattered beyond repair.

* Playing with pea shooters. My parents giving me a BB gun and a bow and arrow with a steel point.

* Carrying a jack knife around for games such as knife baseball.

* Going for a dip in the creek behind the house on Phyllis Street which my father had dammed up to form a swimming hole.

* Camping out in a tent overnight with friends in the backyard.

* Climbing trees.

Oh, I'm sure modern parents would all be aghast. They want the kids safe in front of the TV with video game consoles at all times. And that's why so many kids are obese and end up with deadly peanut and bee sting allergies. Keep kids squeaky clean and of course they don't develop their natural immunities. And of course when these overprotected kids eventually leave the nest to go to college or someplace, they're all snowflakes with such fragile egos that they need "safe places" where they can be insulated from dissenting opinions.

Deny kids deadly pea shooters and (heaven forbid!) metal lunch boxes and they end up arming themselves with real knives and even guns to go to school. It's the principle of the dam. Keep denying kids whatever is "unsafe" and the pressure just keeps building up and building up till it explodes.

The ultimate irony of course is the parents who demonize sugar (of course their inactive kids don't need the extra calories). These kids then take to experimenting with alcohol, pot, crystal meth and cocaine at first opportunity. It's the boy who cried wolf syndrome. "Hey, remember, you were the ones who told us sugar was so bad! You think we're going to listen to you now when you tell us to avoid booze and drugs? And what about all that Scotch and gin you drink and those sleeping pills and pain killers you pop all the time? Sure, sure, we kids are going to listen to you old farts. Yeah, right."

 

I'm 83. Joined the HAMB in 2001. I have more than 10.000 posts on this board, but can't think of a single interesting story.

 

83 years old here; move like a 50 year old, feel like a 40 year old, think like a 30 year old, act like an 17 year old and I remember everything. I’ve been blessed.

Grew up Edmonds, WA then in the late 50’s moved to the Ballard area of Seattle. During this time I had a 1940 Ford coupe which I installed a 57 Chevy dual quad 283 and Pontiac rear end which prompted the need of radius rear fenders for tire clearance.

There was a body shop in Ballard on Leary Way around 15 or 17 Avenue owned by a young man named Freddy (don’t remember his last name, may have been Rudolph - or something close). Freddy had a Oldsmobile powered ‘40 Ford Coupe with beautiful dark green metalflake paint. His shop became my go-to body shop for rear fender radius an other minor body work.

Freddy and I became friends and he shared his interest in drag racing knowing I raced my coupe a Puyallup and other PNW strips. One thing leads to another and Freddy says he will meet me at Puyallup, all the while I’m thinking he’s bringing his ‘40.

I was not aware his father (a Dentist in Seattle) owned a Mercedes 300SL Gullwing - indeed Freddy somehow brings the 300SL to the Puyallup drags. His ride has a 183 CI 6 Cyl, I’ve got 283 CI V8, this should be a piece of cake. Well it was; he wins one, I win one, back and fourth. Great surprise, great times, we were running mid 13’s…

Raced the late great Jim Green in the early 60’s at Puyallup when he had a beautiful black ‘37 Chev two door sedan we were both in C/G, I only beat him once. At the time Jim worked the counter at B-Boys Auto Parts on 35th Ave in Lake City, I was lucky he always gave me jobber pricing on my purchase.

I still have this ‘40 Coupe that I purchased in 1958, presently working on its “4th incarnation” with the goal of a comfortable, quite, streetable distance runner.

Hardy Handshakes, 40Mike

 

Your Vintage Trophy Girls thread is still there. When the Mods "delete" a thread, it is not deleted but rather is "shut down for further posting." There is no way to bring it "back to the top" . . . but HAMB veterans can still view it.

Here is how to view (and enjoy) your Vintage Trophy Girls thread:

Click on "Views" per below and all HAMB threads (whether "deleted" or not) will be presented in descending order of number of views. Doing this, you will notice that your Vintage Trophy Girls thread is one of only 18 threads (all time) with at least 2 million views - it is the 12th most-viewed thread in HAMB history - and this even after having been shut down since June 2020.

So congrats @jalopy junkie on creating one of the most popular threads ever!

 

Statute of limitations ought to have expired on this one by now...
The late winter of 1981; probably February or early March; some of us hillbillies ended up in a real "Dukes Of Hazzard" style chase with a Sheriff's Deputy in the back roads of an unnamed Virginia county... don't remember what started the chase, but I know how it went and even better I know how it ended.
I wasn't driving, I'll say that much. Deputy tried to pull us over (probably for driving under the influence of something illegal) but Driver says eff that and hauls ***. Five hillbillies with gr***, booze, and beer in a big block full size Chevy doing Thunder Road in the hills, in the dark, on icy roads... Deputy simply can't keep up but HE is the one with the RADIO; we have to lose him and QUICK. Driver decides to go off road; through a fence and into a cow pasture with ZERO visibility, knee-high weeds full of ice and cow****, several YUGE oak trees he manages to avoid, Deputy follows us in but can't seem to find us before we manage to exit through the same hole and REALLY haul ***...
We manage to drive without lights until we can park up in a hay shed on one of our family's farms, all of us made our way to our respective homes and waited for the other shoe to drop...
Which never did. Deputy never got close enough to see the plate clearly; the car's damage was taken care of over the weekend, and we walked on eggshells the rest of the winter and spring.
Good thing it wasn't a State Trooper.

 

But why is it shut down for posting anyway? I can think of several really good and entirely new and different trophy girl pics that I can add today!

 

I was born in 1941 so you figure it out. My Dad bought a model shop in Pasadena, CA and ran it for about 30 years. When I was in collage I worked there and got to meet lots of customers. One Friday afternoon a guy came in who I had never met. He went back to the balsa rack to pick out some wood strips to build something. I didn't want to interrupt his thinking so I looked out the front window to see what he was driving. Hummm ... '32 three window coup, root beer brown ...hummm. I checked him out and he paid me. I commented that that was a nice coupe. I believe I called it "cherry". He said it was a customer's. Later I asked my Dad about him. "O yeah, that's Duffy Livingston. He has a muffler shop a few blocks away.
It wasn't until the RJ came out that I realized it was the Doyle Gammel coupe.
Just a normal day at Ace Model. No big deal.

 

Here’s what Mark said when he shut it down:
“ every time some girlie thread pops up it is just a matter of time until the outfits get smaller and smaller and the comments get tackier and tackier. Perhaps some people need to find a pin up or girlie site to hang around.”
He’s got a good point, apparently some folks don’t quite know how to scratch their **** itch so they get carried away here.
Anyway, this is O/T …. Let’s get back to the storytelling.
There’s ^^^^ a couple fantastic new stories right there.
@62rebel s story is @Sting Ray worthy!
And @Artworx s story about Gammel coupe- are you kidding me? Awesome.

 

I guessing the average age on here is about 60!

 

Wow, I had no idea...thanks for making me aware of this. I only wish if Id realized I was going to have such a large audience for some thread I started here or anywhere else, that it would've something of more substance and positive life change than just pics of girls in bathing suits hahaha.

The moderators have a tough job, like trying to wrangle (us) a room full of wild cats into some orderly fashion. I saw the drama ensuing when I read the last few pages of the Trophy girls thread, and wasn't surprised when it got shut down. But again, I had no idea it was as well received as it was, so thanks for sharing.

As you also correctly noted, this particular conversation has nothing to do with the topic at hand, which is "60+ Hamb members tell us a cool story". So enough of Trophy Girls...come on, lets hear some more of these great stories!

 

I've been known to buy some old car and, for whatever reason, never bother getting it registered (usually because I only bought it for the running gear)... rewind back to ca.1992 when I was building a 63 1/2 Galaxie Sportroof from a salvage yard hulk.... saw a fantastic engine donor in a used car lot (68 LTD) so I made a u-turn, went back and had a look. Low mileage grandaddy car, 390 4v C6... bought it right then and there, but didn't have a way to get it home.
Lot owner says I can come back and pick it up, the lot's not fenced or chained up, so (in mid October, Virginia gets dark early) I go home and get 'erindoors and the youngin and we go back to the lot (ten miles, through city streets) and I take the FRONT plate off my registered car and pop it onto the back of the LTD...
About forty minutes of driving (late rush hour) and we get home... just ahead of a city cop who walks up as I'm putting the plate BACK on the front of my registered car...
"You KNOW that's illegal as all get out, don't ya? I COULD write you a half dozen violations, but I won't. Not THIS time."
Well; he wasn't wrong... at least I didn't give it an Italian tune-up on the way home... that's another story

 

Hello,

We have been surfing since our teenage years. My brother started before I did as he was older and my mom would not allow me to go in the ocean on a surfboard. Her excuse was that none of my age friends surfed and so I did not need to start. Plus, I could swim, as a Cub Scout, p***ed the swim test, but not very well. So, there was that worry for my mom.

Since I was the smallest in the family, a lot more worries for my well being was put into play. Little did anyone know that somewhere in our family line was a tall person and sent those things my way. (by the time I was 13, I was only an inch shorter than my brother. By 14, I was taller than his 5’7.” By 17, I was almost 6 feet tall… in college, I reached 6 feet ¾ inches tall.)

My brother had older teenage friends that surfed and the ones that did surf, did not drive hot rods. So, he was in two camps. An older teen surfing group and a normal hot rod cruiser/racing group. Which one was his favorite at the time? Surfing was fun as explained to me by my brother, that in itself made me want to go surfing more than ever. But, I was following my mom’s wishes. I was still playing football, baseball, basketball and involved with my friends from school. So, I had something else in my young days.

To top off the delay in my surfing escapades, a friend of my brother was going surfing and my brother had already gone on a long distance road trip. So, he asked me if I wanted to go surfing. YES, was the answer. What about my mom’s directive about safety and being so young? Well the friend was a favorite of my mom and talked her into allowing me to tag along, with ***urances of safety, as well as being close by during the surf adventure.

So, we piled an old 9’6” longboard that had been my brother’s first surfboard and we took off for Orange County and my first surf experience. The friend said he would teach me the finer points of standing up and turning. So, I was on board, (pun intended) despite never being in the larger waves. Or any ridable waves for that matter.

Jnaki

Needless to say, it was a tiring experience paddling out to the wave peaks. My friend would not allow me to ride the white water as it was, in his knowledge, harder to stand up, be balanced with the white water swirling all around and behind me. So, he was going to have me paddle into a smaller clean wave face and go toward shore. That sounded good to me. I had ridden old rubber inner tubes and a rubber raft in white water as most kids do, so I knew the turbulence of the power.

By the time I got outside to wait for a smaller wave peak, I was excited. But, the first small peak came and I was ready and paddling. With all of the instructions, I was ready and started to move forward. It was fun and I was well balanced on the ride to shore. No turning, just an angle and off I went.

Upon finishing, I turned around and started paddling back out for more. But, the consistent waves came in, all in a row and I got blasted with each tall wall of white water. I was rapidly getting tired and did not like rolling under and over the white water wall every few minutes. So, I waited and when I thought the last wall of white water was coming, I pushed my longboard into and over the white water.

Instantly, it came right back into my face and popped me backwards. I felt the hit in my lower mouth area and fell backwards into the water. When I recovered, I was profusely bleeding from my mouth. My friend saw what happened and came over to help me get to shore.

He had some bandages and some clean cloths, to help stop the bleeding. It was coming from the inside of my mouth. The board hit me in the lower lip area and pushed my lips into my teeth. Now, it looked as if I went 10 rounds with the heavyweight boxing champ and came out on the losing end. Ha!

It hurt like crazy, but my friend took me to our family doctor’s office and I got 8 stiches in my inner lip. It was swelling and looked as if I was holding a hard boiled egg inside of my mouth. When my mom saw us walking back into the house, she saw the injury and had a “fit!” Because she liked the friend and knew his mom, she could not get mad at him, so, she directed her anger at me. Despite me being the victim, here…

My first surfing experience and I came home with an injury that my mom would not allow me to forget for months… “no more surfing until I was older…” was the new directive. Later, my brother laughed at me for my intense desire to surf and my first surfing accident.

After that incident, I did not see a surfboard for several years under my arm. I did go to the beach with my brother, but the intensity of parental mantra was strong. So, I learned well. Then my first flathead sedan delivery opened my eyes to the future of my direction and it started a new life...

But the desire and great feeling on my first wave overcame the injury memory and has lasted over 60+ years… of intense desire to become a better surfer with some moves and have fun in the process. And… fun it has been, all of those years and adventures…

Watching from the beach is not as much fun as being in the water. Despite getting bashed over and over again from the rolling white water pushing you back to the shore while paddling out, the intense desire to get better was always in my mind.

The high school teenage years of intense learning and improvement paved the way to last for the next 40 years. YRMV
The last wave...2002
photo by "The Flame" Thanks, Larry...

 

Wow first time in my life I’m above average!

 

Hello,

From the time we first moved into a “real house” from living in a small trailer for several years I had an instant situation. The small trailer we lived in from 1946 to 48 had no chimney for nice warm fires in the Winter. My brother and I were inquisitive about how the big old jolly St. Nick was going to deliver our presents, since we were “good little boys…”

But, our dad told us that an exception was made for all kids living in trailers for the late night Christmas present deliveries. Our trailer had a small table/counter top tree that was about 3 feet tall. We were happy to decorate it. There was a vent pipe sticking out of the top of the trailer, but it was not a chimney. So, our dad made up a story that satisfied our question and with the sights of the presents on Christmas morning, we never asked again.

Actually, we must have been sound sleepers as the tree was on a counter next to the kitchen/dining table. In that small trailer, the kitchen/dining table dropped down to make a small flat surface. With the cushions in place, that was our bed. We fit perfectly in the space. Our mom and dad were at the other end of the small 20-25 foot trailer in their room with a full size bed.

Now, that we had moved to the Craftsman House, again, I had the inkling that we were going to get left off of the presents on Christmas morning. The house had a great floor heater and wall heaters in several rooms. But, no fireplace or chimney. So, how in the world will we get our presents on Christmas morning?

The first year of living in this old Craftsman House, my mom found me on the floor of the living room with a pillow and a blanket, sound asleep. The front door was wide open and cold air was coming into our house. I was so anxious about the no fireplace problem that I wanted to make sure there was a way for the big guy to come into our house and deliver the presents. Ha! We got our presents…YES!

Jnaki

Then, when we moved to slightly larger early tract house, again, there was no fireplace and the dilemma was again front and center. This time our mom told me that it did not matter about the fireplace. “IF” the little boys were good to their friends, parents and teachers, all would be good and we would be on the “nice” list. "IF" was very tempting and for the first couple of years, I was EXCELLENT !

As we got older and the playground talk was about getting presents for Christmas, as long as I got great grades, made a lot of friends and my teachers gave me excellent report cards or progress reports, all was good. We got our presents despite having no fireplace.

The final version of the Christmas morning stories was after we got married and I was sick on Christmas Eve. Surfing all day and getting salt water in my sinuses did the trick. I was having an infected sinus illness, dizziness and I had to sleep in the living room, so as not to disturb my wife.

Those handmade giant pillows were our living room couch. We did not have enough money to buy a nice couch. So, we made these foam inserts inside of some wild material for a comfortable place to sit, listen to our rock music and of course, fall asleep for a nice nap. Now, it was a “sickness” respite away from the bedroom.

As I was falling in and out of sleep, visions were going crazy, from the illness. One of those visions was brought back to those young years and the no fireplace scenarios. Across the room was our tiny Christmas tree and presents under the branches. But, the room was spinning slowly, putting me to sleep.

The illness and temperatures were causing “visions,” dizziness and in/out of falling asleep. The one thing I remember was the tree across the room was going larger and smaller, as I was falling asleep. My memory of that evening was crazy. It was if I was a little kid again and all of the worries about Christmas presents and no fireplace came back in a flurry. Despite being 20 somethings, newly married, surfing a lot, and very happy to be alone with my wife.

Somethings get buried way back in those old files in the vast brain cells for safe keeping, only coming out when the illness nightmares attack with a flurry… yikes…

The next morning, my outfit of cotton PJ’s were soaked with sweat. I had broken the temperature illness and was feeling pretty good with a nice warm cup of coffee prepared by my wife! The presents were still sitting across the room under our dinky tree. Even with no fireplace or the entrance/exit all locked up tight. The magic of Christmas lives on in our lives…YRMV

 

Heres a true story and I am not that old. I was a Senior in 68. I took one dollar to McDonalds and got a hamburger, fries and a cup coke.....and change back!

 

When I was in high school (late fifties), McDonald's radio commercial had a jingle that went "Forty-five cents for a three course meal, at McDonald's!". (Burger, fries, and a shake even.)

 

Hello,

After all of these years, our house and garage are down to minimum. The big hot rod stuff, welders, rolling jack, large bench vises, drill presses are a moment in history. There is no need to keep the stuff around. At the time we sold all of our direct drag racing stuff from the 40 Willys, it was a sad day, but our backyard garage was to have different uses and we needed the space.

We kept the old Craftsman tool box full of stuff. But, some of it had to go or at least stay in a different box of tools. Those items we did not use for years, were now in a smaller covered box placed in the corner or under the workbench shelf. Those tools and other items were replaced with a set of Whitworth tools as the two desert racing bikes were made in Great Britain and has Whitworth nuts and bolts. Not Metric and not USA thread sizes. Somewhere in between was the size.

A Crescent adjustable wrench would work, but it was easier to just have the right tool for the British motorcycle work ethic. So, the large Craftsman tool box was nice because we got rid of stuff we did not use on the weekends and now there was a specific majority space(s) for the new Whitworth grade tools.

Jnaki

Along with cleaning out most of the hot rod/drag racing build parts specific, the large tools were also given away as the years rolled by. If it hasn’t been used in a year, let alone two years, it will probably never get used as it was when necessary. So, we usually give away something large to relatives or friends still in the workforce.

The hardest thing to give away was the rolling Walker Company Floor Jack.

We definitely used our Walker 4 ton hydraulic floor jack on all things underneath all of our builds. Traction Master bars, adjusting the header pipes and flowing muffler system, and changing the rear axle gears, etc. were made simple jobs, thanks to the hydraulic jack. The black silver hydraulic jack was a life saver and made our work that much easier.

But as nice as the long floor jack is, its size and storage difficulties played a part when I sold it to a friend for pennies… like, give away…etc.

Note:

As far as automotive parts and accessories were concerned, we had a heavy duty Walker Hydraulic Floor Jack and four jack stands. They had been gathering dust in the far reaches of our small two car garage floor space since we quit our drag racing era. When the two cars were in place, it was a tight squeeze to get out without hitting the handle. Sure, why did it not lay flat? Well, when someone’s foot hit the flat handle, so close to the floor in the dark and caused a bruise, the handle had to stay up.

We listed how many times I used the jack stands and floor jack. Over the last 4 years, ZERO… so, they were deemed to be a “gone” item. But, knowing the value of a floor jack, I knew of a teenager going on 20 in few months, so I asked if he would like the floor jack and stands. His eyes were so wide open with a surprise look, that when I told my wife about it, she was happy something so simple could give someone else such happiness. Pay it forward in simple terms and the result is always good. YRMV

That kid was so gracious and ended up being an expert auto mechanic. He came by one day with his latest creation, a Baja 1000 entry build. When we went for ride, he had so much power that I was unprepared for a slight rise of the front wheels on almost every shift. It was definitely faster than most cars on the street at the time. For any car repairs I could not do by myself, he offered to help in any way...

Note2: At the time, we were struggling with just "life." A new family, an old, but new house specifically for a young family and in need of repair, etc or, at least some fix ups. Sure, under car repairs were still going on, but several times of hitting the relatively hidden floor jack sticking out of work counter was too much. I am sure the young kid I gave the floor jack to has rebuilt it over many times and he probably owns a company still involved in building/repairing specific cars. Wait, now he is also retired, too. Ha!

 

Well....I'm 72 yo and bought my first car in 68...a 55 Nomad that was truly mint condition for $25 from my uncles tow yard, those were the tow charges against it and the owner never showed to retrieve it.

 

I posted in this thread back in '21 when I was 78. I will be 83 on the 26th of this month. I still don't have sense enough to quit. I finished this truck a little over a year ago using a bunch of left over parts I had on hand.

Tic