I bought a 1951 Chevy Panel Truck (just like this one) in 1964, at age 15, for $100. Her gas tank and line were rusted out, so I punched a hole in the firewall, attached a hose to the fuel pump and ran it into a five gallon gas can that was held securely between my brother's feet on the passenger side floorboard. (You can't make this $hit up!)
Since neither of us had a license, we ran the beast exclusively on woods roads, venturing onto blacktop only at night.... DARK nights.
Note to Pennsylvania State Police: What is the Statute of Limitations for Driving With Head Up A$$?
I made some monumental "detailing" and "restoration" screwups. The floor and walls of the cargo compartment behind the front bench seat were lined with plywood. I painted the wooden parts with a mustard yellow, oil-based house paint that I found lying around. (I was ready for Woodstock!)
Here comes the obscene part... I wanted to get her painted, so I figured she needed sanding. I would save oh so much money by doing the "prep" work. So, I grabbed Dad's Singer brand rotary sander and put some 40 grit paper on the disk (lying around... you know the routine.)
After about a six inch swipe on the hood, even I knew
that couldn't be right. So I drove it to the body shop for an estimate. I'm sure that those guys are still laughing.
I'd give anything to have her back.