A star is (almost) born...

Today is my birthday, and I suppose it would be appropriate for me to find a picture of me as an adorable infant (which of course I was), but instead, I offer you me on my third birthday, which was 62 years ago (if I’ve done my math right). This is the first birthday I remember.

We were at my aunt’s house, and I was given a small fishing pole that fit in a metal canister when it was taken apart. 

 Dad loved to fish...

 and I was happy to be able to go fishing with him with my own pole.

But what I actually want to write about is the family truck and what became of it. Sometime in 1948, a year before I was born, a pick-up truck rolled off the Ford assembly line, and about 15 years later my dad bought it and it rolled up in front our house.

Dad drove the truck to work every morning. On Saturday mornings in the summer, he used it to take us and our friends, including these two women who I went to high school with, to the beach. 

Which is why I expect they wanted a picture in front of it when they came to call on Dad shortly after Mom died.

When it came time for me to drive, I started learning to drive the truck, with Dad teaching me. Poor soul. My initial attempts at managing the gas and the clutch—mind you, this was in the large parking lot of a nearby warehouse—got him so nervous and riled up that that he had to stop and Mom had to take over teaching me in the family car.

Years passed, and because Dad was an auto mechanic, he kept the mechanical parts of the truck repaired and running, even though vehicles half its age had long since been retired to the junkyard or scrap heap. The interior of the cab was not in such good shape though.

Then, about 3 years ago, the family decided it was time for Dad to stop driving, and so he gave the truck to my younger brother.

He began to restore the truck and started taking it to car shows.

 In addition to winning prizes, the truck caught the eye of a man who supplies vintage vehicles for movies and TV programs.

One thing led to another, and last summer, my brother found himself on the set of Clint Eastwood’s movie, “Jersey Boys” as an extra in a street scene. 

He mostly spent the day driving forward, and then backing up and doing it again… and again…. and again…. We were all very excited that we might actually see him in the movie. Unfortunately, his scene ended up on the cutting room floor. But he and the truck may have another chance—he was also an extra on a film being made by Warren Beatty about Howard Hughes.

In the meantime, I am happy to be alive, and I don’t mind being 65. Wouldn’t mind having a few parts restored though, and I indeed expect there will be some new joints in my future.