The One That Got Away...(pics)

[RainDog]

Hullo folks,
Finally got a new scanner, so I could show you guys the truck that got me started on this here addiction, and tell my little sad story. I apologize in advance for the length of the post. To my regret, these are the ONLY pics in existence of my truck. It's since been parted out and junked so far as I hear.
This was the very first vehicle I ever bought, a 1972 C20 Custom Camper, when I turned twenty, and wound up with it only because I stumbled over an ad in the Little Nickel for "72 chevy truck, $600." I'd had to save for months to get even that much. Took me almost a month running back and forth between Seattle and Kent every day to get it running, and finally talked the fellow down to $400. I wasn't looking for a 67-72 chevy, didn't know anything about cars, just wanted "an old truck."
I found this board two weeks before I sold it (about ten months ago, I reckon), and it wasn't until AFTER I'd gotten rid of it for a $3,500 '76 C20 that I began getting sucked in. Suffice to say, it's in my soul now, as many of you can relate, and I would have given anything to get this truck back. Not just for sentimentality, but this was the meanest, most-reliable, most solid vehicle of any kind I've ever "met," no exaggeration. It only got 4 miles to the gallon, and I never so much as changed the oil in the six months I owned and drove it everyday. Took it on three 900 mile trips (gas money put me in the red every time), in the snow, on 4x4 trails, used it to knock over highway signs in Eastern Washington, even once hauled 3,000 lbs. of topsoil thirty miles. It was a tank, absolutely unstoppable.
It was originally a SoCal truck, so, as torn up as the body looks, there wasn't one single bit of non-surface rust anywhere. The 350/350 and q-jet were original, as was the alternator and points-setup. Someone had put Cherry Bombs on the pipes and spray-painted the damn thing red (it was originally blue)sometime ago, but other than that it was bone stock. The interior was shot, seat torn up, dash pad missing, and the odometer had probably rolled over at least once, even though it said 103,000 when I brought it home.
My dad has owned a deli here in town for over thirty years. I've worked there since I was eight. I'm sure almost every guy here knows the pride one feels working closely with your father. He'd finally saved up enough money to move the business after being in the same location for thirty-one years, the biggest dream he'd had since I can remember. We spent two months installing equipment, painting, dry-walling, plumbing, doing everything with the help of family and friends to save money, working every night from four until ten getting it ready. The day I finally got the truck running (turned out to just be a bad coil in the dizzy), signed the papers and drove it away, also happened to be the day before we opened at the new location. When I pulled up to the new place, my dad was standing outside, beaming. Emotionally, my dad has always been like granite, so when he asked if he could be the very first one to ride in my "new" rig, it was one of the proudest and happiest moments of my life.
He didn't say anything about how much time I'd wasted on that truck already, how crappy it looked, that you literally couldn't hear ANYTHING over the noise in the cab; no lectures about the gas mileage or it's impracticality as a daily driver for a college student working part time at a deli. Just had me take him down to the beach and back, grinning like a fool the whole way. When we got back, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, "I guess this is a big day for both of us."
Sorry for the length of the post. I'm sure many of you have similar stories. I've owned a '76 C20 ($3,500) and an '85 S10 Blazer ($3,250) since I sold that first truck, and between the two I spent around $8,000 fixing problems and paying tow truck drivers, including two new transmissions, a new transfer case, and one 500-mile tow bill. I ended up selling them both, not-running. Never got so much as a flat tire in the '72.

Peace,

RainDog