Two Brothers, A Truck and Jaws

Adventures are often memorable events. My brother and I had a wild one driving a truck across America.

It was the summer of 1975 and halfway through one of the defining decades of my life. I had just finished my first year of college at the University of Oklahoma. My younger brother had just graduated from high school.

We were Air Force brats and our father was retiring from the service after 26 years. A full colonel with years as a hot shot pilot, not short on attitude or confidence. Most of his ideas were good ones. But occasionally there was one you might consider a bit fringe.

I don’t know where he found this old box truck. It was white, 30 feet long, and manufactured by the White Motor Corporation who at one time provided a great deal of vehicles for the military. Maybe that is how our father found it. It was probably inexpensive and certainly in need of some tuning up. Luckily Dad and my brother liked tinkering with mechanical things. I didn’t. Besides, I was away at college when he bought it.

Anyway, the deal was this truck would serve as a moving van to transport furniture and belongings to Norman, Oklahoma where Dad and Mom planned to settle, at least initially, following retirement. Later on they relocated to Kansas City, but Oklahoma was first because Mom wanted to finish college. She’d dropped out when they married and Dad started his Air Force career, but now she was going to get that degree. Good for her. We even ended up taking a couple of classes together in the Fall of ‘75. But, I digress.

On a hot and muggy day we headed out of Rome, New York, my brother Doug and I in that old panel truck, rumbling down the Thruway towards Buffalo. Suddenly there was some other rumbling along with smoke coming from the truck’s engine.

Uh oh. Not good.

Turns out the engine went kaput. Threw a rod. Dad was back at the air force base still finishing up retirement business. Fortunately Mom was able to drive to our rescue with the family car, a Ford LTD.  She got a couple of friends to assist, a tow truck was called, and we all made our way to the nearby town of Batavia, New York. We found an auto shop and proceeded to get repairs underway.

Easy, right? Uh, not so fast.

The garage was filled with upstate good old boy mechanics who were honest enough, but didn’t like being told how to conduct business. We picked up on that when we read their humorous sign that stated, “$50 an hour, $100 if you watch, and $150 if you help.”

None of the mechanics appeared thrilled to have this repair job. Unlike a lot of trucks, this one was a “cab over”. That meant the cab didn’t tilt forward making it really difficult to access the motor. Nevertheless, arrangements were made for repairs with one of the grease monkeys drawing the short straw to do the work. A replacement engine was found in a salvage yard in Buffalo, from an old Pepsi truck that gave new meaning to the Pepsi ad slogan of the day, “You’ve Got A Lot To Live, Pepsi’s Got A Lot To Give.” 

Naturally the shop wanted to know how we were going to pay for this repair. We had to ask, “How much will this cost”?

You know it can be troublesome when the answer is, “How much do you have?” Since Dad didn’t want to cut his losses a price was agreed upon.

Mom handed over the keys to the LTD and left with her friends. And two young men had to fend for themselves for the next couple of days.

Trouble was we didn’t have much money and we were going to have to rough it. Nearby was an RV campsite and although we didn’t have any camping gear there was a picnic table and a water pump. Hey, it was summer, we can sleep out under the stars.

To wile away the hours before our overnight hobo accommodations we decided to go into town. There was a movie theater and it just happened to be showing the new summer film “Jaws.”

That movie became a huge box office hit that spawned several sequels and is the stuff of legend. But fifty years ago nobody knew just how big this tale of a monster killer shark would become.

We got a huge thrill watching the movie. We liked it so much that we went back the next night to see it again. As my brother Doug related, the second time was more for the fun of watching the audience’s reaction!

At the state park where we were camping out (I use that term very loosely) we ate beans from a can and swatted mosquitos. Our spoon was a stick that Doug carved into a barely usable utensil with his jack knife. It was like we were contestants on “Survivor”, long before that television program aired. 

Meanwhile the folks “next door” in their fancy RV setup were having the time of their lives and eating large.

“Hey y’all” hollered the head of the household, “I’m bringing out the second roast.” 

Second roast?! Geewhiz, she and her clan were chowing down like royalty. All we could do was frown as we wiped the saliva from our mouths.

After a couple of days the truck was fixed up with a new/used engine and we were able to get back on the road only to have another frightening event unfold.

It was hard enough shifting the big gear box, but it seems the accelerator cable was not secured properly and suddenly our truck was barreling down the road and not slowing down. Doug was driving and he was trying a variety of measures to unstick the accelerator. Nothing was working. 

The end of the Thruway was fast approaching and we needed to stop at the toll booth to pay our ticket. Brakes squealing, engine turned off, a very loud backfire that jettisoned some of the exhaust equipment and terrified looks on our faces.

We’re gonna crash and die!

Somehow we didn’t. We managed to coast right to the toll booth window. The lady inside wasn’t fazed. Not missing a beat she instructed, “Ticket please.”

We started the truck up again and were able to pull forward and then off to the side of the road. Doug got the accelerator cable clip fastened down, we went back and got the muffler and managed to reattach it too. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

The rest of the trip had more adventurous moments. I was at the wheel when we missed the Interstate bypass loop around St. Louis and we had to drive through the middle of the city, in rush hour no less. Sometimes big 18-wheelers would be next to us and the wind kept pushing us closer. 

To us it was a bit of a miracle that we arrived at our destination unharmed and with the truck still functioning. Doug dropped me in Norman, Oklahoma and he continued on to his college in Arkansas. He took a math test right after arriving and promptly fell asleep. So much for testing out of that class!

Life is a journey and an adventure. Certainly this road trip brought that truth front and center. Two brothers, an old box truck, and seeing “Jaws” twice made for strong memories that have lived on fifty years later.

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