My Grandpa was a hell of a man. When he was 9 years old, after being hit with a ruler by a nun at the Catholic school he went to, he ran out the back door of the school, jumped on his 1923 Harley, raced away & never came back. He was also a veteran Marine who saw action over seas in WWII & had lived a pretty hard & wild life; but he was Grandpa to us & he'd always put you in a good mood. When he passed a couple of summers ago, he left me this truck. It's a 1950 Dodge. As far back as I can remember it sat in the same spot, never moving, for my whole life. I always thought it was neat as a little kid. Every now & then I'd open it up & look inside. I'd open the hoods (they are split) to look at the engine not knowing at all what it was, but it was neat. Yesterday we went to take off the wheels so I can put some tires on & move it to my house. My son thought it was neat too. Thanks Grandpa.