Part 2: Bring It On Home

It took a few days to mention what I’d seen at Elliott’s Auto Body. My wife Gail wasn’t impressed with the trinkets I’d picked up and thought it was a wasted trip since I didn’t get the marker lights I wanted but in my opinion no motorcycle in the country is ever wasted. Gail nodded politely when I told her about the REO then quickly went on to other topics not realizing that thoughts about the ‘rusty old truck’ would fill my head for the next few weeks. The REO came up again during the great August 17th blackout. We were sitting with neighbours in our front yard, cooking up a huge pile of strip-loin steaks we thought we had to eat before they thawed when my wife brought the subject up.

“Geoff found some old truck that he wants to buy,” Gail told our next-door neighbour Peter as he talked about the SUVs parked at gas stations waiting for the power to come back.

“I’m still interested in it,” I added.

“What is it?” Peter asked.

“A 1928 REO Speedwagon.”

“Is it like something from the Walton’s?” my wife asked.

“Sorta – same age anyway.” Its been years since I’d seen that TV show though I knew it was one of my wife’s favourites.

"Sounds neat,” another neighbour commented, “does it run?”

“In ten years it might. It’s a project that’ll sit on the back burner until Alex (my daughter) is away at university but you have to think of these things now. I’m going to have a friend look at it before I consider buying it.”

“That sounds like a good idea – and you’ll need a place to store it,” Gail chimed in. And I knew the right people to ask. I phoned Elliott’s first, then sent them a check as a deposit, to help me think about the old REO.

North and east of Toronto, near Mosport Raceway, about 50 minutes from downtown Toronto rests the small town of Haydon. Graham’s Garage is one of two remaining businesses. As a teenager in the mid-seventies this was the place my brother took his Studebakers for service. The garage still sported a sign at that time; Studebaker Sales & Service. Ian Graham and his father kept my brother’s ’53 and ’56 Lowey coupes running (my brother still has them today). Ian Graham was the right person to confirm that the REO was restorable and that the engine did turn over as the Elliott’s claimed. His garage in hill country not far from Elliott’s and Ian knew the brothers well.

It took Ian a few weeks to visit Elliott’s. With harvest in full swing there were mowers, combines, tractors and bailers that needed his touch along with the usual assortment of wellused cars and pickups that populated the Durham region. It was the Friday before Labour Day weekend, a month after I’d first seen the REO, that he finally called.

“Know what,” he started. “If your hadn’t put a deposit on the REO I would have told you it was junk. Bought it for myself and never told you.”

“Is it worth restoring?”

“Yep, it’ll take a lot of work but the major parts are there,” Ian said. “And it turns over. An interesting project.”

“Know anyone that can move it for me?”

“Talk to Brian at Brian’s Towing in Port Perry. I think he’s got a loader big enough. You should also talk to Eric up there in Utica, he can help get you started. Brian knows him.”

I took the day off. My wife still thought the truck was “neat” and I arranged a place to store it in Toronto when I was ready. Eric’s Auto Body, in the tiny hamlet of Utica, would help me lift the body and would store all the bits in his yard and let me work on the REO whenever I wanted. Everything was set for the morning of September 12th giving me a second long weekend.

I arrived at the closed Elliott’s Auto Parts yard gate just before 9:00am. Payment had already been settled by mail so I only needed the ownership papers and the REO.

“I hope loader’s got a 22’ foot bed,” George commented as we left his dim office and went out the back door into the bright yard. The REO had been pulled out of the weeds onto hard ground with air in all tires. The truck was prettier then I remembered, an even rust red without a spec of paint.“It’s a 3 ton,” George added as we both gazed at the REO. The ownership papers described it as a pickup.

“Yup, I told Brian,” I said,” We’re taking it up to Eric’s Auto Body in Utica.”

“I know the place. Eric’s down here all the time.”

We walked to the yard gate and George closed the office. We stood on the wide gravel parking area along Highway 2 and waited for the loader.

We could see the truck coming down the highway for at least a mile. Brian ran us past on the pavement then backed up through the large gravel parking area from the highway into the open yard gate. He’d been here before.

It didn’t take Brian long to drop the tilt-bed, hook up a chain and winch the REO onto the tilt bed. He blocked all the wheels then leveled the bed. More ropes and straps were used to fasten every part that was loose and might become loose. 20 minutes later we were rolling west on Highway 2, the old truck perched high above the road as I followed, making plans for the day when it would glide along this historic route under its own power. Small stones kicked up by the tilt-loader’s tires hit my windshield.

I dropped back to let the stones fall to the road before I ran into them noting they didn’t drop quickly, but moved from side-to-side like dark snowflakes. We skirted his cousin’s place in Blackstock then curved west through the Scugog marshes and town of Port Perry. My cousins Les and Neil would be ticked that I found this treasure I thought as we inched behind the Friday lunch traffic until we we back out on the highway approaching Utica and Eric’s Auto Body.

Brian already knew where to drop the truck. He backed the loader down the north side of Eric’s beige metal barn with its flotsam of old cars. I recognized a Henry J, a late 30s Hudson Terraplane, an Austin Healey and a huge pink De Soto station wagon. Chunks of other cars I didn’t recognize were spread around all side of the shop. Everything was pre-1960, all bulging curves like a wringer washing machine. A half-built Model T truck hot rod stood out from the assorted piles of pastel coloured sheet metal.

The bed of lift was covered in rust chips. They weren’t stones but rust chips. The rear of the REO’s cab was sunk more then an inch down on the frame. The rocking cab had worked its way down, chewing into its weak base with every bump. The curved front parts were fine so I didn’t give it a thought while Brian untied all his straps. Eric hadn’t shown his face but the sounds of a light grinder and sanders punctuated the field sounds of birds and wind in far-away trees. Orange and yellows were beginning to touch the green maple forests around the fields.

Once the truck was dropped I settled up with Brian. No one seemed to be in any hurry so he didn’t pull his wallet out until he had to. The tilt-loader went around to the sideroad and backed into Eric’s wide front drive, between light yellow leveler-coated cars that were waiting for a final top coat. Nothing new around here, not even bread and butter modern cars that needed collision work. Old cars and trucks and nothing but.

Eddie squeezed through some wrecks and stood with me watching Brian load a freshly painted car from Eric’s metal barn.

“1948 Jaguar,” Eric volunteered. I was at the right place. There was no need to tie this car down, or any flapping metal, so the load was chained by the axels and ready within minutes.

Brian was around with a bill before he drove off. “161.25,” Brian said as he handed me a receipt and I counted out the cash. Brian nodded to my ks, then climbed into his loaded truck without a word. Eric and I watched the tilt-loader inch down the gravel drive then turn up the sideroad.

“You’ve got yourself some prize,” Eric said as they looked long over the cluttered yard at the REO. We picked our way through tall weeds and other rusting projects then circled the truck slowly. Eric nodding a few times before talking.

“You’re not in a hurry, are you?” Eric asked.

“No, next year will be fine,” Eddie responded. “I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do with it before I start anything.” “

You going to make a ‘rod out of her or?”

“I’m restoring it,” I said with a couple of nods. “A ‘rod outa of a 3 ton with daulies?”

“Well,” Eric said with a rising voice, “I’ve got a car to get painted today. “The truck can stay where she is. You’re welcome to come up any time to work on ‘er. Just let me know ‘for the neighbours call the police.”

“All I’m worried about today is pulling a few valuable parts, like the dash and the lights. I’ll need and extension cord and I’m outa your way.”

“Its inside.” Eric nodded then headed through another trail between more wrecks to the back door of the garage. “Cord’s here, you can plug it in over there.”

Next Part: Restoring the front wheels

Advice and parts always welcome: – Geoff Collins, 21 Tanager Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4G 3P9 - (416) 421-5364