EFFINGHAM, Ill. – In Illinois farm country, there’s a 70-year-old pickup truck waiting on a fresh coat of canary yellow paint.
It’s the first vehicle my dad learned to drive, as a young boy helping with farm chores during the day and adventuring with friends at night. At the time, the 1956 International Harvester S-130 had no sentimental value. Its worth was tied to its usefulness.
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Or as my dad explains, “it was just a truck.”
Pickups were made for work. Until the first purpose-built ones rolled off American assembly lines in the early 20th century, people DIY-ed their own. They became icons of a rural ideal, potent enough to inspire and populate many a country song.
Today, they are mainstays on American roadways. While they’re still used to haul things, some are more luxury than workhorse; cool enough to be lifted or lowered and comfortable enough for Sunday drives.
As for the pickup that once powered the now-defunct Meyer family farm, it will soon have just one job: to look pretty.
It’s an unexpected turnabout. If it had been planned, my dad might have picked an easier truck to restore. International’s S series from the 1950s had a blink-and-you-miss-it production life. Practically speaking, that means sourcing replacement parts is a challenge — even for my brother Andy, who is good at finding things that are hard to find.
He’s the one who spotted the truck for sale. And though it was worse for wear, he couldn’t resist hauling it back home. In the years since, he and my dad have embarked on a replacement-parts treasure hunt that's unearthed my dad’s childhood memories along the way. Stories of my dad behind the wheel as a child taking the neighbor boys on late-night hunting trips, the precarious ways he and his siblings accomplished their farm chores and the uncle whose prom date rode shotgun.
Their odyssey through online auctions and Illinois backroads has taken on a life of its own. What started with restoring one 1956 International Harvester has turned into owning five 1956 International Harvesters in various states of repair. Only one is too far gone to fix up.
I asked my dad why he keeps hauling them home. “I’m possessed,” he joked dryly.
But if I’m honest, I already knew the answer. There’s joy in the journey. So why not?
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Part of a recurring series, “American Objects,” marking the 250th anniversary of the United States. For more American objects, click here. For more stories on the anniversary, click here.