1965 GMC C10 – Eduardo G.

It was the late 1990’s and I remember walking into my second grade class with confidence and excitement, ready to brag to my class that I had ridden in my dad’s big red monster truck on our trip to Mexico that year. I couldn’t wait to show it off and tell my classmates all about the huge tires, loud engine, and shiny lights over the top of it. Little did I know that it was not a monster truck, it was just my dad’s 1965 GMC longbed that was loaded with a bunch of accessories. Back then, it made no difference to me.

Over the next several years we visited my dad’s hometown and every trip, I was eager to ride in his truck. I loved the smell of gasoline and dust. It smelled like something that had been sitting in a warehouse for years, because it had. The warehouse was located about 10 blocks away from the house my dad grew up in and walking to it was part of the magic because I got to see and experience the world my dad grew up in. Once we arrived at the warehouse my dad would lower the truck off the jack stands he used to keep the rats away, pour in some fuel, and hope it would start.

“The truck is going to be yours,” he’d say. That meant everything to me because I would be the third generation to own it. The truck originally belonged to my grandfather. My dad bought it for him because my grandpa was a farmer and needed a reliable workhorse.

Decades went by and the promise started to lose its spark and the excitement had faded with it. I didn’t think the truck would ever be mine. I couldn’t imagine flying into Mexico, picking up the truck, and somehow, managing to drive it north for 3 days without it falling apart.
One afternoon I was outside washing my car when an old friend drove by in a restored vintage Ford. He told me he’d had it delivered from Mexico by a guy he knew who ran a towing business. That was my golden ticket! I told my dad, and within three stressful months a tow truck turned the corner carrying the big red “monster truck” I’d grown up admiring.

Over the next year, my dad and I worked on the truck and got closer than we ever had been. What I thought would be a passion project became a very important piece in my relationship with my dad. We talked regularly, sometimes the calls lasted longer than an hour. It might not sound like much but considering that our calls only lasted a couple of minutes prior, this was huge. I learned about the truck, about engines, and even very late in life, I finally learned how to drive a stick.

The truck will always be a work in progress, and honestly that’s part of the joy. I have a son now, and one day he’ll inherit it, too. I hope he feels the same excitement I felt as a kid.

A couple of years ago my dad was diagnosed with a fast-moving cancer, and the doctors say he may not be around much longer. I’m hoping that by the time this issue is printed, he’s still here to see it. We’ve talked about this cover story for years, and I know seeing his truck featured in LMC would bring a huge smile to his face. I’m doing this for him because I want him to know how much I love and appreciate him. We didn’t have the best communication growing up, but what he taught me in life and building a bond over a truck has been more valuable than anything else I could have asked for. Just like him, I’ll carry on the legacy of this truck, keep learning how to fix it, and teach my son how to drive it one day. This truck is the piece of our story that brought us closer, and I hope this resonates with someone out there with an old truck of their own.