Once upon a time, there was a young boy fascinated by the idea of TRUCKS. To his parents embarrassment, he would mispronounce the word as only a child would do. Fruck, fruck mommy, look at the fruck.
As the child grew to adolescence, he got exited by the sight of those shiny big rigs. He didn't know the difference between a B-model Mack or an old Brown. It didn't matter to him. All he knew was that those powerful, noisy monsters were to be his one day. To lord over those without the will or strength to master the earth shaking thunder of those smoke belching, fire breathing dragons of the highway.
As the boy grew, he would find any excuse, any opportunity available to be near trucks. Any kind of truck. From the old fifty-one Brown dump truck, used to haul manure from the stable where he worked, to the International LoadStar 1600 stake truck, use to haul construction material on the job site where he held a summer job.
In those days it was easy for a big kid to talk people into letting him take the wheel, even though he wasn't a licensed driver. He loved the feel of that huge steering wheel as it slid through his fingers. He could feel every change in the road surface. From the slight pull of the crowned roadway to the wild gyrations on the jarring ruts on the construction site pathways. As he learned to slip the clutch and ease the throttle ,the shifting became smoother, and soon it would become a part of him. Being able to feel the needs of any truck he had the pleasure of piloting, gave him confidence in his skill. There would never be a doubt about where his life's work would be found.