In 1964 my father bought a surplus military jeep. It was one of those U.S. Army jeeps that saw action in Vietnam but was shipped to Clark Air Base in the Philippines when the build up of American troops and equipment began. Clark probably had more jeeps than it needed so they auctioned off some of them. One ended up in my old man’s hands.

It was painted with the original army olive drab, complete with white stars on its hood and sides, with a long series of numbers also on its hood. The windshield held a firearm holder that could hold an M1 Caliber .30 Garand. On the driver’s side of the jeep, there were an axe and a shovel held by clamps and belts. Clamped to the rear are a fuel jerry can and a spare tire.

Under the hood was a Willys 4-cylinder L-head engine that was strong enough to provide power to all four wheels via a three-speed transmission and transfer case.
The jeep had enough torque to climb ledges or get out of deep ruts.

I learned how to drive on that jeep. I had a lot of fun in it. I spent hours Sunday driving along the beach, sometimes taking it to the hills and mountains. I used it to pick up my friends and roam around town until we ran out of gas.

Today, 45 years later, I still have that jeep. Except that it is now my son who’s doing the things I used to do with it.