Ten bucks and a forklift

World War II had concluded just three years before my Baby Boomer birth. This cataclysmic conflict had inflamed the world and changed the smoldering ruins of that world, and our country, forever.

A dozen years after the final surrender document was signed on the deck of the Mighty Mo, military surplus was still pretty hot stuff, especially for a nine years old kid growing up in Cleveland Ohio. Not too much need for cowboys and Indians when you could go to Whitey's Surplus (still doing business in my home town as of this past summer) and pick up a genuine Army surplus pup tent (I did) or a genuine Nazi army helmet (which I did, but I now suspect it was not so genuine, but I forgive Whitey, where ever his soul resides).

A nine year old kid could spend a lot of time just strolling up and down the crowded aisles of Whitey's Surplus.

On the more practical side, average citizens could buy surplus goods for cheap. Shovels, tarps, tape, etc. Already paid for by your tax dollars, and now sold to you again for very low prices. My father subscribed to a publication that would advertise cool surplus stuff. Sort of like Whitey's but in a virtual big box store, although I think we had yet to invent "virtual" or "big box store" back then.

Anyway, my father would receive this publication and peruse it looking for deals. I don't remember him actually ordering much of anything from it, but I suspect it was fun to look at never the less. What I DO remember is that back in the day you could actually order a surplus Army Jeep in a crate(!). They would ship the crate to your home and you could then assemble the Army Jeep in your garage.

Let's just bask in that memory for a moment, shall we?

Can you imagine a truck pulling up to your garage and unloading a genuine Army surplus Jeep? In a crate?!?! Talk about hours of fun assembling it, followed by actually driving an Army surplus Jeep!!! I would have been the luckiest kid in the world. Heck, with such a Jeep I might have even been popular!!

Oh my.

But my father was far too practical so such a truck never pulled into our driveway.

Sigh.

One day my father received notice that if he didn't bid on SOMETHING from the publication they would stop sending it to him. And there would go the fun evenings dreaming from page to page. To rectify this situation, and to ensure the continued receipt of the publication, my father found a United States Coast Guard forklift for sale. With a spare battery the size of a Prius. Used.

Hmmmm, my father thinks.

So, he bids ten bucks on the used USCG forklift. With spare Prius sized battery.

Heh, heh. That should take care of the problem. Now my father could continue to receive the dream magazine, all because he had placed the required bid, as low as it was, with no risk of him being the highest bidder.

It was a good plan, except of course, nobody else placed a bid on the forklift/Prius.

Nobody. No one. Zip bids except for that one sealed envelop from Cleveland Ohio.

So, my father was awarded the bid. One used forklift with spare battery. In Traverse City, Michigan.

Come and get it.

If you MapQuest Cleveland to Traverse City (I just did) you will find that the two cities are 407.79 miles apart with a travel time of six hours and thirty-eight minutes, plus pee breaks.

One way.

And, we didn't own ANYTHING that could haul a used forklift, plus battery.

All of a sudden this didn't look like a very good idea.

Fortunately, my father was a tool & die maker of great skill, with many friends in the business. He talked to one shop and offered them a pretty good price on a used forklift/spare battery. The shop sent the flatbed truck and driver over to our home (alas, with no surplus Army Jeep crate on the back) picked up my father and me and off we went on a grand road trip.

The Commanding Officer of the base was a little taken aback when he found out the selling price of his used forklift/spare battery. But a deal is a deal so the whole package was loaded up onto the flatbed truck.

The shop owner who provided the truck was a little taken aback when the wheels of the forklift punched through the bed of the heavily overloaded truck, but a deal is a deal. And besides, we were half way home when we noticed that the forklift lost some height. The spare batter, the size of a Prius but with no wheels, sat there just fine. Heavy, but fine.

We made it home and, like some of my bike trips, is now a fond memory. It was a grand adventure and as a nine year old kid I walked away secure in the knowledge of how to bypass highway weigh stations.

Then bucks and a forklift. Doesn't make up for the lack of that surplus Army Jeep in a crate (how cool is that?!?!) but it did make for a fun story.