Sight of old car brings memoriesLast month, I mentioned slipping back into my boyhood at the Sioux Falls gun show and buying a Mossberg Model 146B, my very first .22 rifle. I seem to be mired in this going back nostalgia thing. Now, I’m trying to complete a Lincoln penny collection after selling the one I put together as a kid. I’m also rebuilding my ancient model trains. But this isn’t the worst of it.
By: Roger Wiltz, The Daily Republic
Last month, I mentioned slipping back into my boyhood at the Sioux Falls gun show and buying a Mossberg Model 146B, my very first .22 rifle.
I seem to be mired in this going back nostalgia thing. Now, I’m trying to complete a Lincoln penny collection after selling the one I put together as a kid. I’m also rebuilding my ancient model trains. But this isn’t the worst of it.
It was spring 1961, and I was a student in Brookings. Time to return home for the summer was fast approaching, and as The Chicago & Northwestern “Dakota 400” had made its last run, I needed a way to get myself, my shotgun, my golf clubs and my steamer trunk back to Chicago. Keeping this stuff together on the bus wasn’t the answer.
About this same time, Don Huls, one of my Gym Dorm roomies, introduced me to Jim Redman. Jim wanted to sell his 1948 Plymouth, and Don thought the car would make short work of my problem. A test drive, $50 and a hand shake later, the car was mine.
What a car! The light in the speedometer turned red at 50 miles per hour. I soon acquired two riders who gave me $5 apiece for a ride to Chicago. That car became family! My first date with Betsy, hunting trips too numerous to count, Saturday night expeditions to Stanley Corner — I was king of the road!
What became of the ’48 Plymouth? By the time my senior year at SDSC rolled around, my mother was bed-ridden with multiple sclerosis. Dad drew a tough hand — rise early and prep mom for the day, go to work, come home to household chores, and get mom ready for the night.
He wanted me to find a Model “A” Ford he could work at restoring in the garage if and when he had 30 minutes.
I was pheasant hunting over by Bruce when I spotted a 1929 Ford sedan alongside a barn. The farmer wouldn’t sell it as he used it to round up cattle. Heck, my Plymouth could chase cows. We traded on the spot. Cal Christie, a Brookings mechanic, made me a hitch, and I pulled the old Ford to Chicago with my new 1950 Dodge. That Dodge also cost me $50.
You can see where this is going. Last winter, while driving through Sanborn, Iowa, I spotted a 1948 Plymouth sedan sitting in a front yard along Highway 18. There was a “For Sale” sign. We test drove it. It even smelled like my first car, and I just knew I had to have it.
I asked, “How much?” The owner said, “Four-thousand dollars.” Without thinking, I threw out 3,000.
“No deal,” he responded. I thanked him for his time. Two fools met — one for making the offer, and the other for turning it down.
When we got home that evening, I called Bob, a 1948 Plymouth expert. Bob has recently completed a ground-up restoration of a ’48 Plymouth, and he knows his Plymouths. He told me the car I looked at was worth $2,000. I had survived a foolish offer. Since then, I’ve more or less held my impetuous moods at bay. I need a ’48 Plymouth like I need another shotgun.
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I have expressed the opinion in the past that South Dakota has some work to do when it comes to providing easy access areas for senior anglers. Late last summer, I wrote about some of the projects in the Chamberlain area that might alleviate the problem. At the time, I was invited by one of their planners to take a look. As I recall, the local Boy Scouts were involved. Later this month I will take a personal look at Chamberlain’s efforts.
Partly because a Chamberlain senior recently vented some of his fishing frustrations to me in a hand-written letter, I’m especially looking forward to it. Based on the man’s passion, I look for at least some of his observations to be valid. I’m hoping it will be suitable column material.
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When I advised a few weeks ago that a doe tag could be used on a buck with small spikes for antlers, the information was incorrect. The call is up to the discretion of the conservation officer. Technically, any “polished antler,” regardless of length, requires a tag suitable for antlered deer.
In a situation where a doe hunter mistakenly kills a buck because he/she didn’t see the small spikes between the deer’s ears, it is very possible that the local conservation officer might judge the mistaken identity to be honest, and therefore permit the use of the doe tag.
I was once in a hunting party where this happened. However, my suggestion to kill an inferior buck in order to pull him from the gene pool, and then tag him with a doe tag, was wrong even though the idea may have had merit genetics wise. Had I done so, I would have deserved a citation.
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Just as avidly as I believe in our Second Amendment rights, I also believe that those who abuse these rights should be harshly punished. Recently an NFL football player tried to take a loaded handgun onto an airplane in his carry-on bag. He should be locked up for a long, long time. Thus far, he’s received a slap on the fingers. This is not acceptable.
Oh yes, the cactus-eatin’ dog is doing just fine. See you next week.