The SWAT Truck

History of this picture: The paper is a map out of the Wornall's RV book which I bought at the library book sale. The numbers represent the camp ground's listed in the book, in this case, Wisconsin. Consider it early scrap booking. There are three pictures in this series.

Our summer vacation plan was to go to the Dells, Baraboo, and Green Bay, Wisconsin and travel the southern route of Lake Superior then go to Thief River Falls to see family. We would stop at Island Lake near Bagley and have a visit with my parents before going on to TRF. We would clean up the truck at the rest stop before going to the lake. After all, we where proud of our one-of-a-kind pretend RV.

Our rig was a mail truck which we remodeled to sleep four. We brush painted the outside with green paint. It leaned a little; we had too much weight in the cabinet on one side. We tested its efficiency locally by camping at local lakes. Because we had worked hard on decorating it, we stamped it efficient whether it was or not remains a mystery. I do know that my children will never forget the SWAT truck.

Two benches joined together in the rear of the truck to form a near double bed, which dropped down to make seating couches during the day. The open area under the benches was used for bedding and drape storage during the day, as well as clothes. I remember it as being a no pillow vacation. The kids each had a home made washable bear; one was pink and the other black. I remember both of them sitting in front of the front load washer at the laundro mat watching the two bears go round and round in the drum. Betty and Barney, knowing my kids, there was a song or a story going on.

Mail trucks had back doors with tracks like a garage door. We built a bed for Rachel. It was a piece of carpeted plywood which was dropped down and held just above our sleeping area at night by chains. During the day, it was locked up on the back door tracks. One night one of the chains came off. Imagine Rachel's surprise. It was called a swing bed because it moved when she moved. I can remember the expression on her face, I wish I could remember what she said.

Bud was short enough to sleep on the dash which was also carpeted. All the windows had curtains, which were folded and stored during the day. A five gallon jug contained water. A pump was rigged so you could get a drink, except, of course if you were going up hill. The truck didn't have much power. The transmission whined.

We had been problem free until we got to Thief River Falls. We turned off the engine at Grandma's house and it wouldn't start. Someone knew to get parts from the local parts store and fix it. The other Grandma didn't want the rig parked in the driveway. She compromised by putting a piece of cardboard down so the oil it leaked would drip on the box instead of the driveway.

My grandfather came to see us. He was in his late nineties and was now riding a three wheel bicycle. He had coke bottle glasses because of cataract surgery and didn't see very well. He fell down the steps in the house, dislocated his thumb, got on his bike and went home.

Why did we do that? Why did we buy an old crappy worn out mail truck and make it into a RV? I don't have a clue. It just seemed like a really neat thing to do. Perhaps poor folks have poor ways. It never occurred to me that something so ridiculous would be an object to point at; nor did it matter to me if they did.

The truck was the second vehicle. It was driven to work. The driver was certain people thought he was a drug peddler. The brush painted vehicle disappeared. Where would the boys play? The SWAT truck was history. The memories remain.

Not by air mail.

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