Old License Plates and Memories

Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes

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Living on a family farm means you have a collection of items that can be much older than yourself. Last summer my wife had one of her interior decorator friends do her magic on our newly remodeled house. One of the things was a display board of some of the tin signs and license plates that have been around the farmstead all my life. These are not only interesting but also convey a wealth of memories from the past, which predates me by quite a time.

The oldest item on this board is a set of license plates off a pre-1920 Model T Ford owned by my grandfather Otis Campbell. From what I can determine this was his first horse less carriage. I can ascertain that the vehicle was a 1919 or older Model T because it had a crank start. He would have bought it used since the plate is dated 1928 and the story, I will relate took place that year when my grandparents first child was just an infant.

Cooperatives were a common type of organization for farm service businesses. Otis was going to go to a meeting in West Concord for what I believe was a creamery association. It was a warm spring day and my grandmother and their very young daughter accompanied him in the open-air vehicle. The young farm couple were in their twenties and I can only imagine what a wonderful world it seemed like a century ago.

While my grandfather participated in the meeting, his wife Eva went for a drive down the dirt road we now know as Highway 56. A few miles to the south of town she decided to turn around. In the course of maneuvering the old Ford to return to town the engine quit. With a little baby wrapped in a blanket on the front seat, my grandmother had to dismount and hand crank the engine to start it again. She got it running and they chugged back to town.

The next set of license plates are motorcycle plates from 1948 and 1952. My father had a Harley Davidson 74 when he was a young man. Most of the stories I heard about the motorcycle were relayed to me by those who knew my dad. One of my dad’s friends was our neighbor, Bub Wichser. Bud told me that my dad said he could take the Harley for a ride if he could get it started. By my calculations Bub would have been about 12 years old at the time. Never think a farm boy, no matter how young, can’t get an engine started. Bub fired the Harley up and headed down the road on a ride. My dad sold the Harley before I was born, but he did tell me one story. Most roads were gravel back then and while on a trip back from Cannon Falls one evening, he laid the cycle over on a gravel curve. When he got home, he cleaned himself up and had to explain to my grandma about the bloody towels. He had gravel still embedded in the skin around his elbows thirty years later. He may have told me that story just to keep me from riding.

The next set of plates are for my grandfather’s old pickup. It was a late 1940’s Ford truck. Ford pickups have always played a vital role on our family farm. The last plate was from 1955 and is a “T” plate. As a kid I recall truck license plates designated with a T. I think it indicated a farm truck but am not certain if that was so.

In the granary on the old farm my grandfather had written many bits of information on the board walls. Most where about crops and feed and livestock, but one of them dated in the early 50’s stated that he almost ran over Elvis with the pickup. That one got my attention. My dad explained that they named the dog Elvis, because he was “nothin’ but a hound dog”. One day my grandpa was backing up to the granary to unload feed from the pickup. Elvis was standing behind the pickup looking away and when the pickup bumper hit him, he yelped. Otis in his dry sense of humor noted that on that day he almost ran over Elvis.