’59 Dodge D100, the Utiline half-ton. It came with a 318 V8 or the inimitable 225 slant 6. Some kid has been using it as a soccer goal. 
A mid-1920s White heavy hauler, probably a one-ton. Why is a chain wrapped around the light bar? All it lacks is Granny Clampett and her rocking chair. 
A touch of elegance on a machine built for work. White Motor Co., originally based in Cleveland, once produced cars and trucks. After World War II, it dropped its auto line and focused on trucks. The company closed in 1980. 
A late-’20s International, another one-ton. Note the original glass on the lights, the customized rear-view mirror affixed to the cab visor. 
The machine that moved the West: a pre-war McCormick-Deering bulldozer. 
McCormick-Deering later became known by a simpler name: IHC, or International Harvester Co. 
’49 Buick Super. This car lived up to its name: to own a machine like this, with its marvelous, function-free fender holes, was really super. Note the after-market spotlight on the driver’s door. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to drill a hole, wire the device and attach a handle so the driver could aim the light in different directions. Why? 
Buick, aka the king of chrome. Note the black-plate California tag. This car hasn’t moved in years. 
The river runs west, then north for a ways, past Stockton. It flows across land flat as a pool table, with mountains in the distance. On clear days, those peaks appear a lot closer than they are. Natives know this.
What else they know: The land is filled with old heaps. Did the Okies discard them? Probably, yes, some. Others arrived later. Cars and trucks with bashed-in headlights turn blind eyes to the highways that took them to where they now rest and rust. The wind whistles through their shattered glass. Lizards doze in their shadows.
Old River, Calif., 2,420 miles west of Atlanta.
(Photos by Senior Junkyard Correspondent Harold “Tex” Colson)
It Was Running When I Parked It 