International trucks. The words conjure images of large, no-nonsense machines operated by large, no-nonsense guys – the sort of hauler you’d see at the dump, the warehouse, the docks. And those images were accurate: The International was …
…well, built to work. It was what the plumber drove; his might have a utility body that carried miles of piping and valves whose uses were a mystery. Or maybe the job superintendent used it to check on different sites. The guy delivering big car parts tossed them in its wooden bed.
This is a 1954 R110. It debuted the previous year – and, unsurprisingly, was overshadowed by its big-boy competitors. Like those other truck builders, the R110 relied on six inline cylinders, three speeds and two strong arms. It also featured something the Ford F100s and Chevy 3100s did not: a simplified grill with two massive horizontal slots, like those on a Coke machine. You could drop a manhole cover between them, like a massively oversized coin.
Tough, yes, but even the best machines slow down, then stop, then begin to become part of the landscape. That’s what’s happening in this expanse of weeds and trees near Howell, Utah, 1,920 miles northwest of Atlanta. (Photos by Senior Junkyard Correspondent Harold “Tex” Colson)
It Was Running When I Parked It 