Oh, no! Perish those thoughts of white walls. Real trucks never had nor never should have white walls.
Edit: I probably should don my fire suit and arrow shields and go hide out in the shop.

 

New York state raised the drinking age from 18 to 19 in 1982, then in 1985 they raised it again to 21. There are 4 border crossings in Western New York, when they made the change in 1985 the weekend traffic jams on the bridges were packed with 19 year old's heading to all the new bars opened on the Canadian side.

Also, Ronald Reagan signed the National Minimum Drinking Age Act in 1984 making the drinking age 21 in all US States.

 

Ah yes, the infamous "3-2" beer as it had 3.2% alcohol.

Obviously I've never had a license to sell beer, or I would have remembered Reagan's Drinking Age Act.

Now let's change the voting age back to 21 except for those serving in the military. They should be allowed to vote for their Commander in Chief.

 

While chewing on a fresh from the oven chocolate chip cookie I was reading through your little wish list. You know, if you dribbled a wee drop or two of paint inside the lettering those argent hubcaps would be just dandy, and changing over to Ford crest style taillights in just a natural progression that no stocker could fault you for. I mean they're Ford taillights after all. And a little upgrade to some shiny chrome mirrors is done strictly as a rust preventative measure and has nothing to do with aesthetics.


Care for a cookie?


Bobby

 

Too late Sith Lord Bobby. The Force is too strong with young Abe-akin.

 

When I was young I had always heard tales of 3-2 beer near the military bases in the south, but we never had anything like that in our area.

 

And they say the memory is the first to go. I guess I don't know where I heard of 3.2 beer. Now, what was I writing about?

 

Wonder how the "Similar Threads" list is put together for this. Stu

 

For the most part, I would guess it's the wording in the opening post by Abe. He mentioned oil leaking.

But I see what you mean. None of them has anything to do with our trucks. Unless Abe has moved to the Darkside with a Modular V10 or a Power Stroke diesel.

 

I tried to stay out of this one, but the 3.2 beer is talking to me so here it goes, first its the oil filter, then more padding in the seat, by the end of the week hes going to want to put a big back window section in! All these darksiders offering cookies, and beer, heck I think I'm ready for a Mll front end!
On a side note, 3.2 beer........ I remember (barely) back in 1987-88 while in College in Denver CO, going to a 3.2 bar I was in my roomates Renault 18-I we were LOADED ( it takes a lot of 3.2 beer to get loaded) and we were stuck in traffic. I told him to go around, he backs up and runs his car almost all the way up to the windshield of a VW bug. The Renault was front wheel drive and I'm sure the rear tires were off the ground!


WE SPLIT! All from days gone by, that's my 3.2 story

I'm sitting here laughing because I forgot all about this and I remember when he backed up on the hood of the bug turning around and seeing this guy and his girl and their eyes were so wide open. LOL Good times...........

 

Hmmm, I am kind of hungry...

 

Knock it off. Next thing you know you'll be getting the hots for your twin sister. Sheesh.

 

I turned 18 in 1964, so I was able to drink anywhere by the time the drinking age changed, but I went back to college in 72 and the campus had changed drastically! No more on campus pub or school sponsored free beer parties in the quad in the summer. In 64 we wore jackets and ties (expensive silk ones >20.00 each!) and carried our books and lunch in a briefcase. Cut our hair very short into something called a "Princeton" and polished our wingtips. Wearing your hair over the top of your ears or touching your collar (the rare new "beatlecut" elicited stares and avoidance) resulted in catcalls and whistles and threats with scissors and knives while walking down the street. In 72 I showed up for classes the first week back in shirt and tie and got labeled a "narc" or FBI until I changed over to wearing the expected ripped and missmatched patched thrift store jeans with the legs split open and rag bag sourced flower print fabric gussets added to make them into huge bellbottoms. Well washed (and extremely wrinkled blue work shirts completed the outfit. Hair went uncut (and often unwashed/combed) for months or years at a time, Handmade Sandals or even bare feet was the footwear of choice. Instead of beer, wacky tabaccy was consumed semi publicly in the quad.
I didn't know what 3.2 beer was until I was stationed in AL for advanced training in 68. It was all you could buy on post, or anywhere, since the adjacent town was in a dry county. The locals drank the plentiful (and plenty strong) moonshine behind the barn.

 

There are no cookies; it is merely a ploy to bring you over!