The man who’d marry your grandmama had one of these. When he drove it to see her for the first time, your grandmama’s father looked at the machine and scowled. “Farm boy,” he muttered. “Won’t amount to nuthin’.” Well, he was wrong. Granddaddy did all right in life; he turned out to be as tough as that old pickup -- as good-looking, too. To her dying day, grandmama kept a close eye on the women who swarmed about him. Own the truck that granddaddy drove, the 1949 Chevrolet 3100 Thriftmaster. GM green with black running boards. Pine in the bed. A 216 inline 6 under the hood. The optional cab visor. A newer 3-speed transmission, 12-volt conversion and electronic ignition. This is the deluxe cab, with corner windows that make it easier to watch for angry fathers. It only needs inner door panels and a reckless farm boy to be complete. No tire-kickers or folks wanting to trade, deal or make a deposit in my bank account. This also is for sale locally and in a national auto publication. I include it here because, well, it has such class. Granddaddy's truck. $11,000.