The old 3100 couldn't have had a more typical life for a 1950s truck. John Lewis Harris made his living as an apprentice engine mechanic. Depending on whom you talk to, family stories also have him working as a sharecropper, building custom gun stocks, and doing mechanical work. When he acquired the '54, it quickly became an indispensable tool for his business. Like many trucks of the time, John's 3100 was a beast of burden and a mobile headquarters. It even did double-duty as a safe; according to Roosevelt, his father kept his money behind a removable panel in the driver's door, because he "didn't trust banks." When John died in 1980, he left the truck to Roosevelt, his youngest son. Roosevelt kept the truck, using it as a tow vehicle and for hunting trips. When he passed the truck on to me, it came with a large assortment of John Harris' tools and spare parts in the bed, including handmade soldering tools, pipe-threading drill bits, and a clamp for manually sharpening saws. Even a pair of rusted-out WWII-era pistols were discovered during the toolbox excavation.
When we compared fuel consumption at the end of the trip, we weren't surprised that the straight-six in the 3100 used less gas than the Silverado's big V-8. Over 882 miles, the Advanced Design pickup burned 42.35 gallons, the Silverado 51.2, for estimated economies of 21 and 17 mpg, respectively. We were astounded that the 3100 also managed to make the trip without burning or leaking a single drop of oil.
Considering its hard life, the 3100 is in outstanding shape. Although they were built to last longer than their automotive counterparts, old trucks frequently expired much sooner because of simple rough treatment. In the 1950s, pickup trucks were considered tools, like hammers, and they were often treated accordingly.