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Back on the farm we had an old International dump truck with a huge 6 cyl gas engine and a Stromberg updraft carb. One day my dad and I were bringing in a load of corn silage when the fuel pump just quit a couple miles from home. My dad got an oil bottle, filled it with gas, punched a hole in the top and put me on the fender with my leg hooked on the mirror support. He showed me how to slowly pour the gas into the carburetor. We made it home, dumped the load, and then drove to the shop where we switched out the fuel pump.

I’ve been having a good time reading all your experiences and reminiscing about those earlier times.
An experience I had in 1944 would have gotten our teacher not only fired but doing some time in stoney lonesome if it had happened today.
President FDR had just died and we kids were talking about it in class when I innocently said, “everybody has got to die sometime.” The teacher was a super Lib and when she heard about it took me into the cloak room and paddled my butt. I was 9 at the time and the paddling didn’t hurt but it sure pissed me off.