My Tonka Truck, Emma.

When we were kids, like nearly every other kid, we’d sit on Tonka dump trucks and scream down the driveway, inevitably tipping over and sanding the skin off our knuckles. I must have been incredibly enthusiastic while describing this dump truck fun to a friend, because it resulted in one of the more unusual birthday gifts I’ve ever received.

There was great intrigue around the gift; a genuine conspiracy with friends and family. I really didn’t suspect anything. I don’t remember what the cover story was. I just remember we were, for some reason, driving out towards Mollala. It wasn’t until the unscheduled left turn and a snicker or two, that I knew a secret was being kept.

There she was, in a field with grass and weeds growing up all around her: a 1952 Chevrolet dump truck. I didn’t get it. Then, Gene handed me a set of keys. I still didn’t get it. What were they for? Then he popped the hood and I realized there was some hope that those keys would start that truck. The dump truck was my birthday present.

We all had a good laugh. Then I started thinking about what the hell I’d do with it? Get it running first, I suppose. Gene and I returned the following day and to my great surprise, with a little fuel, and some coolant poured in the radiator (only after we removed the family of mice who’d built a nest in it), it fired up. A little rough, but it ran.

I named her Emma.

I think she stalled three times on the way home but each time Gene sorted out the problem. It didn’t make the breaks any better, but we got her back to Genes’ warehouse, which solved one of my questions: where am I going to keep it?

The bigger question, of course, was what the hell am I going to do with a ’52 Chevy dump truck? That sorta ties into my Tonka truck rant. You see, part of my rant was a proposed ‘Tonka-land’ where grown-ups could relive the joys of playing with Tonka toys, but in my Tonka-land, everything would be full-scale.

Since I didn’t have any money, I wrote a letter to the CEO of Hasbro/Tonka. I explained my two part plan:

a.) Hasbro/Tonka gives me $15,000 to completely restore the truck, but not to original. It would be painted yellow. It would have the Tonka logo painted across the back. And once done, I would co-own it with Tonka, a lot like a couple’s dog, after they break up: I’d have it for a few months; the rest of the time, they could take it to malls to whip all the kids into a frenzy, insisting their parents buy them a Tonka, like the real one.

b.) Other such equipment (track hoes, graders, bulldozer) could be branded ‘Tonka’. These could live near a Hotel: The Tonka-land Hotel where executive retreats would be held. But instead of other boring, corporate-bonding activities, convention-goers could play in the life-size Tonka sandbox.

I received a letter in return from the CEO. It said something like this:

Dear Mr. Willis,

Thank you for your enthusiasm for Tonka products. I read your letter at meeting of our Board of Directors. While it was met with approval, unfortunately we have already budgeted for this fiscal year.

Enjoy the enclosed gifts.

CEO
Hasbro/Tonka

The gifts included, among other things, three bumper stickers that read “My Other Car is a Tonka” and several miniature Tonka toys (the ones mentioned in the proposal: track hoe, etc.)

Later, I would sell Emma. And I would look back on the experience as the most entertaining rejection I have ever endured.