Growing up, there was one constant in my life that never wavered. The sound of tools clinking, the faint smell of motor oil & gas, and the sight of my dad smiling as he worked in the auto shop he built beside our house in Lewisburg, TN.
 

The shop wasn’t much, just a single-car detached garage with a collection of tools and parts scattered all around, but to me, it was everything. It was where my love for vintage cars was born and nurtured. The centerpiece of that little shop was a stunning piece of history, a 1937 Dodge Pickup that my sister and I named “Ole Dumb”. We always would ask him “Are you working on that Old Dumb truck again?” and so, the name was born.  It wasn’t much to look at when he first brought it home though. He and I rode all the way back from Lawrenceburg, TN with nothing between us and the road because the floor pans were completely rusted out. The truck was just a rusty shell with faded paint and missing parts, but to my dad, it was a diamond in the rough. And soon, it became a new member of our family.
 

I still remember the first time he asked me to help. I couldn’t have been more than nine years old and I didn’t know a wrench from a screwdriver. But Dad explained what every tool was with excitement. This was just the beginning. All those hours in the shop weren’t just about restoring a truck, they were about us. We’d talk about everything from his childhood to my dreams of playing baseball in the bigs. He'd bring up stories behind all the vintage cars he use to own and the road trips he used to take. His face would light up and he would laugh as if he were reliving those moments all over again.  By the time he finished "Ole Dumb", it wasn’t just an old truck anymore. It was a masterpiece full of memories, built with laughter, frustration, lessons, and a whole lot of love.
 

Often we would take the truck to car shows together. Dad believed in "driving" restored trucks not just admiring them and I proudly believed in riding shotgun right beside him. Pulling into those shows, Ole Dumb’s engine would hum like new, it was a feeling like no other. People would gather around, admiring the classic lines and the pristine paint finish. Dad believed in keeping everything original so pitted chrome was not uncommon with him and it gave the truck so much more character. He knew what he was doing.
 

Over the years, those car shows became something we did together. I loved hearing Dad talk shop with other enthusiasts, swapping stories about rare parts and restoration tips. But what I loved most was just being with him, sharing that passion. Over the years, he and I restored my 1967 Chevy Chevelle and we began meeting up and parking next to each other as we sat proudly in our lawn chairs next to our projects. I loved it more than anything else.
 

As I grew older, I realized how much of who I am comes from those days in the shop with Dad. My love for vintage cars isn’t just about the beauty of the machines or the thrill of seeing something old brought back to life, it’s about the connection it represents. It’s about the hours spent with him, learning not just about cars but about life. Something I hope to share one day with my son JD.
 

Now I own and operate Old Body Customs, and at the heart of our shop is "Ole Dumb", the 1937 Dodge Pickup my dad left me when he passed in 2017. It’s more than just a truck, it’s a constant reminder of where it all began. The business tagline, “Bridging the worlds of timeless tradition and contemporary innovation,” reflects our mission to honor the classic beauty of vintage vehicles like my dad did, while seamlessly integrating modern performance & technology that we’ve all come to love, appreciate and depend on.
 

I can’t help but smile knowing that my love for vintage cars will always be tied to the man who made it all possible. Knowing that he's looking down on me proudly for keeping the tradition alive. Thank you dad, I love you and miss you every day.

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Neill Jobe
Owner