In the 1950s when I was a 12 year old kid, I used to go to the dump with my dad in his 1936 Chevy pickup truck. As soon as we left the highway, he let me drive the old truck around the dump. That is right; no high school driver’s training for me.
We had the entire truck-bed loaded with trash, garbage and junk. By the way, we called this magic place the dump, not some fancy name like Recycling Center, Recovery Site or Landfill. If you had something you wanted to get rid of, you hauled it to the smelly dump, fought through the army of flies and pushed it out of the truck, with no questions asked. There were no rules to complicate life. [Read more...]