Sam Inserra - Legend!
Sometimes the best yarns don't come from the mouth of the man himself, but from those who know him best. Such is the case of the story of Sam Inserra as told by his son, Dominic. I ran into Dom at the Alexandra truck Show some years back, where he was admiring a pristine Scania 111.
"You know, my dad had a 110. He had to get rid of it because his belly wouldn't fit behind the wheel."
That line expanded into a précis of Sam's life.
"Dad got off the boat from Italy in 1949 at age 16 and ended up in Adelaide. As soon as he was able, he got his truck licence and drove for 40 years or more - 18 of which were on interstate.
"I was always going on runs with him. I learnt to do my shoelaces up in Brisbane, hanging over the edge of a trailer at age four or five. The trucks didn't have sleepers – dad never had a sleeper. He used to push the passenger seat forward and I would sleep behind that.
"On one trip we wake up one morning and I'm covered in mosquito bites. He goes, "Geez, your mum is going to kill me."
I said, "It'll be OK dad."
"He goes, "Whatta we gunna do, whatta we gunna do?" He was a tough old bird, my old man, but he had a healthy respect for my mum.
"He always carried a bottle of Remy Martin brandy which would last him for the trip to Sydney where he would buy another for the trip home. That's how it was back then – a different world. He got the brandy and poured it all over me to stop the itching. It worked a treat and I didn't itch, but when we got home my mum wanted to kill both of us. I was like a drunk, reeking of brandy at five years old.
"He had single drive International 190's – one petrol and a couple of diesels, and carted for GMH out of Adelaide to Sydney. This was at the same time as the first cab over Kenworth came out with a 250 Cummins. Dad had something like a 90 hp Perkins that would spurt flames out of the side pipe. The Kenny and dad's Inter would leave Adelaide together. Dad would still be heading up to Sydney and the Kenworth would have dumped its load and be coming back. By the time he got to Sydney, the Kenworth was right up his arse again! That's how much quicker they were.
"Fifty-nine miles an hour, that's all the old truck would do - and that was downhill with a tailwind. Uphill - forget it. A Kenworth would fly past us and I would be at him, "Come on dad, come on!" He would reply, " What you gunna do? You'd better get out and push because this is all I got, son."
"He'd leave Adelaide to go to Port Augusta and beyond, out to the homesteads with two trailers behind an R Flintstone Mack, a 237 twin sticker with two trailers behind it. The back trailer would be a fridge van with whatever. The front trailer would be loaded with 44 gallon drums of petrol. I swear to God, dynamite would be in the front of the trailer and the detonators in the cab. This was in 45 or 50° with no air-conditioning. He would just drink and drive - they all did. They were crazy, crazy bastards. When you think about it you've got to be drunk to do that shit. Who would do that today?
"I asked him why he did it and he said they couldn't find anyone else, so they found a stupid, crazy wog who didn't understand English, and they told him, "You'll be right mate."
"He would get bogged in the Nullarbor and sometimes stay there for two or three weeks. He wouldn't care. Others would come along. One wog would have bread, one wog would have wine and one wog would have salami. Someone would have a gun and go shoot something. They'd get a fire going and get plastered until the road dried up and they could continue on. This was in the 60s. It was a different world.
"In 1969 he bought a little Scania 80; 240 hp single drive pulling a 42 foot double drop pan for Cubico, when they were in Bell Street. He used to run it Melbourne to Sydney. Then he bought the 110 cab over and worked it for Cubico. He'd load steel on the bottom, general on the top, throw the tarp on and off he'd go - you could walk beside it up Pretty Sally!
"I was with him one time, up at Kingaroy loading peanuts on to a 42 foot Frauhof – this was with the Scania 110. The peanuts would come in sacks off the belt. On the shoulder, walk to the front of the trailer, drop them - over and over. Three of us would load it all by hand. It'd take all day and then you'd put your gates on, tarp up, jump in and drive back to Melbourne. That's how it was.
"My dad was one of those people that, when the tyres got bald, he would get rid of the truck and buy another. He just loved trucks and the industry. When his belly got too big to fit behind the wheel of the 110 he bought a Louisville 903. Loved that truck. Put a single drive, 80 mi./h diff under it and it would fly – well for those days anyhow.
"After the Louisville he got into a Volvo 16 speed and that's what I learned to drive in. When dad drove it was smooth, you didn't feel the gear change. If I crashed a gear he would be screaming at me. "Pull over! You don't deserve to drive the f***ing truck! Get out!" I'd go across the deck plate to avoid him because I was scared he would give me a backhander.
“Years later he was with me one day, in my W model. He jumps in the truck and puts a half-full bottle of water on the cabin floor with the lid off and left it there for the trip. When we got to the destination it hadn't tipped over and he looked at me and said, "About time you learned how to drive."
"He gave it all away in '97 when he got a hip replacement, which hurt him a bit because he just loved the business. My old man did everything. He was a classic - just like most of his trucks. They don't make them like my dad anymore. To me he's a legend!"
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