I know this is a bit macabre, but I just had to share these photos I found over Thanksgiving.
I was eight and I specifically remember wearing some kind of burlap mourning robe and riding in the truck that carried my grandfather's body. At some point that day, it rained. I have no idea what the make/model of that truck was.
The Ford/Mazda on the left belonged to one of the sons of our neighbor across the street. The neighbor was the head of the country's domestic intelligence unit. He was a gregarious, loud man who had a monkey as a pet. It was chained outside all the time in their yard.
These cute little truckettes were a part of the motorcade. I don't remember seeing them that day.