Read time: 9 min.

Tractor pulls are about as American as things get. Antique farm vehicles battle to drag a weighted sled down a track, and victory goes to the machine that pulls it the farthest! The competitions are especially popular across the Midwest and South, but I’ve never actually attended one. Still, I recently found myself participating in a smaller version when I used an ATV to drag an eighty-year-old tractor out of what I’d long assumed would be its final resting place.

I remember well the day my stepdad bought his 1943 Allis-Chalmers Model C. I was headed across town when I turned onto West Jackson Street and ran into an unexpected traffic jam. A long line of cars stretched ahead of me, all trapped behind some bumpkin puttering along on a bright orange tractor. The hayseed wore a floppy summer bucket hat as his slow-moving vehicle triangle bounced along behind the seat. It was the sort of sight you’d expect on a rural county road, not one of Delaware County’s main suburban thoroughfares.

I crawled along behind him for nearly a mile as the rest of the traffic found opportunities to pass. Eventually, I got my chance to pull ahead, only to discover the shocking truth: the driver was Jerry! Most people would have hauled an old tractor home on a trailer, but not my stepdad: the tractor sat just a mile from my parents’ house, so he simply climbed aboard and drove the thing home. It was practical, efficient, frugal, and sort of a middle finger to modern society at large. In other words, this was one of the most Jerry things I’ve ever witnessed.

The moment I realized the tractor belonged to my family was when it transformed from an annoying roadblock into a fascinating project. If you’re not familiar with it, the Allis-Chalmers Model C was considered a “small” row-crop tractor. That said, it’s still nine feet long and six feet tall, with a weight of about 2,500 pounds. Between 1940 and 1949, Allis-Chalmers sold roughly 84,000 of them! With twenty-one horsepower and a price tag of $1,200 new -roughly $17,000 today- the Model C became a common sight on small American farms.

Jerry’s came with a wide mower deck and a six-foot grading blade, neither original to the tractor. He put both to use over the years, but hoped to give the Allis-Chalmers a full restoration and take it to shows. Unfortunately, I’m sad to say that day never arrived: the Model C wound up parked behind the shed, and it sat there for years as other projects consumed him. Jerry died in April, and the tractor remained where he’d left it. With each passing day, it looked more and more like it might never move again.

I remained fascinated by the old Model C, but Mom understandably wanted it gone. Even if I could have coaxed it back to life, I had nowhere to store it and no money to sink into a restoration. With that the case, we decided to sell it for parts or as a project. I cleared away the jungle of weeds and wood that had nearly swallowed it and listed the brute for sale. The next morning, my phone blew up: fifteen people had already inquired about the tractor, and a sixteenth message arrived just as I picked up my phone! That last guy said he’d pay my asking price and could be there in forty-five minutes. Perfect! 

I arrived just before the buyer pulled in with a truck, trailer, and ATV. After a quick look at the tractor, we discovered our first problem: the blade it was dragging. Since the Model C wouldn’t start, we couldn’t use its power takeoff to raise it. It immediately became clear that if the tractor was leaving, the blade had to come off. What followed was twenty minutes of wrestling rusted cotter pins, hammering out stubborn lift arms, and jumping on top of a strategically placed 4×4 for leverage. Eventually, the blade surrendered. We flipped the thing over, wrapped a chain around it, and dragged it onto the trailer with the ATV.

The second problem was where the tractor sat. Over the years, the Model C had settled into a space about the size of a small bedroom, hemmed in on three sides by two fences and a shed. To escape, it’d have to be dragged backward through a narrow gap before making a ninety-degree turn through another tight opening on its way to the trailer. I climbed aboard, disengaged the clutch, and shifted the tractor into neutral while the buyer chained it to the rear of his ATV. He hit the throttle once, then again. Nothing. The old Allis-Chalmers didn’t move an inch! After years of sinking into the ground behind the shed, it seemed the Model C had developed one last objection to leaving.

Still, we weren’t ready to admit defeat. After some time staring at the immobile behemoth, we decided the ATV might simply need more traction. The buyer looked to me and back, and a plan began to take shape. I outweighed him, and we decided that my additional ballast might help the ATV bite into the ground and drag the Model C free. I was happy to volunteer, but there was just one small problem: I’d never driven a four-wheeler in my life.

It might come as a surprise given my penchant for old schoolhouses and research, but I’m not some cloistered history dork. I’ve spent plenty of time shooting clays, tying Texas rigs, riding minibikes off-road, piloting boats, and even driving a snowmobile. For whatever reason, though, I’d never had the opportunity to operate a four-wheeler. I brought up my inexperience, but the buyer just grinned and replied, “You’ll learn today!” A moment later, I found myself perched on top of the ATV shifting it into low gear, then carefully dragging the old Model C out of its hiding place. This was my first tractor pull, at least in a literal sense. 

I’d never attended a legitimate tractor pull myself, but my Dad loved telling a story about his own experience with one as a kid. As a struggling tractor chugged down the track, Grandpa Hayes became increasingly invested. He leaned forward in the bleachers and began shouting, “Go… Go… Go… GO!” with a lit cigarette in hand. Unfortunately, his enthusiasm proved hazardous: in the heat of the moment as he rooted the machine forward, he accidentally burned the neck of a kid sitting in front of him! A stern lecture from the boy’s mother ensued, but it wasn’t Grandpa’s last earnest mishap of the day. At least as I was told, Grandpa’s enthusiasm, combined with another cigarette, managed to pop the kid’s balloon during another tractor’s attempt!

All of that ran through my head as I slowly dragged the Model C out of its wooden prison into the open. I won’t win any ATV competitions soon and the process took longer than anyone would have liked, but I eventually got the tractor lined up with the trailer. “Now you’ll have to back it on,” the buyer said. “I’d rather you do this,” I countered nervously. We swapped places, and I climbed onto the Model C to steer and drop it into gear once it reached the trailer deck. It was a tight fit, but somehow everything came together. The tractor rolled onto the trailer, we chained it down, and the buyer handed over the cash. A few minutes later, he turned around at the end of the driveway and headed down the road with the old Allis-Chalmers in tow.

As the trailer disappeared down the road, I stood for a moment looking at the empty patch of ground behind the shed. What began as Jerry’s restoration project had gradually become part of the landscape, another fixture in a backyard full of memories. The tractor seemed destined to remain exactly where he left it for years- maybe even forever. Instead, one final wrestling match with hammers, chains, an ATV, and a rookie four-wheeler driver finally set it free. The corner behind the shed suddenly felt larger, quieter, and a weird without it.

The next morning, the buyer sent me a message. He’d cleaned the tractor up, installed a new battery, replaced some wiring, poured in fresh gas, and coaxed the old Allis-Chalmers back to life. He hadn’t bought it to sit in a barn or become another piece of rusting yard art. Instead, he put it straight to work mowing a field! The whole transaction, he said, had made his day. I have to admit to some jealousy since part of me would have loved to keep the Model C around. It had been part of the family landscape for so long that it was hard to imagine it anywhere else.

Still, I also knew the reality: under my ownership, it probably would have remained an interesting relic, parked behind the shed and waiting for a restoration that was never going to happen. Instead, the tractor was doing exactly what it had been built to do more than eighty years ago.

Jerry never got to finish the restoration, but someone else picked up where he left off and gave the old machine a second chance. In the end, that’s probably the best outcome anyone could have hoped for. The Model C is no longer a someday project or a forgotten dream. It’s a tractor again, and somehow that feels like a fitting conclusion to Jerry’s story with it.