Cory bought his bone-stock 1957 Ford F100 back in January 2020. It had a “running” straight six, zero brakes, a bucket for a seat, and years of Wyoming grit baked into its panels. It wasn’t perfect—but it was his first build. And more than just a project, it became a lifeline.

After tragically losing his youngest brother Chris a few years earlier, Cory was looking for something—anything—to ground him. The truck became that therapy. As he puts it, “If Chris were still here, he’d be just as excited about the build as I am.” Cory poured himself into the project, dreaming of a budget build with simple upgrades. But then he found Fat Fender Garage. And everything changed.

One phone call with FFG later, and Cory had sourced a 2013 Boss 302 Coyote motor for the truck—blowing the original budget but unlocking a vision for something way more serious.

Then, tragedy struck again. Just months into the build, Cory lost his second brother, Jason, in a devastating plane crash. Jason was a retired sheriff’s lieutenant and Life Flight paramedic who had saved countless lives in his community. His passing hit hard—and put everything in perspective.

Grieving and searching for purpose, Cory doubled down on the truck. He taught himself to Cerakote parts. He rebuilt the frame, added a 4-link rear, Wilwood brakes, Ridetech coilovers, and a Moser rear-end. He turned his “ugly cool” Fridge into a full-blown, modernized resto-mod—with nearly every piece touched by hand.

Now, five years into the build, the last thing left is the interior—and Cory refuses to cut corners. He’s dreamed of an FFG interior since the moment he saw we started offering kits for Fridges. This giveaway? It’s exactly what he’s been holding out for.

Cory’s not looking for sympathy. He’s just a guy in his garage, building something beautiful out of grief. He wears a bracelet every day that says “Live Jason Strong.” When the truck’s finally done, it’s going on the mirror—right next to a dragonfly for Chris.

Because this truck isn’t just a build. It’s a tribute.

Nicknamed “Old Blue,” this truck was the first nice ride Grandpa ever owned—after years of intentionally buying beat-up farm trucks. He never wanted anything too flashy or fancy. That’s just how he was. But when he brought Old Blue home in the late ‘90s, freshly restored, even he had to admit he finally felt a little fancy… though not fancy enough to keep it off the dirt roads. He took the grandkids everywhere in that truck—especially on penny candy runs to the gas station in Parowan, Utah.

After Grandpa passed, the family gathered in his tiny hometown to say goodbye. That morning, Kenny quietly took Old Blue to the car wash, cleaned it up, and the family loaded Grandpa’s casket into the bed. They rolled through Main Street—grandkids in the back—for one final ride. It was the perfect sendoff.

A few weeks later, Grandma listed the truck for sale. Kenny didn’t have the money at the time, but a couple years later, she offered it to him for a fraction of the price. No hesitation—he said yes.

Now, 15 years later, Kenny still owns Old Blue in Utah. It still wears Grandpa’s dings—including the passenger door dent from a rogue camping chair. The interior is sun-faded, the bedliner’s worn, but it’s clean and full of heart. A plaque on the glovebox reads “Can’t be too fancy,” and the license plate says it all: NT2FNCY.

Kenny wants to make Old Blue a reliable driver again—something he and his son can use year-round. But it needs modern upgrades to handle Utah’s heat and hills: power steering, A/C, and a refreshed interior. Enough comfort for daily life, without ever losing that family feel.

This truck is more than metal. It’s weddings, reunions, penny candy, and memories that hit you the second you sit in the seat. Whenever relatives visit, they climb in, cry, and remember Grandpa. That’s the power of Old Blue.

Tim’s 1979 Ford F150 has been in his life since childhood—long before it was his. Back in April of 1979, his aunt spotted the truck on a Tucson dealership lot, flipped a U-turn, and bought it on the spot. A service manager who had his eye on it told her, “Hey, I was going to buy that truck!” She fired back, “Tough, it’s mine now.” He asked her on a date to make up for it. They were married soon after and had one child – a son.

The truck, affectionately named 'RUFNEK' by Tim’s late grandma (who joked that his aunt’s “RN” license plate couldn’t possibly stand for “Registered Nurse”), became a fixture in the family. Tim rode shotgun as a kid, bouncing around the back roads of South Mountain, collecting head trauma and core memories with his wild, wonderful aunt.

Tim was able to purchase 'RUFNEK' from her while attending high school in South Phoenix. Even more core memories followed, including dating his high school sweetheart and future wife of 30 years and counting (pictured above as teenagers). When Tim started a family of his own, he reluctantly sold it to his aunt's son - taking comfort that it was in good hands and still in the family. His cousin loved and customized the truck and dated his own future wife while driving it. When asked about the chances of selling it back: “Never! I’m taking it with me when I die!", he joked.

In 2019, heartbreak hit. Tim’s cousin—an officer with the sheriff’s department—lost his life while in the line of duty, leaving behind a wife and two sons. The loss devastated the family. When his widow started selling vehicles, Tim stepped in and bought RUFNEK back. Not to flip it. Not to show it. But to preserve thesoul of a truck – a family member, really - that's meant so much to him and the people he loves.

Now, Tim’s bringing RUFNEK back to life in a modest Chandler garage—cramped, dusty, and full of purpose. He’s done the frame, dropped in a Coyote, and is almost there. What’s left? The finishing touches. A modern interior that respects where so many memories were made. A garage makeover to honor his wife’s patience. A legacy to share with his future grandkids, and a cherished family heirloom for generations to enjoy.

This truck isn’t a project.

It's a love story.

AJ bought his black '68 Ford F100 as an outlet. A chance to decompress from the weight of his job as a police officer and Marine Corps veteran. What started as a simple project soon became a full-blown obsession—and an emotional lifeline.

AJ is no stranger to hardship. He lost his first wife to cancer at just 34, raising their three children alone while juggling multiple jobs, medical debt, and eventually putting himself through the police academy. Now, his older kids are thriving—two in the Navy, one teaching preschool—and life, in its wild way, surprised him again. At 50, AJ and his second wife, Victoria, welcomed their daughter, Vera. Around the same time, AJ was diagnosed with congestive heart failure.

And yet—he keeps going. Working nights. Building when he can. Showing up for strangers in car crashes and courtroom trials. He’s received awards for valor, community service, and life-saving acts… but he doesn’t talk about any of that. He’s too busy doing the next right thing.

The truck doesn’t run. Yet. It’s been a slow build, scavenged one part at a time, parked in the driveway like some dusty metal mistress. To his wife, it’s a constant reminder of half-finished projects and budget blowouts. To AJ, it’s therapy on four wheels. And to his five-year-old daughter, Vera? It’s Daddy’s truck. The one she hopes he’ll finish soon so they can take rides together.

Victoria calls this the marriage counseling sweepstakes. She says if he can’t turn the truck on, at least let him turn it into something beautiful. Their garage is chaotic, cluttered, and unfinished—just like the truck—but it holds the blueprint of a man who never quits.

This makeover isn’t just about restoring a vehicle. It’s about giving a great man the space, tools, and momentum to finally finish something for himself—for once. And to pass it on to the little girl who calls shotgun.

Jason Marlowe has been chasing his dream truck for decades. He had a 1953 F100 once, but life forced him to sell it. Four years ago, he found his dream: a 1956 Ford F100. But owning it hasn’t been easy.

The truck lives 1,200 miles away in Las Vegas—while Jason lives in Washington. A few weekends a year, he flies down, throws on his work boots, and grinds through three-day wrench marathons with a close friend. Then he flies home to reality: long work weeks, five kids, seven grandkids, and a garage full of family cars and toys—not much room for a project truck.

Despite the distance, Jason’s made real progress. He’s done frame work, fabrication, and even swapped in a Coyote. But there’s still a long road ahead. Interior parts, steering, seating—it all costs time and money, and Jason always puts his family first. The truck sits in line behind birthdays, weddings, school events, and bills.

Karen, Jason’s wife, wrote us too. She wanted to make sure we knew what kind of man we were dealing with: the guy who works long hours, then comes home to cook, clean, and care for her when her health keeps her down. The guy who volunteers at church every Sunday. Who’s never once made life about himself.

They stopped by Fat Fender Garage once while in town for their son’s fire academy graduation. Jason got a tour. It made his whole year.

He’s poured his life into caring for others. This truck? It’s the one thing that’s just for him. But even then, he’s considered selling it—if it would help his family.

Karen always tells him no. “We’ll finish it together.”

This giveaway could make that dream a reality: to cruise the 1956 F100 with his grandkids in the bed, his daughter in the passenger seat on her wedding day, and his wife beside him—watching the sunset with a man who finally did something just for himself.