Hudsons Head for Hudson

Hudson, Massachusetts, that is. For the second time in sixteen years, the Hudson Essex Terraplane Club converged on New England for a national meet, although convention headquarters were in the neighboring town of Marlborough. Hosted by HET's New England Chapter, all of last week was a Hudsonfest, with tours and seminars, memorabilia displays and meetings of the various Special Interest Groups for 55-56-57 Hudsons, the "Jet Set" and modified cars. Also on the meet agenda was the annual meeting of the very active HET Historical Society and the general meeting of the HET Club itself.

Much of the week, though, was devoted to the cars themselves. A good cross section of Hudson-badged vehicles attended. The oldest I saw was meet co-chair Carl Weber's 1915 6-54, with the distinction of the largest engine of any Hudson, 421 cubic inches, the newest an American Motors-built 1957 Hornet. In between were most variations on Hudson and both its companion makes, Essex and Terraplane. There was one example of the early four-cylinder Essex, and several of the later six cylinder models. In 1929, Essex was the third-best-selling car in America, after Ford and Chevrolet. In 1932, Hudson introduced the low-priced Terraplane, which replaced Essex the next year. The Terraplane was in turn succeeded by the entry-level Hudson 112 in 1939. From the 1930s into postwar times, Hudson also built pickups, a few of which were on show. Some of the favorite Hudsons of all time were the "Step-down" models, built from 1948-49 to 1954. Hudson's dual-carb Twin H-Power outperformed many V8s of the day.

Feature of the meet was the Hudson 8, an engine built from 1930 to 1952. Carl Weber's 1930 Super 8 roadster was a very early example of the genre, and a nice 1937 showed off its coveted translucent red ornament. Of particular interest to me were the 1927 Essex boat-tail speedster, a rare model built in '27 and '29 only, and Jerre Hoffman's 1916 Six-40, forerunner to the famous Super Six. My favorite, though, was a 1920 Model O 4-passenger coupe, a rare body style, that looked like it had just come out of a time warp. Last registered in 1932, it has the early Super Six engine and all period correct accessories. At the other end of the spectrum was a Hudson Metropolitan, a frequently-overlooked variant from the end days of the marque.

The HET Club is friendly to Hudsons that have been modified or rodded. Some of these are a bit radical, others subtly customized with odd manifestations of Twin H-Power. A nicely-done example was this "Twin H" pickup with genuine carburetion on a Step-down era 262 cubic inch engine.

A healthy flea market offered parts for all eras of the marque, as well as many restorable and driveable cars.

The Hudson Club is non-judgmental. There is no judging of cars at meets, members being encouranged to drive and enjoy their cars whatever their cosmetic state. As a result, club gatherings attract cars that are works in progress, or some, like this 1935 sedan, that haven't progressed in more than forty years. Hudsonites, as the faithful call themselves, like to drive their cars. Supporting that claim was my count of about 100 Hudsons shown on Friday, but fewer than 25 trailers in the lot.

Hupp, Two, Three, Four

Five, six, seven, eight. Wayne Graefen, the CarPort's Texas Ranger, has found himself a new Hupmobile, an eight-cylinder 1938 model. Discovered in San Angelo, Texas, the car was solid, straight, presentable, and running, hindered only by lack of brakes. The Hupp caps needed only a bit of polish to shine.

The Hupmobile, we all remember, was the brainchild of Robert Craig Hupp, the early models characterized by high, bug-like headlamps and a tall radiator neck. This 1917 tourer was owned by Vitagraph star Antonio Moreno (here with starlet Edith Storey). Hupmobiles of the 1920s were sturdy, stylish cars, enlivened by one of the first straight eights in 1925. Like many, they embraced disk wheels as well as the common wood-spoke artillery type. Distinguished owners included Chicago socialite Lucy Blair Linn.

Designer Raymond Loewy's first automotive gig was at Hupmobile, and his influence was apparent by the early 1930s. The 1934 Aerodynamic models were so streamlined that one could get a speeding ticket while standing still. Sales dwindled, though, down to just 74 in calendar 1936. A new model for 1938 had better luck, all of 1,890 cars, but just 197 were Model H eights like Wayne's, sold only as four-door sedans. Hupp's last gasp came with the Skylark in 1939-40, an unsuccessful attempt to partner with Graham in use of Cord 810 dies.

Wayne and friends journeyed to San Angelo last Saturday to retrieve his new treasure. With his friend Geoff at the wheel the car was hauled aboard a trailer, then tied down for the trip home to Kerrville. The 1938 Hupps are interesting for their faired headlamps and high-mounted taillights. Of note was an "alligator" hood, convenient hand brake and comfortable footroom. Wayne says that when cleaned up, if he squints a little - or a lot - the car looks almost like a fresh restoration. It does look grand, but a bit of work will be needed before the trunk is ready for luggage, the dashboard for driving and the seats for passengers in period dress.

The Princess Pirouettes

On March 6, 1956, Renault launched La Dauphine, The Princess, in Paris. It was to make Regie Nationale des Usines Renault a world-class manufacturer and give the company a major toehold in the United States.

Before World War II, Société Renault Frères had been a full-line manufacturer, making cars up to Chrysler-class with eight cylinder engines. When the country emerged from German occupation the new government nationalized the company and assigned it a small-car segment under a new industrial program. The bread-and-butter Renault was the 4CV, a four-door with 760 cc water-cooled engine at the rear. By 1949 it was available on the American market through John L. Green in New York. Not the best-selling import (that was the English Ford), it nevertheless gained a following.

In 1957, the Dauphine arrived in the new world, through a direct factory branch in New York City. It was a huge success, more than 22,000 sold, second only to competing upstart Volkswagen. With modern styling and four doors (but only three speeds) there was speculation that it would overtake the German beetle. La Dauphine was touted as smart, practical, economical, maneuverable, hospitable, safe and comfortable. The engine had been enlarged to 845 cc and 30 hp, and in 1960 a hotter version, breathed over by Renault's tuning partner Gordini, was introduced. It had 25 percent more power and a 4-speed box. A sporty Floride model (Caravelle in the US) joined it. The last front-engine-rear-drive Renault, the Fregate, was discontinued after 1959. That was Renault's peak year in America, with nearly 100,000 sold, within 30,000 units of VW. At the end of the model run, Henney Motor Company, the ambulance people, teamed up with Eureka, the vacuum cleaner manufacturer, to electrify some Dauphines, sold as Henney Kilowatts.

And then the slide began. A new R8 model in 1969 and its successor R10 were stubby and less attractive, though exceedingly comfortable. Sales slid below 23,000, and a shift to front-engine-front-drive for U.S. models in 1969 only briefly buoyed its popularity. In 1975, just 5,780 found American homes. Agressive marketing for the new Renault 5, sold as "Le Car" in the US, resulted in another resurgence, more than 25,000 by 1980. Addition of the new 18 model in 1981 helped, joined by a sports coupe derivative, the Fuego, in '82.

But the big news in '82 was Renault's purchase of a majority holding in struggling American Motors Corporation. Dubbed by some "Franco-American Motors," the alliance resulted in just that, the Renault Alliance, clone of the Renault 9, built in Wisconsin and sold by all AMC dealers. The 18 remained alongside it until the Chrysler buyout of AMC in 1987, which within a few years removed all Renaults and most AMCs from the American market.

Despite that rich heyday, Renaults of any kind are few and far between in today's collector community. While there are numerous gatherings devoted entirely to VW Beetles, you'll have to look long and hard to see any kind of Dauphine at an American car show.

Clown & Country

About three years ago at Hershey I came across a sight that stopped me in my tracks. What to my wondering eyes appeared was the strangest 1942 Dodge I'd ever seen. A placard on the vehicle suggested it was a prototype for a Dodge-based Town & Country, and proffered a hefty asking price.

We all know the Town & Country variations. They've been explained here before but it's fun to do it again. In 1941, Chrysler introduced a handsome barrel-back woodie, well received and carried over into 1942. After the war, the wagon was gone but succeeded by a handsome six-cylinder sedan and eight-pot convertible. There were plans for others, a two-door Brougham, one built, a hardtop (made in quantity of seven) and a little three-passenger roadster that was never built. In recent years, at least one was created from a Windsor business coupe. The T&C soldiered on until 1950, by which time it came only in hardtop form with very little wood showing. Soon the name was retired to Chrysler's all-steel station wagon.

But a Dodge T&C? Dodge, with DeSoto, was the least of the woodies. Unlike Plymouth, which had a wagon in 1946-7-8, except for truck-based wagons Dodge had a dearth of wood between the 1938 Westchester Suburban and the 1949 Coronet station wagon.

So really I think this creation was somebody's idea of what a Dodge Clown & Country might look like. I've always considered the 1942 Dodges to be pretty cars, nicely proportioned and tastefully trimmed, especially in contrast to their postwar brethren. This car, however, is pretty crude, its lines dictated by the sheet metal that was grafted on. I don't recognize the trunk lid, except for the 1946-48 Chrysler stop lamp. The roof looks quite familiar, one of the many twin-window 1937-39 sedans, but I can't place it. Moreover, it was in pretty terrible shape, with sheet metal grafted over obvious holes in the body and hints of ominous trouble within. By Saturday it was on a trailer, headed back whence it came.

Anybody got any other ideas, or answers to this puzzle? Tell us what you think.

Barnette Dance

Michael Della Gala liked the item we did back in June 2006 about ambulance conversions by Guy Barnette and Co. of Memphis, Tennessee. In his home town of Utica, New York, the Masonic Home Hospital ordered a Chevrolet ambulance in 1951. A Chevy sedan delivery was duly shipped from Detroit to Memphis, where Barnette proceeded to stretch it some three and a half feet. The resulting ambulance served the hospital for 19 years, before being relegated to maintenance duty.

Michael's friend Ron Gigliotti tried to buy it in 1966, to no avail. Ron wouldn't be dissuaded, though. Every year he'd go back and ask again. Finally, in 1975, he got "yes" for an answer. Michael's wife did her nurse's training in Utica, part of it at Masonic Home Hospital when the Chevy ambulance was still in service. When Michael mused about buying it she didn't discourage him. It seemed right that the ambulance should come home with them. Two gallons of gas, new spark plugs and a new battery got it running. A trailer transported it to their home in California.

Michael drove it as it was for a few years, then entrusted it to Athans Auto Body in Covina for restoration. They cut out all the rust and welded in new metal. The windows were difficult to remove intact, but many panes survived. It's now beautifully restored, from grille to back door, even down to the tires and wheels. Inside there's a new wood floor with a storage drawer on one side, and a folding attendant's seat on the other. It looks good from any angle. It's one of three Chevys to which Barnette gave the long stretch. Compare it to this Pontiac that our Professional Correspondent Gregg D. Merksamer snapped at Hershey a few years ago.

Thanks to Michael for providing his story and the pix to illustrate it.