CarPort

When I was 24 I bought my first house. It was old and needed much work, so the first tool I bought was a truck. It was my first pickup, a 1953 Chevrolet Series 3100 half-ton, a type once ubiquitous and in 1968 still fairly common. Chevy called the style “Advance Design.”

It was introduced in 1947, succeeding a model built since 1941. Advance Design trucks came in all sorts and sizes: pickups, panel trucks, dump trucks, rack body trucks, canopy express, the SUV granddaddy, Carryall Suburban, even cab-over-engine trucks. Some had special bodies for delivery work. If you’ve ever been inside one you’ll remember it – a very tasteful interior, quite deluxe for pickups in that era, though very, very few were equipped with radios back in the day.

An Advance Design was not only my first truck. It was the first truck I ever drove – on the road. I was all of 14, and though I’d been driving in fields and in the back woods for years, I’d never driven on the road – my father wouldn’t let me. But when a neighboring farmer asked me to help him drive the cows to a distant pasture, and gave the choice of walking with the cows or driving ahead to open the pasture gate, I took the truck in a heartbeat. Ah, the lure of the open road and the thrill of doing something illegal. I loved every minute. The one thing that surprised me was that once up to speed the truck, a 3/4-ton long bed 3600 like this one, wandered all over the road. It probably needed tie rod ends. I’ll always be nostaglic about Advance Design Chevys.

The last season of the pure Advance Design was 1953. By that time it had acquired push-button door handles. For 1954, there was a bolder grille and a one-piece windshield. Then in mid-1955 there was an all-new Chevy truck and the Advance Design was history. You don’t see them much anymore, even at shows. Although they turn up once in a while, they seem less popular with collectors than F-series Fords. Perhaps they were all just worked to death.

I kept mine for three years, then sold it to my next door neighbor when I bought a ’57 Chevy pickup from my brother-in-law. Although the truck is gone, we still have the house. For some reason, though, I don’t seem to have photographed my Advance Design, so I had to borrow a picture of one. The CarPort expresses its appreciation to Albion Baucom, whose uncle has a ’53 3100 almost identical to mine, except for the stainless grille – mine was painted. Check out Albion’s pickup page. He’s got a ’52 Advance Design himself.

The folks in Allentown, Pennsylvania, have been working for a long time to start an automotive museum. Their efforts are finally bearing fruit. Dennis David and I visited last year, and while they had a venerable old building as a centerpiece, the rest was very much a work in progress. What a difference a year makes!

Dennis went back on his way to Macungie this August. The building is finished and America on Wheels, as the museum is named, is welcoming visitors – big time. Their architects have done a marvelous job, placing museum displays against the city’s industrial skyline as backdrop. The key word is “wheels.” American on Wheels is not a car museum. It encompasses also trucks, bicycles, motorcycles, sports cars and race cars. The displays are artfully designed, with mannequins that tell the story but which are not so detailed that they become the story themselves. Automobiles are shown in context, but not overdone, as is sometimes the case.

Allentown was home to Mack Trucks, so there are plenty of Macks on display: fire, semi, dump and a Maxidyne diesel – even a Bulldog monument. No museum can survive without muscle cars, and AoW scores. A big feature is the Car of the Future exhibit, which of course explores alternative power, epitomized by GM’s EV-1, a Sebring-Vanguard Citicar (the best-selling postwar electric, by the way), a “first generation” Detroit Electric and a Stanley Steamer.

Small museums do a good job of telling their local stories, so in addition to Mack we learn about Pennslyvania’s first car, the circa 1891 Nadig (there’s some controversy about the date). Yes, there’s lots to like about America on Wheels, including a spic and span museum shop. They’re open daily except Mondays. Go to Allentown and check them out.

Everyone knows that Nash pioneered Unitized construction, in-car beds and “Weather Eye conditioned air” heating and ventilation. Note that it was not called “air conditioning,” since there was no compressor to cool the air, but the system was thermostatically controlled and filtered. (How many owners, do you think, changed their filters even once a year?) Some, however, assume all these advances arrived with the new-for-1949 “bathtub” models. Nash Motors deserves more credit than that.

While many 1930s Nash models were typical of the decade (did Babe Ruth own one, or is this merely a photo op?) , the marque had begun the Depression with a line of prestige cars, powered by twin-ignition ohv straight eights. Fresh, new styling for 1939 was reprised in 1940 with a slightly different grille and sealed beam headlights, but Weather Eye was already established in the catalog. Flagship of the 1940 line was the Sakhnoffsky-designed Ambassador Special Cabriolet, of which eleven were built.

For 1941 came Unitized construction on the Ambassador 600 model (its cruising range – 30 mpg on a 20-gallon tank). The 1941 models, in addition to an art moderne horn ring, offered berthing for two, albeit partly in the trunk. The ’42s showed hints of styling cues to come post-war. We tend to forget, though, that the “regular” Ambassador Sixes and Eights still had chassis frames. After the war, Cannonball Baker paced Indy with one in 1947 and the final body-on-frame Nash appeared as the 1948 Ambassador.

And lest you think that Nash was slow coming to streamlining, consider the 1935 models, less arresting than Chrysler’s Airflow, more in the mode of the 1934-35 Studebakers, albeit with subtler ornamentation. Yes, Nash was farther ahead, in the 1930s and ’40s, than most people acknowledge.

Last month, Randy Poole set out from his Virginia home, headed for Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. With his wife Holly, daughter Amber and father-in-law Joel, his destination was the Annual Convention of the National DeSoto Club, of which he is a long-time member. Not surprisingly, they saw lots of DeSotos, Randy’s favorite being a nifty ’34 Airflow coupe, with its art deco ornamentation. He also gazed in wonderment at the phalanx of fins.

One afternoon, while driving in the area, Holly spotted an interesting old car beside the road. It turned out to be a 1947 DeSoto Custom Suburban, the signature edition of Chrysler Corporation’s long-wheelbase sedans and limos. Offered only as a DeSoto, the Suburban had a wood paneled interior that extended through to the trunk, and a roof rack on top. Suburbans were built from 1946 to 1952. The owners were not home, so it took a few cell phone calls to jump-start negotiations, but by the following Tuesday a deal had been struck and the next weekend Randy and Joel went back to retrieve the car.

Dennis David went to Gettysburg, too. He kept his camera clicking away, snapping DeSotos from start to finish, from ambulance to pace cars. While Randy was taken with the Airflow, Dennis captured an Airstream, the alternative, and better-selling, DeSoto. Everybody likes the Miller-inspired 1932 and ’33 DeSotos, and I waxed nostalgic about the 1940 S-7, a dead ringer for my only DeSoto ever. There were plenty of DeSoto parts for sale, and lots of beauty to be seen, including the iconic goddess that adorned the 1932 models. Desirable accessories included the hard-to-find DeSotomatic steering wheel clock. By afternoon, the row of S-11s was tired and yawning for a nap.

Dennis and his family took the battlefield tour and visited Eisenhower Farm, home of the late 34th President. There were no cars on display, but in the barn was Ike’s Massey Ferguson, which ran on Citgo long before Hugo Chavez became a big shot.

Randy, meanwhile, discovered the gathering of the National Chrysler Products Club, right next to the NDC clan. On hand were Chryslers ancient and modern, including a pair of spiffy station wagons. Plymouth was in a Fury, and flagship of the event was a very nice 1955 Crown Imperial.

When Randy got his Suburban home, he was very pleased with his new treasure. While the seats are a bit sorry, the wood is good, on doors, bulkhead and floor, and the woodgrain dashboard is quite presentable. The roof rack was included, inside the car, and it’s equipped with spotlight, grab handles and clever little heater ducts. The Suburban seats eight, though the rearmost seats are a bit spartan. Randy and Joel got it running last weekend. Now they just need to do the brakes, so that it will stop as well as go.

When I was an infant, my parents had a 1935 Ford sedan. Since my mother usually drove it, as soon as I began to talk I called it “Mommycar.” My father, on the other hand, drove his Model A Ford roadster, which, because it had been converted with a pickup box in place of the rumble seat, was known as “The Little Truck.” As I remember, the ’35 was a Standard model, with painted radiator shell and a single horn. We don’t have any photos that show the whole car, but it was certainly the “flatback” sedan with external spare, as opposed to a Touring Sedan with built-in trunk. Ford literature showed space for three suitcases behind the rear seat, but even if the cases could truly fit the space was inconvenient and hard to reach. However, we were able to carry two nanny goats and a kid by taking out the rear seat.

Ford’s 1935 cars were designated Model 48, and all were V8-powered. In addition to the two “Fordor” sedans there was a “Tudor” as well as a coupe, a roadster, cabriolet, convertible sedan and phaeton. Designed by Phil Wright at Briggs Manufacturing Company, the Model 48 outsold archrival Chevrolet in the United States, and also became the first Ford V8 assembled in Britain. The British model debuted in February 1935 at Greyfriars Hall in Cardiff, Wales. In France, Fords were manufactured by Matford SA, a joint venture with Emile Mathis.

Our ’35 Ford replaced a Model B Tudor sedan, and served us well for nearly ten years. By the summer of 1948, we were living on a small farm in Connecticut. My father needed a more practical farm vehicle and the Ford was starting to get feeble. That autumn we sold it for $275 and purchased a new Willys CJ-2A Jeep. The Jeep was a compromise vehicle, not quite truck or tractor, and less than a family car. Within a year we had augmented it with a new Mercury, but that’s another story. Every time I see a gray 1935 Ford sedan, I get nostalgic for Mommycar. Perhaps I should buy one.

You know them by their locations: Stowe, Rhinebeck, Iola. A bit smaller and less prestigious than Hershey, Carlisle or Chickasha, these venerable car shows and swap meets have been operating for nearly half a century and draw a faithful crowd. One of the stalwarts is Das Awkscht Fescht, Pennsylvania Dutch dialect for “The August Festival.” All the car folks, though, call it “Macungie.”

Macungie is a borough in Lehigh County, Pennsylvania, near Allentown, and the show has been an icon in Macungie Memorial Park for ages. This year’s Macungie was the 44th, and the CarPort’s honor scout Dennis David went down to check it out. A three day event on the first weekend of August, Macungie starts with a Friday night cruise, then blossoms with a huge car show on Saturday. Sunday is devoted to car clubs, with more than 30 organizations corraling cars of their make and type. With more than 1,200 cars each day, there’s bound to be both variety and sameness. Early cars included EMF and Packard, and Packards with pelicans and doughnut chasers. Makes were as varied as Oakland and Renault, and later collectibles included the elusive Lincoln Versailles. Model Ts stretched as far as the eye could see. Not to be outdone, Model As were there in force, although the definition of Model A appears to be somewhat flexible. There’s a section for trucks, which drew some rarities like this Corvair rampside pickup, and a military detachment as well. Alternative power was not neglected, as a well-guarded Stanley steamed into town.

The Falcon Club had assembled a flock, and the Met set likewise was out in numbers. The Kaiser crowd had a nice 1950 Traveler with high-performance engine. Featured make was DeSoto, hosted by the local chapter of the national club. Prize specimen was a rare 1950 Custom station wagon, replete with plenty of period accoutrements.

The goodly sized swap meet has plenty of parts, bikes, automobilia and artwork. There are toys, tractors, even tractor toys for bigger boys. You can even buy a garage – with a street rod if you need it. And of course there are cars for sale, a feature-marque DeSoto convertible, a ’37 Terraplane, a ’39 Buick for under ten grand, and perhaps the sweetheart of the meet, the $995 Crosley Hotshot. Dan, did you buy it?

Although showers dampened spirits for a while on Saturday, things soon brightened and heated up, so much so that there was a conflagration in the food court. Fortunately, the Fire Department was not far away.

Although most of my tractor time has been spent at the helm of ancient Farmalls, I’ve long had a hankering for one of the old gray friends, the N-series Fords. Built from 1939 to 1952, the little tractors were not powerful, but they were inexpensive and, most significantly, pioneered the three-point hydraulic implement hitch in the United States.

The latter was the brainchild of Irish inventor Harry Ferguson, who licensed the concept to Henry Ford with a handshake agreement. Ford’s Fordson tractor had been out of production in the US for a decade when the new machine was introduced early in 1939. Designated “9N” (9 for 1939), it was powered by a 120 cid 28 hp L-head four with full electric system and coil ignition (though tucked away inaccessibly per Henry Ford’s fetish), three-speed transmission and the Ferguson System hydraulics. For this reason they were frequently called “Ford-Fergusons.” Nearly 100,000 were built through 1942.

A number of running changes were made to 9Ns over the years, the final few of which resulted in a new model designation 2N in 1942. In addition to a three-spoke steering wheel and pressurized cooling system, the 2N was available with steel wheels and magneto ignition for wartime austerity.

Finally, for 1948 a much improved 8N bowed, with higher compression engine, four-speed transmission and refinements to the hitch hydraulics. Most obvious was the contrasting red engine and drive train, giving the 8N the nickname “redbelly.” Ford reneged on the agreement to pay royalties to Ferguson and took his name off the tractors, which resulted in a long legal skirmish. Built through 1952, the 8N was the most popular, with more than 500,000 built. Late in the run, a side-mounted distributor replaced the buried unit and a “Proof Meter,” a recording tachometer with calibration for the various gear ratios, was added.

Steve McManus has an early 8N that he bought from his brother-in-law. Equipped with the Dearborn loader and a large bush hog mower, he uses it on his Christmas tree farm and to lift and move engines. For general farm work, the Fords are a bit underpowered, and, since they lack power steering, are hard to steer, especially with a full bucket. The loader is powered by a front-mounted hydraulic pump, and its frame inhibits access to the engine and especially the distributor. Despite its drawbacks, Steve says it’s handsome and well built, and “all parts are readily available and affordable, something which cannot be said about my other obsolete tractors.”

To celebrate the company’s golden anniversary, Ford introduced the NAA “Golden Jubilee Model” in 1953. Power came from a 134 cid ohv four, making 31 hp, and a completely different hydraulic system was used to avoid infringement on Ferguson patents. In 1955, with the introduction of a larger model 800, the NAA was renamed “600.” Steve Mierz sent along some photos of his brother-in-law’s 640 series Ford, outfitted with snowplow and grader blades. It also has wheel weights and a canvas foul weather cab.

Harry Ferguson won his lawsuit against Ford, but by the time of the 1952 judgment he had long since embarked on building his own tractors, but that’s a story for another time. If you’d like to know more about these old gray friends, seek out Ford Tractors by Robert N. Pripps. It will tell you everything you want to know, except, possibly, how to read the Proof Meter.

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.

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.

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.