Win Some, Lose Some

The yellow tag on the door indicates the auction lot number. Starting bid a mere two hundred and fifty dollars.

Forty plus years in the yard have been hard on this nineteen fifty one Hudson Hornet coupe. The glory days are a faded memory along with the glossy black finish that once graced the outer skin. After just fifty three thousand miles what could have gone so wrong to land it here?

Fall nineteen fifty, a some what successful farmer from mid Michigan took delivery of a shinny new Hornet. Being a Hudson guy since the late thirties it was justified to spend a little extra to get the Hornet instead of the cheaper Super Six. Besides, the Hornet was new this year and he was sure to have the first in the county.

The coupe was the farmer’s pride and joy. It was not an uncommon site to see him cruising up and down the main drag of town on Friday night. Not to be confused as just a cruiser he would let her breathe a little, drag racing local boys for their gas money.

In certain circles of the small town, of which he lived, the farmer was known to gamble a little. Not much, just enough to match his wife’s egg money. Always coming out on top it was no surprise that when the stakes became high one Saturday night in nineteen fifty six, he bet the car. When holding aces and a half share of an established auto salvage business on the table how could he lose? The cards where laid on the table and the Hornet changed hands.

Spring two thousand eight. An auctioneer paces up and down rows of forgotten dream cars. His bullhorn breaks the silence of the yard as he barks out bids in twenty five dollar increments. Thirty or so potential purchasers follow his lead as each car’s fate is decided, scrap or restoration. The hiss of a can of red spray paint will deal the final blow for many.

Crushed beneath the weight of an older sibling, the Fifty one has given in to time and elements. The auction party moves slowly passed the Hornet. Although a relatively complete car the amount of rust and roof damage decides her fate. A red “X” is sprayed across the once stately front fender, no sale.

Although the story of the farmer and his gambling is largely fiction, the story of the Hornet’s fate is not. The future of the American car hobby is being gambled away for scrap.

Author/Photographer: Glenn H.