Jet Crash: The Compact Hudson Jet

When the Hudson Jet was first announced in 1952, company officials thought the compact sedan would be a renaissance for the venerable automaker. Today, many historians will tell you it was Hudson’s fatal mistake. This week, we look at the origins and history of the much-maligned 1953–1954 Hudson Jet.
Hudson Jet badge on a 1953 Super Jet four-door sedan


As automobiles and automotive brands fade into history, one thing that’s often lost is a sense of their original socioeconomic position. It’s becoming difficult, for example, to grasp that the Chrysler badge once possessed a fair degree of prestige, or to assess the class distinctions implied by driving an Oldsmobile rather than a Chevrolet. For the same reason, unless you’re a fan of the marque, it may surprise you to know that Hudson was once quite an expensive car. It wasn’t at the level of Packard or Marmon, but it was the price of several Model T Fords, enough to keep it out of reach of even lower-middle-class buyers.

Whatever the snob value of an upmarket brand, there’s comfort in volume, especially in tough economic times. For that reason, Hudson made several stabs at offering smaller, cheaper products to complement the middle-class line. The first of these was the four-cylinder Essex, launched in January 1919. The Essex, which initially started at $1,595, was by no means an inexpensive car, but it undercut the cheapest Hudson Super Six by nearly $400, giving it a considerably broader appeal. The introduction of the Essex allowed Hudson to triple its 1918 sales volume, which was undoubtedly reassuring in the face of the severe postwar recession that followed.

The Essex is best remembered today for the Essex Coach, launched in 1922. The Coach, developed by Hudson engineers Millard Toncray and Stuart Baits and built by the Briggs Body Co., was the first moderately priced closed body in American production. With a starting price of $1,495, it was still $300 more than an open Essex — nearly the price of an entire Model T — but that was a much smaller premium than any rival charged. Hudson steadily reduced the price and by 1925, the Coach was actually slightly cheaper than an open Essex touring car. The Essex Coach precipitated an industry-wide shift to closed bodies, where they’d previously been restricted to luxury cars and limousines.

1929 Essex Super Six Coupe front 3q © 2009 Brian Snelson (CC BY 2.0 Generic - modified 2013 by Aaron Severson)
The most popular Essex of all: the 1929 model, released shortly before the Crash. It was powered by a 160 cu. in. (2,628 cc) six with 58 hp (43 kW), a bigger and somewhat more reliable version of the notoriously unreliable and underpowered engine launched in 1924. (Photo: “Essex Super Six Coupé” © 2009 Brian Snelson; modified (removed reflected bystander, obscured license plate) 2013 by Aaron Severson and used under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license, with this modified version offered under the same license)

The Essex was a great commercial success and by 1929, it had the number-three slot in domestic auto sales. Hudson’s combined volume reached about 300,000 units, its all-time high.

The Crash brought Hudson’s prosperous streak to a screeching halt. Its 1930 volume was less than half the 1929 total and 1931’s sales were barely half of 1930’s. Hudson’s response was to move even further down-market, with the 1932 Essex Terraplane. Priced to compete with Ford, Chevrolet, and Plymouth, the Terraplane shared the Essex’s 193 cu. in. (3,165 cc) six, but it rode a new, shorter chassis and was more than $200 cheaper.

The Terraplane was not a smash hit, but it did respectable business in the worst part of the Depression. For 1933, all Essexes became Terraplanes and there was even a Terraplane Eight, powered by a 244 cu. in. (3,998 cc) straight eight with 94 hp (70 kW). By 1934, the Terraplane brand had completely supplanted the Essex and began moving back toward the mid-price field. By 1937, it was bigger than the old Essex and priced in the same class as Dodge and Pontiac.

1933 Essex Terraplane sedan front 3q © 2009 Mike's Car Pix (Mike Sawyer) (used with permission)
Since it weighed more than 600 lb (275 kg) less than an Essex and had the same 70 hp (52 kW) engine, the 1932 Terraplane had rather racy performance. While it was never as celebrated as its contemporary rival, the 1932 Ford V8, it was faster (at least in stock form) and it racked up an impressive array of hill climb trophies and speed records. This is the somewhat-bigger 1933 Terraplane Six, which was just as powerful, but slightly heavier. (Photo: “1933 Essex Terraplane” © 2009 Mike’s Car Pix (Mike Sawyer); used with permission)

Terraplane was successful enough that A.E. Barit, who had replaced the late Roy Chapin Sr. as Hudson president in early 1936, became concerned that it was cutting too deeply into Hudson sales. Terraplane was outselling Hudson by more than four to one by then, which was bad for the company’s profit margins. In 1938, Hudson launched a new, cheaper “112” model (so named for its 112-inch/2,845mm wheelbase), which undercut the cheapest Terraplane in both size and price. Hudson subsequently phased out the Terraplane marque, which was discontinued entirely in 1939.

The 112, renamed Traveler, continued through 1942, but it did not return at the end of the war as Hudson decided to concentrate production on the more profitable Super and Commodore lines. By 1947, the cheapest Super Six was over $1,700, well out of the low-priced league.


In late 1947, Hudson introduced its first postwar designs: the 1948 “Step-Down” cars. Sleek, low-slung, and surprisingly agile, despite their tank-like “Monobilt” construction, the new Hudsons did well in the booming postwar market. Hudson sold over 117,000 cars in the 1948 model year and over 159,000 in 1949, the best the company had done since the Crash. Hudson racked up a $12 million profit, also quite good.

1949 Hudson Super Eight front 3q © Aaron Severson
The early Step-Down Hudsons were available in Super and Commodore trim with either six- or eight-cylinder engines. This is a 1949 Hudson Super Eight, with the splash-lubricated 254 cu. in. (4,710 cc) straight eight and 128 gross horsepower (95 kW). The six-cylinder engine used in the Jet shared the tooling of the eight, which was discontinued in 1952. The six shared the straight eight’s bore spacing and 3.0-inch (76.2mm) bore, but had a shorter stroke, giving a displacement of 202 cu. in. (3,301 cc). It also had a pressurized oil system rather than splash lubrication.

By the summer of 1949, however, Hudson’s lack of an affordable entry-level model was becoming a problem. The cheapest 1949 Hudson, the Super Six business coupe, was more than $2,000, as much as a Buick Super or Oldsmobile Rocket Eighty-Eight. The latter comparison was particularly troubling because the ’49 Olds came standard with both a new OHV V8 engine and Hydra-Matic, neither of which Hudson could match at any price.

For 1950, Hudson launched a cheaper Pacemaker series, reviving a name it had used intermittently in the mid-thirties. The Pacemaker shared the big Hudsons’ Monobilt construction, but rode a 5-inch (127-mm) shorter wheelbase and had a smaller engine. It was about $170 cheaper than the Super Six, starting at just over $1,800. The Pacemaker still wasn’t an inexpensive car — it cost as much as a Pontiac Chieftain Eight — but it did well, accounting for about half of Hudson’s 1950 sales.

1951 Hudson Pacemaker Custom front 3q © Aaron Severson
A 1951 Hudson Pacemaker. Except for its shorter wheelbase and plainer trim, its body was very similar to that of the bigger Super Six, but it had a short-stroke version of the Super Six’s engine, displacing 232 cu. in. (3,798 cc) and making 112 gross horsepower (84 kW). The 1950 Pacemaker was offered in both standard and Deluxe trim, which were consolidated in 1951 to a single Pacemaker Custom series. This car has been modified with Twin H-Power carburetors, which were not originally offered on the Pacemaker.

The success of the Pacemaker suggested that there would be a market for an even smaller, less expensive Hudson, a modern successor to the old Essex and Terraplane.


It was not lost on either industry observers or new car buyers that even the smallest and cheapest American cars were growing steadily bigger and more expensive. Even before the U.S. entered the war, a few mavericks like American Bantam and Willys-Overland tried to reverse that trend with a variety of inexpensive compacts ranging from the relatively conventional Willys Americar to the two-cylinder Crosley microcar. None was particularly successful, hampered by awkward styling, anemic performance, and poor distribution. Nevertheless, some automakers and would-be automakers still believed there would be a strong market for such a car if it were done right.

1941 Willys Americar hood ornament © Aaron Severson
“Americar” was the patriotic moniker applied to the 1941–42 version of Willys’ compact car, essentially a facelift of the car Willys had offered since 1937. It was about 180 inches (4,560 mm) long on a 104-inch (2,642mm) wheelbase, very similar to the later Hudson Jet. Sole engine was a 134 cu. in. (2,200 cc) four with 63 hp (47 kW). Willys sold fewer than 30,000 of these cars from 1941–1942, but they were popular with hot rodders. Like many survivors, this example has been heavily modified and now sports a Chevrolet 502 cu. in. (8,225 cc) crate motor under the hood.

During the war, even the Big Three toyed with the idea of compact cars. Until 1945, no one was sure what the postwar economy would be like. The end of the Great War had brought a lingering economic malaise that did considerable damage to the auto industry, and even some General Motors executives feared that when civilian production resumed, buyers would be scarce. To forestall that eventuality, Chevrolet began development of the compact Cadet, while Ford developed a “Light Car” that hearkened back to the no-frills simplicity of the Model A.

By V-J Day, it was clear that however devastated the war had left Europe and Asia, the American market was primed for a consumer bonanza. With a robust seller’s market, most automakers decided there was no point in tooling up for economy cars. Chevrolet canceled the Cadet while Ford sold the Light Car to its French subsidiary, where it became the 1949 Vedette. Henry Kaiser and Joe Frazer, who’d wanted to enter the market with an inexpensive people’s car, postponed those plans in favor of conventional full-size models.

Even as they lined up to buy new full-size Fords, Chevys, or Plymouths, however, some customers still clamored for something smaller and cheaper. Despite stringent anti-inflationary measures, list prices were hundreds of dollars higher than in 1941 and up to three times their mid-thirties levels. Furthermore, while gasoline was no longer rationed in the U.S., many buyers remained concerned about gas mileage and general operating economy — memories of the Depression were still fresh.

As we’ve previously seen, Nash became interested in compacts during the war, leading to the launch of the Rambler in April 1950, later followed by the Anglo-American Nash Metropolitan. Henry Kaiser, meanwhile, had not lost interest in building an inexpensive people’s car, resulting in the compact Henry J, which appeared in the fall of 1950.

1953 Nash Rambler Country Club Hardtop front 3q © 2014 Greg Gjerdingen (CC BY 2.0 Generic)
The Nash Rambler was initially offered only as a Landau convertible, with fixed window frames and a roll-up roof; a two-door Country wagon was added two months later, quickly becoming the more popular model. A Country Club two-door hardtop joined the lineup in 1951. The initial body styles were offered only in Custom trim, with standard heater and radio, and thus were fairly expensive; a cheaper Super wagon debuted in 1951. (Photo: “53 Nash Rambler Country Club Hardtop” © 2014 Greg Gjerdingen; used under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license)

The Rambler and Henry J got off to a good start. Between April 1950 and the end of the 1951 model year, they sold more than 150,000 units, a little under 3% of the domestic market. By Big Three standards, that was very modest business, but it was enticing to the independents. By comparison, Hudson’s total 1951 sales were about 132,000. If compacts were a market segment that GM, Ford, and Chrysler chose to ignore, so much the better.

It was during that first flush of success that A.E. Barit launched Hudson’s own compact, the Jet. It was a big investment — tooling costs eventually totaled $16 million, swallowing all of the company’s 1948-49 profits — but it promised to take Hudson into a promising new market segment.


The Hudson Jet, like all Hudsons of its era, was designed under the auspices of styling director Frank Spring. Spring, who had joined Hudson in the early thirties, was the scion of a wealthy California family. Educated in Europe, he earned his degree in aeronautical engineering from the École Polytechnique. He enlisted in the U.S. Army Signal Corps during World War I, cultivating a life-long love of both motorcycles and airplanes. After the war, he became an automotive engineer, joining the Walter M. Murphy Company in the early twenties and becoming Hudson’s head of styling in 1931.

Spring was a colorful and unusual character. Although he cultivated the image of a dashing millionaire sportsman, he was as fascinated with Eastern philosophies as he was with machinery and sports cars; he and his wife even practiced yoga, then still little-known in the West. Spring’s crowning eccentricity was sometimes riding to work on a big BSA motorcycle, silk scarf trailing rakishly behind him.

1951 Hudson Hornet sedan front 3q © Aaron Severson
The Hudson Hornet, introduced in 1951, remains by far the most famous Hudson model, thanks in large part to its impressive NASCAR career. Although its design was supervised by Frank Spring and emerged in part from Spring’s fascination with prewar race cars, it was primarily the work of Hudson stylists Bob Andrews, Bill Kirby, and Art Kibiger. Andrews and Kibiger left Hudson for Willys-Overland in 1946, although Andrews apparently remained close with Frank Spring afterward.

Like Packard’s Ed Macauley, Spring was not a stylist in the technical sense; he did not draw or sculpt, but rather set the tone and direction for Hudson’s small design staff. During his long tenure, Hudson design was seldom groundbreaking, but always pleasant and tasteful and as finely detailed as Spring’s own wardrobe.

Although Spring’s sensibilities were seldom radical, they still sometimes clashed with A.E. Barit’s extremely conservative mindset. Barit had been very uneasy about the low-slung Step-Down cars, for instance, although in that instance, Spring and Millard Toncray, now Hudson’s chief engineer, had convinced him to change his mind. In the case of the Jet, however, Barit’s judgment ultimately won out, to Hudson’s great cost.


The Hudson Jet’s most direct inspiration was the Fiat 1400. The 1400, launched in 1950, was Fiat’s first unit-bodied car, a boxy, upright sedan with a 1,395 cc (85 cu. in.) engine. Though tiny by American standards, the 1400 was quite large for a European family sedan of its era. According to legend, the wife of one senior Hudson official test-drove a 1400 shortly after its introduction and became quite taken with its roomy, upright seating, which belied the modest dimensions. At her request, her husband suggested to A.E. Barit that Hudson should model its new compact on the Fiat. Some of the Jet prototypes actually wore Fiat badges as a disguise.

1952 Fiat 1400 front 3q © 2007 Luc106 (PD)
The Fiat 1400 was designed by Dante Giacosa and launched at the Geneva Auto Show in 1950. It was powered by an 85 cu. in. (1,395 cc) four with 45 hp (34 kW), giving it a top speed of perhaps 70 mph (113 km/h). Despite its unitary construction and modest exterior dimensions (168.5 inches/4,280 mm long on a 104.3-inch/2,650mm wheelbase), it weighed a hefty 2,500 lb (1,135 kg). These cars were very rare in the U.S. in the early fifties; fewer than 100 Fiats were imported between 1950 and 1952. (Photo: “Fiat 1400” © 2007 Luc106; released into the public domain by the photographer, resized 2010 by Aaron Severson)

The early concepts that Frank Spring’s team created were very European, but they sacrificed the Fiat’s boxy profile and upright seats for a lower roofline, complemented by a drooping nose, sloping tail, and low fenders with V-shaped air scoops. Most of those features would have been considered very au courant in Europe, although whether the American public would have accepted them is an open question. In any event, Barit didn’t like Spring’s proposal, insisting on higher seating, which required raising the roofline significantly, and a squared-off hood and deck with higher fenders and round, Oldsmobile-like taillights.

All of that was bad enough as far as Spring was concerned, but there was also another voice to consider: Chicago-area Hudson dealer Jim Moran, whose stores accounted for a significant chunk of the company’s total annual volume (around 5%) and who consequently had considerable influence on Hudson management. Moran had been very taken with Ford’s all-new 1952 cars and convinced sales president Norman VanDerzee — and in turn Barit — to steer the Jet in that stylistic direction.

1952 Ford Customline V8 four-door sedan front 3q © 2008 Brian Snelson (CC BY 2.0 Generic)
The 1952 model was Ford’s first all-new body since the 1949 modelyear. The Ford’s standard engine was a new 215 cu. in. (3,528 cc) OHV six, although most buyers spent the extra $100 or so for the familiar flathead V8, now displacing 239 cu. in. (3,910 cc) and rated at 110 hp (82 kW). This Customline fordor sedan has the V8. (Photo: “1952 Ford Customline V8” © 2008 Brian Snelson; used under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license)

While the 1952 Ford was a good-looking car, Spring protested (rightly, we think) that its styling cues would not work on the much smaller Jet, particularly with the proportions Barit was demanding. However, Spring was only a director, not a vice president, and he was soon overruled. Under protest, he directed his team to create new design studies incorporating Barit and Moran’s suggestions.

As Spring had feared, the results were rather dowdy, sacrificing the early concept’s Italianate flavor for a stubby, slab-sided look. To Spring’s considerable dismay, rather than being dissuaded, Barit loved the new design and immediately approved it for production. Spring was crushed; he had been very invested in the original design and was very unhappy to see it so badly compromised.

Spring’s sole consolation was that Barit’s son Robert, Hudson’s vice president of purchasing, subsequently made a deal with Milan’s Carrozzeria Touring to build a limited number of coupes based on Spring’s original design. The result was the Hudson Italia; see the sidebar below.


Hudson announced the Jet in early 1952, about a year before it actually went on sale. Hudson expected to sell 200,000 units a year in addition to its existing volume — shades of 1929.

It was a bold and hopelessly optimistic prediction. The compact revolution begun by the Rambler and Henry J was already losing steam. Rambler sales were down more than 20% for 1952 while the Henry J fell by more than half. The new Aero Willys stole some of that business, but combined sales of all three compacts didn’t quite reach 114,000, down nearly 25% from 1951’s total.

The problem was that the primary appeal of compact cars for American buyers had been the prospect of lower prices. Many buyers assumed that selling prices went hand in hand with size, and expected that a compact economy car would mean a return to prewar pricing. The truth was that compact cars were not substantially cheaper to build than big ones; that was part of the reason Chevrolet and Ford had abandoned their small car programs in the mid-forties. Buyers who might have liked an austere little car like the Henry J if it were priced at $995 were notably less interested when the price climbed above $1,400. Recognizing that dilemma, Nash tried to position the Rambler as an upscale second car for affluent buyers, but its higher price limited its market penetration.

Without the enticement of a lower sticker price, American buyers had no strong incentive to buy smaller cars. By the late forties, most U.S. states based registration and license fees on price, not engine displacement, and even in areas that did have displacement-based fees, the cost difference was seldom enough to sway buyers — a sharp contrast with Great Britain, France, or Italy, where market segments were largely defined by taxable horsepower ratings. Smaller overall dimensions were an advantage in urban areas, but American streets were still less crowded than those of many European cities. Furthermore, many U.S. owners lived in suburban or semi-rural areas where compactness was no great virtue. Gasoline was cheap in America, and while some scientists and engineers were already concerned about the limits of oil supplies, it had not yet become a political issue. As for air pollution, smog was perceived as a regional problem, and the public did not yet correlate it with automotive emissions.

In sum, there was a market for compacts, but it was not yet as big as the independents hoped — something Hudson was about to find out the hard way.

1953 Hudson Super Jet sedan front © Aaron Severson
From the front, the Hudson Jet’s resemblance to the 1952–1953 Ford is readily apparent. Note the crease above the Hudson lettering — in the original design, that was the leading edge of the downward-sloping hood. The air scoop on the hood is purely cosmetic; the original concept had brake-cooling scoops atop each front fender, like the Italia.


To build the Jet, Hudson contracted with Murray Corporation of America, which had built bodies for Hudson in the twenties and thirties. (Ironically, Murray was also building the Willys Aero, which was one of the Jet’s leading competitors.) Part of the rationale for sending the Jet out of house was that Murray agreed to let Hudson pay off the tooling costs on a per-car basis rather than all at once. That was an attractive deal for the cash-strapped automaker, but it would prove to be the Jet’s undoing.

The Jet went into production in January 1953 and went on sale in March, months after the start of the 1953 model year. It was offered in two models — Jet and fancier Super Jet — both available as two- or four-door sedans. Like the Fiat that inspired it, the Jet had unibody construction, although it was 12.2 inches (310 mm) longer than the 1400, mostly to accommodate its bigger six-cylinder engine. A three-speed manual transmission was standard, with either overdrive or GM’s Dual-Range Hydra-Matic optional.

1953 Hudson Super Jet sedan front 3q © Aaron Severson
The Hudson Jet offered only one engine, a 202 cu. in. (3,301 cc) flathead six, but it could be ordered with an aluminum cylinder head with higher, 8.0:1 compression (compared to 7.5:1 for the base engine) for $11.74. Hudson’s “Twin H-Power” manifold and dual carburetors could be had for an additional $85.60. Power ratings were 104 hp (78 kW) with the standard head, 106 hp (79 kW) with the aluminum head; 112 hp (84 kW) with the standard head and Twin H-Power, 114 hp (85 kW) with Twin H-Power and the aluminum head.

The Jet did not lack for performance. In standard form, it had 104 hp (78 kW), substantially more than the Rambler, Willys Aero, or Henry J. With the optional aluminum head and Twin H-Power, the Jet made 114 hp (85 kW) — almost as much as a Chevrolet, which weighed some 500 lb (227 kg) more. Even with Hydra-Matic, a Twin H-Power Jet was capable of reaching 60 mph (0-97 km/h) in 15 seconds or less and a top speed of around 90 mph (145 km/h) — quite brisk for an early-fifties family sedan. Fuel economy ranged from around 19 mpg (12.2 L/100 km) in city driving to perhaps 23 mpg (10.2 L/100 km) on the road, also decent for the time.

While the Hudson Jet was nearly as fast as the bigger Hornet, it couldn’t match its larger brother’s nimble handling. The Jet was about half an inch (13 mm) taller than the Hornet and had a higher center of gravity and softer springs, chosen to provide a more comfortable ride with its relatively short wheelbase. Period testers found that the Jet’s actual grip was surprisingly good, but fast turns brought far more body roll than with the Step-Down cars. Brakes were quite good, however; the Jet’s total brake area was greater than that of many full-size cars of this period.

1953 Hudson Super Jet sedan rear 3q © Aaron Severson
Without the optional Continental spare, the Hudson Jet was 180.7 inches (4,590 mm) long on a 105-inch (2,667mm) wheelbase. A Super Jet four-door had a curb weight of between 2,900 and 3,050 lb (1,320-1,385 kg), depending on options — as with the bigger Hudsons, it was very stoutly constructed, which made it rather portly. The Jet was heavier than the early short-wheelbase Ramblers (which were around 5 inches/127 mm shorter) or the minimalist Henry J, but its weight was very similar to that of the Willys Aero or the later, long-wheelbase Ramblers.

Despite its virtues, the Jet had two serious failings. The first was its styling. However much Barit and Moran may have liked the hodgepodge of Ford, Fiat, and Oldsmobile design cues, public response was not favorable. The more European-oriented magazines, like Road & Track, applauded it for its reasonable dimensions, if not its aesthetics, but the average buyer was not impressed.

The second problem was price. The base price of a two-door Hudson Jet was $1,858, about $275 more than the popular Ford Customline tudor sedan and nearly $40 more than a Chevrolet Bel Air hardtop. The Super Jet started at $1,933, which was edging perilously close to Pontiac territory. Adding Twin H-Power, Hydra-Matic, a heater, and a full load of accessories would bring the tab to more than $2,500, enough to put a canny bargainer into a modestly equipped Buick Special. The Jet was less expensive than any of the big Hudsons, but anyone expecting it to be an inexpensive economy car was to be sorely disappointed.

1953 Hudson Super Jet sedan rear © Aaron Severson
The Hudson Jet’s wraparound backlight was based closely on that of the 1952 Ford, and was actually made by the same supplier, Pittsburgh Plate Glass, by scaling down the Ford backlight. While that saved Hudson some money, some observers (probably including design chief Frank Spring!) felt the window shape only emphasized the Jet’s awkward proportions. Note the bullet taillights — although they were modeled, at Barit’s request, on those of the 1951 Oldsmobile, they actually look more like the 1952 Ford units.


The Hudson Jet arrived just as the new Eisenhower administration lifted the restrictions on auto production and shortly after the expiration of the highly controversial Federal Reserve Board Regulation W, which had greatly limited consumer credit, including car loans, in the hopes of limiting inflation.

All that might have been good news for Hudson, except that Ford and Chevrolet responded by dramatically increasing their production. The result was a savage price war, with dealers going to any lengths just to get the flood of new cars out the doors. The $200–$300 gap between the Jet and the Low-Priced Three could easily swell to $500 or more depending on the desperation of the individual dealer. That, combined with attractive (and occasionally foolhardy) credit terms, that made a new Ford or Chevy a vastly better deal than the Jet, a gap the Hudson’s performance and economy couldn’t overcome. It wouldn’t have hurt if the Jet had been better looking, but it probably wouldn’t have helped much either.

With the late introduction and high prices, Hudson sold only 21,143 1953 Jets, well below what Hudson had hoped. If the Jet had had a full model year, the Jet might have matched the Willys Aero, the best-selling compact that year, but even that would have been small consolation. Despite the launch of the Jet, total compact sales for 1953 were almost the same as in 1952, suggesting that the compact market was close to its saturation point.

With sales well below expectations, the Jet was proving very expensive. Hudson had set its amortization of the Jet’s production costs — which had swollen to $16 million — based on a production schedule that Murray repeatedly failed to meet. Late in the year, Hudson revised its amortization schedules in an attempt to reduce per-car costs, but that only served to antagonize Murray.

The Jet’s lackluster debut might have been less critical if the big Hudsons were still selling well, but by 1953, the Step-Down was a dead duck. Not only did it face the same obstacles as the Jet, its design was now very dated. Barit had authorized a facelift for the 1954 model year, but the makeover did not disguise the fact that the Step-Down cars were extremely long in the tooth by Detroit standards. They were no match for the all-new 1954 Buicks and Oldsmobiles, all of which now had V8 engines. Hudson ended 1953 with a net loss of $10.4 million and an alarming shortage of options.


The 1954 Hudson Jet arrived that fall with very few changes, most of them cosmetic. There was a new model, the Jet-Liner, with a plusher interior and extra chrome, priced around $100 above the Super Jet. Considering that the Super Jet was already considered overpriced, this was a miscalculation, so in April, Hudson added a stripped Family Club Sedan model. It had a base price of $1,621, about $30 less than a basic Ford Mainline tudor and within a few dollars of a Plymouth Plaza business coupe. (A Jet convertible was contemplated, but only one was built.) The new models did little to revive Jet sales, which totaled only 14,224 units for the 1954 model year.

1954 Hudson Super Jet sedan-red front 3q © Aaron Severson
From the front, the only obvious differences between this 1954 Hudson Super Jet and its 1953 predecessor are the vertical hash marks and “Jet” emblem on the center grille bar. Base price of the four-door Super Jet was $1,954; the Jet-Liner was $2,046 in two-door form, $2,057 with four doors, and found few takers.

The Jet-Liner and Family Club Sedan were holding actions, because Hudson management’s attention was elsewhere. The company was running out of money and rumors of its imminent demise dragged sales down even more. By the fall of 1953, A.E. Barit had concluded that the only hope of survival lay in a merger with Nash-Kelvinator. Barit had previously dismissed that prospect, but there was no longer any choice.

The Hudson board approved the merger in January 1954, although it took another 10 weeks to secure stockholder approval. On May 1, 1954, Nash and Hudson reformed as the American Motors Corporation. Since Nash was by far the stronger partner — though hardly robust — Nash-Kelvinator president George Mason became the head of AMC with Nash’s George Romney as executive vice president. A.E. Barit had a seat on the board and a nominal consulting role, but his tenure was basically over.

Mason and Romney quickly decided to consolidate production on the Nash lines in Kenosha, Wisconsin. The Jet was now extraneous, so production ended in August, replaced by Hudson-badged Ramblers and Metropolitans. Production of the Step-Down Hudsons ended in October. Hudson’s engines survived through 1956, but the big Hudsons were now restyled Nashes.

1954 Hudson Super Jet sedan red side © Aaron Severson
The Hudson Jet is a little bit bigger than a modern C-segment car, but its overall dimensions are not far off. The biggest difference is height: The Jet is 60.9 inches (1,546 mm) tall, at least 3 inches (76 mm) higher than Frank Spring originally intended and taller than any modern compact car.


The Ford-Chevrolet sales blitz continued through 1955, cutting a bloody swath through the independents. Few of the compacts survived the storm. The Henry J expired in 1954; its final-year production was only about 1,100 units. The following year, Willys, which had merged with Kaiser in 1953, decided to abandon the passenger car market and focus on Jeeps. U.S. production of the compact Willys car ended in 1955 (although it survived overseas for years afterward).

Although the market for American compacts was still small, AMC now had it all to itself. The 1955 Rambler, now sold through both Nash and Hudson franchises, sold about 56,000 units, up almost 55% from 1954. Sales for 1956 were more than 66,000 units. By 1958, AMC was selling around 150,000 compact Ramblers — very close to the combined sales of the Henry J and Rambler back in 1951. Thanks to the Eisenhower recession, Rambler sales increased sharply over the next few years, prompting the launch of the Studebaker Lark and the first Big Three compacts. By the late sixties, compacts accounted for nearly 30% of the U.S. market.

1954 Hudson Super Jet sedan red badge © Aaron Severson
The Hudson Jet accounted for a total of 35,367 sales in 1953–1954, a far cry from the 200,000 units A.E. Barit originally hoped to sell.

The Hudson Jet gets a very bad rap from a lot of automotive historians; both Dick Langworth and Ken Gross have called it the car that killed Hudson. Many observers insist Hudson would have been better off spending the money on a redesign of the Step-Down cars or on a V8 engine. The problem is that Hudson desperately needed both, and the $16 million cost of the Jet would probably not have been enough for both. Packard spent some $20 million on development and tooling for its V8, and we doubt Hudson could have done it for much cheaper than that.

Even if it had, we’re not at all convinced that a V8 alone would have revived sales of the aging Step-Down cars. A full-size version of the Italia without a V8 would not have been a salable proposition either; the mediocre sales of the attractive but underpowered 1951–1955 Kaiser makes that clear enough. Even without the Jet, Hudson probably couldn’t have survived much longer than it did.

As for the impact of the Jet’s styling, we suspect it’s been a little overstated. The Jet is admittedly rather homely, but we’d be hard-pressed to say the 1953–1954 Rambler was better-looking. Moreover, the Willys Aero, which had more felicitous styling, didn’t sell particularly well either. As tempting as it is to cast aspersions on A.E. Barit and Jim Moran’s influence on the Jet’s styling, the lukewarm response to the Italia suggests that Frank Spring’s original design wouldn’t have done any better in the U.S. market.

In all, the Jet seems like the right car at the wrong time. Had it appeared five years later, it probably would have sold very well, dowdy looks and all. Unfortunately, Hudson no longer had that kind of time.


Former Hudson president A.E. Barit resigned from the AMC board in 1956 to protest the decision to terminate the Hudson and Nash brands. He died in 1974.

Norm VanDerzee, Hudson’s VP of sales, also left AMC in 1955. In September 1956, he became assistant general sales manager of Ford’s new Edsel Division. He died in 1973.

Jim Moran, the Hudson dealer who had shaped the styling of the Jet, abandoned Hudson for Ford in 1955; within a year, he had become the world’s largest Ford dealer. He retired for health reasons in 1964, but made a remarkable recovery and returned to auto sales in 1968, selling both Pontiacs and Toyotas. He added a Lexus franchise in 1989, becoming the world’s largest Lexus dealer. His family business now encompasses a variety of automotive enterprises with revenues of around $10 billion a year. Moran died in 2007 at the age of 88.

Carrozzeria Touring, which built the Hudson Italia, suffered financial problems in the sixties and went out of business in 1966. In 2006, Caronno Pertusella-based coachbuilder Marazzi, which had employed many former Touring workers, acquired the “Touring” and “Superleggera” trademarks and reorganized as Carrozzeria Touring Superleggera srl. It recently launched the Bentley Flying Star, a Bentley Continental shooting brake, and the four-door Bentley Bellagio Fastback, a sporting estate in the mold of the Reliant Scimitar GTE and Volvo 1800ES.

Murray Corporation of America, which built the Jet and the Aero Willys, left the auto business after the demise of those cars. It sold its automotive plant to Dana in September 1955, although Murray continued to do design and manufacturing work for other industries. It was later bought out by Household International, a subsidiary of HSBC Bank.

AMC revived the Hornet nameplate in 1970, but it never built another Jet. The company stumbled through the seventies, its sometimes innovative ideas failing to prop up the bottom line. In 1980, American Motors fell into an ill-fated alliance with Renault, which ended with the company’s sale to Chrysler in 1987. Chrysler quickly phased out the AMC brand. Its successor, Eagle, lasted until 1998. The last remnant of AMC was its inline six-cylinder engine, originally introduced in 1964, which survived in some Jeep products until 2006.

Frank Spring stayed on for a little while after the AMC merger, but he retired in 1955. In August 1959, he and Clara Spring were driving to Detroit for a meeting with AMC’s Roy Chapin, Jr. when their souped-up Metropolitan was hit head on by a Ford station wagon. Spring was killed, although Clara survived with serious injuries. Spring was 66.



Information on the history of the Hudson Jet and the state of Hudson and the auto industry during this period, came from the Auto Editors of Consumer Guide, Cars that Never Were: The Prototypes (Skokie, IL: Publications International Ltd., 1981); “Autos: Hudson’s New Car,” TIME 29 September 1952, www.time. com, accessed 2 June 2010); Arch Brown, “1939 Hudson 112: Heir to the Essex,” Special Interest Autos #83 (September-October 1984), reprinted in The Hemmings Motor News Book of Hudsons (Hemmings Motor News Collector-Car Books), ed. Terry Ehrich (Bennington, VT: Hemmings Motor News, 2001), pp. 36-43, “1946 Hudson Super Six: Hudson’s Postwar Success,” Special Interest Autos #72 (November-December 1982), reprinted in ibid, pp. 48-56, “Essex: The Tail that Wagged the Dog,” Special Interest Autos #99 (May-June 1987), reprinted in ibid, p. 8; “Business: Too Many Cars?” TIME 6 June 1954, www.time. com, accessed 2 June 2010); Floyd Clymer, “Report on the Hudson Jet,” Popular Mechanics October 1953, pp. 118-122, 304, 306; Trevor J. COnstable, “Frank Spring’s Too-Soon Hudson — The X-161,” Car Life Vol. 8, No. 8 (November 1961), pp. 32–35; “Controls: Strength Through Pain,” TIME 18 December 1950, www.time. com, accessed 3 June 2010); David R. Crippen, “The Reminiscences of Robert F. Andrews,” 2 August 1985, Automotive Oral History Project, Benson Ford Research Center, www.autolife.umd. umich. edu/ Design/ Andrews_interview.htm (transcript), accessed 14 May 2010; Ken Gross, “Hudson Jet: There was nothing wrong with this early compact…except that it killed the company,” Special Interest Autos #60 (November-December 1980), reprinted in The Hemmings Motor News Book of Hudsons, pp. 68-75; Maurice D. Hendry, “Hudson: The Car Named for Jackson’s Wife’s Uncle,” Automobile Quarterly’s Great Cars & Grand Marques (Princeton, NJ: Automobile Quarterly/Bonanza Books, 1979), pp. 70-85; John F. Katz, “SIA comparisonReport: Independent Thinking: 1954 Nash Rambler, Willys Aero, and Hudson Jet,” Special Interest Autos #159 (May-June 1997), reprinted in The Hemmings Book of Postwar American Independents: driveReports from Special Interest Autos magazine,ed. Richard A. Lentinello (Bennington, VT: Hemmings Motor News, 2002), pp. 112-119; Beverly Rae Kimes, ed., Standard Catalog of American Cars 1805-1942, Second Edition (Iola, WI: Krause Publications, Inc., 1989); Harry F. Kraus, Sr., Fun at Work, Hudson Style: Tales from the Hudson Motor Car Company (Ann Arbor, MI: Hudson Motor Car Company Home Chapter), pp. 28-29; Michael Lamm, “Italia…Hudson’s Last Fling,” Special Interest Autos #8 (November-December 1971), reprinted in The Hemmings Motor News Book of Hudsons, pp. 84-89; Michael Lamm and Dave Holls, A Century of Automotive Style: 100 Years of American Car Design (Stockton, CA: Lamm-Morada Publishing Co. Inc., 1997), pp. 189-195; Matthew Litwin, “Flying Low,” Hemmings Classic Car #26 (November 2006), pp. 58–63; Richard M. Langworth and the Auto Editors of Consumer Guide, “1953-1954 Hudson Jet” (6 September 2007,, auto.howstuffworks. com/ 1953-1954-hudson-jet.htm, accessed 14 May 2010), most of which originally appeared in the April 1995 issue of Collectible Automobile; Mark McCourt, “1954 Final Flight of Fancy,” and “Making It Right,” Hemmings Classic Car #8 (May 2005), pp. 24–33; Alex Meredith, “1934 Hudson Eight: Hudson Comes Roaring Back,” Special Interest Autos #106 (July-August 1988), reprinted in The Hemmings Motor News Book of Hudsons, pp. 22-29; Strother MacMinn, “Frank Spring and the Murphy Connection,” Special Interest Autos #127 (January-February 1992), reprinted in The Hemmings Motor News Book of Hudsons, p. 18; “STATE OF BUSINESS: Step This Way, Please!” TIME 19 May 1952, www.time. com, accessed 3 June 2010); and Mark Theobald, “Frank Spring 1893-1959” (2004, Coachbuilt, www.coachbuilt. com, accessed 2 June 2010).

Specifications for the Fiat 1400 came from the Fiat 1400 page, accessed 3 June 2010, and Mike Covello, Standard Catalog of Imported Cars 1946-2002 Second Edition (Iola, WI: Krause Publications, 2001).

Information on the revival of Carrozzeria Touring came from the company’s website, www.touringsuperleggera. eu/ en/ company.asp, accessed 12 June 2010. Additional details on the life of Jim Moran came from “The History of JM Family Enterprises, Inc.,” (2009, JM Family Enterprises, Inc., jmfamily. com, accessed 13 June 2010). Additional information on the history of Murray came from Mark Theobald, “J.W. Murray Mfg. Co.” (2004, Coachbuilt, www.coachbuilt. com, accessed 2 June 2010).

We also consulted the following period road tests: “The Autocar Road Tests No. 1504: Hudson Super Jet Saloon,” Autocar 31 July 1953; John R. Bond, “Road and Track Road Test No. A-2-53: Hudson Super Jet,” Road & Track June 1953; “Road Test: Super Jet power plus–30 mpg,” Speed Age August 1953; “Threat to the Big Three?” Motor Trend August 1953; Walter Von Schoenfeld, “Hudson Tests a Sports Car,” Cars October 1953; “The Hudson Line for ’54,” Automobile Topics November 1953; “Hudson’s Italia,” Car Life February 1954; Steed Evans, “Soup Up the Hudson Jet,” Motor Life March 1954; and “Closeup of the Hudson Italia,” Motor Life September 1955, all of which are reprinted in Hudson 1946-1957 Performance Portfolio, ed. R.M. Clarke(Cobham, England: Brooklands Books, Ltd., 2004).



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  1. I’d read the (also very good) [i]Collectible Automobile[/i] piece on the Jet, so I was eager for more. My reaction at that time was that if A. E. Barit knew more about styling than Frank Spring, he should have fired Spring, installed himself as head of styling, and had done with it!

    I note the comment about the Jet having good adhesion, but with a lot of body roll. As a man who’s owned Peugeot 504’s, I would have been OK with that.

    Former [i]Road & Track[/i] editor-publisher John Bond once termed the Jet “an outstanding American car that was far ahead of its time.”

  2. It’s important to remember that for a long time, few automakers gave their styling chiefs an actual executive position. Harley Earl became a corporate vice president in 1940, which gave him a lot of clout. After the war, he was on the same level as the divisional general managers, so disputes had to be resolved by upper management, where he had a lot of friends. At most other companies, the lead stylist was a director — even Ford didn’t add the VP of styling position until 1955.

    That was the problem Frank Spring had. He technically reported to Millard Toncray, the head of engineering, and both Toncray and Norman VanDerzee outranked him. I’m not sure to what extent Spring was even present in the meetings where the final decisions were made. It was like a major or a colonel disagreeing with the decisions of the generals; their opinion doesn’t necessarily count for much.

    I think Jim Moran’s influence had a lot to do with it. I’ve seen that happen a lot at various companies: the senior executive is already unsure or uneasy about something, and then an influential external voice pushes him or her in one direction or another. Moran was a big deal at Hudson, and a big deal in general (as his later career suggests).

    Unlike Dick Langworth and some other historians, I don’t think that Frank Spring’s original plan would have been a great improvement. It would have looked something like that four-door Italia prototype, but with a drooped nose, like the ’53 Studebaker coupe. Had Spring won out, I think this story would be largely the same, except that later historians would substitute “if only it hadn’t looked so weird and Continental” for “if only it hadn’t looked so frumpy.”

    1. Spring’s corporate relationship to Millard Toncray was mirrored exactly at Nash.

      Ed Anderson, Director of Stying at Nash, reported to Meade Moore, the Vice-President of Engineering. In fact, I’ve read from Patrick Foster that Anderson retired from AMC precisely because he felt that he had earned a vice-president’s title. AMC, apparently for a variety of reasons, disagreed.

      One more note: Roy Chapin, Jr., told me in 1998 that Barit had insisted on the Jet’s roof being high enough to accommodate a man wearing a hat. Perhaps that would account (a little) for the Jet’s awkward height.

      —Todd Ruel

      1. [quote]Ed Anderson, Director of Styling at Nash, reported to Meade Moore, the Vice-President of Engineering. In fact, I’ve read from Patrick Foster that Anderson retired from AMC precisely because he felt that he had earned a vice-president’s title. AMC, apparently for a variety of reasons, disagreed.[/quote]

        Yup. This was apparently something George Mason felt strongly about — he was concerned that if Nash allowed its in-house stylists to become too powerful or too prominent, they would parlay that into a career elsewhere. (As I recall, it stemmed from bitterness toward George Walker, who’d been a Nash consultant in the forties.) That was apparently part of the reason for crediting Pinin Farina for the ’52-’54 Nashes, although Mason told Anderson it was purely for marketing reasons.

        Barit, like K.T. Keller at Chrysler, was definitely big on the idea that you shouldn’t have to take off your hat when you got into your car. He tried to get Spring to raise the roof of the Step-Down cars for that reason, and I don’t doubt that it became an issue with the Jet, as well. Aside from hat room, Barit also insisted on chair-like seating, rather than the low, Mercedes-like seats Spring wanted, and that demanded a higher roof. From a packaging standpoint, it wasn’t a bad idea — a lot of modern B-segment cars do the same thing, for the same reason — but it didn’t help its looks!

        1. Forgot to mention: AMC President Roy Abernethy pulled a "Barit" a decade later when he asked the designers of the Marlin to do the SAME EXACT THING. They were forced to raise the roof line of the Marlin by one inch to accommodate guys wearing hats.

          That one inch destroyed the Marlin’s looks and helped to place it on the road to Failuretown.

          I’ve never heard that Mason was concerned about keeping stylists in the background. Matter of fact, Anderson didn’t really pitch himself as a Vice-President until after Mason was dead.

          If that’s true, then he surely made a mistake with George Walker, who, as I’ve heard, pitched the design for the ’49 Ford to Nash before he went to Ford. If what you say is true, then Mason’s fear about designers was realized by his own actions.

          But I’m wa-a-a-ay off topic. My original point is that history apparently teaches us nothing. We keep seeing the same design mistakes over and over and…

          —Todd Ruel

          1. I haven’t had the time to dig up my source for Mason’s attitude — it was probably in Michael Lamm and Dave Holls’ book — so I wouldn’t swear to it, but my recollection was that Mason was quite put out with George Walker. I believe Mason felt that the design of the ’49 Ford was something Walker had originally done for Nash, and since (at least in Mason’s mind) Walker had only gotten the Ford account on the strength of his work for Nash, it was particularly galling. It was well before Anderson was even hired, so it wasn’t related to him specifically. My impression was that Mason was too good a manager to express his feelings to the styling staff in that way, but I believe it affected his thinking.

            As with the Jet, I’m not convinced that the Tarpon/Marlin would have sold any better with a lower roofline or on the smaller platform. [i]Car Life[/i], driving a ’67 Marlin (which most agree is the best-looking of the bunch), dissected its marketing failure pretty astutely — that it wasn’t startingly attractive, it wasn’t especially fast, it didn’t handle exceptionally well, and wasn’t all that luxurious or prestigious — and most of that would have been true of the Tarpon, as well. I’ve seen pictures of the Tarpon model, and while it’s better looking than the early Marlin, I think it probably would have sold about as well as the Barracuda.

            But to your point, no, nobody ever learns in any sustained way. (Ironically, one of the few counter-examples was Packard’s George Christopher, who did show signs of learning from his mistakes, just not fast enough to do any good.) At the Big Three, particularly, there was so much executive turnover that the division managers would often be promoted and gone before the commercial ramifications of their decisions ever became clear — failing upward, as the saying goes.

  3. Another great article. The Hudson Jet is a very rare bird, even at AACA events. I believe that I have seen two over the years – one at the big Hershey AACA fall meet, and the other in a junkyard outside of Carlisle, Pa.

    A big reason compact sales never took off in the early 1950s was that the standard Chevrolet-Ford were not that big. In your article on the 1960s Ford Fairlanes, you noted that the 1955-56 Fords and Chevrolets represented the “sweet spot” for American car buyers in the size department. Sales of the 108-inch-wheelbase Rambler were fairly strong for 1957, but Rambler sales really took off for 1958-59, when Chevrolet, Ford and Plymouth were engaged in a size and styling war.

    A 1959 Chevrolet not only sported outlandish styling, but was also much larger than before (making it harder to park). Its extreme lowness hampered exit and entry, while giving drivers and passengers the feeling that they were sitting directly on the floor. The Rambler was relatively upright (which meant that it was roomy and easy to enter and exit) and easier to drive and park in crowded settings.

    Not only did Rambler sales in 1959 set a record for an independent make, but the relatively boxy and prosaic Ford, with its squared-off Galaxie roofline, came very close to outselling the Chevrolet that year.

    While the Rambler was certainly not better looking than the Jet, it was distinctive, and Nash was much smarter in how it marketed the Rambler. Nash introduced the well-trimmed versions and upscale bodystyles (hardtop, convertible) first.

    The Rambler was also available as a station wagon – a huge bonus, and the only compact that offered this option in the early 1950s. Station wagons were new and a growth market at this time.

    It was the wagon version that put the Rambler on the map – but the Jet, Henry J and Willys Aero didn’t bother with this bodystyle. To me, THAT was a huge mistake, and a big reason why the Nash Rambler was able to gain a foothold in the mid-1950s. Wagons were a very high percentage of Rambler sales through the early 1960s (and AMC’s loss of this market, as it pursued sales of convertibles and fastbacks, was a big reason it went into a tailspin in the mid-1960s).

    1. George Mason and George Romney definitely had a far more astute idea about the challenges they faced in marketing the Rambler. It’s significant, for instance, that the Jet’s only body styles (two- and four-door pillared sedans) were the ones Mason was most hesitant to introduce, because the convertible, wagon, and hardtop were perceived as the more upscale (and more expensive) models.

      The little wagon did sell well, but I think that was as much because the Landau wasn’t terribly practical as a reflection of buyer interest. Once Nash introduced the hardtop coupe (and later the longer-wheelbase sedan), those quickly outsold the wagon. The wagon was definitely a unique item, though, and probably the handiest of the bunch.

      The Rambler’s fortunes were definitely improved by the 108-inch and 112-inch wheelbase versions, which had more workable packaging for American buyers. Even though the Jet was bigger than the 100-inch Rambler, a lot of buyers complained about rear legroom being inadequate. It’s too bad that Barit was apparently insistent on the 105-inch length; another couple of inches would have improved both rear-seat space and proportions. (If it had been FWD, the 105-inch wheelbase probably would have been perfectly adequate, but there’s a reason most modern B- and C-segment cars are front-wheel drive. Later Rambler American sedans had the same issue — the rear axle and rear wheelhouses cut sharply into back seat space.)

      I disagree that AMC stumbled because it pursued convertibles and hardtops at the expense of wagons. Rambler, after all, offered convertibles and hardtops early on, even before the AMC merger. By the sixties, wagons were not the growth market they were in the fifties. Certainly, the younger crowd didn’t want them, at least not until they started having kids in the seventies. I think that AMC’s stumble had more to do with the fact that they moved away from Romney’s brand image without a clear idea of what would replace it, so it just became like the A&P store brand version of the Big Three.

  4. Where was Chrysler in all this? If they sat out the price war, I’m guessing that they fared better than Hudson because even if they didn’t match Ford and Chevy’s prices, they had full-size cars of fairly recent design and greater financial reserves than Hudson.

    1. That’s a good question. Plymouth sales for 1953 were better than they had been in a while — about 650,000 units — but they were way behind Chevrolet and Ford. Plymouth had the benefit of deeper pockets and greater economies of scale than the independents, and they had a facelift for ’53, but they still didn’t have a true automatic, which was becoming a problem. I think Chrysler tried to keep up as best they could, but they didn’t post the kind of (artificial) gains that Chevy and Ford did.

  5. It’s a wonder that Hudson was able to sell ANY Jets at those prices. Few people (unless they were hard-cord Hudsonophiles) would be likely to spend more money for a Jet than a mid- or hi-line Chevrolet or Ford. And how about spending almost an additional $100.00 for the two engine upgrades which together providing a whopping 10 horsepower? BTW, the picture of the 1952 Ford sedan pictured in the article is labeled a Crestline. A sedan did not become available in the Crestline series until 1954. The car pictured is a Customline.

    1. Thanks for the note on the photo — you’re quite right. Fixed.

      I think the fundamental problem with the Jet is that Hudson hadn’t really thought through who it was marketed for. It was economical, but it wasn’t an economy car; it was fairly well trimmed, but it wasn’t a junior luxury car. Except for the early Terraplane, Hudson never really competed in the low-priced field (even the Pacemaker was more in Dodge/Pontiac territory), but the Hudson badge didn’t have the cachet of Buick or Chrysler. Nash, which had the same dilemma, understood it much better, and made a more deliberate effort to position the Rambler as the upscale second car for Lincoln or Cadillac buyers.

      Oldsmobile and Buick had a similar problem a few years later with the early Y-body F-85 and Special. While they were cheap for an Olds or a Buick, they weren’t inexpensive, and buyers initially seemed unsure what to make of them. They didn’t really catch on until a few years later, after the Fairlane and Chevelle were well establish. Then, a Skylark or a Cutlass was the more-upscale version of the Malibu, which was finally a coherent niche. The Colonnade Cutlass cost more than the equivalent Malibu and wasn’t any bigger, but it had a bigger engine, better trim, and a more upscale nameplate.

  6. Rambler scored its greatest successes in the 1957-60 timeframe, when it offered no convertibles or hardtop coupes.

    The Rambler American, which was a revived version of the original Nash Rambler, did not offer any convertibles until the 1961 model year, and the “regular” Rambler Classic/Ambassador did not offer a hardtop coupe until 1964, or convertibles until 1965.

    AMC spent a ton of money tooling up for convertibles in the Classic and Ambassador lines for the 1965 model year, and yet the sales were very low. AMC’s success from 1957-1963 was built on station wagons. If I recall correctly, the wagon version of the “standard” Rambler was the firm’s best-selling vehicle for several years.

    As for what happened to Chrysler during the Chevrolet-Ford sales war – Chrysler didn’t really get hit hard until the 1954 model year. Sales hit the floor, and market share dropped to about 13 percent (in the early postwar years its share had hovered around 20 percent). Stodgy styling and the corporation’s slowness to make a fully automatic transmission available throughout the entire line also hurt Chrysler.

    Plymouth lost third place to Buick that year, and some sources say it slid down to fifth place (behind Oldsmobile, too).

    In some ways, Chrysler never really recovered from the 1954 debacle. The highly styled 1957 models were a reaction to Chrysler’s sales slide in 1954 (Colbert wanted Chrysler to be renowned for styling, and to beat GM in that area), and they sold well for one year.

    But they were rushed to market, and when they started to fall apart and rust within one year, Chrysler’s sales again hit the floor. By 1962, its market share was actually BELOW its share in 1954!

  7. Another thoughtful and well-researched article. Only a few quibbles, e.g., are you sure the Packard V8 cost $20 million? Patrick Foster stated that AMC’s first small-block V8 tallied $10 million. Does your figure include the Utica plant and/or upgrades to the Ultramatic transmission?

    I wouldn’t reject out of hand Hudson’s ability to survive if it had focused instead on updating the step downs. By 1955 Hudson surely could have purchased or jointly developed a V8. Meanwhile, a new body with a low beltline would have given Hudson a competitive advantage through 1956. Kaiser’s failed attempt to go down that road isn’t a compelling cautionary tale because of its lack of a step-down chassis and the fledgling company’s shaky reputation.

    You may be right that the impact of the Jet’s dowdy styling has been overstated. However, the Willys Aero was not an ideal point of comparison. While the Aero arguably had the fewest design negatives in its class, Willys was also the smallest independent. I suspect that Willys’ limited coin would have been better spent updating and expanding its Jeep line rather than trying to reenter the passenger car field just as the post-war boom was ending.

    1. The $20 million figure (which is an approximation) came from James Arthur Ward’s book on the fall of Packard. I believe it includes tooling costs, but I don’t think it reflects changes to the Ultramatic. I don’t [i]think[/i] it includes the actual cost of the Utica plant, only the expense of setting it up for the new engine. If I recall correctly (I don’t have the book at hand), the cost was originally budgeted at $17 million, but ran over that by around $3 million.

      As I told another commentator on the Packard story, I don’t think AMC’s V8 development costs can be directly compared to Packard’s. For one, AMC’s deal with Packard had AMC underwrite a portion of Packard’s development costs in exchange for access to the R&D notes (in addition to the actual engines and transmissions purchased). Furthermore, some sources suggest that AMC’s eventual 287/327 engine was at least partly based on a V8 that Kaiser had developed (but not had the money to build) several years earlier. As a result, AMC was not starting from a clean sheet of paper in the way Packard was. Even if the $10 million figure is an apples-to-apples comparison — which I’m really not sure about — it’s reasonable to assume that it would have cost AMC more if not for the previous R&D work.

      In hindsight, it would probably have done the independents a lot of good if they had agreed around 1951 to jointly develop a bread-and-butter V8 that they could all share, but for various reasons, they did not. Short of that, I don’t know where Hudson would have gotten the money to [i]both[/i] retool its bodies and develop a V8, nor is it obvious where they could have bought one. Would Studebaker have been willing to expand production to sell engines to Hudson? Could there have been a deal between an independent Hudson and Packard to buy engines and transmissions, as there was (briefly) between AMC and Packard? Maybe, but that becomes extremely speculative.

  8. I was reading a history of the automobile industry since 1945 written in 1971 and the author devoted an entire chapter to the "small car story." In it he greatly criticized the pricing of the indepentents’ small cars, seeing their poor price considerations as a hurdle over which the claim "these cars were ahead of their time" could not clear. More interesting, I found, was the authors analysis of the Big Three’s slow entrance into the small car market, which he saw as a self-recognition of their interdependence. The author argued that no member of the Big Three would seriously enter the small car market until it was sure there was "room for all" and that the market could support the sales of small cars by all Three companies. This "room for all" theory is soemthing I hadn’t heard before in the usual analysis of Detroit’s early small cars, which mainly focus on their fear of losing out sales of bigger models and a firm belief that the right cheap car for americans was a used car. A fnatastic article, as always, but I wonder what you think of this "room for all" idea?

    1. I should emphasize, first, that I think the price of the early compacts (particularly the Jet) was primarily a problem because it failed to meet the specific expectations of many of the buyers who were interested in — and in some cases, had asked for — a car like that. Consider the people now clamoring for the next-generation iPhone; as enthusiastic as they are, how many of them would be disgruntled if the next iPhone weighed five kilos and only worked if it were plugged into the wall? Even if it were otherwise a fantastic device, its take-up would be a lot lower than anticipated, because buyers expected something they could put in their pockets. People routinely paid (and still pay) more for what they perceive as high-value products, whatever those values may be.

      I’d be curious to know what book this is — I’m not familiar with it. I think his theory is largely off base, however, or at least, that it draws faulty conclusions from the data.

      The Big Three’s reticence to enter the compact market was primarily based on concerns about their own volume, which, until 1959-1960, were probably legitimate. Looking at the sales of domestic compacts between 1951 and 1958, the interesting thing is that the total changed very little, even as new players entered or left. It took the demise of most of Rambler’s competition to give it a volume that was sustainable. Even that was not much by GM standards — GM considered anything under about 250,000 units a year to be a small niche. What changed is that because of the Eisenhower recession and the public’s disgruntlement with Detroit’s excesses, sales of big cars began to drop. The Big Three weren’t sure if that was temporary or a real market readjustment, and they decided that they had to offer compacts to maintain their market share, even if it meant getting into a market on which they were none too enthusiastic.

      I think the flaw in the author’s theory is the presumption that the small car market represented a [i]new[/i] market, which wasn’t really true, at least not until the late sixties. Some Big Three executives, notably Robert McNamara, thought the compacts would expand their market share, which really didn’t happen. The new car market in the U.S. didn’t start to grow dramatically overall until the mid-sixties, when the Baby Boomers started hitting driving age. Before that, the compact market was largely made up of existing buyers who had become dissatisfied with the standard products for various reasons (price, size, economy, styling). As a result, marketing small and intermediate models was a matter of hanging onto those buyers, not of jumping into a new market.

      Now, there is a slight grain of truth in the author’s theory, in that GM (and really only GM) senior management did live in mortal fear that if they got too big, the Justice Department would break up the corporation on anti-trust grounds. However, those fears did not really translate at the division level, which in the late fifties and early sixties was where most product and marketing decisions lay. If you were the general manager of Buick or Pontiac, you knew that your bonus and future success in the corporation depended on improving your sales figures, market share, and ROI, and it didn’t matter much whether you achieved that by creating a new product category, by stealing buyers from the competition, or by poaching the territory of other GM rivals; that wasn’t your problem. GM’s senior officials occasionally made a big show of crocodile tears about it, or about the downfall of the independents, but it never translated into any perceptible effort to stop it.

      What happened to the independents — one company tries something new, and if it works, everyone else jumps on it — happened with the Big Three all the time, and there’s little evidence that they ever deliberately tried to leave room for others. The Mustang is an obvious example.

  9. There’s an excellent article in last month’s Cars & Parts on the one-off Jet convertible.

  10. I may be a bit late, but I found one mistake(altough I really enjoyed the aricle): the photo of the interior is actually a 1951-1953 step-down, not a Jet. Jets had a completely different instrument cluster (similar to the 1954 step-downs) and non-divided windshield.
    Best wishes:
    András Horváth

    1. Thanks for the heads up — I probably mislabeled my files and didn’t notice. When I have a few moments, I’ll look to see if I have a correctly labeled picture and swap it out.

      1. That one appears to have actually been for a 1953 Hornet nearby. Sadly, I don’t have an actual dash photo for the Jet — curses!

  11. Just came across this article, found it very informative and with great dialogue in the comments section.

    Would like to share a few thoughts but first have a question. According to Richard Langworth’s book, Hudson earned $50M from 1945 thru 1952 then lost $10M in ’53 and $6M in ’54. What happened to the remaining $34M? Did it got to Defense investments? Stockholder dividends? The company tanked awfully fast in late 1953, driving Ed Barit to merge with Nash.

    The Jet’s Financials

    If we assume that Murray initially charged Hudson $50 per unit (Roy Chapin alludes to this in Langworth’s book) it would have taken 1.2 years to amortize the initial $12M investment assumption and 1.6 years to pay down the $16M final outlay. Further assuming that Hudson made $50 profit on each car, this would have amounted to a profit of $10M per year. Not bad economics but unfortunately based on a very poor volume call.

    At a more realistic 20,000 units per year, or 1/10th the initial volume estimate, it would have taken 16 years to amortize the Jet’s $16M investment. Put another way, to amortize the $16M in 1.6 years, the $50 baked into the amortization schedule would have needed to increase to $500.

    And the profits? At the lower volume, to generate even half of the desired $10M in annual profits would have driven the car’s $1,858 price up to around $2,658 accounting for the new amortization, 10% dealer mark-up and a per unit increase in advertising (volume has its benefits!), which would have torpedoed volume. Clearly not a viable program given the product offered.

    Barit probably had a decent handle on the program’s projected costs having just gone through the exercise with the ’48 Step-Down. Contracting to Murray likely introduced new variables. In the end, the $4M investment over-run was a painful mistake but not a program-breaker and certainly nothing that would collapse the company. Barit’s big mistake was that he never directed his team to thoroughly stress-test the volume assumption. This could have been done with a clinic using production-representative clay models and interior bucks that were compared directly with Ford and Chevy cars, with specs and prices labeled and the used car option accurately represented. Done right this would have undoubtedly revealed that the program was a financial non-starter.

    Was There Any Hope For The Jet?

    Yes, there might have been an alternative design and market positioning opportunity. To explore it I created an image work-up that lowered the car similar to how Spring had wanted, by dropping the greenhouse about 3.8 inches, which removed the body section above the main vertical sweep of the side panels and repositioned the hood crease to directly above the grill. It also lowered the decklid relative to the rear fenders. The result was that overall height dropped from 60.8 to 57 inches and the car’s appearance improved greatly.

    However, it wasn’t enough to make the car a genuine winner because now the greenhouse looked dumpy by comparison. To finish the task I had to rake the windshield and backlight several degrees, eliminate the wrap-around shape of the backlight, and lower the windshield header and roof by an inch. With these final changes height dropped to 56 inches, proportions became fully in balance and the car came into its own.

    To really win, horsepower needed to increase, the suspension needed firmed up and a four-on-the-floor was needed to fully engage the driver. Base engine could have remained the flat-head 202 Six, which produced a decent 120/130 HP by 1955, but a more powerful, higher spec version was needed to drive pricing and build the car’s aura. Barit, ever the penny-pincher, could have worked from the 202, modifying it to use OHVs or even OHCs, the latter with 180 HP. On the inside, Italia’s multi-foam bucket seats and optional leather could have completed the transformation.

    In 2-door form I think the car would have captivated buyers with “a certain zest for living” and not happy with the typical American car. As a 4-door though, the miserable rear legroom would have made it suitable only for families with three or fewer kids. Other body styles such as a convertible, 4-door wagon, 2-door delivery and 2-door pickup could have filled out the catalogue, the last two offered with cheap interiors and at low prices covering only material cost and the incremental investment needed to tool unique stampings, plus allowance for a small profit, and created to give the dealers extra volume.

    The new series would have had a good chance of becoming America’s first premium sports compact along the lines of later BMWs, commanding the needed $2,658 and selling at the needed 20,000 annually and with appeal to global markets, which were steadily growing.

    The X-161

    Could an all-new large Step-Down with great styling have been profitable? Langworth’s book says Hudson’s breakeven was around 75,000 cars. Twice that volume probably would have allowed a healthy corporate existence but to achieve it may have required that Hudson and Packard merge and share a common Mono-Bilt body. With Packard’s 225 HP 320 CID V8 powering the ’55 Hudson (the ’55 Hash had this motor in detuned form) and Packard running with the larger 352 CID unit, a pecking order would have been established. For appearance Packard could have featured a longer hood and rear overhang. And both marques could have used Allison’s Torsion-Level suspension. Looking back, its amazing how even though the two companies never merged, they shared or otherwise were connected to key technologies.

    Should the X-161 have been Hudson’s new design theme? No!!! That is, not without Spring’s design excesses greatly tempered by Packard Design. An arguably better Hudson theme, had the merged company not launched its new cars until the 1956 model year, would have been Packard’s Panther concept of late 1953. I’ve long felt that with a different grill and Hudson’s traditional step-down unibody construction methods, the design would have made a wonderful mid to late-50s Hornet, especially in V8 form. Dick Teague had other themes in the hopper that were more suitable for Packard.

    Hudson’s Overtures To Packard… an Alternate Ending

    What if Hudson’s history had proceeded as written up to when Barit approached Nance in August, 1953 asking to merge. Only this time, instead of finding a company ready to launch boring carryovers that were doomed against all-new 1954 Buicks and Cadillacs, he discovered a fresh showroom with carryover sheet metal (they had “good bones”) that had been sectioned two inches, with Mayfair’s hardtop roof style, windshield and backlight on top, in an expanded series including a long wheelbase Formal sedan? With Packard’s financial prospects looking rather promising, Nance might have seen further growth potential by taking on Hudson and its dealers.

    For example, had Packard’s lowered 1954 cars also included a step-down frame, maybe a new Hornet could have quickly been created for 1955 that sat on the short 122 inch wheelbase. Under this scenario Jefferson’s body operations would have either closed or, as a friend on mine has suggested, became the new source for Packard’s body stampings once Brigg’s Conner plant was bought by Chrysler (Colbert guaranteed Nance stampings only through 1954).

    Alternatively or in addition, Packard planners might have envisioned fixing the homely Jet by making the changes described above, which for around $3M could have been readied for ’55.

    Overall, I think both companies had much more potential in these years than historians give them credit for.

    1. I agree about the Jet’s lack of financial viability. As it says in the text, I think the buyer interest Hudson anticipated was predicated on the assumption that the price would be much, much lower than it ended up being. Obviously, that was impossible, but the average person had no way of knowing that. As to your question about where their previous profits when, I’m not that familiar with Hudson’s financial details, although Hudson’s total profits during that period were not vast on a year-to-year basis and the company did spend some money on updating the Step-Down cars. That might be a good question for Dick Langworth, honestly.

      I also agree that the X-161 was a nonstarter, design-wise. Honestly, I feel like it didn’t have a coherent theme. I think the Italia was okay from the rear and rear three-quarter, sort of in the same vein as the contemporary Ghia-built Chrysler show cars, but the nose is a mess and, if the prototype was any indication, the stuff that was pleasant on the Italia coupe was pretty dire when applied to a bigger four-door sedan. Hudson might have been obliged to tone it down for production (for practical reasons as much as anything else), but it would still have probably ended up as a cluttered agglomeration of silly ’50s rocketship nonsense. Buyers weren’t wholly resistant to that sort of thing (as the ’58 Thunderbird demonstrated), but in that segment, as a sedan? Nah.

      I’m more skeptical of the idea that Hudson could have sold the Jet as a sort of proto-Mustang in that era. The sales of sports cars in the U.S. in that period were marginal — MG’s best year in this period was 1952, when they sold fewer than 7,500 cars in the U.S. (and some of those were sedans), and the early Corvette and Kaiser-Darrin didn’t do even that well. Granted, a better-looking Jet hardtop 2+2 would have been more practical than the roadsters, which might have helped, but I can’t see the results selling any better than the Jet sedan did. As for the engine, there was an interesting article in Motor Life in 1954 about its hop-up potential, which was, in a word, limited. An OHV conversion would naturally have helped, as would a supercharger, but it took Jaguar dual overhead cams to get 180+ hp out of a long-stroke engine in this displacement range. The bigger problem in that regard was that the Chevrolet V-8 would have done it mortal harm, market-wise, being cheaper and having an engine producing comparable or more power while being at the beginning rather than the limits of its development potential. I also can’t see a meaningful overseas market in the ’50s. The engine was just too big for France or Italy and would have made it a marginal player in the “eccentric high-roller” market for the U.K. or Germany; there were a few English or European buyers with that kind of money back then, but not many. For it to be viable in Australia, it would have had to have been assembled there (as local distributors did a few big Hudsons), but it still would have been very pricey and not well-suited to the roads. What you’re envisioning might have been neat and would certainly be a collector’s item, but I don’t think there was yet a meaningful market for it.

    2. Regarding Packard and Hudson, the big priority for the Packard board was finding a volume partner. Since the thirties, Packard’s leadership had been convinced that the only way they could ensure their long-term stability was to boost their volume — George Christopher’s target had been 200,000 units a year, and that number was still kind of a shibboleth even though Jim Nance was belatedly beginning to realize that was not a realistic goal for the Packard brand per se. The issues with Hudson, separate from the fact that by the time Barit approached Nance Hudson was looking terminal, were threefold. First, Hudson’s volume wasn’t that much better than Packard’s and was sinking, partly due to the Korean War and partly because the Step-Downs were looking very passé and Hudson didn’t have anything especially new to offer (other than the Jet, q.v.!). Second, Hudson was awfully close to Packard, particularly the Clipper, in size and price, which was troublesome for a small player looking to shore up their volume. (Look at what happened with the overlap in Chrysler’s mid-price brands a few years later.) Third, Hudson’s Mono-Bilt construction, while it was certainly very sturdy, was a significant handicap commercially because it was more expensive to tool, more difficult to change without completely retooling, and (from a merger standpoint) would have made it harder to sharing tooling without having the resultant models end up looking the same.

      There is an argument that Packard should have merged with Hudson for their production facilities, which in retrospect might not have been a terrible idea, but would likely have amounted to Packard absorbing and consuming Hudson, leaving only (maybe) a few and nameplates. However, that was really not what Packard was looking for, which is why they didn’t seriously consider it.

      I do think that Packard was potentially salvageable at that point, and having a stamping plant that wasn’t contingent on Chrysler and that didn’t force the awkward consolidation they attempted for 1955 would have helped, but I can’t see Hudson surviving for long except to be basically cannibalized for its production facilities and remaining dealer network.

  12. Ford’s customers wanted a faster horse but the ‘ole man thought differently. It is always much harder to create than to copy or pander. For me the biggest lesson of automotive history is in learning how to expand perspective. We know the American market eventually embraced high-spec, expensive small sedans. We also know that people are people and don’t much change over a period of 100 or even 1000 years, only see things anew based on education and experience. In this respect, Hudson’s biggest task in pulling ahead by 20 years an inevitable shift in the marketplace would have been one of evangelization. Put the car out there, let the motor magazines to fall in love with it, stay on message and be patient. It would not have taken long, not as long as it took an inexpensive compact like Rambler, because a fast, sporty, high quality, sweet handling Jet would not have depended on a recession to kick-start sales. The market was born ready, and wealthy enough in 1954, only needed a product. Imports of the day were too expensive and/or slow and sold by too few dealers. Only Hudson, the engineer’s company and stock-car king, had all the ingredients necessary to conceive, create, convince and distribute such a winner. Die-hard Chevy V8 folks might not have cared much about handling, but others would have appreciated the difference between hamburger and steak, if finally given the choice.

    Hudson lopped off 2 cylinders to make the 202, why not 2 more for Europe?

    1. There were a fair number of American cars of this era that were sold overseas, but they were really not suited to the needs and budgets of most available export markets. Even something like the Jet or the Henry J was pretty large for most countries and generally had to be sold as a luxury car, in small numbers. (To put this in perspective, a Super Jet sold in Belgium ended up being the equivalent of almost $3,000!) I suppose they could have created a 2.2-liter four for export, but that was still pretty rich for the time. European, Australian, and South American markets of the fifties were still at a point where what to us would have been rather small family cars were a stretch financially and big American cars (among which the Jet or something that size must be included!) were a curiosity.

      Could Hudson have made a proto-pony out of the Jet? Sure. Could they have sold it in respectable numbers in America? Maybe, although I’m dubious. The lack of a V-8 would have hurt, especially once the ’55 Chevy appeared, and so would the price. I can’t see how Hudson could have sold a car like you’re describing for LESS than a Super-Jet or Super-Liner, and with an OHC engine conversion and other mechanical changes, it would likely have had to sell for significantly upwards of $2,000. At that point, would have been up against a Chevrolet Bel-Air with a V-8, which is a prospect that, had I been a Hudson dealer, would have made my blood run cold: more cylinders, as much power or more, sporty looks, more space, and vastly more dealer and advertising support. As for road manners, ’55 Chevrolet was not a sports car, but its suspension layout was exactly the same as the Jet’s, its steering wasn’t any slower, and it benefited from substantially wider tracks, so I’m not convinced the Hudson would handled meaningfully better (except in the sense of being generally more maneuverable due to its smaller dimensions) unless Hudson were willing to sacrifice a lot of ride quality, which wasn’t a tradeoff a lot of American buyers were eager to make.

      Also, I think it’s worth remembering that a lot of the success of the pony cars, or for that matter of Pontiac in the late fifties through the sixties, was a product of very aggressive marketing. Ford certainly did not just toss the Mustang out there and hope for the best! Could Hudson have done that? To some extent, although Hudson obviously wasn’t in a position to spend the kind of money that Ford or Chevrolet did on advertising and marketing. Would they have? The most successful “sporty youth market” efforts of the sixties raised a lot of eyebrows even internally because automotive marketing and sales people tended to be a conservative and rather hidebound lot. It was risky, and it would have been more risky for Hudson because they didn’t have anything close to the kind of financial cushion to absorb serious miscalculations that Ford or Pontiac did.

      I fully agree that people don’t change that much that quickly, but the counterpoint of that is that people also don’t change their habits without substantive reason. Returning to the thesis of this article, the failure of the Jet, and the Henry J, and the Aero Willys, in the U.S. market in the fifties came because in the early fifties, there was no compelling reason for most American buyers to bother with cars smaller than the contemporary American norm. They weren’t cheaper (or at least not enough), there was no significant tax advantage, and gasoline was cheap enough that gas mileage only became a concern at all if the economy suddenly slipped as it did in 1957. By the late fifties, some full-size cars were getting big enough to be a hassle, but most drivers weren’t zooming over curvy mountain roads or narrow country lanes, at least not often enough to give up the implied status of a really big car.

      The fact that median tastes have shifted toward marginally smaller vehicles is the current end result of decades of political, economic, and technological changes, including enough oil crises to make working-class and middle-class buyers at least intermittently nervous and the growth of imported European and Asian products that, by virtue of having been designed for markets more restrictive than ours in size and engine displacement, were better positioned to take advantage of said oil crises and economic insecurity (as well as buyer dissatisfaction with slipping quality control of Detroit products). Technological refinements have produced modern vehicles that often have as much or even more usable space than median American sedans of 40 to 60 years ago. A modern FWD car the size of the Jet is perfectly reasonable transportation for four adults; where there are failings in comfort, they’re usually due to infuriating interior design choices rather than the basic, “The wheelbase is this long, the transmission is here, and the rear axle is there, whatcha gonna do?” issues that limited the Jet or short-wheelbase Rambler. You also have generations of buyers who’ve grown up with smaller cars and who would consider something the size of a full-size American car of the late fifties or early sixties rather monstrous, just as European buyers did years ago. Even for all that, the average new passenger vehicle sold in the U.S. is still a bunch bigger than in any other market, particularly if you include trucks (which is really hard to avoid at this point). The main market for bigger sedans like the Accord/Camry/Fusion/Sonata is the U.S., a class that’s pretty near death in Japan and Europe except for a narrow category of ultra-premium cars.

      People may not change much, but circumstances do, and with something as expensive as new cars or light trucks, that makes a lot of difference.

    2. I should add that in 1954–55, the OHV V-8 Ford and Chevrolets that a “Hudsonstang” (Jetstang?) would have been competing with were not simply the choice of “diehard Chevy [or Ford] V8 folks.” Having modern OHV engines in low-priced cars — particularly Chevrolet — was new, novel, and very exciting. A decade later, a cheap American V-8 sedan or hardtop was pretty ordinary and not that special (which I think was part of the reason the pony cars became as successful as they did), but that definitely wasn’t true in the fall of 1954. If the Hudson you describe had debuted for 1953, as the Jet did, or even for 1954, it would have gotten a lot of press attention, but the ’55 Chevy would have overshadowed it pretty dramatically. When the ’55s came out, even Road & Track, which was extremely snooty about American sedans, was grudgingly impressed by the performance. (A V-8 car with manual shift and the 180-hp kit was almost as quick as a Jaguar XK-120, if not as fast at the top end.) A six-cylinder Hudson would have seemed like very old news at that point.

      1. Many good points, Aaron. Especially like your comments about Mustang marketing, which Hudson would not have been able to match, and headwinds driving consumer preferences particularly in the Seventies. Regarding the curiosity of comparatively larger and more expensive cars in Europe et al, it is also true that Jaguar and Mercedes-Benz built post-war companies on it. Margins was the goal, not profit and this is where I think Hudson and Packard both needed to park themselves. To do it they needed to make really stellar cars that required no extra push on the market than the innate passion for cars that was already there.

        Will stick with my assertion that the Chevy/Ford vs. lowered Jet was apples/oranges. It wouldn’t have just been the performance including handling. Hudson’s play was also interior refinement, which they were good at. I remember when the ’75 Accord came out. Nice interior and lots of standard items that others charged more for, if offered at all.

        You may want to check my first post above, stated a much higher price for would-be lowered Jet than what was actually produced, and explained the numbers behind it. You have prompted me to ponder more. No, the Jet’s lower body would not have been optimal. I think it might have worked as stop-gap until a new design could be readied, but it might not have made (or lost) any money. Particularly when Nance might have entered the scene in late 1953, Hudson had already written down quite a bit of the Jet’s losses, so the per car burden for a lowered Jet might have been reduced a few hundred dollars and with it, pricing.

        Having finally seen the Italia the other day up close, think it was the car Barit should have pursued all along. Properly cleaned up design-wise it would have had not much more material cost than the Jet and a whole lot more appeal. Needed to be a 2+2 though. Will send you work-ups of my latest thinking.

        1. As it was, the Super Jet and Jet-Liner were really pretty nicely trimmed inside, so that’s reasonable enough. (I’m still kicking myself for not having tried harder to get interior shots; as someone pointed out, I’d mislabeled different, non-Jet shots and didn’t think about it until it was much too late to get proper ones!) On the other hand, so were the Nash Rambler Custom and the Chevrolet Bel Air, which were about the same price. So, it wasn’t a case of “ultra-plush compact for the price of a stripped-down full-size car,” which is a workable selling point; it was, “How can we get buyers to spend as much or more for a Jet than for a top-line Ford or Chevrolet?” Not an easy question!

          I think comparisons to imported cars have to be carefully considered because there’s a lot of relevant context besides just size or price or even performance. European luxury car makers of the fifties were typically operating in protectionist markets where the number of people with sufficient income to afford anything more than a very basic, very tiny car was still quite limited and where tax restrictions, fuel costs, and/or road conditions all tended to strongly favor smaller vehicles. It was not that Mercedes-Benz or Jaguar had magically found a way to convince huge numbers of European buyers to pay more for smaller cars; by German or British standards, something like a Mercedes 220a or Jaguar Mark VII was a big car with a big engine for rich people.

          To the extent that these cars were sold in America, which really wasn’t much in the fifties compared even to American independents, the central appeal was that they were foreign, which for Americans of the time connoted either “cheap and possibly very shoddy” or “rare and exotic.” It wasn’t a particular reflection of the virtues of the products except insofar as Jaguars and Mercedes were certainly neither shoddy nor at all cheap. As a counterpoint, consider the American failure of the Rover 2000 and Triumph 2000, cars that were very successful and profitable in their home market. It’s true that their failure here was due at least in part to reliability issues and the failings of the U.S. distribution network (discussed elsewhere), but mainly, they suffered from being perceived by American buyers as neither cheap nor exotic enough to justify either paying more than comparably sized domestic cars or getting a smaller car than you could have gotten for the same money from a domestic brand.

  13. Packard merged with Studebaker mainly because Nance agreed to take them while Mason took Hudson, then the two would merge to create the Big 4th. After Mason passed unexpectedly, the grand plan unraveled. At its core it seems that what messed the whole thing up was that Mason, Nance and Vance all wanted to be the leader, which led them all to wait for the others to falter, which cost valuable time. If they had approached it in terms of what was best for the product, Hudson and Packard would have quickly merged, gotten on a common platform and dueled its dealers, with Packard exiting the upper medium segment and encouraging its owners in that segment to choose Hudson for their next car or step up to a Packard. Nash and Studebaker would merged and gotten on a medium-sized platform, with Nash above Studebaker. I think this is roughly how GM worked, with Cadillac and upper Buicks sharing the C-body, lower Buicks and upper Oldsmobiles sharing an offshoot of C called B, and Chevy, Pontiac and lower Olds on the smaller A. In the late 50s GM might have consolidated even more.

    Packard and Hudson would have each had unique front fenders, hood, fascias and rear quarters, with the end panel in front of the decklid being longer on the Packard. Same with Nash and Studebaker. Rambler would have complicated things. Had the Big 4th gotten strong fast, it might have been able to carry 3 platforms, Rambler being the smallest and used as a second model range for Nash and Studebaker. More likely, I think the group would have been hard-pressed just to do two new platforms right. The ’56 Rambler, while still small, would have served Nash and Studebaker’s needs going forward, as history showed, but they might not have realized that at the time.

    In retrospect, Hudson’s collapse in late ’53 may have initiated ALL the mergers. Had they never done the Jet and instead fielded a better Hornet/Wasp in ’54 (or earlier), Barit likely would have never agreed to Mason’s terms, and instead survived to use Packard’s V8 in 1955. Packard, in turn, may have never merged with Studebaker, instead going it alone and getting financing for its new ’57 program. Whether Nance would have continued to pursue Clipper as a separate brand or tie the knot with Hudson would probably have depended on whether Barit was willing to relinquish control, which he probably would have given his age.

    An offshoot of this alternate storyline is that Packard would have merged with Studebaker despite Hudson’s continued independence, and S-P collapsed as happened in early 1956. Now Hudson could have bought Packard’s Utica V8 engine and plant on the cheap and maybe even picked up Packard, quickly closing its operations and creating a Packson.

    Of course, none of this happened and Hudson became a Hash, then poof, gone.

    1. I don’t think the evidence supports your reading of the rationale for the Studebaker-Packard merger. I would really recommend James Arthur Ward’s book The Fall of the Packard Motor Company, if you haven’t read it, which draws heavily on Packard board minutes for a lot of insights into why the company did or didn’t do various things (which sometimes differed a lot from what Jim Nance wanted). Again, the board was driven by the idea that they need a mass-market partner to shore up their volume. They had rejected the prospect of a merger or production partnership with Nash, ironically for many of the same reasons that the plan to integrate with Studebaker ended up being messy. As for leadership clashes, the issue was really Nance and Romney, not Nance and Mason. Mason was over 60 at that point, more than 10 years older than Nance or Romney, and I don’t think Nance (or Romney, for that matter) was adverse to a couple of years as president with Mason as chairman, which seems a fairly likely configuration if it had come about.

      Again, from the Packard board’s perspective, I don’t think Packard had much to gain from a merger with Hudson — except stamping facilities, a significant issue that didn’t get enough consideration until things had gotten more difficult. Certainly, the idea of sharing a newly developed body shell to establish commonality for multiple divisions wasn’t a bad one, but it requires having the capital to set up, which neither Hudson nor Packard really did, and having a reasonable expectation of sufficient volume to pay off the investment, which was very dicey. Hudson could not do a lot with the existing Step-Down cars that wouldn’t have amounted to a too-obvious facelift and tinsel-shuffle. While it might have been possible to fiddle with the Packard shell to create a “Hackard,” I’m not sure I see the point from a commercial standpoint, not without a new shell.

      The other issue is that by then, Packard had really surrendered a lot of its credibility as a luxury brand for the mid-priced field, which is not something that’s easy to reverse, especially since neither Packard nor Hudson was a strong contenders in that segment by this point. If you’re having trouble getting customers to spend, let’s say $2,500 on your products, are those same buyers going to be keen (or able) to spend $3,000? Mercury ran into that when it tried to abruptly move upmarket in 1957–58, which was completely disastrous. That was also the issue for Chrysler a few years later. By the late ’50s, it would have made a lot of sense from a brand-positioning standpoint to phase out the Windsor and leave that price segment to Dodge and DeSoto, but the Windsor was also by far the bestselling Chrysler model and the sales organization and dealers would have rioted.

      As far as trying to shift buyers to Hudson, that would have been tricky as well. Would you have wanted to roll the dice on how many remaining Packard customers were there for whatever luster the badge still had? Would the dealers have wanted to take that bet? Packard and Hudson could not have unilaterally forced dealers to take dual franchises either. Some would probably have been okay with it, but some would have balked and either jumped ship or sued (or more likely both). Depending on the existing franchise agreements and individual state laws (which tend to be on the franchisee’s side in this sort of thing), that could have ended up being ugly and quite expensive. It’s hard to predict how that sort of thing will go down and is obviously a completely speculative proposition at this remove, but automakers get very nervous about that sort of thing, which is exactly why after mergers you often end up with Hashes and Packardbakers (inter alia).

  14. Couple points on that, Aaron. Yes, have read Jim Ward’s book and had a chance to spend a day with him at an automotive symposion several years ago. We both walked through the Lordstown assembly plant outside Youngstown and shared lots of laughs. He didn’t think Packard had much of a chance. I did. Didn’t matter.

    I agree with you, the Packard Board was captivated by Studebaker’s volume. They were nothing if not consistent, becasue they had been just as incompetent before the war. They couldn’t get their own house in order, how did they think merging with anyone, let alone another basket case, would have helped?

    I can’t agree that Nance’s ego was a small matter, quite the opposite and Ward mentioned it many times, as have others. All those CEOs thought they had a special gift that nobody else had. The best Nance comment I ever read was an interview he did long into his retirement. He actually admitted that he had lost the game. Finally! And I thought, good for you, Jim. Here was a guy who was able to admit his mistakes rather than blame everyone and everything else. Am sure he felt that given another chance he would have won the game. A spit-in-your-eye to the historians who have long said Packard and the others never had a chance. I am 100% with Mr. Nance. Most of those issues you mentioned are just everyday obstacles in the business. Winners manage them.

    There’s a reason GM got so big. They produced the goods, in product and everything else. There was no data telling them to do the ’38 Sixty Special, the car that created the American 4-door segment still with us today. They dreamed it up mostly by themselves and had a gut feel that it would resonate. And they had the right people in high enough places to defeat the anti-bodies within the company to get it developed. Great example of how to win.

    1. I don’t mean to downplay Nance’s ego (or Romney’s, although Romney in later years was better at sounding politic or gracious about it). My point was just that I don’t think Nance’s push for a Packard-Nash merger would have made a lot of sense if he saw George Mason as a long-term obstacle to his own power. I have to assume that because Mason was already in his early 60s by that point, which meant a good chance he would retire in the relatively near future. Nance would therefore have a couple of years to consolidate operational control over a much larger entity that he would then inherit, still giving him a decade or so at the top before his own retirement. He didn’t have any particular in-house competition for that role (which is why Packard had recruited him in the first place), so the main obstacle was Romney, whose position and ambition I think Nance originally underestimated.

      I strongly reject the “winners go with their gut” line. I understand why it sounds good from an enthusiast standpoint and why it fuels nostalgia, but it really doesn’t hold much water. GM was always a finance-driven corporation whose defining virtue was capital, based for a long time on widespread diversification into many different businesses and sub-businesses. Even that diversification wasn’t really the product of canny strategy or great vision; Billy Durant acquired every company he could get his hands on while putting up as little actual cash as possible, and it was largely a matter of luck that he ended up with enough viable subsidiaries to weather the subsequent collapse of the nonviable ones. (His backers thought so too, which is why they forced him out in 1910.) By the twenties, GM, as a corporation, was in the position to act like a venture capitalist with a lot of family money to fall back on. They could buy or launch some business if it seemed promising and then cancel or sell it pretty ruthlessly if it didn’t seem like it was going to pan out or looked too far gone to bother saving. (They very nearly did that with Cadillac in the thirties.) There were people of passion or vision or whatever within the divisions, but the corporation didn’t play that way. GM had to be dragged kicking and screaming into any project that didn’t have rock-solid ROI potential (and that was true of Cadillac management and the Sixty Special, in point of fact) and the amount of sometimes-fatal second-guessing that created is very well documented.

      The independents did not have a wealthy corporate parent that gave them an allowance and could be talked into financing a special project. Nor were they like Ford, which, along these lines, could be analogized as an affluent professional whose career pays well enough that it isn’t the end of the world if their occasional side venture fails. If the independents tried something that really didn’t work, or that cost more than they expected, or that customers just didn’t go for, it was calamitous. Even to the extent they tried to diversify (something that became a big preoccupation of the Studebaker-Packard board), doing that was expensive enough, proportionately, that it came at the expense of their automotive business because there was only so much cash; it was like a working-class person living out of their car to invest their rent money in stocks.

      It’s disingenuous to point to a well-groomed rich kid who’s never had to worry about money in his life and say, “Why can’t you just apply yourself like him?” Comparing the independents to General Motors in the fifties is kind of like that.

  15. Nance pushed for a Packard-Nash merger? No, he soft-peddled it and the main reason was Mason. Both wanted be in charge.

    It’s important to get into Nance’s head in 1954. Besides trying to grow Packard, he was actually assessing his chances of securing a leadership position at Chrysler, including the top position. He was in his 50s and there would be no more waiting, his time had come. This is why he always sought deals that kept him in charge, even if, as with the Studebaker merger, the arrangement disadvantaged Packard.

    In early 1954 a small group of Nash planners and designers, on direction from Mason, spent several weeks crafting a body sharing strategy for Nash, Hudson and Packard based on Nash’s shell. Mason used this as part of his pitch to Nance. What resulted? Nance heard him out but Mason was not allowed to pitch directly to Packard’s Board. Why? Because it represented a future in which Mason was driving the bus, which was a problem for Nance because he wanted to be first amongst equals in any merger discussion, and hadn’t whipped Packard into strong enough shape yet. In retrospect, the timing might have been right for Packard.

    I acknowledge that Packard’s Board, proud of its company’s history and accomplishments, was not about to see EGB’s decades of hard work evaporate as it became an engine builder for a Kenosha-centric enterprise. And it is true, the Board was attracted to Studebaker because it was “the big earner.” What they failed to see was that Studebaker was an also-ran in the volume market and would never, ever get close to Chevy and Ford, which meant they would never achieve the scale needed to be strong and stable in the industry’s highest volume segment. Nor did Studebaker have any more chance of sharing bodies with Packard than Chevy did with Cadillac. Yes, Plymouth and Chrysler shared many body stampings in 1957 and even Chevy and Cadillac shared some stampings beginning in 1959, but in 1954 Packard’s Board was foolish, and some Packard stockholders were not shy about calling them on it, laying out a detailed indictment that year, with particular attention on Nance’s failings.

    “Winners Go With Their Guts”

    Forget nostalgia, guts is what is driving the industry today, witness Tesla! Let’s clarify thouh, “guts” does not mean taking direction from one’s passions any more than it means from one’s intestine. It’s shorthand for that special part of the brain that synthesizes and discerns the clear and muddy, the connected and disjointed, and the whispers and screams, and it represents a very high level of intellect. For setting strategy I’ll take it any day over a stack of MBA books, not because it rejects such these “facts” but because it comprehends and then places them it their proper, subordinate place.

    GM absolutely earned its 1950s leadership position. It all started in earnest when Sloan hired Earl in 1927, which quickly led to GM becoming a styling leader. The company also pushed new technologies like independent front suspension and automatic transmissions. In the short span from 1933 to 1940, GM went from a big company in a big industry to THE big player, and Jolly Green Giant growing bigger by the minute, and everyone else’s expense. Look at what GM contributed to styling. First salvo was the 1933 Cadillac Sixteen Aero Coupe (yes, more impact than ‘27 LaSalle). Its balanced, measured streamlining established the center line in the Thirties that others either fell short of or over-reached. And then of course, the ’38 60 Special, which I doubt anyone within the company could say with certainly would deliver a specific ROI. How could a daring car that cost more than the standard 60 Series while offering less rear legroom, and carrying conservative Cadillac’s badge, be successful? They went with their guts because their guts told them folks would accept these to get a lower, wider car with better style and a bigger trunk, and even conservative folks had a zest for living. It only took a few months after launch for GM’s leaders to confirm that their gut had been right and that they could proceed with confidence in a good ROI with the REAL play: the 1940 C-bodies. These were the cars that made Packard so afraid “it couldn’t see straight.”

    Had GM gotten the C-body bet wrong, you better believe it would have hurt. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall” was just as much a black cloud over GM during all these years in question as “size matters” was for the Independents.

    That GM didn’t fall was mainly because it fairly consistently made good product decisions from 1934 on through the Sixties. Not that it didn’t dabble with the quirky curiosity of an Independent. During the war it explored the same goofy designs that Hudson and the others did but unlike them, after the war settled on measured, lasting designs for 1948 while others faltered to varying degrees. High compression OHV V8s, an always improving Hydramatic, pillar-less 4-door hardtops and (generally) good styling kept them in the lead. They earned their leadership position.

    Nash did well during the Depression, financially and otherwise, besting GM with advanced body construction and matching them in styling with Walker’s ‘39s, though they would be way late with a 3-box sedan. They faltered with design beginning in ’49, which was Mason’s fault, just as Sloan’s executive vision had led to Art & Color. Mason was blind to good design, which held Nash back just when it had a chance to really get strong. Ditto Barit and Hudson, which beat GM in what became the race for lowness, and did impressive things with body engineering, paying off on the road, in accidents and on the track. But Barit’s blindness to design and misplaced bets eventually found them short of cash. Like the other Independents they had only themselves to congratulate for those things done well, and to blame for those done poorly.

    “Rich Kid”

    Wasn’t it Packard in the late Twenties who was “the well-groomed rich kid” that looked down at Cadillac? Any diatribe against The General and sympathy towards the Independents should acknowledge the former’s hard climb to the top and the latter’s clumsy fall to the bottom. Not to dredge up the never finished Packard obit but EGB’s leadership mismanaged the company’s affairs from the intro of 110 to the day it closed shop. I have no sympathy nor do I blame the multitude of “outside factors.” Packard had a fair chance. That it took 20 years of fairly consistent bad product decisions is testament to how strong the company actually was at its height. It could have gotten back in the game under Nance and yes, the luxury market would have rewarded it. Nance made bad product decisions because he was not a car person and had no clue what to do in the early days as President. He ended up over spending on too many things, under spending on a few, and too slowly spending on just about everything.

    How to identify and apply these lessons from history are the most important things on my mind, which is why I enjoy these rich discussions with you, Aaron. You make me think, even if in the end we end up thinking differently.

    1. I’m just going to say I disagree on almost all points and leave it at that.

  16. Richard Langworth’s “Collectible Automobile” article stated that the Jet appealed to the sort of buyer who might otherwise get an Austin A40, with the advantage that unlike the A40, the Jet could cruise at 75 mph all day without throwing up its guts. Aside from the issues with the Jet’s styling and pricing, that was definitely a niche market at that time.

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