Published: October 13, 2008 10:04 am            

Larue Barnes: Wheels

He had his first car at age 14. Seventy years later Norvel “Nob” Hudson says he still loves wheels.

He owned a car lot at 504 South Main Street in Cleburne for almost 40 years. Selling mostly used cars, he said that for a while he sold brand-new ones cheaper than a new car dealership could.

“My brother, Johnny, and I were in the car business together. In the 1940s and ’50s we could buy new cars for $1,500 and new pickup trucks for $1,200. The way you did that, you rode the train up to Indianapolis and only paid the freight from the manufacturer in Detroit to there. We drove a car apiece back, each pulling another one.”

He said he remembered one trip in particular.

“Lowell Smith Jr. was in college in 1951. We sold him the second car he’d ever had, a 1951 Chevy Bellaire coupe. He rode the train up there with us and drove his car back home, following us. I learned to appreciate the man on that trip, and we’ve been friends for a long time.”

That method of driving the cars back to Cleburne to save freight didn’t last forever. Hudson said the manufacturer began to average out the freight costs in the price of cars and insurance coverage became a factor.

After that he sold used cars. He was good at finding the right car for a customer.

New car dealerships often sold trade-ins to him.

Jack Hewlett, who later owned the Chrysler-Plymouth dealership here, said he sold a new car to a man traveling through town and took his older car in on the deal.

“It was a good looking car and I asked him for the car’s title,” Hewlett said. “He said he had it at home and would mail it to me. I took the car down to Nob’s, and he said he’d buy it and went ahead and paid me. We’d been friends for a long time.”

They both felt good about the deal.

“Well,” Hewlett said, getting ready for his punch line, “when the title came in the mail, I noticed something unusual. It had come from a wrecking yard.”

Hewlett quietly slipped the title onto the counter at Hudson’s office and said, “Tell Nob I brought this to him,” on his way out.

Did Hudson notice it was bought from a wrecking yard?

Hewlett grinned and said, “Oh, did he!”

Although that was not planned, the two took delight in pulling tricks on each other.

“One time Nob was in my office and he noticed I had a little hole in my shirt that I had snagged on something,” Hewlett said.

“He asked about it, then put his finger in it and ripped it right off my back.”

Hudson had scores of easy-going relationships for he knew about getting along; he had grown up as one of nine children.

Named Norvel Ray and nicknamed by his uncle as “Nob,” he born on June 3, 1924, to Elmer and Minnie Powell Hudson at Hill Creek, near Eulogy.

“My mother was 14 when she and my dad married,” Hudson said. “I had four sisters and four brothers; I was number eight. I had a brother who was 10 years younger.

“I’m the only one left.”

The Hudsons rented farms and dairies and moved around a lot.

“I worked on the farm and in the dairy. We raised cattle and planted cotton and grain crops. My dad and uncle worked together.

“I never really liked my nickname, but everybody else did, so it stuck. We moved to Brazos Point when I was 5 years old. We lived about a half mile from Brazos Point School. Miss McCarty was my teacher in first grade. She had second- and third-graders, too. I liked school because I liked people.”

He smiled and added, “And I always had a girlfriend.”

The biggest fight he ever had was in an unexpected place.

“I’m ashamed, but Jimmy Hansford, who was tall and I was short, had been picking on me a lot. We were at the Pentecostal Church in Sunday school when I just lit into him. Our teacher got us apart. I was afraid to go home. My parents were there in another part of the church.”

Hudson said his parents never mentioned it.

“I thought my teacher didn’t tell on me. Or maybe she did, and my dad knew Jimmy needed what he got and didn’t want to punish me.”

He said Brazos Point had three or four stores then. His maternal grandfather, George Powell, was one of the merchants, owning a little grocery store, and selling gas.

The family moved to Bono when Norvel was in the fourth grade. He went to school there for a short time. When they moved near Sand Flat when he was 10, he enrolled in Rock Tank School with Hudson McClean as his teacher.

“By the time we moved to the Highland-Brazos Valley community near the State Park” Hudson said, “I rode my bicycle to school. I was the only one with wheels. We were old enough to want to have parties, but my parents were very religious and never did let me have one at my house. I could go to other people’s parties, though.”

There was no expense involved.

“This was during the Great Depression. I don’t remember any refreshments at all. They had the parties in their homes, and we made our own entertainment. We went walking, played ‘Spin the Bottle,’ that sort of thing. We had great times without spending any money at all.”

When he enrolled in Cleburne High School, he was overwhelmed with the size of the place.

“Pernie Moore was one of my teachers. I was also in Edison House. I found that I hadn’t been prepared very well for high school, having moved from one small school to another. I thought I was too smart to stay in school, so I dropped out.”

He worked for his dad on the farm and continued to go to Cleburne on Saturdays.

“I had always gone into town on Saturdays. I had my own car when I was 14 [a 1935 Ford coupe] and spent most of my time driving around the courthouse square and going to the movies.

“I had met my future wife, Elloie Johnson, when I doubled-dated with another girl. Elloie was as beautiful as a movie star.

“Back then you didn’t make a date in advance. You just went to their house, knocked on the door, and asked them if they wanted to go somewhere with you. I went to this girl’s house — the one I was dating — and found that she had gone to Cleburne and hadn’t come home.

“I thought about Elloie and went to ask her. She said yes, and we soon were going steady. I found out later that she had a date with someone else when I came over. She left word for him that she had to sit up with a sick friend.”

On Aug. 29, 1942, when they were both 18, Norvel and Elloie were married at Bethel Temple’s parsonage in Cleburne.

Their first home was a rented a room in a large house on South Anglin Street in Cleburne.

Hudson worked at John Street Tire Company on South Main, making $14 a week. On their first wedding anniversary, their only child, Ronny, was born.

“World War II was going on. I had an earlier draft deferment from when I worked on the farm, but I felt pressure to go to war and do my part. So in November, 1943, with a three-month-old baby, I left,” he said.

Elloie and Ronny moved in with her parents, William B. and Allie Johnson, on North Douglas Street, while Norvel was in the service. Elloie worked at Burr’s Department Store and later at the Santa Fe Shops.

“I was inducted into the U. S. Army at Camp Wolters in Mineral Wells, and had basic training in Florida,” Hudson said. “Elloie came to stay for three weeks in Jacksonville, nearby. I got a weekend pass whenever I could. We both loved Florida.

“I was sent to England on June 6, D-Day. I was assigned to the Eighth Division as a heavy machine gunner.”

He was on Omaha Beach 20 days after its invasion.

“The Germans had been driven way back. We had to check all their submarine pens to be sure they were gone.”

While in France he said he let his guard down one day when the sun was very bright.

“We had been told not to try to open our food cans in the sunlight, but I was hungry. I was opening a cheese can when it reflected in the sun, and a German sniper fired at me. The shell hit my first aid kit that was attached to my ammunition belt.”

Spared injury, he never did that again, he said.

He had no protection the next time.

“About 6 p.m. on Sept. 4, 1944, in Brest, France, we were relaxed, standing around talking, when a grenade was thrown near me. I didn’t know I was hit very bad until blood starting running off my arm. The shrapnel had entered my arm and lodged in my chest. I could run my fingers through the hole in my arm.

“The medics removed the shrapnel there on the battlefield, bandaged me up and sent for a transport plane to take me to a hospital in England.”

Four months later, on Jan. 1, 1945, he returned to his company.

“I was assigned to light duty, guarding German prisoners. They had come from all directions, surrendering. I saw three of them throw their .25 automatics behind some bushes. I brought them home.”

He showed me one pistol with the ammunition clip still holding the original bullets. He explained how they were hidden.

“They carried them in pouches, covered with tobacco. I learned they had been told to take the pistols out and to shoot an American officer. They surrendered instead.”

On June 1, 1945, Hudson was back in Cleburne on a 30-day leave. He had been told that when he returned he would be sent to Japan because a massive invasion was planned.

“I was eating at Ralph Chafin’s café when he told me some news. We had dropped an atomic bomb on Japan. I had no idea what an atomic bomb was.”

Three days later, there was another atomic blast, and the war ended.

When Hudson returned to civilian life in Cleburne, he sold tractors on South Main for Sam Kelly.

He wanted a business of his own.

“My brother, Johnny, had been selling cars since 1945, so in 1949, we went into the car business together,” he said.

Years later they had a nice brick building constructed at the center of their lot. They had a good business, Hudson said, financing some of their customers’ notes themselves. People were loyal, often returning when they wanted to trade cars again.

“Johnny died in 1975, and I sold the business. I retired for a couple of years, and then our son, Ronny, and I went in business together. He owned a Honda motorcycle dealership, and I had my car lot next to it.”

Norvel and Elloie moved to Lake Whitney in 1988, when he retired for good. They traveled and enjoyed their time together.

“She was the fisherman. I had a huge bass mounted that she caught. She loved to fish more than anybody.”

His wife of 61 years died Nov. 20, 2003. Hudson moved back to Cleburne in 2006 and bought a home.

“I wanted to come back to Cleburne. I’ve always loved it here. It is a wonderful business town. When you’re in the car business you get to know a lot of people. They become your friends if you treat them right.”

His son, Ronny Hudson, and his son’s wife, Ferrelynn, live in Weatherford. His only granddaughter, Tracey Loechel, lives in Belton. He has two great-grandchildren.

He is a member of Calvary Baptist Church in Cleburne and has been given a 50-year membership award at Cleburne’s Masonic Lodge.

His wheels are still turning.

He smiled and said, “I look forward to Friday and Saturday nights when I go dancing at the Elk’s Lodge.”

He said he thinks often now about his close calls during World War II. He is convinced that his time in the hospital saved his life.

“While I was hospitalized there in England, my company was in a big forest battle in Germany. The trees were so close that the shells sprayed through the trees. It was almost impossible to escape them.

“As I ate Christmas dinner there in the hospital in 1944, my company was fighting the Battle of the Bulge. I don’t think I could have come through all of that.”

He paused.

“I’ve always been grateful.”



This story was suggested

by Jack Hewlett.



Larue Barnes may be reached at laruebarnes@yahoo.com.

        

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