Photo: Facebook Marketplace Visalia, CA
Most people aren't superstitious, but they are at least a little "stitious." That's why you can't convince us that this 1950 Hudson sedan with the rear half replaced by a camper body isn't packed to the brim with ghostly spirits and barely-contained spectators augmenting this car's considerable aura. Just look at the thing! The cobwebs and deep rust pitting alone make it look haunted.
The truth of the matter is this custom camper car was once the brainchild of someone who wanted to build something other than just another recreational vehicle. With all the living space of a camper home designed for pickup beds and all the convenience of an American full-sized sedan, there is at least some method behind the considerable madness. As for the particular Hudson model, sadly, there doesn't appear to be any clue one way or another from the pictures alone.
But, based on some armchair observations, it appears to be a third-generation Hudson Commodore. The post-war model built between 1948 and 1952. Apart from bearing considerable styling cues in common with the iconic Hudson Hornet, which shared its front fascia styling with the soon-to-be stock car legend, the Commodore was a historic landmark vehicle for another reason. That being said, it was the first American automobile that, at least in part, was designed by a woman, Mrs. Betty Thatcher Oros.
With the keen artistic vision of one of the auto industry's unsung heroes, the third-gen Commodore was one sweet-looking ride back in its day as well as now. But at some point many, many moons ago, this particular Hudson found its rear end chopped off and replaced with a custom metal shell that was either fastened or welded to the body of the vehicle to create a camper van closer in form factor to a normal automobile. With the allure of a camper that can fit in average parking spaces with relatively normal fuel economy figures, at least for the period, there were more than a few upsides to this DIY approach to a camper van solution.
But lord only knows what became of the people who put this camper together. Assuredly, all of them have long since passed. But all the while, decades of exposure to the elements and a great deal of time served as a high-rise apartment building for the arachnid class of animals. Seriously, it looks like something Belo Lugosi would drive around to psych himself up for a banger line in Dracula. The memories of whoever put time and effort into forging this weird house-camper thing still permeate every square inch of its construction. Hopefully, you won't need an exorcist to get the thing running again. Then again, it's a better Halloween prop at this point.
But, based on some armchair observations, it appears to be a third-generation Hudson Commodore. The post-war model built between 1948 and 1952. Apart from bearing considerable styling cues in common with the iconic Hudson Hornet, which shared its front fascia styling with the soon-to-be stock car legend, the Commodore was a historic landmark vehicle for another reason. That being said, it was the first American automobile that, at least in part, was designed by a woman, Mrs. Betty Thatcher Oros.
With the keen artistic vision of one of the auto industry's unsung heroes, the third-gen Commodore was one sweet-looking ride back in its day as well as now. But at some point many, many moons ago, this particular Hudson found its rear end chopped off and replaced with a custom metal shell that was either fastened or welded to the body of the vehicle to create a camper van closer in form factor to a normal automobile. With the allure of a camper that can fit in average parking spaces with relatively normal fuel economy figures, at least for the period, there were more than a few upsides to this DIY approach to a camper van solution.
But lord only knows what became of the people who put this camper together. Assuredly, all of them have long since passed. But all the while, decades of exposure to the elements and a great deal of time served as a high-rise apartment building for the arachnid class of animals. Seriously, it looks like something Belo Lugosi would drive around to psych himself up for a banger line in Dracula. The memories of whoever put time and effort into forging this weird house-camper thing still permeate every square inch of its construction. Hopefully, you won't need an exorcist to get the thing running again. Then again, it's a better Halloween prop at this point.
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