When Bruce Hatfield was growing up in rural Texas 60-odd years ago, the nearest town was seven dusty miles away, with a total population of 350 souls. The closest opportunity for socializing was an ice-cream parlor 30 miles away; and when he began classes at the University of Texas at Austin, it was a daily, 120-mile, round-trip commute. Cars were the only way to bust out.
“The first car I remember my family having was a 1949 Ford, but the one I remember best is the one after that, a 1952 Chevy sedan,” says Hatfield, leading a tour of his property about a half-hour outside of Hendersonville, where he’s lived for the past nine years.
“My father was a Chevy man while I was growing up. Then it was Pontiacs,” he recalls. But it was the Chevys that stuck with young Bruce, as evidenced by the 1950 Chevrolet 3100 half-ton pickup that today resides in his barn. Painted an iridescent black that Hatfield says was called “dark spiral metallic,” with serious front fenders, a bulbous hood and a windshield visor that lends it some gravitas, the truck inspires visions of car hops, roller-skating waitresses and poodle skirts. A friend of Hatfield’s in Pennsylvania discovered it for him three years ago.
“It was in pretty good shape and in running condition, but I wanted to pep it up some,” says Hatfield, showing off the Corvette engine he swapped for the truck’s original straight-six. An automatic transmission was another modification, but otherwise the truck looks much like it would have rolling off the assembly line 60 years ago. “These trucks were all over the place when I was going to school in Austin. They were especially popular.”
Eventually, Chevrolet introduced what it called its “Advance Design” pickups in half, three-quarter and one-ton versions. They were intended to provide a more comfortable and sturdier vehicle for farm workers and rural families, with features considered cutting-edge at the time — e.g., an adjustable bench seat replacing the immovable separated seats of pre-war models, so Mom, Dad and Junior could all ride in the cab (which was larger and welded in one piece, instead of the bolted-together cabs of earlier pickups). It was easier to get into and out of, thanks to doors that swung wide open on concealed hinges. Mom’s skirts could stay cleaner because the doors were also taller, extending below the sills to keep out dust and mud. Model years after Hatfield’s 1950 example boasted side-window vents, push-button door handles, and, by 1955, when the Advance Design family was replaced by Chevy’s Task Force series, a one-piece windshield without the center dividing strip. The series was so popular it became the largest selling pick-up truck in America during the first half of the 1950s.
However, it’s the earlier 3100s that are a major presence on today’s classic-automobile circuit, as Hatfield should know — he’s president of the Hendersonville Antique Car Club. “But I didn’t start out intending to be a collector,” he says. “I just like cars. They’ve always been such a part of my life.”
Like most aficionados, he remembers his first purchase, a 1954 Ford Crown Victoria, bought for $500. It was succeeded, among others, by a Mercedes SL190 two-seater roadster, a 1968 Jeep Wagoneer and the ‘68 bronze Corvette that shares the barn with the truck. Hatfield’s particular favorite among his cars is a 1968 Oldsmobile Cutlass — somewhat poignant considering that Oldsmobiles (and, just recently, Pontiacs) have been discontinued by General Motors.
He laments the loss of such cultural icons, markers of changing tastes and national mood. “There was a time when you could spot a car off in the distance and immediately tell what make and model it was. That’s how distinctive American automobiles used to be, even among cars made by the same company, like GM. But there was a change around 1973, I think, when they started using common parts. Now they all look kind of alike.”
Hatfield has given his Chevy 3100 some personal historical weight with decals proudly emblazoned on the doors, including one that reads: “Texas Land & Cattle Company, Salado Texas 1836.” The words encircle the Texas Longhorn symbol, neatly encapsulating the state’s history and economic drivers. Salado, Hatfield’s hometown, has grown to about 5,000 strong, and it’s no longer necessary to drive 30 miles for some conversation and company. But memories are reflected in the truck’s gleaming black metal, still ready for the open road.