Hal Nelson and the Green Dodge Van

My first months at Hayward Ford were a trial for me. I was scared to death most of the time. That is probably the reason why my memories of those days are so vivid. My introduction into the world of Car Men was burned into my brain as surely as an image on a photographic negative. The salesmen were not exactly mean to me though Bill Keith referred to me as “summer help”. For the most part they ignored me. Hoping, I suppose, I would just go away. Looking back on those days I have come to realize that I was a harbinger of the next generation, and I do not think they particularly liked that fact.

My first used car manager was Hal Nelson. Hal was a man of average height with thinning salt and pepper hair and a dark complexion. He was a sharp dresser and always had a cigarette in his mouth. Hal had been around the business a long time. You had to be sharp to be a used car manager in those days, and Hal knew his job well. He was definitely a Car Man of the first order and not the sort of guy who would take any guff from the new car manager’s little brother.

I would not say that Hal disliked me. He was too busy a man to give a green pea like me much notice, but when I had a trade-in that needed to be appraised I would head toward the used car office with trepidation. Hal Nelson was a man of many moods, and it appeared to me that I did not make that mood any better. I was usually greeted with a growl.

When Hal appraised a car it was not enough for him to look the sled over and give you a number. At least with me he itemized all the things that were wrong with the car in agonizing detail. Sometimes the total estimate of reconditioning was more than the Blue Book value of the car! I once got an appraisal for minus $150.00! I was too intimidated to say anything. I would just take the appraisal to my brother who would sigh and call Hal up on the dealership’s intercom system. “Why are you screwing with my little brother?” Danny he would ask with humor in his voice.

Over time I figured out how to work Hal Nelson. It seemed to me that if he were in a bad mood, you would surely receive a bad appraisal. If he was in a good mood you still might get a bad appraisal, but at least he would not make you feel guilty for making him look at the trade. What I started to do was to tell him a joke every time I visited his office. This was not always easy because I have never been one to remember jokes, but getting Hal to laugh was the key to leaving his office unscathed and with a halfway decent number on your car.

Hal always wore expensive suits. The worst thing you could do was to bring him a really dirty car. If the dirt level passed a certain threshold Hal would not get in it. He would write a figure in large numbers on the appraisal sheet and underline it three or four times.

“This doesn’t say fifty bucks, David,” he would say, stabbing his pen at the appraisal pad. “It says fifty cents!”

A few minutes later Danny would have to call him to get the real number.

One day an event occurred that changed my relationship with Hal Nelson forever. It all started when I waited on a guy driving a mid-60’s Dodge van. He was probably in his late twenties with long, unkempt brown hair. The thing I remember most was that he was a bundle of nerves. Throughout the course of working the deal I had the feeling he might bolt at any second.

He sat in my office twitching nervously in his seat, stammering as I asked him questions for the credit application. I do not remember what he was trying to buy, but he did want to use his van as a trade-in. Things went reasonably well--until I asked him for his keys to the Dodge. He did not like the idea that I was going to have his vehicle appraised, but after some coaxing he finally agreed on the condition that he could first remove something from the van.

We went out to where the Dodge was parked on the street. It was an ugly military green. He opened the side doors revealing a wood-paneled interior with green shag carpeting. 70’s chic. The only seats were the two up front. Mounted on the paneled walls were framed black and white photographs of major figures of the day. There was a photo of Robert F. Kennedy, a second of Martin Luther King, a third was the poet Allan Ginsberg. The van was empty except for a thick brown photo album on the carpeted floor. He scooped the album up and hugged it to his chest as if someone might grab it away from him. I was too dumb to be curious. I was just relieved that it was now okay for me to take the van to Hal.

Even after my clever warm-up joke Hal Nelson did not react well to this particular Dodge van. Perhaps he sensed something was up. He walked slowly around it shaking his head. The interior made him groan. We got in and went for the appraisal drive. Part way down Mission Boulevard Hal asked me to open the glove box and find the registration. I did so—and came up with a handful of color Polaroid photographs of my customer having sex with men.

Oh. My. God.

Hal took a glance at the photos and handed them back to me. I threw them back into the glove box as if they were on fire. This was 1971. I was twenty-one years old. I knew what a homosexual was, but I had never had contact with a gay man in my entire life. My face paled. Hal did not react well either, though I think he found my reaction amusing.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “We’ll handle this when we get back.”

When we returned to the used car office, Hal got Danny on the intercom. They talked for a couple of minutes. Hal had this amazing ability to look serious as hell while chuckling through the events of our drive.

“I think we’re going to have to turn this deal to another salesman,” he advised.

“Hell yeah!” I thought.
From that day forward my relationship with Hal Nelson changed. Our experience in the green Dodge van had somehow bonded us. Gone was the gruffness, although I still got a lousy appraisal if he was in a bad mood. This relationship continued for many years afterward until his passing. He became an auto wholesaler, and I was now all grown up and a sales manager at a Nissan dealership. Occasionally we would cross paths. We would always greet each other warmly, exchange a joke or two--but we never spoke of the Dodge van again.

What happened with the deal? Well, my brother turned the to our best salesman, Tony Batarse. Tony B., as he was called, was from El Salvador, a very intelligent man who spoke with a soft Spanish accent that belied his remarkable sales abilities. I nervously took him to my office and introduced him to the customer who was sitting in his chair still clinging to the binder.

I left the office quickly hoping Tony could do his magic. A half a deal was better than none! As I walked away I heard Tony say this, “Sir, I will give you an extra $100 off this deal if I can look in that binder!”