Remembrance Day and a Datsun 510

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
—John McCrae

November 11 is Veterans Day in the U.S., but north of the border and in other Commonwealth countries, the holiday marked is Remembrance Day. Held every year since 1919, Remembrance Day is more like Memorial Day and honors the sacrifice of those veterans who gave their lives; it is a day for somber ceremony and reflection. Its symbol is the poppy, worn over the heart by thousands around the world, their sales a fundraiser for supporting veterans. Up until 10 years ago, one man did more for this cause than anyone else in Canada.

Perched on the corner of Robson and Hornby streets in downtown Vancouver, Arthur Hughes fairly crackled with energy, right into his late 70s. You’d find him there, no matter the weather, parade-ground sharp in his woolen British Army uniform, pressed to creases you could cut yourself on. He’d have his tray of poppies hung from his neck, ready to greet his regulars and also surprise and charm a passerby; Vancouver is a multicultural city and Art was fluent in six languages.

Over the years, he is reckoned to have raised some $200,000, 10 hours a day, every poppy pinned to his customers’ lapels by his own hands. The poppies were the first thing everyone knew about Art Hughes. The second was his pristine 1972 Datsun 510.

“People ask me how I’m able to drive a stock 510,” says Dan Uphoff, who considers himself the caretaker of Art’s Datsun 510. “They say they are not fun to drive stock, and I have to disagree. The looks and attention the car gets are amazing. People see it and it transports them back to when they were a kid, growing up in the back seat of a 510.”

The Datsun 510 is now a beloved classic, and in the early 1970s it had done its work as an ambassador for the Japanese auto industry. Before that, however, postwar resentment toward Japan lingered far and wide. One example: When Nissan executives visited the Austin factory in Britain after the war, seeking to learn more about manufacturing to restart their industry, there was open hostility. Some of the factory workers were veterans of the Pacific, and they were not ready to forgive and forget.

Hughes, a Shanghai-born British-Canadian veteran who’d been forced to flee China with his family to Nanaimo, B.C., had his own complex feelings on the matter, especially because he had received his early schooling in Japan. And his linguistic capabilities led to him being appointed to serve in Geneva after the war ended, working toward setting up the United Nations. Uphoff recalls Art being incensed by seeing an Imperial Rising Sun graphic painted on the hood of a Datsun—he left the owner a sternly worded educational note as to what that symbol meant—but Art knew the Japanese as a people, not as an enemy.

Hughes’ Datsun formerly belonged to his Aunt Isobel, who bought it new on his recommendation from Brasso Nissan in North Vancouver in the fall of 1971, and then proceeded to drive it just 7000 miles over the next eight years. When she gave up her license, Art took over the keys.

Before inheriting the 510, however, Hughes owned a bright yellow Mustang convertible. To this day, the members of the Greater Vancouver Mustang Association remember him as an active member who was often an emcee at charity events. Hughes was a joiner and a volunteer, and the amount of work he accomplished in charitable and community service beggars belief. He served as volunteer groundskeeper at his church, and he hand-restored every nicotine-stained plaque and medal at his local Legion. In 1965, as a response to a call for volunteer drivers, Art drove down from Ontario to Alabama and pitched in on a Civil Rights march from Selma to Montgomery.

Ever a man of involvement, Hughes signed up with the local Datsun 510 club as member #80. The club was not prepared for the whirlwind that was about to hit them.

“I always enjoyed Art’s company, as he was quite an engaging man,” says 510 club member Bryon Meston. “However, you never get to really know a person’s character until you take on a project together. And our first project together was a simple replacement of a steering arm component on his beloved Datsun 510—a fairly simple and straightforward job, right? Well, by the time six hours had passed, the entire motor was out of the car because Art wanted to touch up some paint on the block and oil pan! This is how Art kept me on my toes.”

Hughes had a meticulous eye for detail and a refusal to accept less than perfection. This perfectionism was married to a restless energy, and as such, what should have been an ordinary blue Japanese compact car turned out to be probably the nicest example on the planet. At a local concours event in the late 1990s, he beat out a Mercedes 300SL Gullwing and a Jaguar E-Type for top prize. The lower mainland’s All-Japanese Classic event created an award in his name for the best stock collector car in show; it was the highest honor anyone could think of bestowing on a car—that it was good enough for Art.

Further, while the 510 was a show car, it was not a garage queen. Art drove his car frequently around town (though never in the rain), so you never knew when you were going to come across him and wonder if some rift in time had opened and transported you back to 1972. The car always looked like it had just rolled out of a Datsun showroom, and Art always waved and grinned at anyone gawking at him.

He gave his beloved 510 up only at the very end, just a year before he died at the age of 80. Right until the end, though, he was out selling his poppies, having raised $125,000 in the last six years of his life alone.

His obituary in the Globe and Mail was simply titled, “My God, he was a good fellow.” It was a fitting epitaph for someone who lived a full life of service, brightening the world through his work.

“Art’s car has been an important part of the community,” says Uphoff. “On the West Coast you hardly meet someone that Art didn’t make a huge impact on. So many people have stories of this kind man and how he could just talk your ear off. He was loved by everyone who knew him, and this 510 meant a lot to him. I have no plans to ever sell her and hope my kids will love her as I and Arthur have.”

It is also fitting that Art Hughes’ passion lives on in a four-wheeled form—not in some rare exotic but in an ordinary, extraordinary little car. One that is special only because of the incredible amount of work Art poured into leaving things better than when he found them. As he did with his poppies. As he did with his Datsun. As he did with people.

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