Drive!: Henry Ford, George Selden, and the Race to Invent the Auto Age

by Lawrence Goldstone

  His description of the company’s process of innovation was misleading as well. “We are constantly experimenting with new ideas. If you travel the roads in the neighborhood of Dearborn you can find all sorts of models of Ford cars. They are experimental cars—they are not new models. I do not believe in letting any good idea get by me, but I will not quickly decide whether an idea is good or bad. If an idea seems good or seems even to have possibilities, I believe in doing whatever is necessary to test out the idea from every angle.”4 While Ford is implying that the “good ideas” are homegrown, he was also not letting anyone else’s get by him. But that he would try anything, never sitting still in the drive to improve his product was, at least at that point in his career, true.

  This is not to imply that Henry Ford simply stumbled on the Model T while thrashing about hoping to find a car that would sell. He and his team of engineers worked on the design for more than two years. And while he didn’t draw up any blueprints, the vision and the parameters within which his designers worked were his. Not all of those ideas turned out to be practical, but many of those that did work changed car manufacturing for a generation. The result was precisely what Ford had sought—a car that could be used by ordinary people in cities and, even more significantly, on farms. (One of his chief designers, testifying before Congress years later, stated unequivocally that the Model T was “a farm car.”)

  Charles Sorenson worked on the machine from the beginning, in early 1907.

  Henry Ford dropped in at the pattern department of the Piquette Avenue plant to see me. “Come with me, Charlie,” he said, “I want to show you something.” I followed him to the third floor and its north end, which was not fully occupied for assembly work. He looked about and said, “Charlie, I’d like to have a room finished off right here in this space. Put up a wall with a door big enough to run a car in and out. Get a good lock for the door, and when you’re ready, we’ll have Joe Galamb [a key Ford engineer] come up in here. We’re going to start a completely new job.”5

  When the twelve-by-fifteen room was ready, Ford suddenly announced that he was strictly limiting access. One of the employees not allowed entry was Harold Wills, which Charles Sorenson admitted was “for some reason I can’t account for.” But Ford did “tie Wills in on the vanadium steel development, which without question furnished the real impetus for abandoning the sensational success of the Model N for the evolution of the Model T.”*2, 6

  In that room, ideas were formulated, discussed, accepted, or rejected; drawings were rendered and models were built; components were tested, improved, then tested again. By spring 1908, Ford and his team had produced their prototype. Whatever missteps he had made, whatever partners and associates he had betrayed, whatever ideas he had borrowed from colleagues and competitors, and whatever credit he had taken for work done by others, with the Model T Henry Ford had produced a machine that would become a phenomenon the likes of which the world had never seen.

  Ford began advertising his new vehicle in March 1908, a full six months before it was shipped to his dealers. He saturated newspapers, magazines, and trade journals, making certain a constant stream of articles was placed about his revolutionary new product. “In the Ford Model T is offered the biggest value ever announced in automobiles” was a typical claim. “A car guaranteed by the biggest Automobile Maker in the world…a guarantee that means something. Designed by HENRY FORD, who never designed a failure.”

  The reviews matched the ads. On September 24, Motor Age ran a four-page article dedicated to the $850 machine’s roll-out, in which it noted that the car possessed “features heretofore untried in motor-car engineering, all of which are introduced with the aim of building a light-weight machine, capable of irregular road conditions, and possessing reliability features equal to the demands of motorists.” It then detailed, complete with cutaway diagrams, every feature of the engine, transmission, cooling and lubrication systems, chassis, and driver and passenger layout. The second paragraph of the article gave a sense of just how revolutionary a machine the Model T would be:

  In the car, which is a 20-horsepower machine with 100-inch wheelbase and weighing 1,200 pounds, a few of the cardinal innovations are: The four cylinders with the top of the crankcase are formed in one casting; there is a separate one-piece water-jacketed head casting for all four cylinders; ignition current is furnished by a low-tension generator incorporated in the flywheel of the motor; the flywheel of the motor becomes the lubricator in that it is enclosed, operates in an oiled bath, and distributes the oil through a lead to the motor crankcase; the improved planetary transmission has some of the planetary gears carried on the flywheel; the car has but two springs—a transverse semi-elliptic in front and a similar one in the rear; the lower half of the crankcase is continued to the rear, forming a housing for the flywheel as well as constituting the lower half of the transmission case, and a protection for the universal joint at the rear of the transmission, thereby eliminates the necessity of the mud apron. Last but not least must be mentioned the left-hand control, in which the steering wheel, control levers, and pedals are on the left side, a design particularly suited for American road conditions, where vehicles, traveling in opposite directions pass on the right.7

  Along with the new was the best of the old. “Hand in hand with these innovations, go the unit, motor and transmission construction, now employed on Ford cars for 4 years; the three-point suspension of this; the peculiar triangular Ford drive; and the employment of Vanadium steel in axles, springs, motor shafts, transmission parts, real axle driving parts, frame brackets, and all parts of the car.”8 With unintended synergy, the same issue of Motor World contained an article on new techniques employed in building wide, smooth roads for state highway systems.

  Ford Model T, 1908

  The Model T was an immediate success. In its first model year, Ford sold 10,607 of the car that would come to be called the “flivver” or “Tin Lizzie.” Ford knew, or so he claimed later, that he had found his bonanza. “In 1909, I announced one morning, without any previous warning, that in the future we were going to build only one model, that the model was going to be Model T, and that the chassis would be exactly the same for all cars.” His reasoning was simple. “It is strange how, just as soon as an article becomes successful, somebody starts to think that it would be more successful if only it were different. There is a tendency to keep monkeying with styles and to spoil a good thing by changing it.”9

  Despite the acclaim, however, the Model T was hardly the perfect car. There was no means of accessing the motor or lubricating system for repairs from underneath, so if anything did go wrong that could not be repaired from the top, the car had to be essentially rebuilt. The crank starter became notorious for explosive backfires that took many a hand, arm, or shoulder with it. The Ford suspension was bone-rattling, and although a buyer could choose a paint color—the initial rollout was red, but there were blue and gray Model Ts as well—the first run had no tops, windshields, or headlights.*3

  In fact, despite all the accolades, while the Model T was undeniably a major step forward in mass-consumption automaking, in 1908 and 1909 it was not the most advanced low-priced model available. That honor went to a $900 runabout manufactured by a man who was every bit the match for Henry Ford in vision, dynamism, and nerve, a diminutive comet described as “an organizing genius, a reckless speculator, a super-salesman, a glib promoter, [and] the one man, not excluding Henry Ford, who really saw the future of the automobile.”10 He would create a consortium that would ultimately eclipse Ford Motor and, in doing so, would persuade Henry Ford to agree to sell his entire share of Ford Motor stock for what would have been a ridiculously low price. And he did it twice. His name was William Crapo Durant, but everyone referred to him as “Billy.”

  —

  Durant was born in Boston in December 1861, about a year and a half before Ford. His maternal grandfather, Henry Crapo, had made a fortune in whaling but cashed out when he decided the New Bedford boom w
as coming to an end. Grandfather Crapo relocated to Michigan, where, after making even more money in lumber, he acquired a mansion in Flint, from which he launched a successful campaign for governor just before Billy’s third birthday. Durant was fortunate that his grandfather was so successful, because his father, of whom no solid record remains, appears to have been a no-account drifter, alcoholic, and failed land speculator.

  Durant, like Ford, left school to get an early start in business, in this case in his grandfather’s lumberyard. But unlike Ford, Durant exhibited no mechanical aptitude. Billy Durant was pure business, mostly sales. Walter Chrysler later observed that Durant “could coax a bird right down out of a tree.” As a teenager he sold everything from cigars to real estate to bicycles; still not yet twenty-one, he was appointed to manage the Flint Water Works.

  At twenty-four, Durant was ready to go out on his own. A Flint carriage maker had patented a two-wheeled cart that was supposedly so precisely balanced that it could replicate a four-wheeler. After the inventor was sufficiently cooperative to allow his shop to burn to the ground, Durant bought up the patent for $50, then borrowed $2,000 and, with another salesman as a partner, opened his own carriage firm. Durant realized early in the game that you didn’t have to make something yourself to make money from it. He got a local carriage maker to produce two-wheeled buggies at $8 apiece, and then the two young salesmen used their considerable talents to foist their product, marked up by more than 50 percent, on the public. Soon they were building a variety of carriages to cater to different markets. Fifteen years later, Durant was one of the leading manufacturers of horse-drawn carriages in the United States, producing more than fifty thousand a year, and had made himself the first of the many fortunes that would come and go for the remainder of his life. Eventually, he acquired a factory, but only for assembly. Manufacture of each of the components, “down to the whip socket,” was subcontracted.

  Durant disliked automobiles, not simply because they threatened his business but because he thought them loud, ugly, and foul-smelling. But for Durant, aesthetics could never stand up to opportunity. In 1904, he bought up controlling interest in the Buick Motor Company. The firm’s founder, David Buick, had moved from plumbing fixtures to gasoline engine design but, after five discouraging years and a series of unhappy investors, had become disgusted with the business. That was when Billy Durant showed up. Buick might have been a grumbling malcontent, but he could design a quite serviceable car.

  Buick had manufactured only sixteen automobiles in 1904, but Durant immediately proclaimed his ambition to increase that number into the hundreds of thousands. For most people, outrageous public utterances tend to be an impediment to their business. But for some—none more than Billy Durant—such pronouncements somehow provoke serious consideration as to whether they just might be true. (That Durant never drew a salary or submitted an expense report did not hurt his credibility.) Before he had built one additional machine, Durant entered Buick in the New York Auto Show—and then returned to Flint with orders for 1,108 cars. He reorganized the factory, hired engineers and managers to run it, and whirled constantly through the plant making sure his product was properly constructed. All the cars were delivered.

  Billy Durant

  David Buick left the company that bore his name in 1906, his legacy being a solid, well-designed automobile.*4 Two years after that, in the same year that the Model T rolled out, Buick, with 8,500 cars, not Ford, was the leading American automobile manufacturer. During this period, Durant invented the dedicated dealership system, an idea that was eventually copied by his competitors, including Norval Hawkins at Ford.

  Durant was a peerless salesman, with astounding energy—associates sometimes wondered when he slept, if at all—which often obscured, both during his life and afterward, a sophistication for structure, organization, and flow that would fifty years hence become the staples of many business school curricula. He saw in 1908—as did Ford—a market for automobiles poised to explode, but he also perceived a layering of that market that Ford chose to ignore. “Durant’s remedy for this situation was combination—put together a big organization, with a variety of models and its own parts factories, so that it would not only have the resources to meet the growing demand for automobiles but, by offering several kinds of car, would have some insurance against shifts in public preference.”11 The notion was brilliant: a company with divisions targeting different segments of the market, some based on low margin/high volume, some the opposite, and some in between. Firms were popping up by the hundreds and going under almost as fast. But public fascination meant that some of those companies were bound to survive and thrive. By spreading both risk and potential, Durant increased the odds that his divisions would be among them.

  To provide the cash flow to bring his vision to reality, Durant intended to use Buick’s latest rollout, an automobile at least the equal of and probably superior to Ford’s: the Model 10.

  Durant marketed the 10 as a “gentleman’s light four-cylinder roadster” and saturated newspapers with ads. It had a four-cylinder engine, like Ford’s Model T, but delivered a superior 22.5 horsepower. Unlike Ford cars, Buick had perfected a system of overhead valves that delivered better performance than the traditional side valve system and was also easier to access for repairs. The Model 10 initially came only in white; it had such a peppy ride that, helped along by Durant’s sloganeering, it was soon referred to as the “White Streak.” Durant also employed a planetary transmission with two forward speeds and one reverse, but unlike Ford’s machine, which had only two pedals, the 10 had a pedal for each of the three gears. Vanadium steel notwithstanding, the Model 10 had a superior housing for the rear differential—cast iron instead of stamped steel—and better arrangements to circulate the oil and water.

  The 1908 Model 10 was $50 more expensive than the first Model T, but it included brass trim, acetylene headlamps, side- and taillights, and a horn. It was 200 pounds heavier, but the suspension was far more advanced, making the ride more comfortable. (Although the 10 was crank-started as well, it was engineered to avoid the infamous Ford backfires.)

  Buick was an ALAM member, so Durant chose the automobile show at Madison Square Garden in November 1907 to exhibit the Model 10 for the first time. While Durant’s runabout was by far the lowest-priced four-cylinder machine, it did not attract that much attention amidst the ALAM-favored luxury automobiles selling for as much as $7,000. But Durant was unfazed. He knew precisely what to emphasize to get his new car noticed by consumers: speed and performance.

  Buick roadster waits for horse-drawn wagon to pass on narrow country road

  Durant took direct aim at the Model T. “The Fastest and Most Powerful $1,000 Runabout Sold on the American Market,” read the early ads. “Can Climb a Street Hill Faster Than Any Two, Four, or Six Cylinder Car. This Car Has Recorded 61 Miles Per Hour.” The Model 10 engine was fashioned with an equal bore and stroke, unusual but highly efficient, so Durant entered his new runabout in a series of races, where it would be driven by some of the nation’s top drivers, including Louis Chevrolet.*5 The 10 did quite well, often against competition that was larger, heavier, and, at least in theory, more powerful. When he won, Durant made sure the public knew it. But Billy Durant knew how to gain advantage even if his entry lost. A later ad for the Model 10 read:

  Won First Place Among American Cars AND Second Place in International Light Car Road Race. AFTER LEADING THE ENTIRE FIRST HALF of what proved to be the most exciting and most stubbornly fought speed battle in automobile racing history, the Buick Model 10’s gasoline tank came loose and because of stops totaling over twenty minutes from this trouble, the Buick lost the 196-mile Savannah race by six minutes. Hilliard in his $3,300 Lancia won and all credit is due him. Burman in his $1,000 Buick gave him the fight of his life and brought his car in with such a lead over the remaining contestants that there was no question concerning the standard which the Buick has set in low-priced automobile construction. The Buick used a regula
r stock chassis except that for the sake of securing less clearance, the frame and machinery were under hung. Our regular motor, transmission and axle parts were used. During the entire race, the hood over the engine was not raised.

  With the Model 10’s success, Durant moved forward. He had set his sights on some of the most successful carmakers then in operation, and no one was more successful than Ford Motor. Henry Ford, with an automobile poised to tap into a vast market and a court case that he insisted was no more than a nuisance, seemed an unhittable target. But Durant sensed vulnerability and went right for it.

  With every car Ford sold, Durant knew, his potential indemnity to Selden increased. By the time the Model T was released, it was more than $1 million. In addition, if Ford lost, he could be liable for interest and legal fees, which could add hundreds of thousands to the bill. But the future held more risk than the past. If Selden won, he would be free to negotiate a new licensing agreement that could strip Ford of virtually all of his profits until 1912 or even put him out of business. Durant decided that Henry Ford might just be willing to free himself from all that inconvenience.

  And so, to pull the conglomerate together, Durant initially approached three other carmakers. Ford was one, REO—Ransom Olds’s firm—was another, and Maxwell-Briscoe was the third. Benjamin Briscoe was the most enthusiastic, and Olds agreed to go along as well.