by
Dr. Robert E. Plucker
The
state of South Dakota was quite late in requiring people to have licenses to
drive. As late as the early 50s, if you could see over, or through the steering
wheel, and if your feet could reach the pedals, you could drive. I suppose that
I must have been ten or eleven years old when my dad let me drive his Model T
Ford truck, but only in the field, and in low gear. This was a big deal for me
even though I had put in significant time driving the big Rock Island tractor.
In
this decadent age of Hummers and other SUVs, there is hardly anyone left who
remembers the Model T and its intricacies. Those farmer's Model Ts that I
remember were mostly closed sedans, usually with only one functioning door on
the passenger side. The driver's side was blocked pretty well with the parking
brake lever, and I can't remember whether there was a door actually cut in the
driver's side. The colors were always black, but the cars I remember were
usually covered with dust and mud anyhow, so who cared? The ride was stiff, with a transverse leaf
spring placed over the front axle and another over the rear. If there had been
any smooth roads, the ride could have been half decent, but no one ever knew,
as the gravel roads were usually of the washboard type. The dirt roads could be
unspeakable.
Dad's
Model T truck had a high, square, roomy cab made of wood. There were side doors
but no side windows, only side curtains. The windshield was in three horizontal
parallel segments, the middle one could be folded down. The hood over the
engine was ridiculously small and short, the box was fairly large, holding
about l20 bushels of grain, made of wood, of course, and painted green. I am
under the impression that most of the T trucks were green but I am not sure
about this.
The
T had the usual steering wheel on the left with the "oogah" horn
button located in its hub. Below the wheel, mounted in the place where you
would expect to find the turn-signal stalk, and the windshield wiper stalk,
were the "spark" on the left, and the "gas" on the right.
The spark would slightly delay the electrical impulse to the spark plug so that
it would fire after the piston had reached top dead center. This was so the
engine would be sure to run forward, not backward when cranking it. When the
engine was running, the spark could be advanced to its more efficient position.
This is all automatic in the modern car. The "gas" was what served
for an accelerator, as there was no pedal on the floor. Up was slow, down was
fast.
On
the floor were three pedals. The right one was the brake. This was connected
mechanically with the brake drums on the rear wheels only, and was not a good
system. Luckily, eastern South Dakota is quite flat, and great brakes were not
quite so imperative. The middle pedal was reverse. Step on it hard, and you
would move backward, slowly. Dad said that if there were an emergency and you
had to stop quickly, you could step on both the brake and the reverse pedal and
get fairly good results. The left pedal controlled a planetary gear system that
gave you two speeds ahead. Step hard on the pedal and you went ahead slowly in
"low." Release the pedal all the way and you were in
"high," just like that. Planetary gears are hard to explain, but the
principle is that when you stop one part of the gearing, the other part has to
rotate twice as fast, thus two speeds. Half-way to the floor was neutral. To
the far left was mounted the parking brake lever. Pull this lever all the way
back, and it would engage a cam that operated the same brake system as the
pedal brake. Half way forward on this lever released the brake, there was a
kind of neutral area in the middle and when the lever went all the way forward
another cam allowed it to engage the clutch but only in "high" gear.
The correct way to start out was to bring the brake/clutch lever forward and
step on the "low" pedal at the same time. Then you would be able to
start without killing the engine. Release the pedal and you were in
"high." Are you with me on all this?
If
you killed the engine and wanted to restart, you would have to hand-crank it.
There were some electric starters available as add-on equipment in some of the
later model cars and trucks but they were rare. To hand-crank, you turned on
the switch to battery, if you had a battery installed. Otherwise you would go
directly to magneto by turning the switch to the left. You retarded the spark
all the way with the lever on the steering column, set the gas at about half to
two-thirds open, then got out and went around to the front of the car. There
you would see the crank, hanging out below the radiator and you would push it
into place at the leading end of the crankshaft, and being absolutely sure you
had retarded the spark. If the engine needed choking, there was a little ring
you could pull, handy to your left hand, connected to the carburetor. So you
pulled, and cranked with the right hand, spinning it as fast as you could if
the engine was cold. If the engine was hot it would probably start after one or
two compressions and of course would not need the choke. Once the engine
caught, you sprinted to the cab and advanced the spark to make it run smoothly,
and shut down the throttle so as not to over rev the engine. Then you could
gradually release the choke, just as you do with your lawn-mower engine today,
and when the engine was hot, you had the option of fiddling with the mixture of
gas and air. This was done with a knob on the end of a stiff wire that led to
the carburetor. This was also a choke control, but the mixture control was by
rotating the knob, and it was a way of fine-tuning the gas/air mixture.
There
were headlights. On the pre-twenties models I suppose they must have used
carbide lights, but Dad's truck and every other Model T that I was acquainted
with, had electric lights. They were dim, and the joke went around that you had
to light a match to see if they were actually on. Dad rarely used a battery in
the truck, but every April the license came due, and South Dakota law required
that correctly aimed functioning headlights and tail lights be inspected. So
Dad would have to buy a six-volt dry "hotshot" battery, connect the
light switch to it and have the inspector do his thing. Sometimes he would be
able to borrow a battery, as he would never use the truck at night anyhow.
Dad's
truck, and for all I know, all Model T trucks, had an additional complication.
There was another more or less conventional transmission with a stick shifter
placed behind the regular planetary gear system. This meant that when the stick
transmission was in low gear, you still had the pedal "low" and
"high" before the power ever got to the extra tranny. So
"low" and "high" in "low", "second",
and "high" with the extra transmission gave you six available forward
speeds. Double "low" was extremely slow and powerful. Dad's stick
transmission did not have a reverse, but he said that some trucks did have
that. If you put these in double reverse, they would creep slowly ahead.
Amazing.
 |
| 1924 Ford Model T Truck |
There
was no water pump on these Ts. They ran hot, and sometimes boiled over, but the
system worked most of the time, with the radiator fluid slowly circulating by
itself. Modern antifreeze fluid either was not available, or my dad refused to
buy it, I don't know which. We used plain water in the radiator. In winter, you
had to start the engine first, and while it was running and before it got too
hot, fill the radiator with water. When you were through using the vehicle, you
drained the water out of it with the handy little valve at the bottom of the
radiator. Modern cars do not have this convenient feature. If you forgot to
drain and if the weather was cold enough the freezing water would crack the
head or block or both of the engine and you might be stuck for a new engine. My
dad said he thought our truck had a 1924 chassis and a 1922 engine. He didn't
really know, as by the time he got it, it was already a kind of patchwork of
parts.
 |
This photo was taken on June 17, 2012 in Galveston, TX
This Model T is still in service! Has to be a FORD!!! |
My
scariest experience with this truck came when I was in high school. I was to
take a load of oats to town to the grain elevator to sell it. Ordinarily this
was not a big deal. You drive up a
rather steeply inclined ramp to an alleyway that runs right through the
building. You stop in the alleyway with the front wheels on a platform that is
actually a hydraulic lift. This lift raises up the front of the truck high
enough so that the grain will spill from the back of the truck down into a pit
below the alley, and from there it is elevated (this is where the term
"elevator" comes from) to a high storage bin. The only tricky part is
to be sure you have a good enough start up the ramp so you don't stall before
you hit the level alley. If Dad's truck stalled on the ramp there would be no
holding it with the brake no matter how many pedals you stomped on, and there
would be zero chance of restarting the engine with a hand crank. So the truck
would roll back down the incline virtually out of control. My problem was that
there were three elevators in town at that time, and I unwittingly went to the
only one that was temporarily closed, even though the big sliding door was
open.
 |
| The elevator |
So
I got up a respectable head of steam with my heavy load of oats, drove right up
the ramp, placed the front wheels squarely on the lift, and then was told by a
flunky who came running over, that this elevator was closed and that I would
have to go to one of the others. He then disappeared. What should have happened
was to go straight through the alley, come down on the other side of the
building and drive to where I wanted to be. But the other door was closed, I
did not know how to get it open, the flunky was gone, and I was too proud and
foolish to go to someone for help. I thought there was no choice but to back
down the ramp the way I had come, heavy load and all, hoping against hope that
I could keep some control over the speed and direction of the truck as it came
down the rather narrow, steep ramp. After all, there were three pedals to push,
surely I could hold the speed down to something that I could handle.
So
carefully I started backward, throttle way closed, foot on the brake pedal. The
rear wheels hit the start of the slant of the ramp and I felt an immediate leap
of speed. More pedal, both feet on brake and reverse. No help at all. Faster
and faster backward down the ramp with the full heavy load. The steering wheel
started to wobble, and the weight of the oats and the considerable overhang of
the box over the rear wheels caused the front wheels to have only a casual
acquaintance with the ground. I was totally out of control and moving at what
seemed to me a terrific speed. Just before the whole thing was about to end
with a sickening crash, amid fountains of oats, the truck reached the end of
the ramp, weight was restored to the front wheels, and I was able to bring
things to a stop on the level street. With all the slewing from side to side,
and the inability to steer with the front wheels, I was unbelievably grateful
to have escaped without wrecking anything. After I recovered from shaking
enough to drive the truck up a similar ramp into the correct open elevator I
unloaded the oats, got the check, drove out the far side of the elevator and
went home. I never told my dad that I had almost wrecked the truck.
Driving
the T was fun, even in the 40s, this old truck was considered an antique. I was
allowed to drive it to school a few times. Most of the farm kids drove a car to
school, as there was no school bus then. I got to drive the truck in the Lennox
High homecoming parade. But perhaps the most fun was when I was a little kid,
with my dad driving, roaring down the road with the doors open, windshield
folded down, and the wind whipping around. My dad would yank down the
"gas" lever and yell at me, “There’s only one way to drive these
things, and that's wide open!"
I
thought we were flying, but I have since read that the top speed of a Model T
Ford was about 40 MPH. I suppose that this old truck could perhaps do 35.
Still, with the doors open..... There was no speedometer on this truck. There
were no instruments at all, unless you count the dipstick that was kept with
the gas tank under the seat. It seems to me that the oiling of the engine was a
kind of splash system that did not need a pump for oil pressure. And of course,
if the engine overheated, you would see the radiator cap start to steam and
finally erupt with boiling water. No need for an ammeter or voltmeter if there
were no battery or alternator.
After
a careful count, it appears that some 26 cars and a truck have passed through
my hands since the Model T truck. I had intended to write about all of them,
but I see now that it is impossible. Instead, here's a sentence or two (or
more) about some of the more interesting ones.
1929
Essex Super Six four-door sedan. My sister and I shared this as our
driving-to-high school car. We bought it for $45, and could have had any of
three Model A Fords for the same price. We thought the Model A was too common,
and chose the Essex.
1931
Chevrolet two-door sedan. It had a radio, a Crosley "Roamio",
bolted under the dash just to the left of the steering column. Not many cars
had a radio then, and this one even had an antenna with four three-foot
telescoping sections.
l936
Oldsmobile four-door sedan. The body and upholstery were in perfect shape
when I bought it. The engine ran so quietly, I was sure this was a wonderful
car. Ultimately I became filled with wonder at how much oil, gas, and other
items it took to keep it running. I never understood how a car could look so
good and be so bad.
1950
Nash Statesman four-door sedan. It
was my first new car after the long succession of used or used-up cars. It had
the best heating/ventilation system in the history of the automobile. It was
very easy on gasoline, used no oil, and was a very pleasant change for me.
1963
Ford Galaxie convertible. It was a bright Chinese red with a blinding white
(bleached) top. It had to have been one of the sportiest cars in Green Bay, and
was the talk of West High School, where I was teaching at that time.
1973
Audi Fox two-door sedan. An inferior
car. Delivered with the wrong (metric) speedometer, it had a blown head gasket
before it had gone 1000 miles. The muffler fell off, the electrical system had
to be replaced, and the hideously bad carburetor froze intermittently. There
was so much wrong with this car (all the repairs were warranty) that University
Porsche-Audi finally allowed me the full purchase price of this 1973 car on a
new l974 four-door, a much better car.
1976
Fiat X-l/9. What a fun little car! Engine right behind the two bucket
seats, it stuck to the road like glue. It was not very fast, but it was quick.
This car was part of my self-prescribed therapy after my former wife left me.
Perhaps a woman in this position would have been satisfied just buying a few
new clothes, but not me. No sir, I had to have a new car, and a new sailboat,
"Echappee II".
1984
Renault Alliance four-door sedan. It was very economical to drive, 40 MPG
on one trip to South Dakota from Washington. It was a joy to drive, as it
handled almost as well as the Fiat did. But there were many faults. The worst
of them was that the clutch cable kept breaking. I finally got to the point
where I could install a new clutch cable myself, without even having to use
pliers. I had to carry a spare with me at all times, and at about $20 per
cable, I was irked, and inconvenienced.
1985
Toyota diesel pickup truck. This is a wonderful truck; it has about 260,000
miles on it, and runs just fine. I only wish it had four-wheel drive. This
truck was bought originally to be Margaret's ice cream truck, and it served
that purpose for two summers. She sold home-made ice cream from the truck until
it became evident that the profit was too small, and the amount of work to get
the ice cream ready was too much. So after this labor-intensive and
low-to-no-profit enterprise, the vehicle became my commuter car.
It
was also fun for me to use on several long trips, to Phoenix, to Green Bay, to
Los Angeles and others. When we moved to Haines, Alaska, our furniture was sent
up on a barge from Seattle, but what was left over was put in the truck along
with our beloved piano. This created an overload that almost caused me a heart
attack, I could not see how we could possibly get all the left-over’s aboard,
and of course the day we moved was the day of one of the worst blizzards for
years in western Washington. But with the help of one of my wonderful neighbors
we got loaded up and drove to Bellingham to get on the ferry to Alaska. We had
sold our car, Mom's old 1978 Oldsmobile, and so when we got to our new
home in Haines we had only the truck. Since we could walk to nearly every
important place, we got along with the truck alone until the following spring.
I felt as if I had betrayed the truck when we bought the Subaru station
wagon. It has all-wheel drive, which is really an unfair advantage to have
over this noble 4X2 truck.
