V1937-01HSF
High School Freshman fall 1937 to fall 1938
Decatur County High School, after addition.
Our class of 41 attended this high school our freshman year
Debate
back: Irene Walker,
Gloria Benton, Phyllis George, Janice Jacobs, ___Carver. Middle: Raymond Adams, Walter May, Leo
Benden, Kenith Metheny; front: Mary Ester Stowell, Virginia Prior, Darrell
Landau, Mildred Armstrong, Phyllis Armstrong. (Walter, Mildred and I were the
only freshmen)
When in the 7th grade we listened to
teams debate. The high school teams debated before us 7th and 8th graders to
gain experience. It stimulated our minds to track the rational and arguments
presented by those several years our senior. I was spellbound by the gymnastics
of their verbal rhetoric.
In
the days before Radio & TV public
debates were important forms of education and entertainment. Debating skill was
held in high regard by the adult population. Former grad's and upper classmen
proudly wore sweaters adorned with letters awarded for outstanding performance.
Those awarded for debate commanded as much or more respect than those for
athletic prowess. To earn a debate letter you had to have debated as a first
team member on a given number of contests between schools. Often only four were
issued in a year thus giving them an added significance. Debate was offered as
an elective my freshman year and I signed up more out of curiosity than
anything.
Our
instructor Mrs. Stowell was an older woman; local housewife, mother, and part
time teacher. Her children, now out of school, had been excellent debaters.
Mrs. Stowell was an intelligent inspiring personality and an institution in her
own right. At the time none of us realized this would be her last year of
teaching.
The
subject for debate that year was "Should the United States form a Military
Alliance with Great Britain". It was a subject increasingly on the minds
of people because they could sense the coming of a storm. The Civil War in
Spain was going on and Mussolini had invaded Ethiopia. Hitter was in power and
the Japanese were invading China. Germany and Japan were growing militarily and
scrap iron was being bought up by the Japanese. There was a wealth of material
in magazines and newspapers if one had an inducement to read. Natural curiosity
and the debate class provided this incentive.
I
chose the affirmative, that we should form an alliance. I believed the threat
of war was real and that the former WW I allies, except for Italy and Japan,
were going to have to fight Germany again.
In
our debate classes most of the students would read articles and structure their
debate around references to these. I planned my debate on an overall defense
strategy of my own design and used articles as backup for this strategy. I was
soon able to win our classroom debates.
Mrs.
Stowell took quite an interest in each of us and gave very constructive
criticism. This improved my delivery, organization and rebuttal. I preferred to
be the starting member rather than have the last rebuttal. The former dealt
from a prepared speech. The latter had to compose his speech while the opponent
was presenting his arguments to support
his point. You had to hear his argument and then prepare a counter. You
needed to do your home work to have counter arguments for any argument he might
present and follow this with a presentation favorable to your team.
There
were sophomores, juniors and seniors in the class as well as freshmen. I
started debating freshmen, then upperclassmen, then Mrs. Stowell switched me to
doing the rebuttal. She'd find articles for me to read and would pose questions
or arguments for me to counter. I soon found myself doing more reading and
studying than the others at her insistence. I also found that in class she'd
work with my opponents to help them try and defeat my partner and I. It was
like a football coach sending in plays to both sides. I found I was really
having to debate her and planned my arguments with the mental image of her
response rather than that of my classmates.
Then
the formal debate season between schools began. We neophytes debated on the
third and forth teams. Those who had prior debate and contest experience were
on the first and second teams. The first team was usually seniors. In these 3rd
and 4th team contests my partner and I usually won.
Part
way through the season Mrs. Stowell asked me to change to the negative, that we
should not form an alliance, and to handle the last rebuttal. I didn't like this because I didn't believe in it
and that it tended to be the losing side. I preferred winning!
Her
argument was that she needed to have the best debaters on the most difficult
side of the argument. This flattery was good psychology. Her clincher was the
purported benefit to be derived from the experience of making a good case out
of a bad one.
She
was right, it was excellent experience. It also taught that people can be
convinced by impression rather than logic; that part of debating is acting, how
you say things and care in your selection of what is quoted. People are
vulnerable to a con artist and if your on the losing side of logic you become a
skillful con artist. Politicians are often practiced debaters and I'm still
amazed at the public's gullibility in seeing the personality and hearing the
metaphors rather than testing the content and soundness of their statements.
It
was hard work but amazingly my partners and I were soon winning debates! This
surprised me. I succumbed to the elation of success. I began to display an air
of cockiness. For a freshman Kid I was pretty good and knew it. Humility was instilled
later.
The
final meet of the season was to be the State contest in Topeka, Kansas. Such a
long trip to a sizable city was a big event.
Alex Francis Football Coach Freshman letter Helene Wurm talented piano player
Four
teams were to make the trip. Mrs. Stowell was an observant woman and realized I
needed to be cut down a peg. She announced who would make the trip and it did
not include me. Her behavior and this act made me aware of the errors of my
ways. I disappointedly accepted the idea that I wouldn't be going. My good
friend and confidant Phyllis Armstong, also a confident of Mrs Stowell said
with a twinkle in her eye, I believe you will be going.
A
few days before time to go Phyllis got after me to practice, she said they'd
still need to take a substitute in case someone got sick. I wondered if there
was more behind her remark than her suggestion. The day before departure it was
announced that I was to go as a substitute. Phyllis knew all along. Helen
Frances, the wife of our football coach Alex, drove a load of us in their 1936
Chevrolet. U.S. Highway 36 was being
converted from gravel to blacktop. It was a long drive, Helen, Leo Bendon and I
traded off driving. Driving that car was an experience. It had a lot of play in
the steering sector and you never knew just where the front wheels were aimed
till they'd drift off and you had to quickly redirect the car.
The
morning of the contest I was told I was to debate the negative side with final
rebuttal on the first team! Golly, this was the most difficult part. The others
had known all along, in fact I found our names had been mailed in ahead of time
so they could print the teams of contestants. I was suddenly apprehensive. Jack
Hendrix, a senior was my partner, I knew he was excellent, this made me feel a
bit better though we'd never debated as a team before. [Jack
was to become a Judge, in McCook NB, I’ve never seen him since he graduated
from high school.]
We
won the first two rounds of debate and I began feeling a bit more confident.
Then we met them. Two beautiful girls and a male judge! They didn't need to be
intelligent and articulate, which they were, to win. They in fact became the
State Champions and deserved it, they really were good, Jack, Mrs Stowell and
all who heard them agreed.
At
the end of the year I was presented a Letter for debate. It meant quite a bit
to me. I had worked hard. It had special meaning to me because Alex had
deliberately not played me the our last football game, to have done so even for
a moment I would have qualified me for a football letter. On the bus to the
last game Virgil McKinsey remarked to Alex that I only needed to go into the
game once to receive a letter, Blacky Lindquist was the only freshman who had
already qualified. Alex was taken by surprised, gave ma a quick glance and said
is that true? I said yes, that's because I played the entire game with McCook
Jr college and quite a bit of some others. This was because he needed someone
dependable to center the ball and that was my specialty.
At
that time the quarterback did not take the ball from Center, the Center had to
"pass" the ball between his legs to the designated person in the
backfield, often after he'd started his run. I'd evolved how to do this during
3yrs of grade school football, as a result Alex played me in almost every game.
I could sense the dilemma Alex felt as we drove into silence, there were some 6
to 8 of us freshmen who were on the threshold of making a letter. Bigger
fellows as Blacky often made a letter the freshman year but never little guys
like me. If he let me play and gave me a letter, it would look as if he was
showing favoritism. I knew this was going through his mind though we never
spoke of it. Before we ever got there I knew I would not play in that game, and
did not. Thus when I was awarded the
letter for Debate I looked over to see Alex
and gave him a grin, he nodded and grinned back giving me a thumbs up.
We knew I'd won mine the hard way, there was more than one way to be a Four
Year Letterman.
Debating
was temporarily discontinued for the next three years as there was no one to
take Mrs. Stowell’s place. She was a hard act to follow. Much of her work had
been gratis after school hours helping us practice for contests. I never thought
to truly thank her until it was too late. She had taken the trouble to teach me
more than how to win at debate. I regretted that I never found the way to
express my thanks to her. Yet I know
she knew she'd left her mark on all of us and that each of us appreciated it.
She's been an inspiration to others.
Band and
the Old High School Building The freshman year we were located in
the Old High School building, the site of the present Home for the elderly,
while they were building the new, present high school building. The Old building had a small gym below the
main floor and there were band practice rooms along the sides of the gym floor.
We practiced concert band there and the soloist practiced their instruments in
the side rooms. Hellen Wurm, a Sr when I was a freshman was an excellent piano
player. We found ourselves together on a Halloween Clean up and became very
good friends. She was a lively girl with good sense of humor, her name was
Helene Wurm and I nicknamed her
“Stubby” because she was quite short.
Bobbitt
Cousins: Marjorie Landau, Geraldine
Bobbitt, Phyllis Landau, Warren Kump, Marba Jean Bobbitt, Darrell Landau
holding Dick Barclay, Max Bobbitt holding Barton Bobbitt Front: Jack Kump, Don Kump, Chuck Barclay
Family Vacation to Black
Hills North Dakota
New Sunday
School Assignment: From the time I can first remember, mother
would make sure her family went to church and Sunday school. He mother, grandma Julia had raised her five
kids on her own with help from neighbors and people from the church, after
granddad died when the youngest was about a year old. They grew up with the conviction that a family that prays together
stays together. Thus I inherited this
family tradition that had served them well in time of need. In retrospect I was blessed by the influence
of my Sunday school teachers who for the most part were also solid citizens in
the community with healthy attitude for the role religion played in peoples
lives. I truly believed in the Golden
Rule and tried to be helpful and positive.
However I was surprised when I was asked to be the Grade School Sunday
School Teacher from which I’d just graduated?
It made no sense to me, but they insisted – at least until they could
arrange for someone else. Thus for the
next four years every Sunday morning I would teach Sunday school then sing in
the church choir during the service.
The Church
Choir: Ours was probably common to most small
communities across the Midwest. There
were multiple “brands” of Protestant religions with pockets of Catholic. I don’t recall there being any Jewish places
of worship – but I was very impressed with my first encounter with those in KC
when they opened their doors to service men.
Our church choir would practice once a week, or at least try to for the
“special” song, a standard part of the service. Mrs Paddock was the pianist and we’d meet at her house. Her daughter Doreen was also in the choir –
Doreen always seemed as if a sister as we had been in the same class in school
since kindergarten and Sunday school prior to that. Doreen married my cousin Vincent who was killed in WW II – she
later married a Dr and raised her kids in Illinois. I often sat between Carl Frickey and Howard Banta. Carl was in the banking business with my
father and I worked for Howard at the Oberlin Milling Co. Only in retrospect does this seem unusual –
but it was typical of our Midwest society that worker end employer would sit
side by side sharing a hymn book. Later
in service it seemed perfectly natural to be asked to lead the singing in a
large KC church when we took refuge during heavy rain. In retrospect what seems remarkable was that
for one hour I’d start some song and all the others would soon pick it up and
we’d sing just as if we had song books.
These were fellows from every state in the union – our culture via radio
and movies had permeated every community – we shared the same culture – though
still identifiable by regional accents.
Introduction to the
Model-T
It
was near the end of our freshman year when Virgil "Doc" Hughes, one
of my buddies, told me Fritz Reasoner, a graduating senior, wanted to sell the
car he'd been driving to and from their farm while going to high school. Doc's
older brother Oran had said it was a good buy for someone with enough money to
buy it. Doc said he'd like to buy it but would rather go as partners with me if
I was interested.
I
was making good money then, Doc knew I carried pocket money, usually always had
an extra quarter if Doc needed a loan. I thought, a cars a lot of money, I
could count on about $2.40 a week steady income.... Well, that was better than
most kids but not much. There was $1.65 a week as janitor of the Farmers
National Bank, 50 cents for cleaning five spittoons twice a week, plus 25 cents
for cleaning the washroom at the Reserve Bldg & Loan Association. Odd jobs
produced income at the rate of 10 cents an hour but I couldn't count on that.
I'd come up in the world since the first steady job of 2 cents for each egg
case I'd nail together. Working full out for a 12 hour day didn't bring in
much.
I
didn't have many expenses then, except going to a movie plus popcorn. I'd saved
for big expenses like my bicycle and tires, but those were all paid for. Future
expenses as paying the way for a girl to go to a movie hadn't registered yet.
I
said, "what kinda car is it, is it any good; how much does he want for
it?"
At
that time Bill Murphy, Oran Hughes, Doc Hughes, and I sang in the boys quartet.
Bill was the tenor at the left side and I sang base, was the shortest &
stood on the right end. Doc and I had become chums while in grade school
playing in the high school band. Oran played trombone, Doc clarinet, and I
trumpet. Oran and Doc didn't go out for sports, but Bill and I played football,
basketball and track together. Doc was intellectually inclined thus the
nickname Doc. We had curiosities in common, the idea of an old car seemed like
an exciting adventure, something neither of us knew anything about. Doc could
tell I was interested, he knew the idea would have a lot of appeal; he said
"common, Oran told me where it is."
1927 Model-T when
new;
My 1927 Model-T (with radio)
This Model-T lacked some engine parts and
uncle Lee sold it to us as is for $7.50
It
was lunch period & Fritz was there, just in case his putting out the word
drew any would be buyers.
It
was a Model-T we'd seen but not noticed
before. The body had been removed and a wood pickup like flat bed put in it's
place. It was handy for hauling tools-n-things about a farm. There was no top
but it had a windshield and front fenders, the back fenders were gone. There
were mud splatters on the front fenders from the rear wheels. It was a typical
improvisation of the time. A common saying was that all you needed to fix a
Model-T was bailing wire and a pair of pliers, we were to learn if that was
true.
We
asked "how does it run?" "Oh fine, I' been drivin it to school
every day, wont be needin it now that I'm graduatin." We could speak
perfectly good English but without being aware found ourselves imitating the
way we'd heard old timers speak negotiatin a horse trade. We said "how
much ya want fer it?" Fritz lifted his hat and passed his hand over his
head and said, "well I'd been hopin to get more but I been askin
$5.00."
The
impact of the depression and dust storm years affected prices, wages and the
way we thought. Wages and prices were relative, when I'd been making those egg
cases you could buy a dozen eggs for 9 cents, while they'd been standing in
bread line in the big cities. That was a lot of hours hoeing weeds at 10 cents
an hour. Two summers before I'd worked all day filling water barrels at the
sale barn for 50 cent, till I talked Fred Slake into giving me a raise, but
that was a short time job.
I don't know what was going through Doc's mind at the time. On the one
hand it seemed like a lot of money, but for a car! Gosh, could I afford a car!
The bicycle had cost more but it was new and you didn't have to buy gas. I did
some more quick price comparing. Hair cuts were 25 cents, a "plate
lunch" 25 cents and gasoline was now up to 18 cents a gallon from 13
cents; but then I'd never had to buy any before. Hm, a gallon of gas was worth four
candy bars or four bottles of pop. We refrained from showing any enthusiasm.
The expression "look before you leap" came to mind; but darn, I
didn't know what to look for and knew Doc didn't know either.
Fritz
was a good and honest fellow, we knew we could trust him to be truthful and
fair. I asked "is there anything we'd need ta fix before drivin it
somewhere.....if we bought it?" Fritz rubbed his chin and said "naw
not really, you'd probably need to tighten up the rods before too long, but
there's no problem for a while."
I
was standing at the back at the time, by the tail gate, the rod holding it in
place was a bit loose. I'd tightened such tail gate rods for farmers at the
grain elevator. I said "aw Doc, that's not too bad, I can fix that if need
be." I noticed Fritz give me a lifted eyebrow look, but he said nothing. I
don't believe he had any doubts that we could tighten the rods, it was just the
"nothin to it" response that surprised him. His surprise was nothing
compared with ours when we found that rods he referred to were inside the
engine and you had to take the pan off and go to a lot of trouble and care to
fix them. My God, the experiences we were embarking on without knowing it!
He
said "go ahead, take a spin, try it out." He could tell we were
wanting to try it. We did, I drove first. I'd been driving Earl Sproul's Chevy
hauling 100 lb cans of buttermilk from his creamery in a trailer to slop hogs.
Backing a trailer had taken some learning. Doc motioned for me to take the
wheel! Whow, we chattered with excitement as we wheeled about the block.
Sproul's car was a 1935 Chevy, this thing was primitive. Fritz had explained
about what pedals to push and the lever to throw forward after you got up to
speed. I pulled the lever back to take it out of gear and pushed on the brake
pedal. It was idling fast but came to a halt. It was Doc's turn to drive back.
Fritz had said for an emergency stop to use the middle pedal which was reverse.
We'd
noticed a thump thump.... There was a bulge in the left rear tire. The tread
had worn through and a piece of old tire placed inside to make a
"boot" patch. We wondered how much a tire would cost? We looked, they
were 4.50 X 21 tires, the other three were good. We decided we could just drive
it till it blew out, we could always get home on the rim. That was the good
fortune of dirt roads.
Our
energetic excitement revealed we'd decided to buy it, we returned & told
Fritz. "We'll buy it. We'll bring you the money when we come to school in
the morning." We all smiled and shook hands. Fritz said "OK, fellas
the cars yours, I can catch a ride home tonight." We'd all grown up to
live by the code, "a persons word is as good as their bond" and that
our hand shake had clinched the deal.
It
seemed forever before school let out. We jumped in "our" car and took
off on a country road pulling the spark and throttle handles all the way down,
just like loosening the reins and letting a horse run full out. About four
miles out the tire blew! That patch hadn't been made for full speed. Spirits
were soaring as we came home on the rim. We wondered how fast we'd been going,
gol..lyee, it had seemed licity split! We couldn't afford to buy a tire and
also pay for the car. Necessity was becoming the mother of invention, a process
only beginning; there had to be a way to fix a hole in a tire, even a big hole,
without having to buy a new tire.
We
parked our "jitney" in my folks back yard, I don't recall why my
backyard except that we had room to work on it...if need be, next to the old
Rabbit Pens. It was a remarkable partnership, there was never a single quarrel;
we were consumed with excitement and diligence on how to keep it running.
Our
enthusiasm was dented when my Dad asked "does it have a license?" Doc
and I looked at each other and said "We don't know" and ran off to
have a look. It didn't. Dad said, well it's OK to keep the car here but your
not to drive it without a license.
The
next day we paid Fritz first thing, then hurried to the court house to see
about getting a license. Whow, the license would cost $4.00! Why that was
almost as much as the car. They also said we'd need to read and give them the
serial number on the block. We groaned about how we were going to come up with
the four bucks while finding out where the serial number was stamped on the
engine block. Whata ya know, the darn serial number had been gouged off! Our
"bargain buy" had a few problems. We went back to Fritz to see if he
had any records. He said he'd also discovered the serial number had been
defaced, they'd bought it used at a farm sale, as is. Rebuilt Flivers used
about a farm were often not licensed, being thought of as a home made
get-a-bout.
We
soon found Dad was insistent, it was to be licensed because we were going to be
driving it about town and on the highway. He agreed we probably wouldn't be
stopped but that was not the point, we knew it was to be licensed, therefore it
was to be done.
I
didn't realize it at the time but his attitude rubbed off on me, this issue was
understandable and a turning point, I never debate within myself after that if
I knew something should be done.
We
were in a dilemma. The engine was good, at least it ran, but we needed a number
to get a license. We went to the junkyard & got a number from an old
engine. I don't even remember in who's name we registered the car in, it really
didn't make any difference to us.
Our
bargain included an antique jack, long since lost, and a segment of home made
hand forged log chain still in my work bench drawer.
We
soon figured it was a 1925 model. It had probably been stolen during the
depression/dust storm years by some poor sole broke, trying to transport and
feed family en-route to Calif. There were many desperate people migrating in
those years.
It
was our great fortune to experience the twilight years of the Model-T. The
lessons learned during the ensuing summer and following school year were
invaluable, having a great effect on my life's pathway.
At
that time no one would have dreamed that Germany would invade Poland the
following year, that our nation would be at war in three years, or that in six
years I'd be a Squadron Engineering officer for (14) B-29's on Guam, probably
as a direct result of our buying that Model-T. The B-29 was not even a dream
then by the people that built airplanes, things were moving fast. Trouble
shooting those big complex birds was founded on how to fix the Model-T. The
principles were the same. Big city kids were not exposed to such On-the-job
training.
Learning About
Model-T's
Model-T #2 in Retirement 1943
This was the
last I saw of it, Mother had it hauled away as junk during WW II. I was
devastated, I had great plans on making a museum piece out of her – I’d become
attached.
“She” was painted
Red(mid)-White(top)-Blue(bot). Note the large “truck” tires in back. A standard tire with bead removed inside a
“blown-out” truck tire. It readily
carried heavy load, and the larger diameter gave extra “speed”. Normally full speed was about 40 mph, we
could almost reach 50. There was a radio with speaker in the ceiling. Probably the only Model-T in the county with
a radio. The starter worked but was often cranked as we couldn’t afford a
battery that would keep a charge overnight.
Doc
Hughes and I were engrossed the entire summer with our Model-T's. We bought a
second one so we could each have one.
It
was our great fortune to have experienced the twilight years of the "Tin
Lizzy". The Model-T series began in 1908 and ended with the 1927 model.
Our
first "Fliver" was relatively modern. It had electric headlights in
lieu of kerosene lamps, the door on the drivers side opened instead of being an
integral part of the body, it had 4.50x21 inch "balloon" tires vs
3.25x21 inch hard ones and was equipped with a battery in addition to a magneto
and hand crank. This version did not have an electric starter, though our
second one did; but this didn't matter because all came equipped with a
redundant back up starter called a Crank. Some one had added a Ruxal brand
transmission which was almost my undoing.
The
home town main street climbs a steep hill when leaving "down town"
headed north. The Ruxal came out of gear at the brink of that hill on my way
south, I was free wheeling to downtown, gathering speed!
Model-T's were equipped with small anemic manually operated brakes on
the rear wheels. However, no one kept them in repair. People depended on the
brake pedal under the steering column which clamped a brake band on the engines
output drive. A section of the drive shaft between the engine and rear axle had
been removed to make room for the Ruxal transmission. If the transmission came
out of gear, which it had a random habit of doing, there was no way to apply
brakes, or use the engine as a brake, you simply free wheeled at the mercy of
the cars momentum and the hill you were on. Ruxal was not to blame because the
rear wheels had originally been equipped with brake, it wasn't their fault no
one maintained them.
I
tried frantically to reengage the transmission while the car was moving. The
gears could not be forced when the drive shaft and engine speed didn't match.
The pull of gravity felt like I was being pushed. It was a stomach churning
sensation. I didn't dare jump out as it would hit something or someone. I was
afraid to stay for fear it would. It didn't even have a horn!
It
was a wild descent into town barely missing cars and terminated in a desperate
skidding two wheeled turn onto a side street. Thankfully the street was clear
of cars and I could force the front wheels hard along the edge of the curb
decelerating to a halt.
From
then on that transmission only had one speed. It was fixed in place with
bailing wire.
Doc
and I knew nothing about cars when we bought our first one. Fritz had shown us
how to start the car. There was a spark
lever on the left and a gas lever on the right side of the steering column. Up
retarded and down advanced the spark. Up cut off and down increased gas. Thus
we had a "Hand Feed" and a "Foot Feed". We were still too
close to horsepower to call it a Throttle.
A
long lever extended up from the floor on the left side of the drivers seat.
Upright was Neutral (the drive shaft was disconnected), back applied the rear
wheel brakes (which were rarely maintained), and forward engaged engine to
drive shaft.
To
start, the spark lever was lifted full up to "retarded", the gas
lever lifted up but cracked open and the ignition turned to "Bat" if
there was a battery or to "Mag" if one had to use the magneto. One
then went in front of the car between the bumper and radiator, grabbed the
crank, shoved IN to engage crank to engine and pulled up in a clockwise motion
to "turn over" the engine. With the left hand one pulled on a piece
of bailing wire, not a Ford part, connected to the carburetor choke on the left
side of the engine. If two people were present the engine was turned over with
choke out and ignition off before turning the ignition on and a crank to start.
When
cranking it was important to keep the thumb and fingers on the same side of the
crank handle and make sure the spark was retarded. The engine was unforgiving
and could & would "kick like a mule" with an advanced spark. It
could almost break a mans thumb and arm if the grip on the crank handle was not
free to slip loose. Even a half hearted kick was enough to cause you to always
remember your thumb.
One
could hear the unique buzzing tone of each ignition coil in it's turn when the
engine was turned and primed with choke pulled out. Then with choke in and a
quick yank the car came to life. It could be heard for blocks and Vibrated all
over, you knew it was a living thing because it wiggled. Mufflers, engine
balancing and rubber engine mounts were still in the future. The fatigue of
cranking the inert heap would vanish as the Fliver shook and bounced causing
one to hustle from the front around to cut back on the gas by reaching for the
hand feed.
If
one had to start on the magneto it sometimes helped to jack up a rear wheel.
This served as a flywheel which helped the man cranking build up speed and thus
generate enough spark.
Voltage
was generated by a ring of V magnets bolted to a flywheel between the pistons
and transmission. The magneto coil screwed into the top of the flywheel
housing. As the engine turned the magnets passed the coil inducing an AC
voltage. This current was sent to the ignition system via the ignition switch.
The weight of the magnets increased the peripheral mass of the flywheel plate
and smoothed crankshaft torque between firing of pistons.
We
often started our cars by pushing, particularly if you'd been out on a date and
didn't want to awaken the neighborhood. The one on the drivers side kept one
hand on the steering wheel as he pushed. After a bit of momentum was achieved
the long lever was thrown from neutral to high gear. This caused the engine to
rotate and as it fired it helped accelerate the car. One made a running jump
onto the "running board", into the drivers seat and away. A running
board thus acquired its name.
Our
second car had a starter. The starter switch was located on the floor by the
seat. One pushed it down with the heel of the left foot and operated the choke
at the same time if necessary.
The
choke and mixture control were on the lower right hand side of the dash because
the carburetor was on the right side and the control was a 1/4" rod, a
straight shot from inside to the carburetor. This was "inconvenient"
as you had to reach across in front of your girl friends knees to start the
car. You pulled to choke and turned the choke shaft to adjust mixture, the
Model-T was a model of simplicity. The downward input stroke of the piston sucked
in fuel and air, you "choked" off some of the air to suck in more gas
when starting a cold engine. A needle valve in the carburetor metered the flow
of gas, this needle was turned by the choke shaft. The choke blocked air flow
the same way the damper on the stove blocked off flow up the chimney. Choking
off air was quite descriptive of the process just like feeding fuel to generate
horsepower, but damping a stove...well I guess that was like dumping something
wet on a fire.
Part
of the rudimentary instructions were how to make it go after it was started by
cranking. There were three cast iron pedals with diamond faces which protruded
up from the floor boards below the steering column. The center one was slightly
forward of the other two. The left was Low gear, center Reverse and the right
Brake. For a panic stop one slammed both feet down on all three pedals killing
the engine in the process.
Full
speed was with spark advanced and gas wide open. For an old car with a cold
engine full speed was 35 to 40 mph. One could hit 50 with a hot engine, after
the pistons fit tighter and the gas/air mixed better. Our second
"Jitney" could hold 60 if tuned and given a chance to peak out.
To
kids in an open car on rough dirt roads this seemed like we were really moving,
with open windshield you felt you were flying! The car rode as rough as the
road. It had heavy springs, stiff tires and hard seats, there were no shock
absorbers.
The
windshield was mounted so its angle could be adjusted. It was supported on each
side by posts with a pivot in the middle. You could rotate the windshield from
vertical to horizontal.
The
windshield wiper always worked provided the driver/passenger wiggled it. A
single bent rod pivoted at the top of the windshield connected the wiper on the
front side with an operators handle on the back side. The wiper was reliable
provided the driver could sustain it's sweeping motion while driving. It was a
bit like rubbing your stomach and patting your head. Ruts in a muddy road could
grab control of the wheels, the driver really preferred having both hands on
the wheel.
Poor
roads and absence of snow moving equipment made it mandatory to have large
diameter wheels to keep the body from dragging in the mud or snow. Roads were
often more primitive than the car. Thus the Model-T retained the looks of a
horseless buggy.
Roads
were often wagon trails graded free of rocks and chuck holes. A ride carried
one up hill and down with the lay of the land, highways with cuts and fills
were sparsely implemented. The resultant Roller Coaster effect could be a
thrill by dropping suddenly from a high ridge to a narrow creek bridge below,
especially if in a Model-T with a Truck
Load of wheat.
It
was always necessary to plan ahead to assure enough speed to climb a hill. One
tried to have full speed when starting up, you succumbed to the urge to lean
forward, lending moral support to the cars loosing battle against gravity.
Finally one pushed down on the low pedal (which changed gear ratios) and crept
up the remainder of the hill resigned to a turtles pace. There was ample power
provided the low band was good.
When
the pedals on the floor were pushed down they clamped steel bands, faced with
cotton belt material, against drums in the transmission. When held stationary
the right peddle would stop the drive shaft; the left peddle cause the drive
shaft to turn at low but powerful speed forward; and the center peddle cause
the drive shaft to turn at a low powerful speed backwards. Post WWII automatic
transmissions worked much the same except that the clamping was done
automatically. The transmission had a set of planetary gears which resulted in
forward or reverse rotation at increased mechanical advantage depending on
which element was held stationary. Thus if the low band was worn out, it was
the most used and often was, a driver would simply turn the car around and back
up a hill, using the still good reverse band.
After
much frustration with bands wearing out, mostly due to our youthful hot rod
tendencies, and the quick to wear attribute of cotton belting, we converted to
the use of Model-A brake bands with copper and asbestos interwoven in the
webbing. This greatly improved band grabbing power and durability. We were well
aware but not particularly concerned that we were contaminating the engine oil,
something that Ford could not condone. Old timers couldn't figure out how we
achieved such pulling and braking power, in spite of how we drove them. We
delighted in their curiosity and obtuse dialogue to find out what we'd done.
Tires
were our biggest problem till we found ways to solve it. Buying new or good
fires was out of the question, these were depression times & we couldn't
afford it.
When
we had a flat, which originally was often we simply jacked up the car,
disassembled the tire and tube from the rim, repaired the tube, reassembled and
inflated the tire with a hand pump. Inflating tires by hand is a sure way to
eliminate a spare tire about your middle!
The
tire, tube, rim assembly was different then. A tube was placed in a tire and a
liner placed over the tube to protect it from the rim. The circular rim was cut
through in one place. This joint was spread and one end of the rim started on
the tire. The remainder was then worked on till the joint could be rebutted
together and locked. This required strap shaped "tire irons" and a
sledge to force and drive it in place. The assembly was then inflated and
tested for leaks by placing it in a tank of water. Our tubes were adorned with
cold patches, vulcanized patching came later. The rims included mounting lugs
that looked like heavy duty washers. These "washers" fit over studs
on the wheel rim. The Model-A came equipped with spoke wheels, drop center rims
and tires with better but still "natural" rubber. Tough synthetic
rubber was not till WWII and it was initially reserved for military.
Model-T
wheels had wooden spokes. The fit between the spokes and the metal wheel rim
was loose on our cars. Quite audible creaking sounds were emitted when coasting
to a halt with engine off. Sometimes we'd soak the wheels to quiet them, but
they'd soon dry out; we thought of soaking them with oil but never tried it.
We
were always on the search for "better" tires. We could find lots of
discarded tires with a blown out casing but good tread. Our first patches,
similar to one on the first car we bought, kept pouching out.
One
solution was to find a "good" blown out tire and then make a
"boot" patch for the inside with a piece of another tire by removing
the bead and thick tread rubber. We'd then bolt the patch in place using round
headed "carriage" bolts with the smooth head inside. The stud, washer
and nut poked out where anyone could see. This worked very well but it was very
hard work cutting the bolt holes, cutting off the bead and pealing off the tread
rubber.
It
was fun watching those indigenous to the area study our patched tires. They
would see something odd about the tires and walk over to take a look. Their
expression would change from puzzlement to a slow grin. They'd stand back,
motion for a friend to come have a look and grin from ear to ear as he watched
his friend unravel the puzzle. They'd laugh and shake their heads as they
walked away, we never let them know we were watching. We never experienced any
problem with the wheels being out of balance but the roads were so rough we
probably would have been able to distinguish the difference.
We
solved our rear tire problems by using 5.25x21 truck tires for the outer casing
and placing beadless 4.25x21 tires on the inside with the bad spots diametrically
opposite. These were used on the back to provide more speed, momentum and load
capacity. They cost us nothing, never wore out and rarely went flat.
We
were intensely curious about what was inside the engine. We decided to overhaul
it. We took it apart in my folks backyard. Curiosity, self instruction and the
need to improvise banished fatigue and any other interests.
Model-T's didn't have a water pump.
Water went from the bottom of the radiator to the bottom of the engine through
a hose. The heated water flowed upward from the top of the engine via a hose to
the top of the radiator where it would be cooled and settle to complete the
cycle.
Henry
didn't equip Model-T's with fuel pumps either. The gas tank was forward of the
dash, above and behind the engine. Fuel flowed by gravity to the carburetor.
(Early models had the gas tank under the seat with resultant problems of
sucking gas to the carburetor.) Any handy stick was used as a dip stick gas
gage. While driving one could open the windshield, reach out, remove the gas
cap and poke a stick in the gas tank. Henry became fancy with the Model-A. He
put a sight gage on the tank which could be read from the inside by the driver.
The
engine had four cylinders with valves and associated camshaft on the right side
of the block. The crankshaft turned the camshaft that lifted the valves, almost
identical to later engines.
Ignition
was controlled by a timer. The camshaft turned a roller which was spring loaded
against the inside rim of a metal cup over the front end of the cam shaft. The
cup had four insulated conductor segments on its inside face which connected
via wires to the four ignition coils. The roller "timed" the turning
ON of each coil by grounding each segment in its cyclical turn.
The
spark lever on the left of the steering column connected via a simple link to
the timer cup on the right side. Rotation of the lever would rotate the cup and
thus advanced or retarded the spark; ie, ignition timing.
When
grounded by the timer a coil buzzed revealing the ignition was ON. The coils
points were spring loaded closed & passed current to the coils
electromagnet which in turn pulled the points apart, the points would spring
back to again conduct current. This oscillatory chatter created a buzz sound
which was unique to each coil, giving each coil a personality. By transformer
action this primary on/off current induced very high voltage secondary spark
carried to the plugs. It had to be high voltage to jump the plugs gap and
ignite the fuel mixture.
I
learned about high voltage the hard way. I'd been shown how to test to see if
spark was going to a plug by touching a screw driver to a wire and watch the
spark leap to the engine. I grabbed a screw driver and ZAP! Every muscle and
nerve in my body involuntarily jerked. My eyeballs bulged, the yell froze half
in and half out and the screw driver sailed high and far back over my head.
Later I couldn't deliberately throw it that far - but never again did I use a
screwdriver with metal all the way through the handle for testing electricity.
I still have that screw driver which was part of a Model-A tool kit with wooden
handle and metal all the way through so it could be struck with a hammer. Wood
was used for insulation as plastic was unknown in those days.
The
timer rarely caused trouble but the coils did. The coils were housed in wooden
boxes about half the size of a cigar box. We carried spares and a small file to
smooth the points. The electro-magnet core was simply a bundle of straight soft
iron wires. The transformer windings were actually layers of tin foil and wax
paper wrapped around and around the core. Our coils had been alternately rained
on and heated so that the boxes were warped and some of the foil layers
shorted. The terms "car tune up" or TV "tune in" had their
genesis in audibly tuning coils.
An
oil pump was another of Henry's omissions. Always improvising he used the V
flywheel magnets as oil buckets or slingers. Oil thrown from these magnets was
caught in a funnel and carried by gravity in a tube to the front of the engine.
The oil flowed back along the bottom of the engine pan to the flywheel housing
that held most of the oil supply. The connecting rods dipped into the "pan
of oil", thus the name "oil pan", and oiled themselves and the
piston walls by flinging oil each time they dipped.
Connecting
rods were the Model-T's Achilles heel. They'd pound them selves loose and
sometimes out through the engine wall. Some blamed it on not having an oil
pump. It was a problem of kinematics and where to apply the oil rather than a
need for pressure. Later model cars solved the problem by use of larger
crankshaft journals, shorter piston strokes, balancing crankshaft forces,
applying oil to the journals center, etc. By 1933 rods were rarely a problem.
Lubrication of crankshaft rod and main bearings is by hydrodynamic lubrication,
a natural phenomenon first discovered on rail road box cars, the journal
bearing "skies" on the rotating shaft, riding on a film of oil and
not on the metal.
Model-T
rod bearing material was cast "babbitt". Rods were
"tightened" by filing or shimming the gap between the grasping halves
until they "fit" snug on the crankshaft. Unfortunately our old
Model-T crankshaft journals were no longer round, a refitting didn't last long.
One became skilled at dropping the pan and tightening rods.
One
Sunday afternoon in the dead of winter my cousin Warren Kump and I went for a
ride in the country. After bucking our way through heavy snow drifts a rod
began to hammer - dangerously - it could go through the block. Warren handed
tools as I laid in the snow, removed the pan and checked the bearing. The
babbitt was hammered out of shape. We were a long way from home, it was cold
and would soon be dark.
I
warmed my hands against the engine block, cut off a piece of my belt, made a
leather bearing, fitted it and replaced the pan. It ran adequately well and we
drove home following the lengthening shadows of a setting sun. "She"
got us home again, all Model-T's were she or her, never him.
The
pistons and cylinders fit badly. We couldn't afford to have them rebored.
Valves we could grind by placing compound between the valve and seat and
oscillating the valve via a suction cup on a stick. We fitted the pistons by
expanding the rings. We cleaned the carbon from piston ring grooves so oil
could get to the rings through holes in the pistons. We then placed cork under
the rings to expand them against the walls. It worked quite well. Metal spring
ring expanders came later.
The
radiators always dripped water so we carried a spare can. Winter temperatures
could dip to 20 below so we always drained the radiators at night. People with
good cars and good radiators used alcohol antifreeze. Ethylene glycol was very
expensive.
My
method of starting the car on a cold winter morning was to pour a bucket of hot
water into the radiator. Then with a choke cycle and a good yank it would fire
and soon be purring like a kitten. It was fun to go about the neighborhood
pushing other people in their fancy cars to get them started.
Our
second car was a 1927 two door sedan. The engine had been stripped and the
tires had been removed. The rest was in good shape and well worth the money. My
Uncle Lee Kump, with the local Ford garage, sold it to us for $7.00. This began
our search for parts to rebuild the engine.
Rube
Pearson the local junk car dealer had lots of old Model-T parts. Most of
doubtful quality. We'd go rummage until we found something that would work and
then dicker with him over the price. He knew we didn't have much money and it
got to be quite a game going through our pockets hunting for enough dimes and
nickels among our nuts and bolts to make him a face saving offer so he could
"Sell" us the parts. He was a real friend although he played the role
of a hard business man. Shortly thereafter he sold out and moved away. Several
years later I met him on a trip back home. When Rube saw me his eyes lit up and
we had a good visit about those two kids and their Model-T's. I thanked him for
his generosity and help, we had a good laugh over our pricing negotiations. I
could tell he felt a sense of personal satisfaction that I'd gone into the
field of mechanical engineering.
The
cheapest car we bought was for $2.50. It had broken down and the five high
school kids that owned it couldn't get it to run. Doc & I saw they were
having trouble so we stopped to give them a hand. They were exasperated and in
the mood to get rid of it but wanted to save their investment in
"good" tires.
Doc
and I looked it over and figured we could get it to run although the owners had
been trying all morning. The owners gladly parted with it for 50 cents each, in
cash, and felt they had a bargain by keeping the tires. While they stripped off
the tires Doc and I went to work.
A
number of things were fouled up. A case of too many "owners" all
tinkering and not knowing what they were doing. They had the firing order
wrong, the coil adjustments out of tune and the carburetor so rich it would
flood. In less than a half hour we had it running nicely and drove it home on
the rim. They weren't very happy after seeing how easy it was for us to fix it,
but since they had declined our first offer of help for free we didn't feel a
bit bad. We fixed it up, adding some old tires and sold it a short time later
to a father for his boy who wanted a Model-T.
In
our eagerness to get our second Model-T running we had traded rear wheels with
our first Model-T and left it to sit. As school time approached we decided to
get #1 running again. We replaced some parts we had borrowed and started it up.
I began to drive it out of our backyard to the street via a vacant lot used for
growing sweet corn. The wheels lodged in the corn furrows and the car wouldn't
pull itself out. We worked and thought and couldn't figure out what was wrong
with the bands or transmission. Finally we went to see my Uncle Lee. He asked a
few questions, then smiled & said we had probably left the keys out of the
rear axles when we changed wheels. Doc looked at me and I at him, Eugene Barret
a good friend and class mate had helped us that day exchanging wheels from #2
to #1 while we'd worked on #2, our new one. Sure enough Eugene had not
installed the keys, had he been there when we got #1 going he could have told
us they were missing as he'd left the keys in the tool box. Doc & I had
never taken rear wheel off/on & didn't know about square "keys"
that fit in slots like a single fixed tooth to lock wheel to axle, our learning
process was to take something apart to learn what made it tick. There were many
times Doc and I didn't feel too smart, my but we were eager to learn, &
quick to tell the other of something we'd discovered.
For
a few days we only had one license plate for two cars. My father was
unequivocally insistent that we properly license the new car. It seemed to us
that no one should object to swapping a $4.00 license plate between a $5.00 and
$7.00 car if we only drove one at a time. It was some time before I appreciated
my fathers insistence that we do what was right and not what we could get away
with.
The
neighborhood kids of all ages took quite an interest in the cars and were
always eager to give us a shove when needed. We'd reward them with rides round
the block. Little did I know then that one of them, my little sisters playmate,
would become my wife.
The
fun of those days rubbed off on my Cousin Charles Barclay who was a small kid
at the time. Several years later after they had moved away he & his brother
Dick bought a Model-T and enjoyed the thrill of what the Tin Lizzy had to
teach.
We
had both cars running before school started but were still short of some things
like a horn or tail light. However this didn't keep us from joy riding in the
evenings. As kids gathered for school we'd gather up a bunch and take a spin.
We'd give one a trumpet to toot if we needed to honk and another a flash light
to hold for a tail light. Some of the boys were simply envious but girls seemed
to find it a special delight to go for a spin. We had plenty of horn looters
and tail light holders.
As
school started Doc took over #1, the pickup, and I #2, the 4 door sedan. Our
dual car ownership was resolved, we never had words on who paid for what – it
was purely a matter of who had any money to buy what we needed. You couldn’t
ask for a better partnership.
Alex,
now in his ‘80s, in Oberlin for ’96 Alumni banquet. Billy Lee (Bowman)
Woodward, Dorothy (Everest) Hauge, Jody (Breemer) Betts. Jack Hague and Hershel
Betts, students of Alex, became
coaches.
Alex Francis – Wonderful
Coach and Friend
Alex moved on after my Junior year to coach at Abiline KS, then later
as Track Coach at Ft Hays KS. He had a tremendous and positive influence on
many of our lives. The new Field house at Ft Hays was named after him.
The Backyard Fireplace
The open area in
front of the Model-T in fig HS1-8, was the site of a garden spot taken over by
rabbit pens, then as a repair center for our Model-Ts. When I returned from WW
II, and found my Model-T parts had been trashed as “junk” I discovered some
left over yellow furnace lining brick and a mixture of housing bricks. In the
garage was a half a sack of cement – starting to set up – and some metal pieces
from the old furnace. I decided to use these “assets” and build a fireplace
while waiting for school to start. I knew I’d need every dime I could save to
go back to school so rather than buy a good sack of cement I hammered the half
sack of cement into powder. Dad saw me using the “refurbished cement” and said
it’s too old, it’s no good. I grinned and said, your probably right but it will
last long enough to take a picture of it – as if it is a good fireplace.
Neither of us expected it to last. However it did last for some 15 years before
it crumbled to look more like a trash than fireplace – like the Model-T, it too
was junked.
Like
the Model-T, it was enjoyed during it’s life span, as the following photos
depict.
With
Rabbits & Model-T gone, fire place awaits spring, note light colored fire
brick on inside.
Darrell (by heap converted to fireplace) Mary (wife) Marjorie (sister) Ila (mother)
Landau Family Sunday Gathering. The oak chair at
lower left was part of a wedding gift set from Landau family to Rell and Ila,
it now belongs to David Landau. Ila
Landau, Lola and Archie Hamilton
Rell
is out of sight behind the camera. This gathering was perhaps about 1960 before
the fireplace mortar crumbled and it all came tumbling down. Daughters Julia
and Monica recall being there for a similar Sunday evening picnic when they
were preschool age.
This photo made pounding that old cement into powder worth while – there was just enough good cement to make it last for about 15 years.