History That Doesn't Suck - 121: Henry Ford: The Model T & Mass Production

Episode Date: October 10, 2022

“Your car is self-contained–it carries its own power-plant … keep at it.” This is the story of the rise of the automobile and mass production. Powerful steam engines. Electric lights and telephones. The Second Industrial Revolution is radically remaking the turn-of-the-century United States. It’s in this world of technological change that a Michigan farm boy finds himself drawn into the growing “horseless carriage” craze, and particularly, to an emerging technology known as the internal combustion engine. Henry grows through success and failures (both with car designs and various companies), finally lands on what many would call perfection: the Model T. He and his team then come up with a new method of efficiency that makes the car so cheap, almost anyone can buy it–a method called “mass production.” Mix that with his incredibly high wages and Henry is quickly becoming a national hero. But it’s not all smooth sailing. Henry has disputes with partners, must fight a patent claim, and does paying $5 per day give him the right to pry into–to dictate even!–the private lives of his employees? And later still, as the Model T’s production enters its final years, the man of mechanics uses his incredible influence and prestige to fan the national flame of the interwar period’s growing anti-Semitism; it’s an undeniable and indelible stain on the legacy of the man who hubristically yet perhaps accurately once boasted: “I invented the modern age.” ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with iGaming Ontario. Red One. We're coming at you. Is the movie event of the holiday season. Santa Claus has been kidnapped? You're gonna help us find him. You can't trust this guy. He's on the list.

Is that Naughty Lister? Naughty Lister? Dwayne Johnson. We got snowmen! Chris Evans. I might just go back to the car. Let's save Christmas. I'm not gonna say that.

Say it. Alright. Let's save Christmas. There it is. Only in theaters November 15th. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and as in the classroom, my goal here is to make rigorously researched history come to life as your storyteller. Each episode is the result of laborious research with no agenda other than making the past come to life as you learn. If you'd like to help support this work, receive ad-free episodes, bonus content,

and other exclusive perks, I invite you to join the HTDS membership program. Sign up for a 7-day free trial today at htdspodcast.com slash membership, or click the link in the episode notes. It's shortly after midnight, June 4th, 1896. We're behind a brick-built duplex at 58 Bagley Avenue, Detroit, Michigan, in a red brick shed where two men are feverishly at work on something they call a quadricycle. Basically, it's a lightweight carriage or buggy that they'll soon mount on a light frame with four 28-inch bicycle wheels.

Cool, right? But this isn't just a minimalist carriage. They intend to propel it forward with a gasoline-powered two-cylinder internal combustion engine. That's right. These two friends, both employees at the Edison Illuminating Company, are a part of the growing horseless carriage craze. But for one of them, craze isn't the right word. It's more like a years-long obsession that's

taken every spare minute in recent months, and almost every minute in the last 48 hours. I'm talking about the brown-haired, blue-eyed, square-jawed 32-year-old renting the home and shed at this address, Henry Ford. Finally ready, Henry and his friend, Jim Bishop, lift the buggy's body from the sawhorses and place it on the bike wheel chassis. Oh, we're getting close. Once the body and frame are attached,

Henry carefully threads a several feet long, one and an eighth inch chain between two sprocket wheels and tightens it. With this chain in place, the two cylinder motor mounted in the back should be able to send its piston power to the buggy's four wire spoke wheels. Okay, in theory, this is done.

Time to test it out. But Henry and Jim come to a horrific realization, pushing the quadricycle toward the shed's door. It's too wide to exit. Well, Henry hasn't come this far to let a narrow door get in his way. Grabbing an axe from the woodshed, he attacks the masonwork around the doorway, smashing out the needed path. As for what his landlord will think, what can I say? Henry's more of a ask for forgiveness than permission type. Finally, sometime past 2am and amid light rainfall, the duo have their automobile machine outside. Henry's wife, Clara, and little three-year-old son, Edsel, watch from the front steps.

They look on with faith in their husband and father, ready to see his incredibly light and fast horseless carriage fly down Bagley Avenue. They've always believed in him. And now's the moment. It's time to see as the saying will one day go, if rubber meets the road. Henry gets the battery-operated igniter going and spins the flywheel. So far, so good. The young mechanic then mounts his machine and sits on its bicycle seat.

Yeah, the buggy seat he ordered isn't here yet, so he's made do. Henry places one hand on the tiller to steer, and he grabs the clutch lever that engages the drive belt with the other. He then pulls that lever back and, whoo, he's off! Clara and little Edso beam with pride as he tears down the street at an astounding 10 miles per hour. With Jim riding a bike ahead of him to clear the path for their brakeless invention, Henry continues for a few blocks. Does he engage the quadricycle's second 20 miles per hour gear? I'm guessing he does. This is a proper test drive after all. Either way, he soon hits trouble.

Jim, who's still ahead on the bike, circles back. It's too dark to look the quadricycle over here in the road, but they aren't far from work. They push the machine along the cobblestone street to the Edison illuminating plant, and there, Henry finds the issue. He's lost a valve stem nut. Curious onlookers at the Cadillac Hotel watch

as Henry replaces it. He and Jim then return triumphantly to his home on Bagley Avenue. It's now later in the day. Henry's back home from work, and he's brought two other Edison employees with him. They're Masons, here to fix the shed. Oh, he's hoping to dodge a bullet here,

but that's not going to happen. The Ford's landlord, William Reifert, has just arrived to collect the rent. Sure, Masons are fixing the shed, but William's furious. He angrily demands why Henry demolished the doorway and wall. Henry tells him the truth, he had just finished building a horseless carriage and needed to get it out. Immediately, William's countenance changes from one of wrath to curiosity. He asks,

You ran it? Yes, sir. Let me see. William is filled with awe as he takes in the quadricycle. He then looks back to his young tenant with a suggestion. Say, if these fellows put the wall back up, how are you going to get your car out again? I've got an idea. Tell the bricklayers to leave the opening and then you can put on swinging doors that will let you in and out what an end to the day henry's not only brought his own model of a horseless carriage to life a fast light model at that he's gotten his after-the-fact forgiveness and the landlord's blessing to turn the shed into the United States' first automobile garage. But this is only the beginning for Henry.

Soon enough, this young Michigander, this farmer-turned-mechanic, is going to change the whole nation with his horse's carriages. He's going to change the world. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. Henry Ford isn't the inventor of the automobile, but he is the one who brings the car to the people. He makes it accessible, a feat accomplished with his Model T.

Yet, how does a farm boy, a mechanic, renting a duplex, go from building a little quadricycle in his shed to flooding the nation with this iconic car? That path and impact is today's story. To follow this tale, we've got to go back to Henry's roots. We'll meet him as a boy and follow his machine-loving path to employment at Detroit's Edison Illuminating Company. Henry will then struggle through failed car companies, rebuild himself through racing, and finally create the car that takes first place in a transcontinental contest and in America's heart, the Model T. He'll do this while fighting a questionable car-limiting patent,

keeping up with the demand for his car by creating what we call mass production, and then shocking the world by more than doubling his wage workers' pay and still making the most affordable car in the nation. But it's not all good times. We'll also hear about the social demands he puts on those well-paid workers. And while I can't give you Henry's whole life story in a single episode, we can't overlook his anti-Semitic publications. We'll treat that as well, thus getting a full three-dimensional view of Henry, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Got your duster, gloves, and goggles? Good, you'll want them. We

have dusty roads ahead. But first, let's meet young Henry in the mid-19th century. Rewind. Born only weeks after the Civil War's pivotal battles of Gettysburg and Vicksburg, on July 30, 1863, Henry Ford starts life the same way many Americans of the era do, on a farm. And frankly, Henry's English-descent but Irish-born immigrant father, Henry Ford starts life the same way many Americans of the era do, on a farm. And frankly, Henry's English descent but Irish-born immigrant father, William Ford, wouldn't have it any other way.

Now a Michigan man, William tried the hustle and bustle of Detroit. He didn't care for it. William's far more content living 10 miles west of the city, working his 40-acre Dearborn farm, and making a life with his young wife, Mary. After the heartbreak of one stillborn, the couple is elated to have Henry into their lives. They'll gladly welcome another three boys and two girls in the years to come. But unlike his pops, the young, first-born Ford doesn't love farming. Don't get me wrong, Henry has a deep love for birds, and will leave one future reporter mulling over whether he's a mechanic with a bent for farming or a farmer with a bent for mechanics. The reporter will land on the latter. But Henry doesn't care for horses, particularly after a wagon accident. He hates cows. And as for laboring on his family's farm, he'll later write in his autobiography,

my earliest recollection is that, considering the results, there's too much work on the place. That is the way I still feel about farming. Okay, clearly, the monotony of farming isn't Henry's thing. But the growing Ford child soon finds his thing, machines. Yes, he considers anything that ticks worth his time. At seven years old,

the same age he starts his McGuffey reader education, prank pulling, and friendship with Edsel Rudiman at Dearborn's one-room schoolhouse, Henry finds himself captivated by a pocket watch. His father's farmhand, Adolph Colling, opens the back of his and lets the growing, likable prankster peer inside. The bearings, the cogs,

Henry's completely taken in. Soon, the lad's making his own tools and cracking open anything that ticks. His younger sister, Margaret, will later recall, when we had mechanical or wind-up toys given to us at Christmas, we always said, don't let Henry have them. It just takes them apart. He wanted to see what made them go rather than just watching them go. But Henry doesn't ruin mechanical things. After taking apart a machine, he can fix it, improve it even.

Growing older, the adolescent begins fixing neighbors' broken clocks and watches, as well as experimenting with his own machines. One day, after visiting Detroit and seeing steam-powered locomotives, young Henry convinces his buddies to build a basic steam engine. Building a fire, they boil water in a large drum with a pipe running to a small tin turbine. Sure enough, the steam gets their little turbine moving, but then it explodes. The school's fence catches fire and debris flies everywhere.

One piece strikes Henry in the face. While there are no serious ramifications, he'll bear a slight scar on his cheek for the rest of his life. But Henry's childhood isn't perfectly idyllic. In March 1876, the 12-year-old farm boy has his first brush with deep, devastating pain. Two weeks after giving birth to her eighth child, his mother, Mary Ford, and the baby both pass. Years later, he'll recall that, I thought a great wrong had been done to me.

It's a feeling that many who've lost a parent knows. Henry will always remember her as kind, gentle, one who loved unconditionally, and he cherished her support, later noting that, quote, my mother always said that I was born a mechanic, close quote. Conversely, he'll view his farmer father, who has no special interest in or draw to machines, as authoritarian. It's hard to say if Henry's pained teenage recollections are fair to the widower father of six as he carries his own grief, but that's the boy's view. Yet, as dark and dreary a shadow as Mary Ford's death throws on her adolescent son, Henry experiences another,

far more positive life-changing event only months later. It's an unspecified summer day, 1876. Twelve-year-old Henry is eight miles outside Detroit, riding with his father in the family's horse-drawn wagon. But as they traverse the country's dirt roads, the youth hears a steam engine. The sound grows louder as Henry's eyes are drawn to a pillar of smoke piercing the farmland sky. But as he and his father ride closer, Henry's baffled. This steam engine isn't just powering tools. It's powering a wagon that's moving without horses. This steam engine isn't just powering tools. It's powering a wagon that's moving without horses.

The man operating the contraption pulls to the side of the dirt road to let the Fords pass, but Henry has no intention of moving on. The boy leaps from his father's wagon and approaches the operator. Henry has so many questions about his machine. Well, the engineer, as Henry will dub the man when recalling this moment, happily shows off his state-of-the-art tech. This is incredible. Although this portable steam engine's purpose is to power threshing machines and sawmills,

this portable steam engine and boiler on wheels, its trailing water tank-coal cart combo, all of it can really move on its own. Now, the idea of and experiments with horseless carriages isn't unheard of, but this is the first time Henry's seen one. It's thrilling. He'll later recall the moment in detail. I had seen plenty of these engines hauled around by horses, but this one had a chain that made a connection between the engine

and the rear wheels of the wagon-like frame on which the boiler was mounted. The engine was placed over the boiler and one man standing on the platform behind the boiler shoveled coal, managed the throttle, and did the steering. Self-propulsion might not be its main feature, but this first brush with a horseless wagon leaves Henry in awe. He takes note of the manufacturer, Nichols, Shepard & Company, and crucially of how the simple movement of a belt could allow the engine to keep running, yet in a neutral or idle state without propelling the wagon forward.

All of this is seared into his mind. Three years pass. In 1879, 17-year-old Henry and his rudimentary education leave Dearborn for Detroit. Henry will later overstate his father's opposition to this. While it's true that William Ford would prefer that his eldest son farm, he understands that Henry needs to explore this new, exciting, industrializing world's machines. He further understands that Henry can't do that without relocating to Detroit. And so, the slender, square-jawed teen moves to that growing city of over 100,000 people with his father's consent. He boards with his aunt, his father's sister, Rebecca Ford Flaherty. The next few years are a period of various jobs and hands-on learning.

His first job is at the Michigan Car Works. No, not that kind of car. These are street cars. Henry's fired in six days. We'll never know why. He's soon employed again, though likely thanks to his father's friendship with James Flower, who hires the young Ford boy at his machine shop. Henry makes a friend for life, the young floor sweep, Fred Strauss, and learns to shape brass valves with small milling machines.

But since the pay is poor and he's short on rent to his aunt, energetic Henry gets a second job fixing watches. He then returns to Dearborn to help the family with the harvest in 1880, but goes back to Detroit that same fall to work with a bigger operation, Detroit Dry Dock Engine Works. This pattern of working with and learning about machines in the big city and bouncing back to the family farm continues. Oddly enough though, one of these returning sojourns to the farm proves invaluable to Henry's experience with machines. In 1882, William Ford's dearborn neighbor and fellow farmer, John Gleeson, procures a portable steam engine, the Westinghouse No. 345.

The powerful engine can run grain threshers and sawmills. It's also horseless. Yep, it can propel itself. This is an advanced, high-tech machine, so John hires an engineer to man it. There's only one problem. The supposed pro quickly proves incapable. That's when John turns to his young machine wizard neighbor, Henry Ford, for help. Henry's terrified on the inside. He doesn't let that show, though, as he says yes and heads to the neighbor's farm. He looks over the wheeled, black machine with its vertical boiler.

What a beaut! But it's so intimidating. No matter, Henry gets the firebox going. He adjusts the valves. And well, it turns out he's got this. John pays the 19-year-old an astounding $3 a day to run his Westinghouse engine the whole summer. And the following year, Westinghouse road agent John Cheney hires Henry to fix the company's machines in Michigan and across the state line in Ohio. Meanwhile, Henry makes his own quote-unquote farm locomotive, or tractor as we'd call it.

The contraption runs for a minute, but needs to be lighter and have more power. Hmm. This project has run its course, but shortly after entering his 20s and enrolling at a Detroit business school, and have more power. Hmm. This project has run its course, but shortly after entering his 20s and enrolling at a Detroit business school, the gifted engineer meets an engine unlike any other with potential to power other future projects.

All right, time out. What I'm introducing here is called the internal combustion engine. And we need some basics on what this is before Henry reaches for his wrench. Thus far, Henry's worked on steam engines. In these, fuel, such as coal or wood, burn and heat water, thus creating high-pressure steam that travels to a cylinder and pushes a thing inside called a piston. As the piston traverses the cylinder, it can power machines, like locomotives. But with the internal combustion engine, the fuel doesn't burn outside the cylinder,

it burns inside the cylinder. Belgium's Etienne Lenoir figured out the rudimentaries of it around 1860 and even powered a primitive horseless carriage shortly thereafter. Germany's Nicholas Otto made improvements. In 1876, he built an internal combustion engine with a four-stroke cycle. This means the piston strokes across the cylinder four times. Think two full revolutions, down-up once, down-up twice, to complete one cycle. Each of these strokes does a different thing. As Henry explains it, quote, the first stroke draws in the gas,

the second compresses it, the third is the explosion or power stroke, while the fourth stroke exhausts the waste gas, close quote. But wait, what's this gas Henry's talking about? Well, it could technically be a number of different fuels. Early auto engines run on coal gas, for instance. But writing decades from now, Henry's specifically referring to a substance once thought a useless byproduct of crude oil's refining process.

Gasoline, aka petrol. With the rise of the internal combustion engine, people around the world are realizing gasoline can actually serve as a powerful fuel. If you didn't quite follow all of that, no worries. The key thing is that by the mid-1880s, about the same time another German named Karl Benz is selling his gas-powered tricycle-looking motor wagon.

Nicholas Otto's four-stroke auto engine is being sold around the world. In 1885, one of these autos is at the Eagle Ironworks in Detroit and in need of fixing. Henry's never seen an auto engine, but of course, he's called upon to repair it and does so beautifully. Gaining familiarity with the four-stroke auto engine isn't the only noteworthy thing for Henry in 1885, though. Back in the Dearborn area, he meets a beautiful farm girl at a dance named Clara Jane Bryant. He pines for her most of the year,

hoping to cross paths again, and finally does that Christmas. They court for two more years and marry on Clara's 22nd birthday, April 11th, 1888. They build a square-shaped house on land offered up by Henry's father. It must be a relief for William Ford to see his mechanic son finally settle in on a farm, even if Henry's more interested in being a steam-powered lumberjack than planting. But the truth is, Henry's not content. His interest in horseless carriages is deepening. He keeps bringing it up

with family, including his wife Clara, whose faith in her husband's abilities is so great, he calls her the believer. At the same time, he's still fixing auto engines, which uses an electric spark to get going. But Henry doesn't know jack about electricity. He's got to change that. And he will. It's sometime in September, 1891. We're at the Edison Illuminating Company's main Detroit office at the corner of Washington Boulevard and State Street. The heavily mustachioed, mutton-chopped general manager, Charles Phelps Gilbert, is preparing to head out the door. But just as he dons his hat, a slender, blue-eyed, 28-year-old man walks in. The young fellow asks, Who's in charge here? Charles answers,

I am. What can I do for you? I'm an engineer. Have you any work I can do? How much do you know about the work? I know as much as anyone my age. Well, I do think we have a place for you. A man was killed last week down at our substation and we need someone in his place right away. Henry takes this job at the Edison Illuminating Company. He and his unwavering believer wife, Clara,

leave their square farmhouse for the mechanical world of Detroit. But does Henry pause to think about the fact that, while he can easily handle the company's steam engines, he's just fibbed his way into working with a power source so dangerous it killed the last man he's replacing? A man who undoubtedly knew more about it than him. If Henry has doubts, he doesn't show it. His obsession with internal combustion and horseless carriages is only growing, and he must learn about electricity. It's a risk he's willing to take. How can you be sure you're making the right decision when choosing a university? The smart approach is to

look at the facts, like the fact that York U graduates have a 90% employer satisfaction rate. That's because across its three GTA campuses, York U's programs are strategically designed to prepare you for a meaningful career and long-term success. Join us in creating positive change at yorku.ca slash write the future. Why do rivers curve? Why did the T-Rex have such tiny arms? And why do so many more kids need glasses now than they used to? Spoiler alert, it isn't screen time. Our team of scientists digs into the research and breaks it down into a short, entertaining explanation, jam-packed with science facts and terrible puns. Subscribe to MinuteEarth wherever you like to listen. Henry knows nothing about electricity as he reports to work at Edison

Illuminating Company on September 25th, 1891. Doesn't matter. He gets it fast. Raises and promotions follow, and by late 1893, this gangly Edison man is just winning at life. On November 6th of that year, he and Clara have a baby boy, whom they name after Henry's lifelong friend, Edsel. On December 1st, Henry's promoted to chief engineer. Avenue, where, on Christmas Eve, the now electrically savvy mechanic taps into a kitchen light bulb for a spark and brings his first gasoline-powered internal combustion engine to life. And I'm sure you recognize 58 Bagley from this episode's opening. Yes, it's here, in the shed out back, that Henry builds his quadricycle in 1896. It's not the first horseless carriage in Detroit. Henry's friend Charles King beat him to the punch by a few months.

But it's far faster and superior in every way. Still, important questions linger. In this new bold world, powered not only by steam, but electricity and even gasoline, is Henry on the right track? Is internal combustion the way? I don't know if he really wants to entertain the question, but he will. And he'll do so with America's most famous inventor. It's the evening of August 12th, 1896, and the Edison Illuminating Company is holding a

conference on the eastern side of Brooklyn, New York's Coney Island Peninsula at Manhattan Beach's Oriental Hotel. This is no small thing. The Oriental is the most luxurious resort on Coney Island. It's how the nation's elite do America's playground, and right now, Edison Illuminating's top men are in its banquet hall, relishing a scrumptious dinner. Honestly, how the Detroit plant's lowly chief engineer got invited, I can't say. But Henry Ford and his boss, Alexander Dow, are both here and seated at the very same table as the company's founder. Yes, him. The man who made electric lighting commercially viable,

aka the old man or the wizard of Menlo Park, Thomas Alva Edison. As the men eat and swap stories, conversation turns to horseless wagons, specifically to electric cars. All agree that charging the battery is the crux of the issue. Then Alexander Dow points to his chief engineer and announces, this young fellow here has made a gas car. All eyes turn to Henry. Questions fly and he finds himself explaining the quadricycle to his electric-minded colleagues, or electric-minded superiors rather.

Then something extraordinary happens. His hard of hearing hero, T. Alva Edison, asks Henry to take a seat next to him. The wizard fixes his eyes on the young employee and asks, is it a four-cycle engine? Henry answers yes and draws diagrams as the old man peppers him with questions. Eventually, the wizard of Menlo Park excitedly strikes the dining table and says to Henry, young man, that's the thing. You have it. Keep at it. Electric cars must keep near to power stations. The storage battery is too heavy.

Steam cars won't do it either, for they have to carry a boiler and fire. Your car is self-contained. It carries its own power plant. Keep at it. Henry's tenacious. I doubt he was ever shaken by the taunts his fellow Edison employees have thrown his way for using gas before tonight, but to hear such encouragement from the god of electricity himself, the young Michigander is all the more determined. Tonight, then,

is momentous. He leaves this dinner not only starting a lifelong friendship with his hero, Tialda Edison. He leaves all the more determined to do for the horseless carriage, or car, as it's now being called, what his Menlo mentor did for the incandescent light. Make it commercially viable for just about everyone, and thereby change the world. Come August 1899, Henry's ready to take a leap of faith.

With the financial backing of investors, he quits his job at Edison Illuminating and founds the Detroit Motor Company. But like many car companies popping up at the turn of the century, it's a disaster. A perfectionist, Henry and his team only managed to produce 10 vehicles, all heavy, bulky delivery trucks, before the company dies 18 months later in January 1901. Financially strapped but undeterred, 38-year-old Henry decides to prove his mettle anew. He builds a race car called Sweepstakes and enters an automobile race at the Gross Point racetrack that October. Before a crowd of thousands, he not only holds his own,

he defeats the nation's top car manufacturer, Alexander Winton. Ah, Henry again has the eyes of investors, and the next month, November 1901, his second company, the Henry Ford Company, is born. But with his mind on racing, not producing, and displeased at his mere one-sixth ownership in the company, Henry and the enterprise part ways only months later, in early 1902. His former partner soon change the company's name to Cadillac. But the race world continues to pay off for Henry. In October 1902, Barney Oldfield drives Henry's latest creation, known as 999, to yet another victory over Alexander Winton. Henry's 999 race car is a record-setting vehicle,

and this victory only grows the talented carmaker's national reputation. But despite this victory, finances continue to be an issue. Henry and his latest partner, local coal dealer Alexander Malcolmson, are strapped for cash and have bills to pay. Thus, on June 16, 1903, Henry proves that, like Michael Scott from the TV show The Office, he too has no shortage of company names. While Henry and Alexander retain controlling interest by holding 25.5% of the company each, they transform their operation into the Ford Motor Company. In total, there are a dozen partners.

Among them are the owners of the machine shop Henry's already using, two fiery, Wild West-like, quick-to-get-in-a-scrap siblings, John and Horace, better known as the Dodge Brothers. It isn't long before the people of Detroit see horses hauling car chassis from the Dodge Brothers Monroe Street Shop to the Ford Motor Company's plant on Mack Avenue. Teams of two to three men then turned these chassis into Henry's latest design, the Model A. While some elements of this open-carriage automobile have a slight quadricycle look,

the Model A is far sleeker with its gorgeous red paint, black leather seats, and detachable tonneau, or backseat, if you will. Yeah, you can get this as a two or four-seater. You can further splurge on the optional lamps, horn, and brass trimmings. The Model A's two-cylinder engine is also far more powerful than its 1896 ancestor. Try eight horsepower and a top speed of nearly 30 miles per hour. Oh, and another advantage over the quadricycle, the Model A can go in

reverse. This boss of the road, as Ford Motor Company calls the Model A, is available at the very reasonable price of $750 or $850 with the tonneau. But a possible crinkle comes from the Association of Licensed Automobile Manufacturers. It refuses to license Ford Motor Company, then asserts that Ford is violating George Seldon's patent on gasoline automobiles, and further threatens to sue the company's customers. But the Detroit-based company claps back. It's willing to fight the legitimacy of this patent in the name of a man who never even successfully built the gas-powered car to which his patent lays claim, and promises

to cover its customers in the event of a lawsuit. Thus, Americans begin to buy the Model A as these legal issues play in the background. There are other growing pains. Henry dies inside with every reported complaint and breakdown, but his perfectionism won't kill yet another company. Not with James Cousins around. He keeps the Model A's shipping as Ford repairmen fix the earliest mistakes

and the company applies lessons learned in the factory. By early 1904, the Model A is every bit the reliable, lightweight, and tough vehicle advertised. Ford Motor Company sells 1,700 of them in the first 15 months. Henry dreams up more designs. In 1904, we get the 24-horsepower, $2,000 Model B. Powerful but expensive, it doesn't sell well.

So the Michigander pivots back to keeping expenses low. The next several models, A, C, C, and F, are all cheaper. But many of Henry's partners, especially the one other big stockholder, Alexander Malcolmson, want expensive luxury vehicles that yield a large profit per car, just as many other car manufacturers are doing.

Okay, Henry answers in late 1905 with his first six-cylinder vehicle, the Model K, which goes for a costly $2,500. Yeah, this doesn't jive with Henry's personal philosophy, which is to go as light and affordable as possible. So at the same time, he creates his most inexpensive car yet, the $500 four-cylinder Model N. It sells like hotcakes. Angry, Alexander digs in on luxury vehicles. But losing the fight, the frustrated coal man sells his holdings to Henry for $175,000 in 1906. The gangly engineer now holds a controlling 51% of his namesake company. Alexander then starts a luxury vehicle company called AeroCars,

while Henry continues to build financially accessible vehicles, models N, R, and S. By 1908, AeroCars is out of business. But not Henry. If anything, he may have just perfected the car of the everyman, and this year, he's ready to roll it out. The Model T, or the Tin Lizzy as it's affectionately known, is nothing short of brilliant. Henry's cut costs yet kept it durable. For one thing, the old master of machines has realized the engine block can be made from a single casting,

thus making the Model T's four cylinders easier to make and repair. The Tin Lizzy will also have its transmission and engine enclosed together in lubricating oil. As for the steering wheel, it will be on the vehicle's left side. A logical move given that Americans drive on the right side of the road, and this idea will catch on. Oh, and drivers won't have to replace the battery that provides the juice for that starting spark anymore. Henry and his crew apply some old electrical know-how

when they realize that the car's spinning flywheel can provide the car's needed electricity. Just put some magnets and wire coils in there and boom, you've got a Magneto. And for all of this technological advancement, the Model T remains reliable, simple, tough, easy to repair, yet still lightweight and affordable. It hits the market at a mere $850.

So if the Tin Lizzy is the masterpiece, the culmination of the best of all his previous models, might Henry convince farmers to buy it? It's true that the U.S. is very industrialized by this point, but farmers are still a huge part of the population. Imagine the sales if they would buy this car. But farmers typically have little disposable income and drive rough roads. We're talking dirt trails, really, with deep ruts worn by countless horse-drawn wagons. In fact, only 9% of the nation's roads are even surfaced

at this point. Well, a farm boy himself, Henry knows his people. He'll convince them best not with a fancy ad, but with a demonstration. Proof that the Model T is as rough, rugged, and tough as them and their roads. Henry soon finds the chance to offer up such proof. Once again, it's race. It's an unspecified day in mid-June 1909. There are just over 300 people who call the sleepy Washington state town of Sunnyside home are up and about their day. For instance, 20-year-old Roscoe Scheller is down at the Amundsen hardware store, where he's employed as a general flunky, to use his words. But soon, word arrives

that the leading vehicle in the nation's first ever transcontinental automobile race is approaching the town. Roscoe wants to see it. Should he ask store owner Charles Amundsen if he can go take a peek? Hmm, Roscoe doesn't want to risk a no. Hell, he can be fired for all he cares. He can't miss this chance. Joining the growing crowd gathering under the new high tension power line at the bottom of Sixth Street, Roscoe soon notices a dust cloud in the distance, but it's closing fast, way faster than a wagon.

Soon enough, they can see the cause of the dust. It's the 10 Lizzy, the Model T. This stripped-down, mud-caked Model T with the number 2 on its hood comes to a halt in front of the crowd. Its two occupants then jump out. Driver Bert Scott and mechanic C.J. Smith, a.k.a. Smitty. Removing their goggles, the dirt- and mud-covered duo look like raccoons as Bert asks the assembled townspeople,

Can we have water? Water arrives. The parched driver and mechanic drink deeply and scrub their faces. Now to work. From the various items tied down and back, Jimmy pulls out a can of motor oil and begins emptying it into the Model T's engine. The curious boy in the crowd can't help but comment, Sure takes a lot. Smitty answers.

You would too if you'd been through what this car has. The boy is quick with a rejoinder. A horse wouldn't. All continue to stare and wonder. As Jimmy continues to handle the oil, Bert takes the cap off the radiator. It spurts steams and squeals,

even spraying the crowd as the cap flies from Bert's gloved hands. Finally, the sputters subside as he pours quenching water in it. The curious youth continues to question. Say, mister, is oil and water what makes her go? Bert answers. It helps, kid. Ready, Smitty? Ready.

Bert climbs back behind the wheel. Smitty attends to the crank. The already hot engine comes right back to life, and Smitty jumps in the already moving vehicle. The men then speed out of town just as fast as they came. Roscoe returns to the hardware store. He's sure he'll pay a price for bailing on work, but he doesn't regret it one bit. He's now seen on Model T in action.

It's almost as exciting as another sight this afternoon. The drug store's new clerk, whom Roscoe describes as, quote, a cute and dainty goddess, close quote. Both of today's events will soon define Roscoe's life. One day, he'll sell Model Ts to support the family he makes with his future wife. You guessed it. His goddess, the drugstore clerk. Most of the nation's now 300 carmakers eschewed this race.

They thought it dangerous and therefore bad PR. But not Henry. He saw an opportunity to prove that the Model T is so tough, it can traverse the nation even without decent roads. Of the five cars that departed from New York's starting line on June 1st, two were Model Ts. And on June 23rd, Bert and Smitty drive theirs into Seattle for the win. The team driving the other 10 Lizzie got lost, yet still comes in third.

Five months later, officials will invalidate Bert and Smitty's victory. Seems they swapped out the engine along the way. No one cares, though. Most only catch the initial news, that the Model T took first and third place. It gives Henry all the free advertising he could dream of. Americans, city dwellers, and farmers alike are clamoring for the Model T. But all success brings its challenges. The legal woes of the all-gas engines claiming Selden patent are still present. Meanwhile, how on earth will Henry produce Model Ts fast enough to

meet demand? If he doesn't want to disappoint the nation and lose his growing clientele, Henry's got to streamline production fast. Want to learn how you can make smarter decisions with your money? Well, I've got the podcast for you. I'm Sean Piles, and I host NerdWallet's Smart Money Podcast. On our show, we help listeners like you make the most of your finances. I sit down with NerdWallet's team of nerds, personal finance experts in credit cards, banking, investing, and more. We answer your real-world money questions and break down the latest personal finance news.

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When Johan Rahl received the letter on Christmas Day 1776, he put it away to read later. Maybe he thought it was a season's greeting and wanted to save it for the fireside. But what it actually was, was a warning, delivered to the Hessian colonel, letting him know that General George Washington was crossing the Delaware and would soon attack his forces. The next day, when Rall lost the Battle of Trenton and died from two colonial Boxing Day musket balls, the letter was found, unopened in his vest pocket. As someone with 15,000 unread emails in his inbox, I feel like there's a lesson there. Oh well, this is The Constant, a history of getting things wrong.

I'm Mark Chrysler. Every episode, we look at the bad ideas, mistakes, and accidents that misshaped our world. Find us at ConstantPodcast.com or wherever you get your podcasts. Back in 1879, George Selden filed a patent claim for a, quote-unquote, road engine. Specifically, to quote again, a liquid hydrocarbon engine, close quote. In other words, the gas-powered automobile. His design was actually based on that of another, a Mr. George Brayton. And what's more, George Seldon didn't even build a vehicle to his own application's specifications. But he did file for that patent, and then the law-trained New Yorker nettled with the

application's language to drag the process out while others, like say, Henry Ford, actually advanced the science. Seeing gas-powered cars ready to pop commercially, he finally let his application go through 16 years after he started it, in 1895. Now, making a claim for royalties on every gas car in the nation was still a stretch. But George soon found a ready partner in the newly founded Electric Vehicle Company. It saw helping George as a great way to hit the internal combustion competition. Amid legal fights, gas car makers like Winton, Cadillac, and Olds Motorworks saw it was cheaper to acquiesce and ironically

soon became the patent's enforcers. They formed the Association of Licensed Automobile Manufacturers and agreed to play ball with the Selden patent for a cut rate on licensing. These empowered automakers next started deciding who could be in their licensed club and who couldn't. Favoring expensive cars, they told inexpensive carmaker Henry Ford in 1903 that he wasn't welcome. Huh. Henry more or less responded that they could take their licenses and this ridiculous patent and shove it up their overpriced tailpipes. The electric vehicle company went out of business in 1907. The tech just wasn't there yet. But the case continued, going before a judge only months before the 1909 transcontinental race. Henry lost in court. Still, he was confident. In his mind,

how could four-cycle engines be subject to George Seldon's two-cycle engine? He and his team appeal, and sure enough, sweet victory comes. In 1911, the court finds that George Seldon's patent only applies to car manufacturers using his two-cycle engine, and the number of companies on that list is exactly one, Ohio's Elmore Manufacturing. Thus, Henry Ford has saved the car world from a stifling patent, and having started this fight during the Teddy Roosevelt trust-busting years, oh, he's basically a hero. Henry's now the slayer of oligarchy, the defender of the free market in the American way. He's also figuring out how to deliver his much-desired Model T to the people,

not only keeping up with demand, but even lowering the price. Henry isn't just embracing the Industrial Age's use of the assembly line. His team have taken that to the nth degree. They've invented mass production. It's April 1st, 1913, and 29 men have just arrived for their shift at Ford's massive, four-story, concrete and glass-built plant located on a 60-acre plot in Highland Park,

Michigan. They have a very specific job, assembling the 16 magnets and equal number of wire coils that make a Model T Magneto. But today, their workstation looks different. There's a long raised platform, a line as it's called, and rather than each man building an individual magneto, the workers are told they'll perform only one small action, then slide the magneto to the next man on the line. What on earth? For hours on end, the 29 men stand here, each doing his minuscule, repetitive part. Some place a few bolts, and that's it.

The next man will do the tightening. The key thing is whatever his role, placing a single wire coil perhaps, that role never changes as the soon-to-be magneto moves a yard down the line to the next guy. Working like this, these skilled, capable workers who previously produced a magneto every 20 minutes are now cranking them out almost twice as fast.

With further adjustments to this repetitive, moving, conveying assembly line process, Ford Motors will shave the Model T's magneto build time down to a mere five minutes. Damn. Henry's version of the assembly line didn't come together overnight. Between 1906 and 1908, when the Ford Motor Company was still building Model T's at the Paquette Avenue plant, Walter Flanders ended the practice of organizing machines by what they do and instead placed them in a sequential order. He also pushed for interchangeable uniform parts. But it wasn't until the late 1909, early 1910 move to this current Highland Park facility,

the Crystal Palace as it's known, due to its glass roof and massive windows, that the entire process of building a Model T could be in perfect sequence and further continuously moving. And that movement is key. It's the secret to Henry Ford's mass production. And of course, that movement can happen because every single part for the Model T's manufacturing process is getting shaved down to the fastest, most efficient method possible, just as we witnessed happening with the magnetos. All of that shaving adds up. As Henry puts it, quote,

a cardinal principle of mass production is that hard work, in the old physical sense of laborious burden bearing, is wasteful. Save 10 steps a day for each of 12,000 employees and you will have saved 50 miles of wasted motion and misspent energy, close quote. And the numbers prove Henry right. In its first year, this mass production process ups Model T production from $82,000 to $189,000. Meanwhile, the car's price is plummeting from a high of $950 to a low of $260 in 1924. To translate that into our terms, that price point is roughly equal to $5,000 in the early 21st century. Yeah, imagine you spending five grand for a new car. While reporters and others watching Henry's moving picture of this process are awestruck, this mass production business isn't all sunshine and roses. Efficiency experts have studied each task

and calculated exactly how quickly a worker can move product. All are expected to keep that pace. It's stressful. Here's how one assembly line worker, Charles Madison, describes this setup. Quote, the harried foreman told me that my operation had been timed by an efficiency expert to produce a certain number of finished parts per day. Quote,

Close quote. But even if workers can keep up, standing shoulder to shoulder at the conveyor belt, performing one specialized, mind-numbingly repetitive task, it's torture, especially for high-skilled workers who've lost the joy of their craft. Henry finds himself facing high turnover.

But there's a great way to counter that. He entices workers by paying better. In fact, not just better, but more than double what a working man can hope for elsewhere. It's January 5th, 1914. Reporters from three Detroit newspapers are at the Ford Motor Company's Crystal Palace factory in Highland Park, just stepping into company vice president James Cousins' office.

Yes, that James. The one who steadied the company during those early Model A days. He barely understands what happens under a car's hood, but he's brilliant with money. And that reputation makes what he's about to say all the more surprising. With a two-page press release handed to each reporter, the bespectacled 40-something VP begins reading it aloud. The Ford Motor Company, the greatest and most successful automobile manufacturing company in the world, will, on January 12th, inaugurate the greatest

revolution in the matter of rewards for its workers ever known in the industrial world. Reading on, James announces that Ford Motor Company is decreasing its nine-hour shifts to eight. Logistically, this means the plant can now accommodate three shifts in 24 hours. Okay, that makes sense. But then the big shock comes. Not only will Ford's factory employees

work one hour less per day, they'll do so for more than double their current wage of $2.34 per day. Ford Motor Company is upping its daily wages to $5. The reporters are baffled. This will cost the company millions. Why would they do this? VP James Cousins answers, believing as we do that a division of our earnings between capital and labor is unequal, we have sought a system of relief suitable for our business. Finally, Henry himself chimes in. Standing by an enormous window, the gangly, inventive, now 50-year-old company president states, we believe in making 25,000 men prosperous and contented rather than follow the plan of

making a few slave drivers in our establishment millionaires. The headlines are nationwide and immediate. Many give praise. Henry Ford gives $10 million in 1914 profits to his employees. Ford factory has a heart. Ford again staggers the world. Others are less so. The New York Sun dubs him Crazy Ford. The Wall Street Journal argues that, quote, to double the minimum wage without regard to length of service is to apply biblical or spiritual principles in the field where they do not belong, close quote. Meanwhile, people travel across the nation with hopes of a job at Ford Motor Company. It can get downright riotous at the plant.

A six-month residency in Detroit is soon made a requirement in response. But it's not just the factory. With job seekers bombarding their Edison Avenue home, Henry and Clara are compelled to move. They build a gorgeous estate near the farmland they came from. They call it Fair Lane. These high wages don't come without strings attached, though. The $5 per day pay is intended for married men. Males under 22 only qualify if they are breadwinners for a widowed mother or dependent younger siblings. The company's few hundred women likewise only qualify if they,

contrary to the social norms of the day, are pressed into the role of breadwinner. But that's not all. Non-English speakers among the company's mostly immigrant wage workers must enroll in its new English language school. Further, workers only qualify if they have their personal finances in order, well-behaved children, and a clean house. How does Henry even know these intimate details of his 25,000 wage-earning employees' lives? Well, that's the job of his

new sociological department. With notepad in hand, its 200 investigators inspect employee homes and interview them, their friends, family, and even landlords. If you're a Ford employee, best pray the sociological department doesn't sniff any hints of alcohol on your breath, find that you're not legally married, or if you're an immigrant, catch you sending money to family in your homeland. No letting out rooms either. Meet all these standards and you'll get five dollars a day. You may even get permission to buy a car. These stipulations are controversial. But while plenty of Henry's employees are bothered, they find the pay worth conforming,

or at least lying. And many see more good than bad in this program, like episode 113's muckraking slayer of Standard Oil, Ida B. Tarbell. She heads out to Highland Park, ready to take Henry down for this, but comes away a believer, concluding, quote, I don't care what you call it, philanthropy, paternalism, autocracy, the results which are being obtained are worth all you can set against them, close quote. The 19-teens continue on.

Henry's son, Edsel, marries and takes the role of company president. VP James Cousins leaves the company while the Dodge brothers decide to make their own cars. But despite these changes, Henry's still dominating. By the end of World War I, which the pacifist carmaker opposes, 50% of cars on American roads are Model Ts. Meanwhile, President Woodrow Wilson talks Henry into running for U.S. Senate in 1918. Or perhaps talks him into being a candidate is a better way to put it. Henry refuses to campaign. Yet still, the Michigan Democrat only loses by 2,200 votes. Wow, that is power and influence. And that influence is why American Jews are particularly terrified

when Henry shows himself to be anti-Semitic. It's quite shocking, really. To this point, Henry's appeared to be better than many of his generation on issues of race and religion. Specifically, he employs black Americans and immigrants of all sorts of origins. Muslims have found Ford Motor Company welcoming. But as the scourge of anti-Semitism spreads conspiracy theories across the US

that make Jews the scapegoat for just about every problem in post-World War I life, Henry buys into it. He spreads it. In 1920, he begins using his recently acquired newspaper, his old hometown's Dearborn Independent, to preach anti-Semitic propaganda. He does so through 91 issues straight, then publishes those articles in a four-volume set

titled The International Jew. And while the ideas aren't particularly original or novel in an era of rampant anti-Semitism, the influence and reach of the famous carmaker makes these publications particularly harmful. Not only do people care what he thinks famous carmaker makes these publications particularly harmful. Not only do people care what he thinks, but Henry makes these publications available at most of his nationwide Ford dealerships. He also reprints an originally Russian deceitful text that claims an international council of Jews got together and made a grand plan to dominate the world,

and thus created all the world's problems. Again, Henry buys into this. To quote him, wherever there's anything wrong with the country, you'll find the Jews on the job there. Close quote. Damn. In 1925, Jewish lawyer Aaron Shapiro files a libel suit against Henry. They ultimately reach a settlement, and Henry issues a public apology in the summer of 1927. While some believe he's sincere, others, especially those closest to Henry,

don't believe a word of it. But down the road, most won't think of his apology when the year 1927 and Henry Ford are brought to mind. They'll think about the end of the Model T. That May, as the 15 millionth Model T rolls off the line, Henry announces the end of the Model T. That May, as the 15 millionth Model T rolls off the line, Henry announces the end of his iconic car. That's right, the Ford Motor Company will not build another 10 Lizzy after 1927. Like I said at the start, I can't give you Henry Ford's whole biography in a one-hour episode. There's too much to him.

For instance, other aspects of his life include attempting to socially engineer a rubber-producing American utopia in Brazil called Fordlandia, gathering or creating replicas of historically significant inventions and even buildings in his future Greenfield village, and some difficulties in his personal life, including a strained relationship with his early to the grave son, Edsel, as well as a possible love child. All this and more fill his long life before the 83-year-old's death in 1947.

But as I told you at the start, our tale's focus was that of the mechanically gifted farm boy flooding a nation with his iconic cars. That was Henry's great impact on the United States. And that we have covered. Now let's unpack it. First, let's consider the Model T. Henry certainly didn't invent the car, but not altogether different from his friend and mentor Thomas Alva Edison's role with the incandescent light, Henry brought the car to the average American. It was Henry who bucked the ways of the seldom patent-licensed car makers by building inexpensive vehicles that almost everyone could afford, even the farmer. He thereby drastically accelerated the

rise of the car, and when we consider its impact on the United States, new roads, interstate freeways, the eventual rise of drive-through restaurants and even car-oriented cities. It truly is hard to quantify Henry's impact. Second, we come to Henry's actual invention, mass production. Ford Motor Company eventually became so efficient at building the Model T,

one rolled off the line every 10 seconds. This required eliminating all color options apart from black starting in 1914, but he did it. Other companies and industries followed suit and soon mass production was everywhere. It probably brought you the very device you're using to listen to this podcast right now. In short, Henry played a sizable part

in building our modern world, hence his boast. I invented the modern age. Henry is also the tycoon of the people, the boss who doubled the working man's pay. Yet he felt those wages gave him the right to press into the personal lives of his employees. And in a somewhat ironic twist, this fiercely independent man nonetheless clashed hard with unions later in life. So Henry is quite complicated on this point.

And finally, there's the one great stain on the brilliant mechanic's legacy, his anti-Semitism. Yes, for better or worse, or maybe for better and for worse, all of this is Henry. The Henry who, during the Progressive Era, changed the world. And with that, we close the chapter on yet another turn-of-the-century tycoon. But we aren't done with inventors. It's about time we met two brothers who, like Henry, are interested in transportation. Just not on the ground.

Ready to get airborne? We'll see if that's possible next time when we meet these men of the sky on North Carolina's coast at a place called Kitty Hawk. HTDS is supported by premium membership fans. You can join by clicking the link in the episode description. My gratitude to you kind souls providing additional funding to help us keep going. And a special thanks to our members,

whose monthly gift puts them at producer status. Andy Thompson, Anthony Pizzulo, Art Lane, Beth Chris Jansen, Bob Drazovich, Brian Goodson, Bronwyn Cohen, Carrie Beggle, Charles and Shirley Clendenin, Charlie Magis, Chloe Tripp, Christopher Merchant, Christopher Pullman, David DeFazio, David Rifkin, Denki, Durante Spencer,

Donald Moore, Donna Marie Jeffcoat, Ellen Stewart, Bernie Lowe, George Sherwood, Gurwith Griffin, Henry Brunges, Jake Gilbreth, James G. Bledsoe, Janie McCreary, Jeff Marks, Jennifer Moods, Jennifer Magnolia, Thank you. What did it take to survive an ancient siege? Why was the cult of Dionysus behind so many slave revolts in ancient Rome? What's the tragic history and mythology behind Japan's most haunted ancient forest? We're Jen and Jenny from Ancient History Fangirl. Join us to explore ancient history and mythology from a fun, sometimes tipsy perspective. Find us at ancienthistoryfangirl.com or wherever you get your podcasts.