The Way I Heard It with Mike Rowe - 7: "Be right back, hon!"

Episode Date: March 8, 2016

She believes her husband is a genius. The only problem, no one else does. How her road trip changed everything – for YOU!

This is the way I heard it. Bertha was married to a genius, a man who could see the future, a man destined to change the world. Bertha believed this with absolute certainty. Only problem was, nobody else did. Like so many other great inventors, Bertha's husband was a terrible businessman. Financial success had eluded him, and now, as the family struggled to make ends meet, Bertha could see him slipping further and further into depression and self-doubt. something had to be done, so Bertha decided to take matters into her own hands.

It was time to go see Mother. She woke the kids before dawn, gathered supplies for the journey. She left a note for her husband, telling him not to worry. Then she and her sons hit the road. Of course, hitting the road in those days was a tricky business, since there were no roads to speak of, just endless miles of countryside between Bertha and Mom's House, with a few villages and hamlets sprinkled in between. The car heaved and groaned and grappled for traction over the bumpy terrain. Hills were a challenge, so the two teenage boys did a lot of pushing,

as Bertha steered through the ruts left by horse-drawn wagons. Before long, they ran out of fuel. There were no gas stations, so Bertha hiked to a nearby pharmacy and bought some ligroin, a petroleum-based stain remover that just might keep the vehicle going. It didn't. It did, Several hours later, the car once again ground to a halt. This time, the problem was a clog in the fuel line. There was no AAA and no cell phones to call for help, so Bertha pulled out a hairpin to clear out the clog. Mission accomplished.

A short time later, the car's electric ignition cable became worn through, stopping them in their tracks. Bertha removed her garter and used it to insulate the wire, and off they went. Just before dark, around 15 hours after leaving their house, Bertha and her sons finally arrived at their destination. Richard and Eugen were thrilled to see their grandma, and after supper, Bertha quickly explained the crisis that confronted her family, along with her plan to solve it. Bertha's mother was skeptical of her daughter's plan, but supportive nevertheless, and begged her daughter to take every precaution on the long ride back home. Her concern was justified. Among the many other mishaps on the return trip, the car's brakes failed.

So Bertha, in a move that McGiver would have applauded, found a local shoemaker, bought some leather strips, and had them nailed onto the wooden brake blocks. Problem solved. When Bertha and her sons finally arrived back at the family home, her husband was waiting in quiet amazement. He wasn't alone. Word had spread far and wide. Bertha's journey, which, of course, was precisely why she had taken it in the first place. People needed to understand the possibilities of her husband's invention, and if he couldn't make them see the future, she would show it to them in the present. The newspapers had a field day. At a time when the longest prior road trip was approximately 40 feet, this housewife and mother of took a 120-mile expedition that reversed the fortunes of her family and forever changed the

business of getting from here to there. That was the summer of 1888, the year the patent motor wagon, the brainchild of the man Bertha believed in with absolute certainty, Carl Benz. That's the name, we remember, the inventor of the first horseless carriage powered by an internal combustion engine. But Bertha Bens, that's the name we should never forget. Thanks to her, Mercedes-Benz is still thriving, and anyone with a license to drive today should think fondly of the intrepid Bertha, a daring young lady who woke up one morning and drove into history. Anyway, that's the way I heard it.