"I guess my first interest in old cars took place in about 1926 when I left the key on in my Dad's "Model T" Ford Truck. This was at the old Massey Harris located where the Cahoon Lumber Co. now stands. I remember the coils buzzing so loud that someone came out of the Chautauqua tent during one of the dramatic recitations, and made me turn the key off to keep the peace. From then on, I remember I wanted to learn to drive so badly ... I was seven or eight at the time. I convinced my Uncle Dave to take me out and teach me in the old truck. My Uncle was a good sport and I guess I touched a responsive chord, so he took me out to the road to Fort Macleod. In those days this road extended north across the reserve from the cemetery road and on to the Indian Agency. As we turned the corner on to the road, he slid over and said, "go to it boy, she's all yours". I did and stepped on the low high pedal and took off. I pulled the throttle way down and away we went, for about two blocks in and out of the barrow pit, until Uncle Dave turned off the key. He then suggested we use the plowed field, and then I decided I should wait a few years for the next lesson.
I remember watching Ken Hyde and Brad Lamb taking the chassis from a "Model T" Ford and mounting a "Model T" Motor on a raised platform above the chassis. They fixed a propeller to the transmission and to the amazement of myself and the awed population took off down Main Street in a cloud of dust. With a lot of luck there were no decapitations as the propeller had no guard.
About this same period of time (the early 30's) Sylvan Wood was constructing a glider plane in a vacant building where Atkins store is now. I remember going in to watch the progress and being thoroughly awed at the possibility of its flying. The many glued struts and the canvas covered forms were amazing. The last known of this venture was that Sylvan took it out on the reserve next to the St. Mary's River. He had it towed by a 1930 Chevrolet, lifting off to a height of 20 to 30 feet he nosed dived into the ground breaking up not only the plane but also Sylvin's leg. To my knowledge the plane died an ignoble death.
During my early high school years I worked for Bob Shaw and Jake Newbaur in the old Service Garage. I learned a lot about old "Star" cars, Dodges, Durants, and Plymouths ... washing oil pans, scraping gaskets, cleaning the carbon off cylinder heads etc. I learned a little about mechanics, but a lot more about work.
During those hungry 30's my father became involved with another business, the "Big Chief Oyster Shell Co." He pioneered this industry which manufactured crushed petrified oyster shell to be fed to chickens to harden their egg shells.
Of course, this is another story and an interesting one and it ties in with the old cars and engines. Ed Crabreee worked for us in this venture as a mechanic and engineer. He owned an old 1931 Dodge Cut down Truck. This was a powerful six cylinder unit and could haul and pull a trailer load of one ton of oyster shell to a railroad siding called Omati.
Needless to say, all this influenced my interest in old vehicles and tractors. This complex was powered by a Rumley Oil Pull Tractor that had to be coaxed to life with a lever type crank engaged to a notched flywheel.
I became acquainted with the earlier cars like a 1929 Chev truck that my Dad let me use in the fall of 1939 to haul grain from the farm at Kimball. Dad and Ed Wolsey were farming together, and I was given the contract to haul the grain from the combine to Jefferson, at 3ยข a bushel. The truck had a 60 bushel box.
At the start things went pretty good, but I got behind and the grain was dumped on the ground between hauls. This I had to pick up with a scoop shovel, early in the morning while the dew kept the combine from running.
Sleep at night wasn't too good as I had to bunk in an old granary; the bugs wanted company and kept me awake by leaving love bumps on my body.
I know I'm getting carried away, so let's get back to the old vehicles. I must tell you how I got to love that old beauty (1929 Chev). To begin with it didn't run well, as it had what we called a vacuum tank. This devilish device was a round, can like container, that had a pipe leading to the intake manifold. The suction caused by the piston's down travel would cause a vacuum in the tank which was connected to the gas tank and this acted as a fuel pump to raise the level of the gas above the carburetor.
They never were successful and the company kind of admitted this as they left a plug so that you could pour gas into this container until some miracle happened to keep the suction up. Consequently, you were always stalled, and under the hood priming it.
I finally overcame this problem by taking the gas tank from under the seat and mounting it on to the wooden cab (thus gravity flow).
Things went pretty well after that with the exception of being a poor start on the crank. I became so frustrated that I went to throw the crank over the cab, and not having enough power left after cranking so much, I threw it through the windshield and suffered with the cold on those chilly fall mornings. One consolation was, I couldn't go fast enough to create too much of a draft.
I remember one time I had just loaded my truck to capacity, about 60 bushels, and headed out of the field on a downgrade with a sharp curve at the bottom. Flooring the gas pedal to maintain speed in the soft stubble, I began negotiating the turn, when all of a sudden all of the wooden spokes of the rear wheel flew out, and left me stalled.
I was devastated, but after thinking things over, I jacked up the load, gathered up all the spokes, tire, rim and bolted them altogether again and delivered my load to the elevator.
Of course I always had to stop each time at Emil Frederick's store to buy a chocolate bar or two to keep up my energy.
One other time, I had a real big load on and as I approached Jefferson, just where Pete Higgins lives, there was a coulee with a steep winding approach. In order to make it with my powerful four cylinder job, I had to gain speed going down the hill to make it over the top. I used to have to slip the clutch a little to make the grade, but this one time I was just short of the top when I heard a sickening sound like a meat slicer.
I understood right now that this meant internal injuries and that she had probably slipped a rod. Sure enough but I chanced it and started her up, and by slipping the clutch, made the incline, and nursed her to Jefferson, where I shoveled off my load onto the waiting train car.
After finishing the job I got out my crescent, pliers and screw driver, took off the pan and removed the ailing con rod, piston and all, through the bottom the engine.
My luck held out as at Emil's store I met Duff Stewart and rode back to the Stewart farm, where I had a hot supper. Duff was not going to town until morning so I helped combine that night and had a wonderful sleep in a nice clean feather tick.
I got to town early the next day, and at the Central Service, Kirk Lee came up with a good used piston, con rod and all for $1.00. I hooked a ride back to Jefferson, made the transplant and was off hauling again with a mountain of grain piling up in my absence and a carload yet to shovel.
I can't remember what happened to this unit. I returned it to my Father, but I think he took it out east of town and put it out of its misery.
To my recollection, my first love was an old "Model T" coupe (straight and upright) owned by Fred Sparling. He drove this unit for years and finally when he was too old to drive, he sold it to me. It was a 1927 and one of the last "model T's "in its line. I still have this car today and all I ever did to it was to paint it and replace a windshield that was broken by a baseball at a local game. It is now in storage and in need of restoration, but is still quite runable. (Note: this car was sold to Tom Carnegie who restored it. He and Suzie drove it through the lower 48 States in 40 days)
I purchased my next car, a 1910 Maxwell from my good friend Owen McClung, who at that time was collecting old cars. He got the unit from around the Stirling area. Fenders half gone and the body in a pile, but this did not dampen my enthusiasm, as by this time I was thoroughly hooked by the obsession to see these beauties run once again.
I spent months, night after night. I will not bore you with the details of how I manufactured, hunted and scrounged for parts until it was tested and could run on its own well enough to perform in parades. I still have this unit and it's one of my favorites.
Next I purchased a 1917 "Model T" touring car from George Cope in Woolford. I was out trying to sell him a piece of Massey Harris machinery when I noticed this car in an old barn. I forgot about the machinery sale and wound up with a rusty old "Model T".
Again, between a guy named Roland Dudley, a body shop owner and myself, we got her running and painted and in a parade with a sign "Dipped By Dudley".
I was now thoroughly obsessed by the antique car bug. Just like a dope addict, I had to have more to satisfy my desires.
I got my next shot when at a November 11th legion affair I voiced my need for a radiator for a "Model T" One Ton Truck that I had acquired in Aetna from Old Man Bates, a pioneer storekeeper and blacksmith. He was Valmar Bates' father.
Sure enough a donor came forward--Cliff Luther. They had an old "Model T" pick-up out at their farm near Carway--that had a good radiator.
I went out immediately and looked at the vehicle, and wound up buying the whole carcass.
I fell in love with this unit too and needless to say the radiator stayed on the Ford and new life was breathed into it again. Behold, another favorite.
While out at the Bates farm at Aetna, I was trying to sell Valmar Bates a used #15 Massey Harris pull type combine. He knew I was hopelessly hooked on antique cars, so he mentioned his Dad had repossessed an old Briscoe automobile from Al Jensen. This car was boarded up in the old school house, long since abandoned.
I peered into the dark gloomy interior and got my next shot by trading the combine for the car.
This was a rare 1919 vintage machine and believe it or not after sitting for years, I put in some gasoline and a new battery, she started right up. What a thrill this was. I used this unit in many rodeo parades. Another favorite? Well I guess.
By this time my family of cars had grown to an unmanageable size, and in the need of more housing. I had a piece of property behind Dean Smith's place that had the old Al Yost shop on it. I converted this into a garage which could house four or five units. Little did anyone realize that in June of 1964, we would have a flood. This caused the creek to inundate my vehicles and incalculable damage. What a sad time this was.
What a mess! Somehow or other I was able to remove the silt from all the movable parts and get things ship shape again.
Time was passing by again and I felt the need of another tranquilizer. I found this in the purchase of another basket case from Owen McLung. It truly was a basket case as it was manufactured by "Case" in 1912. This auto, originally owned by Gordon Malmberg's grandfather, had sat out on the farm for many years and was in a horrible state.
After several years of restoration, the day finally came for the test run. It finally started after several attempts, and smoke filled the shop so badly that you could cut in with a knife. I emerged into the clear night air looking like Old Black Joe, with a tremendous smile and a feeling of pride.
Dudley, the body man, and Lindon Jensen, the blacksmith, had much to do with her launching. Again, more than a favorite, she became one of the family. It was a two seater touring so it hauled many celebrities in various parades around the country.
This was to be the last one I promised Isabella, until I fell in with bad company at Hank Carrs Junk Yard. There to tempt me lay the chassis (motor and frame) of a 1912 REO. To see this machine land in some Japanese laundry was unthinkable! So by scrounging for parts from all makes of machines, I cobbled up another. This became the most reliable car to run, and is used every year to host the "Citizen of the Year". I have been horoured and very proud to do this, but have never been honoured more than this year (1984), when my children Judy and Robb drove this "Citizen of the Year" (me) in this fine old vehicle.
Since the Reo I have acquired several other cars and I still have more unrestored vehicles to work on.
Sometimes I can't help but think we antique car buffs are a selfish lot. The enjoyment we get out of the countless hours we spend restoring these "has beens" and the thrill and accomplishment we feel, is something that others you love sometimes find hard to understand. You have shared a great deal, and possibly more of your love night after night away from home ... with your antique car.
Truly a labour of love!