There was a Ford in my Future!

My father once said, only half jokingly, that 1929 was a bad year: the stock market crash, the highest water on the Apalachicola River and my birth. I am not certain he ranked them in any particular order. But there was always a Ford in my future.

Homer Hirt, Sr. returned from France with the American army in 1919 and picked up his life where it had been interrupted. His job at the Ford dealership in Tallahassee was waiting. James Messer, the dealer, believed in the young man, and soon made him manager. Then the opportunity to become a Ford dealer came. He had a choice: Cedar Key or Chattahoochee and he chose the latter.

In 1923 he opened his dealership in a rented building, using $2,300 that he got from sale of some land in Tallahassee. He met a young lady, sold her a used car, taught her how to drive and then married her. There was always a Ford in the future of the Hirt family, up until we sold our dealership in 1971. I once owned a Buick for a short time, and I felt that H. B. Sr. was looking down at me, a frown on his face and wishing me a blown engine. I sold it as soon as I could. Never doubt the power of your father, even if he is dead and gone.

He believed in Henry Ford and the company he founded. Mr. Ford was the first to use a true assembly line, and the first to pay his workers $5.00 per day. Since the Model T eventually sold for about $250, his workers bought Fords. The proliferation of the Model T got credit for a road system in our country that was second only to the Interstate highways of modern times. The “T”, as it was called, was built to fit the ruts that were worn into the ground by farm wagons. When macadam roads began appearing Ford narrowed the width of his cars, but this did not fit the still-unpaved roads around Tallahassee, so the Ford dealer there set up a woodworking shop to turn out spacers that placed the wheels where they would still fit the ruts. He also built “station wagons” for the wealthy plantation owners of the area.

Receiving a train car load of Model Ts was intriguing. The autos came in two sections: the body and the chassis. The body was loaded in a boxcar at an angle, leaning against one wall. The chassis was loaded on the other side, also leaning. The dealer would gather up some husky men, and they would carry the chassis out and then place a body on it and someone would then drive it to the dealer to have the two sections bolted together.

The Model T was soon outclassed by other cars, so Henry Ford decided to build a finer car. He went to the financiers for retooling money, but they turned him down. To solve the problem he built thousands of Model Ts, shipped them Collect on Delivery to dealers, who then had to borrow money locally to pay for them. It worked for Henry, but was rough on small and large dealers alike. The Model A was born in 1929 and was an instant success, at least until the Depression set in, and sales slowed to a slow walk. The A was followed by the Model B in 1932 and a couple of years later by the first Ford V8.

Henry Ford did not like to be beholden to anyone, so he purchased his own iron and coal mines, a rubber plantation in Brazil and built automobile parts and tires himself. He transported raw materials in his own ships. At one time over 90 per cent of each Ford was done this way. His first Model T engines were purchased from the Dodge brothers. Even though their engine shop was only a few miles across Detroit from Ford’s assembly line, they were required to securely pack them in crates, with holes drilled in certain locations. At the plant the wood slats were taken apart and lo!, old Henry had his floorboards!

Our dealership, known as Chattahoochee Motor Company, survived the Great Depression, but in a very tenuous way. Financing of new cars was almost impossible, and few folks had the ability to save the amount needed to purchase a new Ford. The town of Chattahoochee, home of the Florida State Hospital, survived, also. The common wage for men was $30, with some housing provided, and three meals a day. This was in exchange for twelve hours of work per day, sometimes for fourteen days in a row. We went broke twice in that decade, but recovered.

The Model T was known for being simple to work on. The transmission was a planetary one, with the foot pedals engaging the gears, much as a hydraulic system later worked automatic transmissions. The first ones were hand started with a crank. This led to broken arms, short fuses and a lot of cuss words. If you started up a very steep hill, and you had less than a full tank of gas, you turned around and backed up, since the fuel was gravity flow.

Henry Ford supposedly said that a customer could have any color Model T he wanted, as long as it was black. This came home to me at the age of four. I longed for a pedal operated fire truck. Christmas came and there under the tree was a fire truck! But it was black, and I did not understand the reason for some years: it was a used one, and my father only had black paint in his service department. It worked well, though, but was not as pretty at the Model A fire truck that he had sold the City in 1930, a truck that is still under a roof at the City Hall.

Henry Ford did not believe that a six cylinder engine could be balanced, so he waited until government specifications required six cylinder cars. Until the onset of World War II the name “Ford” was synonymous with “V8”. In 1939 the bootleggers of Tennessee, the Carolinas, Georgia and our part of Florida found that the Ford V8 business coupe was the ideal transport for the thousands of gallons of illegal hooch that came from the mountains and swamps and flowed to the cities. Races between the bootleggers and the revenue officers became legendary, and the drivers soon took to dirt oval tracks on Saturdays, racing each other, mostly driving the cars that allowed them to make money on the twisting back roads. Dale Earnhardt, Jr. and modern drivers owe their NASCAR sport to Junior Johnson and others that came from this beginning.

So, what did a person pay for the automobile of his dreams? In April of 1939 a man could walk into H. B. Hirt, Sr’s. dealership and put down cash or a check for $790.00, and drive out in a new Ford 85 horsepower V8. It would be a coupe, and he could have a choice of three colors, Black, Gull Gray or Jefferson Blue. If he would be satisfied with a 60 horsepower V8 he could pay $40 less, but he sacrificed speed and power. Looking for white sidewall tires? Then dig deep, and throw down another $20.00. A radio would cost you $55.00, and you can imagine that not many folks were music lovers for that price.

The banker may walk in and choose the Deluxe Ford, and opt for the basic colors or Coach Maroon, Dartmouth Green or Folkestone Gray. The Deluxe model cost him $850.00. Throw in two more doors and a back seat and he could select the fabulous “Fordor”, and his wife could ride alongside him, work the radio and the kids could sit in the back and count the cows, all for $935.00.

Soon our nation began war production, and Henry Ford made bombers, tanks and jeeps, and Homer Hirt, Sr. saw no new cars. He survived off service to his customers. He even sold horse saddles and wooden wagon wheels. He must have done something right. The dealership lasted for over forty seven years. And I do not believe that I could ever feel right without a Ford in my future!

Beware the Ides of March!

The Ides of March are defined roughly as the fifteenth day of the month of March. This is a Roman thing; the ancient Romans, having to work with Latin as a language, gave this name to that day, but due to excess bacchanalia they failed to give an Ides to April. This was left up to our Congress to give us one. The Ides of April also falls on the fifteenth of the month, but is known as “Tax Day”, which makes it much worse for us than the Ides of March.

Julius Caesar did not see it that way, however. On the way to the Forum to be crowned emperor he was warned to “beware the Ides of March”. He disregarded the warning. Upon arrival he was stabbed by three “friends“, and he cried out: “Et tu, Brute’”. Brutus was a friend, supposedly, but he feared that Caesar would not make a good emperor. He brooded over his deed. Nowadays he would go on *Fox News*, and write a book and get paid $50,000 for making a speech.

In Chattahoochee High School I was fated to take two years of Latin. We boys had to perform a scene from Shakespeare’s play “The Death of Caesar”. Shakespeare wrote in a strange semi-English, saying words like “doth”, “hither” and “forsooth“, which were difficult enough for good ole Southerners, but our teacher insisted that we recite the play in Latin. Latin puts the verb last in its sentences, which provides for some surprises. Our performance had many surprises. We were wrapped in sheets, and our mothers all attended and sat in the front row to make certain that we did not really stab Caesar. Or “stob” him, as we rednecks call it. Immediately behind them was a group of rowdy boys who heard that we were not going to wear anything under our “togas”. We wore short pants and tee shirts underneath, though, and this kept us from performing in the first “Animal House”. It also kept us from being expelled from high school, and possibly being drafted into the Army.

There are other exciting days in March. The first day of March is Labour Day in Wales. Notice the extra “u” in labor. This is a British peculiarity. They should stop using this in such words. Think of all the carbon added to the atmosphere by these extra letters being printed out. I figured the Brits for being more environmentally conscious.

The eighth day is celebrated, or at least observed, as “8 hours day” in Tasmania. Herein lies a mystery. Do the folks usually work seven hours or nine hours, and on this one day work eight hours? Of course this land is the home of the Tasmanian devil. The Tasmanian Devil, or Taz, is the most ferocious animal in Saturday morning cartoons, with the possible exception of Tom and Jerry and Tweetie Bird. There may be a connection there.

The fourteenth of March is when we begin observing Daylight Savings Time in most of the United States and in Canada. All of the Canadians that I have known did not really care about what day it is, much less whether or not it was 12:00 or still 11:00. Canada is not known as “The Land of the Bland” for nothing. Many of them put the extra “u” in words, and that should prove something about them.

Palm Sunday pops up late in the month. Again, the Roman emperors are to blame. Along about Constantine’s time there was a proliferation of religions, all demanding holidays. It got where there were days when there was no one to feed the lions at the Coliseum, and Christians were off the menu, so Constantine ordered the religions to get together with each other, double up on holidays and get back to work. Christians and Mithrans, for example, picked out a suitable day for Easter and Astarte’s birthday. It worked good until the calendar changed, and Palm Sunday had to tag along with the Vernal Equinox, which makes it a floating holiday. If you are not observant, it can be a complete surprise.

Passover comes along for the Jewish faith about the same time. You are all familiar with the story. The Angel of Death was to go through the streets of Egypt and slay all the boy babies in the houses that did not have a mark of lamb’s blood on the lintel. This is a beautiful tradition. Even today many Jewish fathers put a red smear of paint over the front door of their homes. And the mothers stand and watch and, with their heads cocked to one side, say “that is not quite the shade of red I had in mind”.

The most famous March day is the seventeenth, St. Patrick’s Day. The largest St Patrick’s Day Parade is in New York City, where there are more Irish than there are people. The second largest is in Savannah, Georgia. Savannians dye the river green, the beer green, the bagels green and, who knows, maybe each other the same color. The most famous current resident of Savannah is the Lady Chablis, a female impersonator, who became recognizable because of being written up in the book “Midnight in the Garden of Good and of Evil. The Lady Chablis played herself in Clint Eastwood’s movie of the same name, and appears in night clubs. She is also from Quincy, Florida, and has written an expose’ about that town. Now you know why I moved from Gadsden County to Sneads.

The shortest parade is in Enterprise, Alabama, where there is a statue to an insect in the town square. All directions start with “go down to the boll weevil and ____”. The parade is about three blocks long, and consists of one lady dressed as a leprechaun and passing out shamrocks. You really have to be quick to see that parade.

My own experience with St. Patrick’s Day occurred in Washington, D. C. I was with a group that went there to testify before a sub-committee of Congress on water issues. We made the mistake of going to an Irish pub that night, and I, with my tongue loosened by Bushmills, began regaling others with heroic exploits from my days at sea. I was called to one side by a rather shady character who explained that he had been listening, and that his organization could use me. I never did find out if he was CIA, IRA or a scout for a comedy club. The next year I insisted that we have Italian cuisine.

To close this (and it definitely needs closing) I would like to state that March has more than its share of problems. For example, we know that every fourth year is a Leap Year, when loose seconds and minutes are saved up to give February an extra day. My question is: where are these seconds, minutes and hours held until that year? Are they appended to March, and we just don’t realize it? Do they just float about until the magic year? Are actions that occur on Leap Year valid? My wife Theresa proposed to me on a Leap Year and I accepted. This last Leap Year two ladies proposed to me and I haven’t accepted either one yet. Are these proposals still valid, or should I wait till the next Leap Year to accept or reject them?

March has enough problems with St. Patrick’s Day and green beer, with Tasmanian devils and with the old poem “March winds doth blow, and we shall have snow”, not to mention Caesar’s stobbing. When I present a problem to my readers, I usually offer a solution. I am truly sorry that I cannot do it this time. March will just have to take care of itself.