That first car drove me to the graveyard

I’m not driving any BMW as yet. But my present car, whcih boasts full-time 4-wheel drive with height control, is certainly a quantum leap above my first one, to which I became quite attached.

This was right after the Second World War when cars, either new or used, were hard to come by. I had taken on the job of reopening the long-dormant Hutchison Lake gold mine five miles north of Geraldton, Ont., and it was mandatory that I provide my own transportation, for which I was given a meagre gasoline allowance.

The town’s friendly car dealer told me how lucky I was, for he had located a 1935 Ford V8 half-ton truck which he could “let me have” for $350, sight unseen. Sensing that it had probably seen better days, I soon learned that the starter did not work and had to be cranked. There were virtually no brakes, no horn. The lights worked only occasionally, the speedometer didn’t work, the tires were almost bald and it burned oil excessively, trailing a cloud of blue smoke.

But these defects didn’t bother me all that much, for I had little occasion to go out on the highway. Rather, I had a cozy arrangement with the local pulp company to use its private haulage road, though the last mile to the mine was my own road which I had to plow. Being friendly with the local chief of police was a help, for I never did run afoul of the law (at least never caught) during the two years I operated that mine.

Incidentally, I cranked that car to start it through those entire two years. And I certainly had some adventures and misadventures. One I vividly recall was going home at a late hour from a Geraldton party on a cold clear mid-winter night. I had no trouble starting the car (cranking it of course), but was more than a little perturbed that the lights wouldn’t work. “Don’t worry,” I told my wife. “There is moonlight and I know the road backwards.”

However, we had just got out of town when I remarked that the road seemed unusually bumpy. Stopping the car to see what was wrong, I was flabbergasted. For when I opened the door (windows were frosted up), it banged against a tombstone. I was some distance off the road and well into the town cemetary.

I guess my love for old cars came naturally. For my father, former Indian agent for the federal government who incidentally lived to be 104 1/2 years old, went into the car business right after the war. Looking back, I find that the various lines he handled over the years are interesting today.

The first franchise at his Lakehead Motors was the Durant and Star lines — good cars that were well received, particularly the latter with its famed Continental Red Seal motor which, after the car was scrapped, was prized by farmers and fisherman for powering saw machines and boats.

Then came the Chandler and Cleveland line. Built in Cleveland, these fine cars were shipped to Duluth. It was always a treat to visit that city and drive these fleets of new cars to the twin ports of Port Arthur and Fort William.

Other cars father handled included the famous Rickenbacker, the first car ever to be equipped with 4-wheel brakes. And the Willeys-Knight, with its touch-stop air brakes and unusually smooth and quiet sleeve-valve motor.

My great-grandfather, too, had a love for cars. The mayor of Fort William, he personally bought two cars in 1914, a Cartercar for his own use and a Model T Ford touring as a gift to our family. I don’t remember the Ford other than from pictures, but it had our first names — Audrey, Burton, Marjorie and Maurice painted in large gold letters on each door. (Two more sisters came later, unhonored.) The horn consisted of a big rubber bubble on the driver’s door which had to be hand squeezed.

That Cartercar was really something, and would be worth a mint if found today. Known as the “Car with 1,000 speeds,” it was a friction drive vehicle powered through a flywheel of solid copper. When the sliding gearshift was in the centre of this drivewheel, of course, it would be in neutral. The further it was shifted to the outer edge, the faster the car would go. And if moved in the opposite direction, the car would back up just as fast or just as slowly as it could go forward — literally a thousand or more speeds, both ways.

This unique car unfortunately came to a sad end. Presented to the family as something of a fun car in the early 1920s, we used to park it ouside in our back yard. During a period of high copper prices, we woke up one morning to find that big copper flywheel gone. The car, of course, never ran again. But equipped with the best of leather upholstering, we cut the back section of the car off the body and used it for many years as a chesterfield in our summer cottage. It must have weighed close to a ton. Maybe it is still there?