CarPort

In October, all roads lead to Hershey, and on the roads are lots of old cars. That’s because Hershey, Pennsylvania, hosts the world’s largest old car event, the Eastern Regional Fall Meet of the Antique Automobile Club of America. This was my 27th consecutive year.

Hardly had I arrived than a saw an old acquaintance, a 1974 Ford Maverick Grabber that was a no sale last year. The owner had dropped his price by $2,000, which must have worked because it was gone before the show closed. Other treasures included a 1917 Overland engine for $600, toys, radiator shells and a flathead Ford V8 – demonstrated regularly. Throughout the grounds customers were taking home parts and memorabilia.

Every year a bunch of barn-fresh cars come out, like this 1939 Ford convertible sedan, a 1923 Lincoln converted to service car, and an unobtrusive 1930 Whippet Six sedan. Vehicles that caught my fancy in the Car Corral included a rare 1951 Frazer Vagabond, a 1958-9 Chevy milk truck, and a 1941 Ford Special coupe, a bottom-of-the-line model with minimal chrome, a seat that flips up to access the inside storage area and a single taillight. The nastiest vehicle I saw was a 1937 Ford pickup, in great danger of disintegrating on site.

A 1947 Ford cab-over-engine truck, like the one we featured some years ago, sold early in the week. There was also a nice 1959 Dodge Sweptside pickup and a 1947 Canadian-built Mercury panel truck. We’ve seen 1950s Packard station wagons before and Hershey had an interesting one, obviously converted from a sedan, its roofline and bustle giving it away. The storied Tucker convertible was on show and drawing crowds. I find it attractive, but I’m skeptical about its stories. The innovative 1955 Flajole Forerunner was mesmerizing many, particularly this mystery man with a camera. I’d never before seen a Hanover but Hershey had one, a 1922 model being sold by Hyman Classic Cars. There were two (count ’em) DeLoreans and a single Bricklin. Faced with a choice I’d take the Bricklin, as there were parts available in the Red Field.

One could get a close look at the Futurliner belonging to the National Auto and Truck Museum of the United States. Of great interest were the dual front wheels which have differentials in the hubs. They also run on genuine Parade of Progress tires. Most people, though, were watching the show, not the wheels.

On Saturday morning, all visitors head for the car show where there’s always something new to see. A nicely-restored 1948 International KB-2 pickup was carrying a beautiful Simplicity garden tractor, just like mine. There was a Crosley ladder truck, a Reo Gold Comet school bus (when was the last time you saw one?) and a 1926 GMC motor home.

The cut-off date for AACA recognition is now 1984, so we see such things as a first generation Bronco, a Suzuki LJ50 and a Jeep J4000 pickup with 360 cubic inch V8 (Dan Strohl, eat your heart out!). A Maryland collector showed a matched pair of 1960 Valiants, one with red interior and the other in blue.

My favorite part of the show is the Historic Preservation of Original Features class. Drawing crowds was a Willys Silver Knight roadster (you can look it up), and a Springfield Rolls Phantom I with Brewster Suburban body was nearby. You could also see a Day-Elder truck and an unrestored 1914 Haynes. In the main show were a 1932 Detroit Electric with balloon tires on wire wheels and a companion 1976 Citicar electric. Around the corner was the first Browniekar I’d ever seen.

The only auction in town these days is the RM sale held at the Hershey Lodge. One of the stars of the sale was the unrestored 1909 Stanley E2 runabout that took part in the 2006 Amelia Island Concours d’Elegance. Prepped by specialist Mark Smith, it steamed across the dais to be knocked down for a high bid of $160,000, twice the high estimate.

After a brief respite at headquarters of the Society of Automotive Historians, it was time to go since nearly all vendors had left. Dennis, Chris and Billy helped break down the tent and I loaded my remaining wares for the trip home. It had been a good Hershey, marred only by high winds on Wednesday and some overnight showers. I’m already looking forward to year 28.

“It may go, or it may not.” So said Mr. Bishop to Mr. Titus, and according to local legend that’s how Waterford, Connecticut’s, Mago Point got its name. Titus and Bishop, partners in the land company that bore their names, were developing a subdivision of 255 lots, each 25 feet wide by 100 deep, on the eastern shore of the Niantic River.

To assist their marketing, they ordered a 1925 Chevrolet Superior commercial car from the Thompson Chevrolet Company in their home city of New London. As supplied, with hood and front fenders, but no body, it listed for $425. The partners then had a local carpenter build a miniature bungalow on the back, complete with hip roof, bay windows and a porch for the driver. “Little Down – $1.00 a Week Buys a Lot” read their marketing: “Ask the Man.”

As it happened, Mago Point didn’t go, at least for Titus and Bishop. After the land was foreclosed during the Depression, the Chevy went out to pasture. Following World War II it was sold to an oil company and used as a service vehicle, then laid up in the owner’s back yard.

Karl Hansen grew up in the neighborhood, and he and other children often played in the Chevy’s bungalow. In 1972, he asked the owner if he could buy it. Having turned down previous offers, the owner took a liking to Karl and accepted his offer, and even the impecunious teenager’s time payment plan. Having fulfilled the $125 full price, Karl gave the truck a coat of white paint, reshingled the roof and began to participate in local parades and car shows.

By the mid-1990s, though, the Chevy had been sidelined as Karl bought and sold other collector cars. Finally, he decided its time had come and began a full restoration, replicating the original theme right down to the lettering and American flags on the roof.

Although about the same displacement as a Model T engine, the Chevy’s ohv powerplant puts out 35 bhp, nearly double that of its rival. Its sliding gear transmission was more advanced, but otherwise the truck is quite primitive, with sparse instrumentation, an “armstrong” windshield wiper and rudimentary weather protection. The front doors are constructed like gates. It performs well, mostly due to light weight, as the 3.8 to 1 gearing is pretty tall for a truck. Karl has added a surveyor’s transit to its equippage, as Titus and Bishop very likely used it to lay out their lots.

Mago Point eventually did go, but not until the 1950s. The lots now sprout plenty of big bungalows, and the original land office also survives, as an Italian restaurant.

When I was young the favorite fall activity was attending the Springfield Fair. Officially the Eastern States Exposition, it was (and is) a surrogate state fair for the six New England colonies, each of which is too tiny to mount a state fair of midwestern proportions. For reasons I cannot explain, I had never been to Springfield Fair, or “Eastern States” as we sometimes called it, or the Big E as it is known now. So when my family asked what I wanted for my birthday, which occured earlier this month, I said “Take me to the Big E!”

The Big E began in 1916 as an agricultural show, and it remains substantially so today. It is held in West Springfield, Massachusetts, over 17 days in September and October. We arrived as the Jersey cows were entering the show ring, and took a stroll through the barns of sheep, goats, pigs and poultry. There’s a large presence of FFA and 4H Clubs, dairy promotions and plenty of handicrafts. But agriculture takes machinery so not far from the gate we were greeted by vintage tractors. These were mainly Farmalls and John Deeres, but there was also an assortment of garden tractors. I was delighted to find an old friend, a Farmall F-12, just like the one I drove in my farming period, right down to the accessory overdrive for road travel.

I was surprised there were so few exhibits of new tractors, just a Bobcat among the backhoes and loaders, and a bevy of TYM tractors, a make I’d never heard of but which are built in Korea. New England is snow country, so of course there were snow plows aplenty and the first ever MXT International pickup I’d seen in person.

But what about cars? Were there cars at the Big E? Well, there was a Subway/Aflac Ford Fusion racer, with obligatory false face, and soon I stumbled across a slightly slammed AMC Hornet. It turned out to be one of the cars from the James Bond film The Man with the Golden Gun, a center-steer stunt car from the barrel roll scene, the work of stuntman and demo derby entrepreneur Jay Milligan.

It was Connecticut Day, so we went to the Connecticut building, and saw author Billy Steers autographing children’s books with his own Tractor Mac Farmall Cub. Around the back was a mysterious 1929 Buick and a Camaro convertible ostensibly for Connecticut’s Outstanding Teen, Acacia Courtney. The Connecticut State Police had an authentic 1958 Ford cruiser of the type I remember, correctly fitted out with lights, radio and three speed stick shift, just as I remember back in the day. They also had later generations of LTD cruisers and a current Crown Vic, and even one of the short run of Plymouths ordered by Governor Meskill back in the 1970s. A flock of Harley-Davidsons completed their display.

Close by was a GM Futurliner bus, now owned by Springfield’s Peter Pan Bus Company, and a curious thing promoting Lupa Zoo, which displayed some of the customary characteristics of a car. And then there were trucks, from the local chapter of the American Truck Historical Society. Announcing that the national ATHS show is coming to the Big E grounds in 2012, they had assembled a good contingent, including an authentically-outfitted 1924 Model T huckster wagon. Chevrolet is the “official car” of the Big E, enshrined in Chevrolet Court and centerpiecing a new Camaro. Much play was given to the fuel cell Equinox and ethanol-drinking HHR.

But the Big E is hardly a car show. There’s a big midway with rides, state exhibits like Massachusetts cranberries, and pitchmen for every concievable contraption, from floor mops to Sham Wow. We filled up on fair food, walked our feet off and had a thoroughly good time. You can, too. The Big E runs through October 4th.

I seldom go to car shows these days. Somehow, rows upon rows of muscle cars or Corvettes leave me somewhat jaded. I’d rather spend my time pursuing some arcane corner of automotive history. Last Sunday, however, was the annual show put on by the Greater Norwich Area Chamber of Commerce, not far from my Connecticut home. I hadn’t been in some years, as the September date usually clashes with my near-annual trip to Beaulieu Autojumble, which I passed up this year so I could do the Morgan Centenary instead.

The Norwich show is held at Dodd Stadium, home of the Connecticut Defenders baseball team, although they’re leaving the area. It’s not the ideal place for a car show, as the field is all blacktop and there’s no shade, but the day was nice so I went to take a look. I discovered one of the most unusual shows I’ve seen in a long time.

The first thing to catch my eye after leaving the entrance gate was a covey of Chrysler Crossfires. It didn’t seem to be a class display; perhaps it was a Crossfire club. In any case, the orphaned model is bound to be tomorrow’s collectible. Not far away, among the dealer displays, Norwich Public Utilities was showing off a brace of hybrid biodiesel bucket trucks.

The class judging areas were a veritable kaleidoscope of automotive serendipity. Not far from a tidy 1959 Rambler American with authentic swamp cooler was a full-blown ’61 Chevy. There were real British sports cars, real-looking British sports cars, and unreal British sports cars. Connecticut is funny. Our state issues “Early American” license plates to cars that are unAmerican.

Not all was shiny. A 1937 Ford coupe looked too good to restore, and a 1957 Chevy Nomad looked too good to drive. A pair of unpretentious Ford trucks began a class of commercial vehicles that culminated in a big Mack. In between was a frog-colored and frog-eyed Dodge. In the imported vehicle class, a tricked-out Toyota Tercel competed against an odd-couple Bricklin and DeLorean (wearing consecutive license plates) and the obligatory Herbie replica.

There was no class for pre-1917 cars, so the 1911 Hupp, oldest car on the field, sat with 1920s cars and the two 1912 vehicles were off by themselves. The Model A class was pretty sparse, probably because some cars had left. Falcons were in good supply, and there were bevys of Thunderbirds from the 1960s and ‘70s. If there were Corvettes I missed them, and I gave short shrift to the muscle cars.

For the hot rod purists there was a Deuce Lowboy roadster, and for the Bowtie boys a big block ‘29 Chevy. Slammers had been at work on such oddities as a Cornbinder pickup and a ‘40 DeSoto, the latter giving me a dose of bittersweet nostalgia. There were vendors aplenty, but one had to look hard to find car parts among the crafts and household goods. The car I most wanted to take home? Probably this 1955 Studebaker Champion.

At first glance this may look like a Ford convertible without its skin. That’s because it is a Ford convertible without its skin – the very heart and soul of a Ford Sportsman, actually. It’s tempting to assume the Sportsman was a response to Chrysler’s wonderful wood Town & Country, but actually the T&C and the Sportsman were developed nearly in parallel.

During World War II, Henry Ford II had a cut down Model A on which a wood runabout body was built at the factory for his Long Island beach house. HF II became rather fond of it and asked E.T. “Bob” Gregorie, the head designer, to come up with something similar for the postwar catalog. The result was the Sportsman, announced in September 1945, two months after the assembly lines resumed operation. Returning to full production, however, was a full-time task, so the first Sportsman wasn’t delivered until December.

The understructure was the same as the standard convertible body, with precision-jointed wood on top. The bodies were produced at the same Iron Mountain mills and assembly works in Michigan’s northern peninsula that had been supplying wood and building bodies for Ford station wagons since 1929.

The Sportsman had hydro-electric windows and top, and all had the postwar 59A-B 100 hp V8. Standard rear fenders and taillights wouldn’t work, so fenders from the sedan delivery were used instead, with 1941 taillights. Seats were faced in genuine leather, in a choice of red, tan or blue-gray, but any pairing with exterior colors was possible, leading to some unlikely combinations. The trunk was enormous, at the price of a very large and heavy lid. Early models had the red-accented trim of 1946 and early ’47, later ones the stylish translucent hood ornament.

There was also a Mercury Sportsman, in 1946 only. Just 205 were built before it was discontinued. The Ford Sportsman continued into 1947 and the 1948 model year, the last one built at the very end of 1947. Production, including the Mercurys, totaled just 3,692.

The cars shown here were part of the Nick Alexander Ford woodie collection, which was sold at auction on August 13th. Included were five Sportsman convertibles, one 1946 Ford and two from 1947. The single 1948 is believed to be the last Sportsman completed, and was owned by a San Diego school teacher for its first 35 years – until it was stolen from her garage. Pride of place, and high money for the sale ($368,500) was taken by this 1946 Mercury, interestingly with blackwall tires and neither radio nor heater. Mr. Alexander dislikes whitewalls, so few of his cars had them. He also prefers cars optioned the way they were first delivered, so some his cars had radio and heater, and others just one or the other.

All cars were sold at no reserve, the “lesser” convertibles bringing $214,500 to $275,000. In all, the collection of 51 cars grossed over $7 million. At sale’s end, many collectors went home with some excellent and correctly-restored cars.

The full story of the Ford and Mercury Sportsman convertibles, as well as the wood-bodied station wagons, can be found in Lorin Sorensen’s excellent book Famous Ford Woodies.

Full disclosure: As it says on my bio page, I neither appraise nor sell cars. I do, however, occasionally research and write about them, including the catalog for this sale.

One neat thing about the internet is the way it can put you in touch with friends you haven’t seen for many years. Not too long ago I heard from Midge Frueh Cortesi, whose father I used to work for in my Farmall era. We were able to share our memories of Falls Village, the northwest Connecticut hamlet where we grew up. Her sister, Lauriann Cardinali alerted me to a Falls Village automotive artifact on eBay, the photo that heads this feature.

Many of you will recognize it from its headlights as a Pierce-Arrow Model 33 from the early 1920s. It has been converted to a wrecker – you can see how it was cut down from a sedan in order to mount the wrecker boom. This was the fate of many old prestige cars in the 1930s – they were cheap, sturdy and powerful, well-suited to towing disabled cars or disentangling wrecks.

I remember Schreiber’s Garage. We used to buy gas there, and have our car repaired. The Pierce wrecker was gone by the time we moved to town, replaced by a purpose-built 1935 Ford. I wondered, then, just when the photo was taken, so I began to look at it carefully.

The wrecker is parked in front of a small store on Main Street. The garage can be seen at the extreme right. The windows are open, so it must be a warm summer day. We can just see a car behind the wrecker, and on the car is a dealer plate (plates for new car dealers in Connecticut, then and now, start with X). Schreiber’s was a Chrysler-Plymouth dealer, so not surprisingly the car is a Plymouth, a 1938 model, judging by the bumper guards. It looks pretty new and shiny, so perhaps the photo was taken that summer.

But there are other clues, in the shop window behind. The most obvious isn’t much help. It advertises dry cleaning. But on the other side is a movie poster, from the Stuart Theater in nearby Lakeville. There’s another one from the Colonial Theater in Canaan, the next town to the north. The Stuart burned on Christmas Day in 1958, but the Colonial is still standing – and operating.

On the posters, we can just make out the titles of two coming attractions, Lady of the Tropics and The Wizard of Oz. The extremely helpful Internet Movie Data Base tells us that Lady, starring Robert Taylor and Hedy Lamarr, opened on August 11, 1939. Wizard, starring Judy Garland, Frank Morgan, Ray Bolger and Bert Lahr, came two weeks later, on the 25th. So it is indeed a summer picture, taken at the end of July or beginning of August 1939.

Schreiber’s closed around 1955. The owner had died, and his widow sold up and moved away. The building was later occupied by John Fitch & Co., headed by the renowned racing driver who built his Sprint conversions for Corvairs there, and developed the stillborn Phoenix by Fitch in 1966. It was later a grocery store. The building survives as 100 Main Street, home to Flying West Music, the studio of composer Joshua Stone.

So you can go home again, and the internet can take you there.

I thought I knew all the cars of the 1930s, ’40s and ’50s – I’d been carspotting ever since I could remember. But the summer I turned 16 I came across one I’d not seen before. The grille was like that of the 1940 Pontiac, but different, in an attractive sort of way. A look at the nameplate showed me it was a DeSoto, a 1940 Custom sedan. It was parked at a gas station, for sale, and the price was a moderate (even then) $30. I had to have it.

So have it I did. I paid my $30 to the owner, who worked at the station and had traded up to a newer Studebaker Commander, borrowed a set of dealer plates, and my friend Gene, who was six months older and already had a license, drove it home for me.

I was elated. I named it “Hernando” for reasons that will be obvious to most CarPorters. The black paint was in fairly good shape, and both it and the chrome polished up well. On the other hand, the fact that we had to tow it to get it started was not encouraging, nor was the fact that the engine’s casting plugs were weeping water, which the owner had tried to fix by filling them with window putty…

One of the rear wheel cylinders leaked, which I repaired without much trouble. The engine did not run evenly, though, and a compression check showed the rear two cylinders had none. “It needs a valve job,” I decided (it was my valve job period, when all ills could be cured with a valve job). When I got the head off, I found the gasket was blown through between the two cylinders, which had also caused a water leak, which in turn had rusted a head bolt that broke when I tried to remove it.

There was also a burned exhaust valve on the front cylinder, so I bought a new valve, along with a head gasket, from the local DeSoto dealer. “Gawd,” said the parts man, “that’s 20 years old!” I thanked him for his wisdom.

More ominous than the burned valve was a chunk missing from the front piston. It hadn’t scored the cylinder and I didn’t relish dropping the pan to change it, so I put things back as best I could, drilled out the broken bolt, retapped the hole and buttoned it up. The engine ran better than before, though not as well as I’d hoped, and seemed to run a little hot.

Hernando looked good, though, all polished up. I painted the wheels red, imitating a treatment on 1950 Buicks that I liked, and bought a set of Port-o-Walls. I also attempted to dye the brown cloth seats red, not successfully as they came out a shade of purple. Still, I thought Hernando was handsome and got him properly registered for the road.

The first time I drove Hernando some distance, he blew out the weeping casting plug, and I had to retreat home while losing most of the water, which didn’t seem to cause permanent damage. I replaced the plug with a bolt-in type. The car bounced badly – the shocks were shot – but the radio made lovely music, with deep booming bass notes and the Safety Signal speedometer changed color as the car went faster. After a few weeks, though, the engine began to make suspicious noises. I retreated to the Nash Rambler convertible that had been handed down by my mother, and left Hernando to sit outside the barn. We put the Port-o-Walls on my friend Tod’s 1936 Plymouth, and the radio went into his Crosley. Over time, I parted Hernando out, fenders and bumpers to Texas, hubcaps to Massachusetts – and I’ve still got a few bits left.

It could be argued that I’d made a bad choice, thrown my money away because Hernando gave me so few miles for my investment. But I’d learned a lot, spent little more than $100 and had a good time doing it. Besides, Hernando had helped restore a number of other 1940 DeSotos. After all, that’s what it’s all about.

Few automakers are celebrating these days. General Motors virtually ignored the corporate the corporate centenary in 2008, and not a whimper has been heard of a 75th anniversary observance for Chrysler, be it Corporation or LLC. Ironically, the biggest bash has been reserved for what might be the least of them: the Morgan Motor Company of Malvern Link, Worcestershire, England.

It is fitting that Morgan should celebrate, not only the company’s survival under family management but also its status as the last vestige of the indiginous British motor industry. To that end, the company and the several Morgan clubs mounted a huge centenary celebration comprising more than a week of activities. In addition to the church service held in the Morgans’ home village of Stoke Lacy, Jill and I attended the final event, a convocation of thousands of Morgans at Cheltenham Race Course on Sunday, August 2nd.

Throughout the morning Morgans queued for entry, and by early afternoon there were Morgans as far as the eye could see. They came from nearby France and Belgium, from Norway, Austria and Spain. They came across the seas from Canada, British Columbia, in fact, and from Victoria in Australia. Satoru Araki, of the Morgan Enthusiasts Club Japan, brought his Morgan home to Britain for the first time in 30 years.

Perhaps most interesting were the three-wheel Morgans on display. Their owners are some of the least pretentious of enthusiasts, their cars lovingly preserved, not restored, and frequently driven. This 1924 Standard Popular, owned by Brian Betts, is considered a National Treasure, never restored but simply “sympathetically maintained.” Other venerable three-wheelers included an Aero model, Ford-engine F-Type and a nifty little van.

Of particular note was the one-off Plus 4 saloon, built by Cooper Bodies of London in 1952. There were also two examples of the much-maligned Plus 4 Plus, the late Peter Morgan’s unsuccessful 1960s attempt at updated Morgan styling. Poorly received by purists, just 26 of the fiberglass bodies were built before a fire destroyed the molds. Considering the current Aeromax coupe, it just may have been a car ahead of its time.

The Morgan Motor Company had a showroom tent with current models and other concepts, including a replica of the original 1909 prototype, a fuel cell LIFEcar, a bright orange Aeromax and some toy three-wheelers. Outside were some significant Morgans like Peter Morgan’s Plus 8 AB16, and his late wife’s Plus 8 convertible coupe, the only such model and probably the only Morgan with an automatic transmission.

Specialty Morgans included one in German police colors (but right-hand drive and with British registration) and a “Morgan” golf car. Concours judging had taken place on Saturday, and winning cars were proudly wearing their ribbons.

Throughout the day, enthusiasts were competing in AutoSolo events, a British form of Autocross, while family members had the option of amusement rides, slot car racing (with Morgan slot cars, of course) and various types of music. Clowns on stilts and riding bicycles wandered through the grounds and the obligatory steam traction engine did its thing. One could purchase Morgan art work, or meet and join some of the Morgan clubs. Some folks, however, were content just to picnic among all the Morgans.

We left before the evening entertainments, which included the English Symphony Orchestra, but counted the day a success. Not only had we seen thousands of Morgans, including many rare ones, but I had figured out why the Aero 8 design has finally grown on me. The first models had an unattractive cross-eyed look. With a new headlamp design, the strabismus has been largely corrected.

The apocryphal low-mileage car that was “driven only to church on Sundays” is unlikely to be a sports car. It might, however, be a Morgan, for Morgans have a long history with the church. The marque’s founder, H.F.S. Morgan, was the son and grandson of clergymen, and he religiously returned to his birthplace each week for church and Sunday dinner. On the way home he tested each car on a steep hill leading out of the village.

Last week, Morgan, the sole remaining British-owned automaker, observed its centenary, so it was fitting that the village of Stoke Lacy, Herefordshire, where H.F.S. was raised, celebrated with the company and enthusiasts from all over the world with a service at the village church.

The Church of St. Peter and St. Paul has special significance for Jill and me, as we were married there 35 years ago this June. It is special to Morgans, for the Reverend Henry Morgan was rector there for 16 years and his son Henry George for another 50. H.F.S., his parents, siblings and son are all buried in the churchyard, and over the years the Morgans have been consistent benefactors – one only has to look at the windows to realize it. Some years ago, a memorial window was dedicated to Morgan enthusiasts from California, and in 2005 another window was dedicated to Peter Morgan, H.F.S.’s son and successor, the Plus 8 and the Morgan factory in nearby Malvern Link.

This year’s service, held on 30th July, drew many Morgans, in town for the celebrations, owners from all over the world, and villagers who value their Morgan connections. Charles Morgan (at right), Peter’s son and the current managing director, delivered one of the readings, and the Reverend Michael Smith, retired rector of Stoke Lacy and himself the spouse of a Morgan owner, gave an inspired address about the contributions of the Morgan Motor Company and the Morgan car to the development of transportation. The congregation sang four hymns in spirited fashion, and
parishioners delighted in meeting enthusiasts who regard Stoke Lacy as doubly hallowed ground.

The church and lychgate were specially decorated, and Morgans clogged the lane. Attending were such notables as Harry Out, head of the Dutch Morgan club and his wife Helga, driving their Morgan 4/4, and Andrew Duncan, solicitor for the Morgan Motor Company and current custodian of Peter Morgan’s last car, the Plus 8 registered AB16.

Across the road, in the driveway of The Old Rectory where H.F.S. grew up, were Charles Morgan’s own Aeromax coupe and a Morgan Plus Four that had made the pilgrimage from Massachusetts. The people of Stoke Lacy are proud of their Morgan heritage. It was good to see so many Morgan enthusiasts enjoy it with them.

Cyclecars were all the rage in 1914. It started in France with the Bedélia and spread to Britain where the GN became popular on the road and on the race track. They were cheap to buy and inexpensive to operate, so soon the fad spread to the United States.

Soon such gangly creatures as the Cricket, the Greyhound, the Dudly Bug and the O-We-Go were on the roads. James Scripps Booth put his Rocket into the fray. With a cyclecar, one didn’t need a garage, nor a driveway.

Into this milieu rode Arthur W. Ball, MD, of Westerly, Rhode Island. Dr. Ball’s entry in the cyclecar derby was the Cycleplane, a tandem-seat car powered by a V-twin engine and belt drive. The “aeroplane mudguards” were said to act as shock absorbers. The company, headquarters were at 42 Canal Street, Westerly, now a hotel and retail spaces, and the car’s slogan was “Rides over the dust.” The Tourist model was to sell for $450. In August 1914, Cyclecar Age reported that his “1915 model” had been “ready July 10.” Dr. Ball’s son remembered that only one car was built, and that it left town on a railroad flatcar.

This did not stop Dr. Ball from trying to promote it. He talked a machinist named Christie McConnell into purchasing the rights to manufacture the Cycleplane out of parts to be purchased from the good doctor himself, but nothing came of it.

By 1915, the price of a Model T, a real car, had dropped to $440, making the $450 Cycleplane an unattractive buy. And then to put the final nail in the cyclecar’s coffin, Henry Ford trotted out his own small version of the T and displayed it in front of Detroit’s Pontchartrain Hotel. He never put it into production. He didn’t have to. He merely needed to demonstrate that he could, and all the cyclecar makers folded.