I can remember being pieces, assembled in St. Paul, Minnesota, the dream of Henry (Ford) fulfilled. He thought I was the “cat’s meow,” I do, too.
Some good features must be told: I have a hand (push me back and forth) windshield wiper, dome light, dash light, a horn that honks, two gears forward and one reverse, I give a softer ride than older models of Fords and my seat covers are made of wool! I have headlights both dim and bright. I’m told bright is dim and dim is dimmer, don’t believe it. You can crank me by hand if the battery is low.
People tell me I am complicated to drive. I don’t think so, blame Henry. To start me, turn the key to the left to battery, retard the spark, advance slightly the hand throttle under the steering wheel, turn the combination choke gas mixture to nine o’clock, and hit the starter. When I start, immediately switch the key to magneto, be ready to quickly choke me, I might be coughing about to die! Oh, if you have the lever to your left way back it will not go into forward. If the battery is dead, use the crank. I forgot to tell you the left pedal is not a clutch, pressing forward puts me in low and away we go! No problem for Henry and those to come! I have three floor pedals, the left is low and high, the center is reverse and the right is the brake. That’s it.
I was sold to an original pioneer farmer at Cooperstown, Martin Lunde Sr. His son-in-law, a former Univfarm and Minnesota football player, Harry Brown, drove me 350 miles on gravel roads to the farm, and was I ever excited to meet my owner who proudly drove me to town, to church, wherever he wanted me to take him, Hannaford or Valley City. If the roads were muddy or the snow too deep, he put chains on my rear wheels-none of that front wheel or all-wheel drive stuff I hear of today! Look and you will find my rusty chains are still under the back seat. On a Sunday I’d drive Martin and Kaia to the Cooperstown Bible Camp. Daughter Clara was a little embarrassed to ride in me, this 10-15 year old out-of-style car. What was she thinking? They’d attend the service and then join friends for a picnic dinner. They got food, I got gas. By then Martin was retired and living in Cooperstown. Sometimes I took a load of friends along too. I can’t say I liked the heavy load with the valley hill to climb, so down to low I went, we made it!
Gramps and I had been friends for 19 years when one day in June 1945 his grandson asked him if he could buy me. I had been shedded, not driven the last year. I heard them talking, hoping he’d say yes but expecting a no. Sold, $65. A little high at the time, though I was pretty nice, in good shape, only 19 years old. Now with a young driver, boy will we have fun! And fun we had. Guys, some girls, and a mix of both sat on my seats. To Red Willow, to Hope, to Hannaford we drove, sometimes overloaded. I didn’t care, as we drove carefully, I heard DL saying, “Don’t pull down the shades, they’re old and hard to retract.” Maybe Monroe Wuflestad and Virginia Stromme in the back seat did it anyway, I understand.
A great grandson to my first owner liked me, I can’t blame him, and I loved the young man called Daveed. He serviced me, drove me in the Aneta parade and many a mile around the countryside. He gladly promised to be my guardian, was I ever happy until his tragic mountain accident and is forever lost in Durango, Colorado. Now his dad and uncle will fill that role, so I am satisfied.
When I got older my life changed, driven less, more standing around, yet I always paraded in Cooperstown for Cooper Days and in Hannaford, Finley, and Aneta. I still gave rides to family and friends and often heard, “Would you like to drive?” Yes, until a California cousin almost tipped me in a ditch, from then on only my owner, his sons Keven and Nathan, Nathan’s son David (Daveed) got behind the wheel. Once I was trailored (disappointed) to Stump Lake for the Threshing Bee and parade. The next year, one morning I heard David say to Carolyn, “Let’s you and I drive the Ford to the Threshing Bee and parade.” Always gung-ho, off we went. I needed gas for the long trip, 50 miles more or less, two hours each way, so going through Cooper we (as Norwegians would say) “put on gas.” Simple, just remove the right front seat cushion and underneath is the gas tank! I was proud to again be driven in the parade. I made it home before dark, I knew I would! They did, too.
This ends my story on my birthday, one hundred years ago, 1926 to 2026. My friend DL and I, we can’t believe it either, where has the time gone? He bought me at 19, 81 years ago and now I’m a hundred, 100! Thanks for the memories.
The Blonde on the Prairie is a lover of ND. She is an author and motivational speaker, owner of “Monkey Balls” food truck and Joyologist to the elderly, the disabled and, now, also to children wherever she is needed during the school year and beyond.
