1923 Yearbook
Source URL
Title
1923 Yearbook
Description
Dear Editor:—
You've probably read some of the jokes that have been written about Fords and
some of the matter that has been written concerning the unique shape of the country
roads in bad weather. Some say that Henry Ford himself aids and abets this insidious
propaganda about his pet peeve. I used to see some humor in them myself, but since convalescing from an experience I had this winter, I have come to regard a Ford as a thing
to be approached only after one has examined his conscience, put his earthly affairs in
order, and said farewell to friends and home. But when a Ford and bad roads meet,
there's bound to be trouble as I have learned and memorized to my sorrow.
You see, for the week past we have been having a peculiar brand of winter weather.
It froze one day, thawed the next, froze again and then thawed, and so on ad infinitum
(I should say ad endum weekum). Not making much difference which it did one day,
it did the other the next, so the roads were kept in a merry-go-round condition of
frozen ruts, then mud, but most of the time both.
This was their condition on that Wednesday when I started out on my mail route
(yes—I was sub-carrier on that day). I slipped and sloshed merrily along until I
arrived in the vicinity of one mail box which is perched half way down a steep hill.
When I started to turn out—I didn't: I kept straight on down the ruts. I think when
railroads were invented, a mistake was made in putting the trains on steel rails; they
should have had the wheels run in grooves of frozen mud with wet sides, and I am sure
that no power on earth could ditch the train. Pardon the digression!—Well, anyway,
being unable to turn out to reach the box, I did the next best thing: I stopped the car
with motor running, set the emergency brake and jumped out to deliver the mail. You
know the emergency brake on a Ford is of the Christian Science brand, but I supposed
Elizabeth understood auto-suggestion well enough to know that I meant her to stand
in her tracks while I delivered the mail.
But having hastily deposited the mail, I turned just in time to see her moving gently
but surely down the hill. Such situations call for prompt action, but I acted with
more haste than foresight. Not being equipped with mud chains or non-skid boots, my
first frantic effort caused me to slip. In trying to recover myself, I stumbled and
pitched headlong, striking the ground a-la-Ty-Cobb in a slide that would have earned
me a raise in salary in any of the Major Leagues. I didn't get to first base, but not so
with the Tin. Ugh!!! That's where the hind wheel hit me—and stopped, with me
half under the car. That at least was gratifying (I mean the stopping). But Lizzie
seemed discontented and eager to be on her way (she was on mine then), and she
pressed until I landed against a hard frozen bump. There we both stopped and I
found that any effort to extricate myself from this most unpleasant position was
eagerly taken advantage of by the Ford. The wheels were equipped with mud chains
and I could write a lengthy testimonial as to their hold-fast qualities. I tried rolling
down the hill in an effort to get away from the wheel, but it stuck to me like a bill
(Continued on Page 176)
Page 172
You've probably read some of the jokes that have been written about Fords and
some of the matter that has been written concerning the unique shape of the country
roads in bad weather. Some say that Henry Ford himself aids and abets this insidious
propaganda about his pet peeve. I used to see some humor in them myself, but since convalescing from an experience I had this winter, I have come to regard a Ford as a thing
to be approached only after one has examined his conscience, put his earthly affairs in
order, and said farewell to friends and home. But when a Ford and bad roads meet,
there's bound to be trouble as I have learned and memorized to my sorrow.
You see, for the week past we have been having a peculiar brand of winter weather.
It froze one day, thawed the next, froze again and then thawed, and so on ad infinitum
(I should say ad endum weekum). Not making much difference which it did one day,
it did the other the next, so the roads were kept in a merry-go-round condition of
frozen ruts, then mud, but most of the time both.
This was their condition on that Wednesday when I started out on my mail route
(yes—I was sub-carrier on that day). I slipped and sloshed merrily along until I
arrived in the vicinity of one mail box which is perched half way down a steep hill.
When I started to turn out—I didn't: I kept straight on down the ruts. I think when
railroads were invented, a mistake was made in putting the trains on steel rails; they
should have had the wheels run in grooves of frozen mud with wet sides, and I am sure
that no power on earth could ditch the train. Pardon the digression!—Well, anyway,
being unable to turn out to reach the box, I did the next best thing: I stopped the car
with motor running, set the emergency brake and jumped out to deliver the mail. You
know the emergency brake on a Ford is of the Christian Science brand, but I supposed
Elizabeth understood auto-suggestion well enough to know that I meant her to stand
in her tracks while I delivered the mail.
But having hastily deposited the mail, I turned just in time to see her moving gently
but surely down the hill. Such situations call for prompt action, but I acted with
more haste than foresight. Not being equipped with mud chains or non-skid boots, my
first frantic effort caused me to slip. In trying to recover myself, I stumbled and
pitched headlong, striking the ground a-la-Ty-Cobb in a slide that would have earned
me a raise in salary in any of the Major Leagues. I didn't get to first base, but not so
with the Tin. Ugh!!! That's where the hind wheel hit me—and stopped, with me
half under the car. That at least was gratifying (I mean the stopping). But Lizzie
seemed discontented and eager to be on her way (she was on mine then), and she
pressed until I landed against a hard frozen bump. There we both stopped and I
found that any effort to extricate myself from this most unpleasant position was
eagerly taken advantage of by the Ford. The wheels were equipped with mud chains
and I could write a lengthy testimonial as to their hold-fast qualities. I tried rolling
down the hill in an effort to get away from the wheel, but it stuck to me like a bill
(Continued on Page 176)
Page 172
Date
1923
Rights
St. Ambrose University, 518 W. Locust St., Davenport, IA 52803
Identifier
http://cdm16810.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/p16810coll2/id/7783