The People's Tycoon: Henry Ford and the American Century (Vintage) (91 page)

The next day, however, Ford surrendered. In a sudden, spectacular turnabout, he agreed to everything the UAW wanted, and more—a union shop, wages equal to the highest paid by any competitor, and union dues to be withheld from paychecks by the company and turned over to the union. This settlement granted to the UAW the most favorable contract in the industry, and speculation about Ford's dramatic change of heart ran rampant. Some pointed to forthcoming NLRB hearings that would seriously damage the reputation of the company; others suggested that Ford's declining share of the automobile market or his desire to gain advantage over rivals motivated his action. But the truth of the matter, Sorensen claimed, lay elsewhere. Ford confided that he had gone home after the angry meeting with Sorensen and Edsel and informed his wife about his decision not to sign. Clara was horrified and told Henry that “there would be riots and bloodshed, and she had seen enough of that.” She added that if he persisted in this course of action she would leave him. “She did not want to be around here and see me responsible for such trouble.” “What could I do?” Ford told Sorensen. “The whole thing was not worth the trouble it would make. I felt her vision and judgment were better than mine.” Clara Ford probably saved her husband from his own worst instincts.
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The agreement with the UAW marked not only Henry Ford's defeat in the labor wars but his eclipse on the national scene. His position as a powerful, respected public figure in modern industrial society over the past three decades had declined to the point of collapse. By the end of the Depression decade, Ford had become a tired old man. Weary of escalating problems at his great company, confronted with policy failures and managerial infighting, and increasingly beset by health problems, he entered the final stage of his life in disarray. Little did Ford know what lay ahead—a devastating personal tragedy that would cripple him emotionally, and a national crisis that would call the very survival of his company into question.

In midsummer 1938, Henry Ford celebrated his seventy-fifth birthday in monumental fashion. On Friday, July 29, he attended, along with Clara, a pageant held at Ford Field in Dearborn. A crowd of forty thousand watched seven hundred performers re-enact scenes from Ford's life and the development of the city. After the event, the guest of honor dispensed “Fordisms” concerning the merits of production over Wall Street finance and stockmarket speculation, the need to integrate farming and industry, and his belief in making wages high and prices low. “There will be no steps backward in this country. We are going to keep right on going forward, inventing things to make life better for our people,” Ford assured reporters. “This country just cannot be stopped.”
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The next day saw an acceleration of the celebration. In the morning, some thirty-five thousand people, including eight thousand schoolchildren, attended a gathering at the coliseum in the State Fairgrounds. Henry and Clara entered riding in a 1908 Model T. As they mounted the platform, the Department of Recreation Boys Band swung into “Happy Birthday,” and the crowd joined in. A reporter noted that Ford, “visibly moved by the unselfish acclaim of the youngsters, was able only to bow and wave his reply.” Then a giant cake appeared, surrounded by seventy-five girls dressed in different-colored skirts, followed by speeches, skits, dances, and a clown parade. Later that evening, Henry and Clara were guests of the city of Detroit for a dinner at the Masonic Temple attended by thirteen hundred. The tributes also came privately. A mountain of flowers arrived at Fair Lane from friends, associates, and admirers from around the world. Trucks brought the floral arrangements in such volume that they filled up the house and had to be stacked around the swimming pool.
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It is hard to imagine such a celebration for other business figures, such
as John D. Rockefeller, Alfred P. Sloan, J. P. Morgan, or Pierre du Pont. It clearly demonstrated Ford's status as a national treasure, an oracle whose words of wisdom deserved attention. An odd twist in this birthday bash reinforced this image. Throughout the proceedings, Ford wore a necktie (and carried another in his pocket) fashioned from soybean fibers, which he held up periodically before launching into a commentary on the bright future for this industry. Despite his age, Ford appeared fascinated with new ideas and technologies. In fact, throughout the 1930s his interests had broadened. He spent much energy in a variety of activities far removed from the Rouge plant—not just the Ford Museum, Greenfield Village, and his beloved “village industries,” but experimental soybean farms, practical educational projects, and innovative farm technologies. He not only had engaged in “a retreat to the land,” as the New York
Times
termed it, but seemed to be distancing himself from the field in which he had succeeded so brilliantly: the making of automobiles.
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Indeed, during the Depression decade Ford gradually disengaged in many ways from his company. Though retaining ultimate authority to decide important matters such as labor policy and new models, he left much day-to-day decision-making to Harry Bennett, Edsel Ford, and Charles Sorensen. The company became a peculiar kind of autocracy, in which the autocrat was often absent. The public still encountered a Henry Ford who fired off salvos against the New Deal and fulminated against the UAW. It read newspaper and magazine accounts of his active role in steering the course of his enterprise. But in many ways this image of public engagement was an illusion.

The real Henry Ford, even if he periodically exhibited his old flair for the limelight, spent more time in private pursuits. On the day of his seventy-fifth birthday celebration, he seemed anything but a public hero. He dropped by one of his farm labs, where he often retreated to relax, about six different times. He appeared quite nervous and told the staff, “This is the worst day of my life!” Uncomfortable with all the fuss being made over him, and petrified of public speaking, he felt obligated to soldier on because so many people had worked hard to arrange matters.
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He occupied his days in Greenfield Village, discussing agricultural experiments with his chemists in their labs, exchanging ideas on education with teachers around the country, and enjoying a quiet pace of life at Fair Lane. Stepping away from the manufacturing world, he increasingly involved himself with projects that emphasized social improvement. His quiet private life was dominated by simple domestic pleasures, several hobbies, and regular rounds of travel. One of the wealthiest men in the world,
Ford could afford to dabble in the sunset of his life. He poked about in any nook and cranny that engaged his interest, enjoying every minute of it.

With the American economy in tatters and his company embroiled in labor wars, Henry Ford often retreated to the comfortable domestic cocoon that he and Clara had spun patiently over the previous two decades. Fair Lane, their estate on a picturesque stretch of the River Rouge in Dearborn, had been their home since the mid-1910s, and by the 1930s the couple had settled into familiar routines. Family affairs, personal interests, and social projects took up their time, and they followed a regular schedule. Henry and Clara ate breakfast together around eight-thirty, after which Henry would depart for his office at the engineering laboratory and his favorite haunts nearby, Greenfield Village and the Ford Museum. Clara would busy herself with domestic activities, charities, and social engagements on most days. They would eat a modest evening meal together in a small alcove off the dining room overlooking her “blue garden,” and after a quiet evening the couple would retire at around 10:00 p.m.
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Clara supervised a considerable staff at Fair Lane in the 1930s—several maids, head butler, second butler, cook, houseman, and part-time laundress. Because of her extensive interest in flowers and landscaping, several men kept busy with horticultural duties, including the maintenance of several greenhouses. Henry oversaw the private powerhouse at the estate, with five men operating its steam engines to provide electricity, heat, and refrigeration for the estate. Charles Voorhess served as the chief electrical engineer at Fair Lane and supervised a number of Ford's personal projects. Several of the staff worked particularly closely with the couple—Rosa Buhler, the head maid; J. D. Thompson, the head butler; Alphonse de Caluwe, the head gardener; Robert Rankin, Clara's chauffeur; and Rufus Wilson, Henry's longtime driver. By all accounts, Clara was a demanding employer, polite and reserved.
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Henry's abundant energy flowed into many channels. He continued his fascination with birds, creating a sanctuary on the estate where wood ducks and herons populated the river running behind the house, and five hundred birdhouses, along with dozens of feeding stations, nourished some two hundred species on the grounds. Henry and Clara loved bird-watching, both from the sunporch at the rear of their house and on long walks through the estate's fields and forests. Once, the staff put white netting cloth over two cherry trees near the house to protect the fruit for use in cooking and preserving.
As Ford went to work one morning, he saw a couple of robins entangled in the cloth webs. He ripped off the nets, and sternly instructed the groundskeeper, “Don't put that back no matter who wants it back on there. There's plenty of cherries for the birds and us, too.” In fact, Ford loved many wild creatures. He ordered the staff to leave all hollow trees lying on the ground for the raccoons to live in. He often sat on the front porch of Fair Lane and fed the coons bread scraps from his table. “They were all that tame—they'd come right up and take it from his hand,” reported a staff member.
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Ford also continued tinkering with watches. He had established a hideaway on the top floor of the Fair Lane powerhouse, to which he retreated frequently on weekends and evenings. He installed workbenches to hold all of his tools and collected friends' watches to repair or clean them. He still did this precision work well, although advancing age occasionally caused lapses. He once returned a repaired watch to one of the Fair Lane staff that the individual said was not his. “I wonder who the devil I got that watch from,” a befuddled Ford replied. He also used the powerhouse room for various projects. Sacks of soybeans, oats, wheat, barley, and corn were sitting about for foodstuff experiments, and Ford, assisted by a couple of company engineers, also used the room for testing tractor engines.
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His domestic life had its quirky aspects. He continued his odd habit of soaking old razor blades in water and then mixing in olive oil to concoct a tonic for his hair. He seldom carried any money and would borrow small amounts from his driver and barber to purchase trifles. Like many older people, he occasionally had trouble sleeping. Staff members would see a light in his bedroom window in the early-morning hours, and if the insomnia was especially severe he would take a walk down to the powerhouse at 4 or 5a.m.
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Friends and family tried to keep Ford from operating an automobile on weekends, when his driver was off, and they stayed clear of the vehicle if he managed to do so. Never a good driver, he had become a genuine menace behind the wheel. An agricultural chemist once sat white-knuckled in the passenger seat as Ford, after bouncing off a couple of curbs, sped through the entry gate to the automobile testing ground without stopping as the gateman, not recognizing the driver, came running after them yelling obscenities. Jerome Wilford, a young guide at Greenfield Village, had a harrowing experience when he accompanied Ford on a wintry Saturday morning to inspect some building projects. The driver, after careening “across lawns, commons, and fields,” bogged down in the snow. As Ford gunned the engine and spun the wheels at top speed to melt the ice, the car suddenly
shot forward, splattering mud all over a newly painted building. That would “give the workmen something to do,” he commented, before roaring off.
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During quiet evenings at Fair Lane, Clara loved to read books and magazines, and her husband browsed through articles and clippings that his staff had prepared for him. As they got older, Clara often read aloud to Henry. They had several radios scattered about the house and regularly listened to programs such as
Amos ‘n’ Andy, Jack Benny,
and
The Quiz Kids.
The Fords played phonograph records of old-time dance music, and took after-dinner walks through Clara's many rose gardens. Only occasionally did they attend a movie or a play. Though their serene domestic life seemed to suit the couple, Henry occasionally grew frustrated. When Edward Cutler mentioned that he and his family had gone to the movies the night before, his boss replied enviously, “We can't go and see those things. Every time we go outside of this place, we're on exhibition. We're like prisoners here. We just have to stay home.”
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The Fords' weekend routine in the 1930s followed the same pattern. Henry would hike through the woods, chop wood, and putter in his experimental room while Clara worked in her gardens. In the afternoons, he would often drive her to Greenfield Village to inspect a new construction project. On Sunday mornings, after breakfast, Clara liked to read leisurely through the Sunday paper while Henry would visit the powerhouse. After a brief nap in the early afternoon, the couple strolled the grounds, taking in the orchard, the vegetable garden, and the greenhouses, all the while observing nature and looking for different species of birds. In the early evening, they walked along Clara's “trail garden,” which meandered through the estate.
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