Jane, now a matron in her own right, strode into Mr. Hirt’s with confidence. Discussed the price of candied angelica for decorating her Christmas fruitcake, decided as almonds were much too expensive, she would do without—did not allow any of the many things she wanted to sway her from her resolve to remain beyond temptation; did purchase a small flask of rose water she planned to mix with equal parts of glycerin, so that no roughness of her hands would damage the surface of the velveteen cloth when fashioning the parlor drapes. Their purchases made, Jane treated Hannah to a Vernors float, a concoction of vanilla ice cream and Detroit’s very own supreme ginger ale that she thought even more delicious than Hannah’s strawberry soda—although she never told her, so as not to hurt her feelings. Afterwards, Hannah treated Jane to a just looking hour at Hudson’s, Detroit’s most elegant department store. No longer apprentice and teacher, the two tall women had become friends of equal stature.
While Henrietta’s girls played with little Michael and the women helped with the dishes from Sunday supper, the men settled themselves in the parlor, enjoying the return to a male-dominated atmosphere enveloped in smoking tobacco.
Stan rolled himself a cigarette, licked along the edge of the paper.
“Well, my friends, the Dodge Brothers have done it, produced their own automobile without the mighty Henry Ford.”
“The Boss isn’t going to like his stockholders setting up a rival business.”
“There you’re right, Carl. After all these years, think he’s going to try to buy them out?”
“Could be, Rudy. Could be. But, will they let him? With our profits so high, I don’t know. What do you think, John?”
“I think he’ll try. After all, it’s his achievement. He should own it outright, when the time comes, let his son inherit …”
Zoltan smiled, “The new father of a son speaks!”
“But …” John continued, “if the Dodge Brothers would agree to sell, that’s anybody’s guess. By the way, anyone see the great Edison last week?”
Peter finished packing his pipe. “I hear he came with his family.”
“Wife and son Charles. The Boss showed him his first fully automated continuous motion assembly! Just like a proud kid showing off to his Papa!” Fritz chuckled.
“And why not? You have to admit it must be quite an experience to have been a minor employee to a genius and then have him come to you to witness what has made you his equal.” Zoltan lit a cheroot.
“Equal? I wouldn’t go that far,” murmured Stan.
“Our power house must have impressed the great man.”
Johann puffed on his new ivory pipe.
“Considering it was he who oversaw its construction, no doubt.”
Rudy leaned forward in his chair. “John, I know you—you saw him. Right? How did he look?”
“You know, I have been thinking about that. Do truly great men look so special because they are? Or, do we think they look special because we know they are?” John looked around for one of them to answer.
Zoltan cleared his throat. “John, when you get this way, you worry me. Does Thomas Edison look like a normal human man or not?”
“As a matter of fact, no. He could be your father!”
“Funny, funny,” Zoltan smiled.
“Is the Boss still working on that farm tractor idea?” asked Peter.
“He has never stopped working on it,” John answered.
“Does anyone here know why now Ford needs two thousand more acres along the Rouge River? That much land can’t be just for his personal use.” Stan looked about the room.
“I think he may be planning to build another plant,” Carl observed.
“My God—what for? We just added two six-story buildings that will give us more than forty-five acres of floor space. We’ve got the new trolley lines hauling trucks from railroad platforms direct to factory floors. What more … ?” Fritz looked at John for an answer.
“But think for a minute, Fritz. If the iron ore and coal could reach us direct, brought to us on Great Lakes steamers, with a correctly configured plant, Ford could process …”
“Impossible!” Rudy shook his head.
“So was once building an automobile in twelve hours!”
“Ja, and now we can turn out a thousand in a day! But …” Fritz turned to John. “… if I understand you right, you’re talking of from raw materials to finished motorcar—all within one plant?”
“Well, that would mean it would have to be an extraordinary operation, one of unheard proportion, revolutionary in design and concept, John.”
“You’re damn right, it would, Zoltan! We have done it once—every day, we are still perfecting one revolution, why stop there? Henry Ford has always looked beyond, never has he been satisfied with what he has achieved—only with what can still be done.”
Sensing that John was about to be challenged, his enthusiasm deflated by Stan, Rudy thought it better to change the subject. “Hey! I heard a rumor—we may be going to support the British with equipment. Any truth in that?”
“Yeah, John, what’s your Saucy Evangeline have to say about that?” Stan teased, an edge to his tone. Rudy gave him a warning look.
“Anyone have fresh news of the war?” asked Johann.
“I tell you who know,” Fritz answered. “The Russians. One of my foremen gets a Russian-language paper printed in the East sent to him by his sister in New Jersey. Even days late, he gets more news than we do here.”
“So? What did he tell you?”
“Well, there’s supposed to have been a real battle in France, in a place called Ypres, with many casualties on both sides and there’s been what the paper quoted as a ‘dogfight’ between a German and a British aeroplane that carried a sort of gun attached.”
“Fighting in the sky? In paper held together with paste? Amazing,” commented John.
“What speed can those things do now?” asked Carl.
“About sixty,” answered Rudy, who loved aeroplanes, yearned to fly one.
“Whatever news I hear, it doesn’t sound good. I have a feeling this war may last longer than anyone thinks.” Fritz knocked out his pipe.
Zoltan fidgeted. Heavy silence filled the room.
“Hey, I got a letter from Jimmy.”
Exclamations of “John, why didn’t you tell us?” “What’s he say?” “How is he?” “Well, you took your sweet time in telling us” bounced around the room.
“Okay, okay! I’m sorry.”
“Well—read it, John!”
“Okay. It isn’t too long.”
Dear John,
After an uneventful voyage, the Atlantic was smooth as glass, I arrived safely, made my way by train from Southampton, arriving home in time for my brother’s wedding to the prettiest girl in all of Dorset. Spent a delightful week visiting with family, telling tall tales of my successful years in the ‘Colonie,’ being plied with innumerable pints of good old English ale in the local pub. Then left for Manchester, reported to Percival Perry, who is a combination of Sorenson and Couzens in his efficiency and administrative intelligence. He is both liked and respected for good reason, implemented the new wage structure and benefits quite some time ago—although the nine-hour day is still in force over here. The operation is highly efficient here, even if the scope is limited when compared to our Highland Park production. But then, ours can’t be matched anywhere in the world. I do find hearing only English spoken all around me, despite the many regional accents, still the King’s English—a bit unusual … takes getting used to …
“I bet!” murmured Carl.