Mine!
Posted: Tue Mar 14, 2023 12:35 pm
"Y'know, your tires really ought to be white."
A car-show attendee had just caught me off guard while I was unloading a beach chair from the back seat of my '15 Model T Ford. But hey, I'm sharp, so it didn't take me more than a split second to respond, "Huh?"
"Your tires. They should be white, not black. They didn't have black tires back in 1915."
"Oh, okay. If you say so."
"So what are you gonna do about it?"
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Hubboy. For some reason, I seem to attract this type—the same type who will take it upon himself to walk up to and address a group of innocent, unsuspecting spectators in front of my car and proclaim stuff like, "Henry Ford invented the automobile this was the very first one;" and, "The Ford factory had the first assembly line and the Model T was the first ever mass-produced car;" and, "The Model T Ford only came in black;" and other such myths. We all know the type.
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My antagonist repeated, "So what are you going to do about the tires?"
Now, I don't figure it's my place to contradict a guy in front of his friends and family (which is why there are lots of bite marks on my tongue), so instead of telling him that white tires cost more than twice as much as black tires and last only half as long, I just gave him a noncommittal shrug—and then smiled real friendly-like and asked, "Did you bring an antique car to the show today?"
"Uh, no."
"Do you own an antique car?"
"No." Yeah, well, I already knew that.
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I think there's a natural consumer's tendency to feel that the person paying the freight has the right to call the shots. This, then, usually causes the item of purchase to conform to the needs and tastes of the purchaser. Normally, that's how we order our food, clothes, furniture, computers, etc. It would be very unusual for the purchaser to feel a personal need—or a moral obligation—to conform to the needs of the commodity being purchased. So the large-ticket purchase price of something the size of an automobile just isn't conducive to an attitude of selfless altruism.
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I felt the same way when I bought my Model T Ford, and before the car first entered my garage, I had made a number of major modifications. These included switching out the original, overhand-type front wishbone for the later (and safer) underhand type; adding an electric self-starter, which necessitated switching out the original transmission for a later-vintage model; electrifying the cowl lamps to convert them into turn-signals; adding a complete 12-volt electrical system and rewiring the headlights so they'd run off the battery/alternator rather than the magneto; etc., etc.
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Okay, so why'd I do all that? Well, one excuse behind which I tend to hide is that of safety. Most of the above could be considered safety-equipment and while it all sounds very conscientious, none of that stuff did anything good for the historicity of the artifact. Rather, it made the car conform to the traffic needs of my own neighborhood—in other words, my needs. Maybe the right thing to do would have been to admit that my heavily-trafficked neighborhood wasn't right for the operation of a Brass-Era automobile and until such time as I moved to a more bucolic locale with lightly-traveled country back-roads, maybe I shouldn't own a horseless carriage.
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Well, that kind of thinking might be good for an individual antique car, but it's not good for the antique car hobby—and the hobby is a largest part of what drives the survival of these wonderful old machines. In any case, the situation is naturally self-regulating: The least expensive cars—in other words, cars like my Tin Lizzie—exist in large enough numbers that there will always be plenty of intact, historical examples that conform to high standards of authenticity (and organizations like the AACA do have strict rules about what those standards should be). On the other hand, numerically rare, opulent, high-end automobiles like brass Pierce-Arrows, Packards, Locomobiles and the like are far less likely to fall into the unwashed hands of a working-class guy like myself, but will instead become the pampered pets of those with the afluence to not only purchase and have such automobiles restored by five-star restoration facilities to original mint condition, but also to operate them in an environment more in keeping with the proper care and feeding of an irreplaceable million-dollar historical treasure.
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But for the great majority of car-guys, it becomes a matter of, "Hey, I bought and paid for this car with my own hard-earned money, so I'll be the one who decides what to do with it." And if some know-it-all car show lurker doesn't like that idea—and there's no shortage of those who are vociferous about sharing such points of view in spite of not owning an antique car themselves—then such an individual can put his money where his big mouth is, make a similar investment and preserve his car according to his own, much higher standards.
