1903: Sloan's first car: "The Thing that Taught Me to Swear"

Excerpted from ADVENTURES OF A WHITE-COLLAR MAN by Alfred P. Sloan, Jr.
© 1941, all rights reserved
NOT FOR REPRODUCTION

I needed a car for experiments at the Hyatt factory. Before we could promote a wider use of roller bearings in an automobile we had to develop our own engineering. So this car I bought was to be a kind of guinea pig.

I remember going to every exhibit in the automobile show of 1903. Cadillac? Oh, no! We did not like the looks of that one-lunger, in spite of its reputation. Oldsmobile? Well, we believed you couldn't make cross-country trips in just any Oldsmobile. The car we selected was a Conrad. Remember it? If you do, you're good, because I had to rack my brain before I could recall the name.

Even so, it was a beautiful job-in 1903. The Conrad Motor Carriage Company, of Buffalo, had a comparatively long record as manufacturers of self- propelled vehicles [first year of production was 1900]. Unhappily, they had backed, so to speak, the wrong horseless. They went in for steam. Steam automobiles were numerous in the show of 1903 and afterward. Yet shrewd men in the industry saw that gasoline cars were going to dominate. Probably the steam cars were as good as the gasoline cars of that day, for neither was dependable. But it was evident then that the explosive type of engine had certain potential advantages for automobile design. No one can foretell what the future may bring forth, but the gasoline engine fully justifies the choice made by the industry. Mr. Conrad, in 1903, had seen the light of reason; he was bringing out a new line of gasoline cars.

Those Conrad cars were the most tempting-looking automobiles on the floor at the 1903 show. They had been handsomely finished by carriage painters in a tone almost maroon which was called "automobile red." There were no running boards, just carriage steps, but there were patent-leather mudguards, which some called fenders. The front one had a plowshare shape. The individual seats in front and the tonneau, with its entrance door in the back, were upholstered in red leather like a biscuit couch. It had artillery wheels, a chain drive and in place of the then customary tiller bar, it had something new, a steering wheel. Best of all, it had a balanced look that came from sound design. I made the trade with Mr. Conrad-our roller bearings in a suitable quantity for his car, the price of which was, list, $1250 f.o.b. Buffalo.

While he was trying to excite further admiration for the “carriage painters” work, I was fumbling at the bonnet. When I got it off-like a sewing-machine cover-I was looking at an empty place. There was no engine!

"Hey," exclaimed Pete, at my shoulder. "What makes it run?"

"Well, you see,” said Conrad, “this car was shipped to the show without an engine."

"But, Mr. Conrad, I want to see the engine."

Mr. Conrad caressed the paint with tender strokes, as one might pat a horse. "We'll have a motor in the car when we ship it to you."

"But haven't you an engine in these other cars? That runabout? "

"The truth is, Mr. Sloan, we really haven't built the engine yet. But the design is right. Mechanical engineers and automobile experts of this country and Europe have pronounced it correct." He had more to say and I remained "sold." From my standpoint, the car had one advantage -- it lacked Hyatt roller bearings. By redesigning the rear axle and other parts where our bearings could be used, I expected to develop rules governing their application. Then we could evolve an engineering technique and make a more intelligent contribution to the industry.

What that Conrad touring car had under its bonnet when it was delivered at the Hyatt factory was a two-cycle motor. That was the thing that taught me how to swear! For all my technical education, I could not make it run. Various machinists their hands. So did Charley Lockwood; even old Mr. Hyatt.

But the thing could not be made to give more than an occasional bark, after which, each time, it died an instant death. I sent a telegram to Mr. Conrad, and next day his son appeared. Automobiles were "sporty" then, and “sports” owned them. There was a silk handkerchief on display in the breast pocket of the visitor’s suit. He took this handkerchief and stuffed it into the carburetor. Then when he cranked it, the whole mechanism shook as the engine caught the explosion and ran. With pleasant wishes, young Mr. to us and left to catch the next train. He was good enough to leave his silk handkerchief in the carburetor. I don't think I ever did get a real ride in that car. The most we could coax it to run was a few blocks. Eventually, the Conrad was sold to Pete Steenstrup and a Newark friend of his. I planned to get another car.

One day Pete assured me if I would come on a Sunday to the apartment house where he lived in Newark, he would take me out for a spin. But when I arrived, he was in a fury. That day he had been summoned to court for maintaining a nuisance in the back yard of the apartment. The belching, the smoking and other offenses of that two-cycle engine had aroused his neighbors. Pete sold his half interest for one dollar. Later, so Pete told me, his friend, out of patience, drove the car to the Newark meadows and blew it up with dynamite. Lots of cars deserved such a fate in the early 1900’s, but this was not true of the early Cadillac.