Which Pre-War Relic Interests You? 1915 Ford Model T vs 1938 Bantam Roadster

So for the last couple of weeks, I’ve been playing it pretty safe with my choices. I’ve shown you cars that could easily be driven normally. But I’m kind of tired of them, so this week we’re taking a cue from The Troggs, Maurice Sendak, and Neve Campbell and Denise Richards, and checking out some wild things. We’ll start out old and get newer as the week goes on.

Last week, we started out cheap and got more expensive as the week went on, in an effort to discover how much you have to spend to feel comfortable driving a car daily. The answer, as we determined with Friday’s vote, is between two and four grand. Most of you went for the Mazda, with the Pontiac Vibe coming in second. Only a few brave souls felt that the $700 Chevy could work as a daily driver.

After a little cleanup and a careful inspection, I could happily drive that Lumina. I’ve driven worse. The advantage of a car that looks like that is that you don’t have to care about it at all. Street-park it in the city, blast down a dirt road and listen to the gravel ricocheting off the bottom, teach yourself how to do a J-turn, it doesn’t matter. Owning a car like that is very liberating, as long as you can afford to have something nice as well.

Most cars built after World War II could conceivably still be driven on the road today without much trouble. You’d want to stay off the freeway with a lot of them, but the controls will be more or less familiar, the levels of power will allow them to keep up with traffic, and apart from panic stops and emergency maneuvers, they can all get around fine. That cannot be said of the few remaining cars built before the war, though. Top speeds are often 50 MPH or less, controls range from confusing to downright bizarre, and safety is just not a concept that applies at all. But don’t you want to try driving one, just to see what it’s like? Let’s check out a couple of them.

1915 Ford Model T depot hack – $6,000

Engine/drivetrain: 177 cubic inch flathead inline 4, two-speed manual, RWD

Location: Boring, OR

Odometer reading: Does it even have one?

Operational status: “Runs and stops”

The Model T, by virtue of being the first really affordable people’s car, was put to almost every use imaginable. And to tailor it to those uses, it was built in a wide range of body styles. The frame, drivetrain and everything forward of the firewall remained pretty much the same no matter the use, but the body could take on a variety of shapes: four-seat “touring” cars, two-seat “runabouts,” roadsters, pickup trucks, delivery vans, and even small buses. This Model T is what was known as a “depot hack,” essentially a taxi cab, primarily used to carry passengers to and from train depots.

The Model T’s simple mechanical design was a key to its success. It’s powered by a big, lazy four-cylinder engine that sends 20 horsepower through that weird foot-operated transmission to the rear axle. It uses a magneto ignition and a thermosiphon cooling system, both of which keep the moving parts count low and the reliability high. Model Ts changed a lot over the years; this was the first year for electric headlights, but still a couple years before an electric starter was available, so you have to use the hand crank to start it. The seller says it runs and drives, and more importantly, stops. Eventually. The brake pedal operates a drum brake inside the transmission, and there’s a lever for brakes on the rear wheels, but nothing on the front. Leave yourself plenty of room to slow down.

Most pictures I’ve seen of depot hacks have a third row of seats that this one appears to be missing. It also has no roof. The body has a rough, hand-made look to it, which is not uncommon. There’s a good chance that this car started out with a full depot hack body, but got chopped up over the years and turned into this kinda-sorta touring configuration. The seat upholstery looks surprisingly nice, though; I get the feeling someone redid it.

Fun fact: Kingsford Charcoal started out as Ford Charcoal, and was originally made from the wood scraps of Model T bodies, starting in 1920. Ford’s wood supply came from its own timber land in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and the charcoal factory was built right next to the sawmill. The charcoal briquettes were sold through Ford dealers, along with portable grills. Recycling, and tailgating – what’s not to like?

1938 American Bantam Series 60 roadster – $9,995

Engine/drivetrain: 57 cubic inch flathead inline 4, three-speed manual, RWD

Location: Forest Grove, OR

Odometer reading: unknown

Operational status: Runs and drives, I think

The story behind this car has its roots in another, less well-known people’s car, the Austin Seven, introduced in 1922. The Seven was a tiny, tough, simple car that did for British motorists what the Model T did for Americans. It was so popular that it was built under license by none other than Datsun and BMW, as well as the American Austin Car Company. But the Seven was a tough sell in America, being so small, and American Austin went bankrupt in 1935. It was re-formed in 1936 as American Bantam, and in 1940 it developed the first prototype of a four-wheel-drive vehicle you may have heard of. This Series 60 roadster is closer to the old Austin Seven than it is a Jeep, though.

The original engine in this car would have been a 747 cc inline four, taken from the original Austin design. This one has had its engine swapped with a 1 liter unit from a Ford Anglia, which probably makes twice the power (not that that’s hard to do). The original engine is included, if you wanted to put it back to stock. It has also been converted from cable-operated brakes to hydraulic brakes, though the cable system remains intact, if you want to reconnect it. I don’t know why you would, though. From the sounds of it, it does run and drive as it sits, though the ad is a little cryptic.

“This car is meant to be driven by a shorter person,” the seller says. “There’s not much leg room.” I could make a joke about our diminutive founder, Jason, driving and enjoying a Bantam in the early days of this site, but I won’t. (Or actually, I guess I just did.) It does look pretty tight in there, but it’s in remarkably good shape. Again, I get the feeling that it has been redone.

Outside, it’s simply a delight: the curves, the chrome hubcaps, and the cheery yellow paint all make for an impossibly cute little car. There is some obvious body work that has been done, and not terribly well, but considering it’s pushing ninety years old, we’ll let it slide. Fun fact about the Bantam roadster: it was the inspiration for Donald Duck’s car in Disney cartoons.

No, you couldn’t actually use either of these for regular transportation, though I’d love to see someone try. They are curiosities, relics, reminders of an earlier time when you didn’t need to go 80 on the freeway just to keep up with traffic, and you didn’t need a Ph.D. in computer science to fix a car. I can’t imagine anyone here wanting to buy either one of these, so I’ll reframe our discussion by asking a different question: Which one would you rather take for a spin?