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?
The poll says it all, I’ve always wanted to try a Model T. Plus a T would look pretty neat parked next to that other iconic people’s car, my Beetle. Which was built the same year VW officially sold more Beetles than Ford did Model Ts.
I was ready to vote for the T until I looked at its condition versus the Bantum. Either would be a hoot to own but the Bantam looks like it has lead a much more comfortable and coddled life.
With the Model T being a 1915 unit it is a pre-pre-war car for Americans, dating from 2 years before our entry into WWI.
The Model T is a bucket list type car, but the yellow one is in better condition, so I voted yellow.
Obviously Model T is a fantastic piece of automotive history, arguably the most important piece. Still, I don’t think it would be any fun to actually drive whatsoever (even in pristine state), whereas that Bantam could be a hoot to tool around in for a bit.
The Bantam seems more like an actual car, but seeing that driver compartment is making me think that there’s no way a 6’2″ guy is going to be able to drive it. I’ll spin the T-around.
The T has miles of support to get it into reliable running condition and keep it there; the Bantam, not so much.
That said, its cheeky adorable face is endearing like a puppy with floppy ears, and I’ve been a fan of the Bantam brand ever since first discovering its history in the development of the Jeep. The somewhat-modernized brakes are just icing on the cake.
Bantam today.
Model T’s have always seemed to agricultural to be any fun, but I’m sure dozens of old men out there will tell me I’m wrong.
Don’t get me wrong, I understand their importance and influence, but… no thanks to hand cranks and near-fictional brakes.
Agricultural is the word: there were actually quite a few aftermarket manufacturers – Pullford is the most easily recognized example – back in the day that would sell you a kit that would convert your otherwise stock T into a tractor. Some of the kits were really quite comprehensive, providing frame reinforcement in addition to the lower gearing to pull heavier loads.
Neither, I do not want anything pre-fuel injection and for sure nothing pre-war.
Much less pre-Great War.
I initially read it as “Batman”. Not as cool now, but I’ll still vote for it.
I’ll take the Bantam, Greenfield Village has a car show every year for fathers day, and I’d display it there, where I can happily drive it around for ice cream and get on TV with the Haggerty Crew spewing historic facts about it. I’m close enough to drive it to/from the Village without having to get on any freeways too.
I suspect a lot of readers would enjoy owning either or both of these.
The T could be daily’d in town or a rural area, and parts availability and repairability is unmatched. With a few common modifications, they can be taken cross country.
The Bantam is unique and will draw admirers like flies on a pie. As someone who regularly drives an equally slow and small Crosley, I would enjoy the Bantam as a second car. If the mechanical bits still overlap with Austin, you should be able to get the parts you need to keep it rolling.
So, I have become somewhat interested with T’s (took the driving course, bought a repair manual, scout for then online), and assumed that would be my vote. But that one is pretty rough for 6 grand. I know there isn’t much to them, and it probably does work fine, but for 6 grand you can get a much nicer one, like this pickup. The spread in value from running driving T’s to nice restorations is pretty tight. As Mark pointed out, these can’t really be used as transportation anymore, so they are just to be towed to parades or drive around the neighborhood. I have nothing but 20 mph roads between me and my nearest Lowes, and really want to buy a T pickup to use for lumber runs. Long story short, I voted Bantam.
Neither. I’m not a collector and I can’t see spending thousands of dollars on a car that can’t be reasonably used as a car.
My Dad already has a nicer ’27 T than that, although it’s currently waiting for a radiator. They’re relatively cheap, though, and smaller than you think, just tall. Later cars even come in real colors, and have electric start. This one didn’t, probably doesn’t, and needs a bit of work anyway.
That said, I would rather mess around with the Bantam. It’s a little faster, quite a bit more modern, and is just so Mickey Mouse cute I want to pinch it’s cheeks. It’s not going to be happy on the interstate but the T can’t even reach rural 2-lane speeds. And I’m shorter. I might just fit.
The Bantam would be cool as an EV conversion.
Then it would be a proper tiny EV.
Unlike the Ford.
(Plus it reminds me of Roger Rabbit)
Model T. And as for the comment about the T being dangerously slow, as far as I’m concerned, any old car (and in particular, the T) on a public road, deserves a salute and a smile. If ever you should say “Thank you for your service” to a car, it must be said to a Model T.
At 6’3″ and not considered a small person by anyone, I’ll have to go Model T. The Bantam is a fantastic looking car and I’m a sucker for that general category of yellow complementing the curves and chrome of a pre-war car, but if I am going to take a classic for a spin, I’d rather be able to focus on the drive, not on fidgeting to get comfy.
I’d actually love to own that Model T. I feel like there is some interesting potential with that thing considering it is mostly hand built, dead simple to work on, and a rolling slice of history.
The T isn’t actually that big either. Dad’s ’27 Touring is shorter than my FR-S.
The Model T is really the cornerstone of the American auto industry. I would like to piddle around with one to take part in that bit of history. I think it could be interesting to figure out how to break an arm cranking one and how to operate its unusual controls.
I’m not that tall (5’9″), so I’d probably fir in the Bantam, so I’ll take that one for a drive.
But to buy, I’d probably take the Ford. Easy to work on and plenty of parts availability. I’m betting David could probably build one from ebay.
If the T truly runs and stops (eventually), that looks like fun. I have a friend that went to a Model T museum up in MI I think, to spend a day driving one around and I’d love to do that. Even if just for a bucket list item.
Probably either Greenfield Village in Dearborn, where T and A cars and trucks putter around all day going about business 1930-style, or the Gilmore Museum over in Hickory Corners, which does a lot of hands-on stuff. Both highly recommended.
The Model T is cool for its unusual control scheme, but I think I might actually be able to putz around in the Bantam in light traffic, whereas the Ford would be dangerously slow on any road.