When you understand the past, you understand the present
If for some reason you think about 1917, at all, you might think about Woodrow Wilson and the US entry into World War I, which was being fought on foot and horseback.
The Civil War was as close to 1917 as is the release of “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’” and the birth of Dr. Dre to today. “Rural electrification” wasn’t a thing yet, nor were “paved roads.”
At the same time, I’ve gone surfing with people who were alive in 1917; you could buy an electric marshmallow toaster out of your Sears catalog; they played hockey on man-made ice in Toronto; England launched a 340-foot submarine that did 22 knots; and you could pick up your phone and call the West Coast.
For me, it’s cars where it is most strikingly similar to today. Unless it was a bizarro Model T, you could hop in a 100-year-old car and drive it away, presuming you know how to double clutch.
That year, V-8s were really starting to get popular, like Chevrolet’s 288-cu.in. 4.7-liter OHV, along with about two dozen more; and there were plenty of hybrids, front-wheel drive and electrics hanging around, some with continuously variable transmissions.
The really big news, however, were the 16-valve four cylinders from Stutz (100hp!) and White. You know, like almost every car on the road now, and they built them for the same reason, because the 16-valve engines got 50 percent better mileage. It was the last year you could buy a car without electric lights and an electric starter, and it was only one model.
For 2016, manufacturers built 3,934,357 cars in North America. For 1917, it was 1,745,792, which is really not that big a difference, although not a fair one, because there were also 7,995,684 light trucks (which includes SUVs) built last year and in 1917, they made 128,157 of them, which is, um, 1.6 percent.
After falling out of favor when steel roofs became practical, convertibles were getting hot again that year. You could have an onboard tire inflator, a Stanley garage door, annoyingly bright aftermarket headlights and a pop-up camper. In Hollywood, they were putting cameras on them; and a kid named Earl C. Hanson from LA was trying to get people to buy his wireless car telephone. I won’t even begin to touch motoring fashion, which was its own enormous industry.
The desire for new cars and the pace of innovation and styling created a used car problem—next-to-new cars less than a year old wouldn’t bring 50 percent of their retail value, and good luck getting even that for last year’s model. You might think that cars of this era were used up quickly, but you expected to see 50,000-plus miles out of a good make, and 100,000 over 10 years wasn’t out of the question.
Pierce-Arrow even advertised their cars were good for 200,000 miles, which was around the total distance of all the roads in America. Dealer groups pumped out endless ideas for making used cars palatable including making over front ends to look more current, wedging on a new top and the revolutionary idea of a used-car warranty.
They looked wistfully at England where wartime shortages were driving up used car prices dramatically. Barring that, there were kits you could buy to turn your worthless two-year-old luxury car into a truck. But this was Peak Car, and there were 131 different makes to choose from, so who was going to touch that old ‘15 Velie Chesterfield?
With one car built for every 58 people, we were truly a car-mad nation, especially when you consider the median annual household income was around $700 and you were looking at $500 for the dirt cheap model T. That V-8 Chevrolet would set you back more than twice that and you weren’t going to touch something like a Cadillac for under $2,200, assuming you could find one that wasn’t already spoken for.
The New York Auto Show brought 340 cars and over 200 accessory makers, but you could put together a show in Cleveland and get 80,000 people through the door. Where Broadway is today in New York was the heart of automobile row, but that was true for almost any downtown.
I’m not going to argue that cars have been particularly good for the world or for us as a species, but if there’s one thing you have in common with your great-grandparents, it just might be that.
David Traver Adolphus is a freelance automotive researcher who recently quit his full time job writing about old cars to pursue his lifelong dream of writing about old AND new cars. Follow him on Twitter as @proscriptus.