Auburn helped put America on wheels

By LEE SAUER

Something about automobiles stirred Midwest imaginations at the turn of the last century.

Perhaps it was the old pioneer spirit redirected ­­ the idea of not having to rely on anyone or anything else. Perhaps it was the almost magical quality of iron and wood taking on motion, virtually coming alive. Perhaps it was the lure of new technology and the seemingly endless new horizons beyond that beckoned.

Whatever the cause, the results were astounding. In garages and shops across the countryside, imaginative mechanics worked long hours to create their own versions of the horseless carriage.

And the heart of this revolution centered in Auburn.

Far-fetched? Perhaps. But a strong argument for this contention can be made with just two words: Detroit and Indianapolis. Draw a line between these two historical car towns, measure the midpoint, and you're just a country walk from Auburn's borders.

Auburn's automotive history continues to be the town's richest legacy. Like any good story, it involves a broken heart. Imagine: if the dreams and ambitions of this town could be made visible as something physical, shattered pieces would be everywhere today's residents step.

Incredible amounts of human effort and innovation were expended in buildings local folk pass each day. Auburn alone can account for producing as many as 21 different car brands.

But if quantity alone counted, Auburn wouldn't be known as the Classic City. The numbers that really matter are small. Only a handful of the city's cars qualify for immortal status. The number of years the city drew national attention to its cars could be counted on two hands.

And only one company went beyond being part of history to actually making it.

* * *

The Auburn Automobile Co. began as many early carmakers did: as a carriage company.

Charles Eckhart was a Pennsylvania-born Civil War veteran who began his work career as a wheelwright (a person who makes or repairs wheels). He moved to Auburn permanently in 1874.

In March of 1875, he started the company that would become Eckhart Carriage Co. Eventually a huge complex of buildings spread out along the east side of Cedar Creek (the Eckhart family home, 915 E. Seventh St., still stands at the site).

With attention to detail and demanding the highest standards of quality, Charlie's company grew. By the turn of the century, Eckhart was a wealthy man.
In 1900, Frank Eckhart ­­ Charles' son ­­ bought an Oldsmobile-brand automobile. Later that year, Charles ran for the Indiana governorship on the Prohibition ticket. He gained free publicity by traveling town to town in Frank's Oldsmobile.

Soon afterward, Frank began tinkering with building an automobile of his own in the Eckhart shops. His brother, Morris, who knew his way around a forge, contributed expertise.

In 1902, Frank ­­ who worked as a salesman for his father's company ­­ traveled to Chicago. While there, he planned to buy another automobile, but backed out when he saw the price.

Encountering a fellow salesman, Frank vented frustration. He could build his own modestly-priced automobile, he claimed, if he just knew where to get a differential and transmission. The casual comment turned to gold when the salesman friend supplied the address of an Illinois shop specializing in the parts Frank needed.

In February of 1903, Frank and Morris entered a prototype Auburn in the Chicago Automobile Show. By the end of the year, the brothers' fledgling side business ­­ titled "The Auburn Automobile Company" ­­ was producing and selling its own horseless carriages.

The company grew slowly but steadily. In 1909, the Eckharts moved their expanding enterprise across Cedar Creek into the Auburn Foundry and Machine Works complex of buildings (located south and west of today's Auburn Cord Duesenberg Museum).

As other independent automakers coughed and died, the Eckharts kept chugging ahead. They garnered an admirable following within a couple hundred miles of their factory. As people of the day demanded, Auburn-brand cars were dependable, quality machines. Although not spectacularly stylish, they weren't bad to look at, either.

But there simply wasn't enough time, energy or talent to push the company through the coming current of events. Wealthy and growing older, the Eckhart family began to spend much of its time in California. In 1915, Charles died.

Then in 1917, America entered the fight in Europe. The war threw all sorts of obstacles in the path of small manufacturers. Raw materials were scarce. Consumers were not willing to buy big-ticket items.

The Auburn Automobile Co., already struggling, simply ran out of gas. In 1918, the Eckharts closed down production.

A year later, on June 26, 1919, a group of Chicago financiers bought the company's remaining assets. A short, rather frivolous period in the company's history followed.

Blinded by potential profits, the money men hoped to cash in on the emerging automotive industry. Their tunnel vision failed to reveal a cliff just ahead.

Three signs warned of impending disaster. First, as the automobile industry matured, bigger companies were swallowing smaller companies. With increased muscle, the big corporations wrested favorable treatment and huge discounts from suppliers. In other words, the big boys could build far better cars for far less.

Secondly, America's economy hadn't yet recovered from the war. Supplies remained scarce, as did motivated customers.

And finally, the Chicago bankers faced a most subversive adversary ­­ themselves. Independent automakers survived in the hyper-competitive auto race through passion and commitment. The financiers displayed neither. Their attitude seemed bitterly level-headed.

Like bounty hunters waving a convict's cap before a bloodhound then hoping for a lucrative ride, the money men flashed ready cash at the company. "There are always ample funds available to take advantage of favorable purchases for a long time ahead," an in-house publication noted soon after the change of ownership. "No activity of the company is in any way cramped for lack of funds."

Further proving that they weren't on the right road, the financiers instituted a paper-intensive efficiency system. Their reasoning was above approach; they were simply following the most up-to-date management theory of their time. But Auburn employees weren't well versed in modern business theory. They chafed at the system and all it implied. Efficiency and morale plummeted.

By 1924, the Chicago financiers' ready cash flow had dried up. The economic forecast offered little change in the inhospitable climate. The industry had further consolidated. Even if the financiers decided to bail and sell Auburn Automobile Co., the big boys showed little interest in a small regional automaker so far away from the major auto centers.

The financiers were aghast. Not only were prospects of a profit fast disappearing, but they were in peril of losing their original investment as well!

That summer, grasping at straws, Auburn Automobile's owners invited E.L. Cord to visit. Cord had been turning heads with astounding car sales numbers in the Chicago gang's hometown. The young man expressed a desire to be more than a salesman. Perhaps a marriage could be arranged.

After providing a tour of the Auburn plant, the financiers offered Cord a top management position and excellent salary. But Cord, only 29 years old, had more on his mind. He outlined a plan by which he would take immediate control of the company, then with profits earned, buy out the Chicago gang and assume sole ownership.

Take it or leave it.

Oh, to be a fly on the wall during the financiers following meetings! They had to be insulted at the young man's audacity. But what could they do? The company was picking up speed in its downhill flight and nobody knew where the brakes were. What would it matter if they held onto the right to profits just as the company took one final leap into bankruptcy?

The financiers accepted Cord's terms.

What happened next has evolved from history into near legend.

Cord ordered unsold Auburns repainted in splashy colors and their prices chopped. With the capital gained, he made subtle yet significant changes in that year's line of models as they came off the assembly lines.

In the office, the difference in management styles proved dramatic. Cord displayed incredible passion for every aspect of making automobiles. In response to a financial disclosure form that asked how many hours per day he devoted to business, E.L. wrote, "Twenty four."

He expected his workers to be committed, also. Cord threw out the paper-intensive "efficiency" system and replaced it with common sense. Like a football coach, he inspired employees with tales of how Auburn automobiles would outperform and outsell other brands. The dispirited workers caught his enthusiasm. Morale returned.

Then Cord hit the road. He visited discouraged dealers and asked their opinions of what would sell. He visited suspicious suppliers and ­­ after wowing them with his vision and grasp of the business ­­ came away with design changes or favorable credit terms.

The company did not turn around. It picked its nose off the ground and shot up like a rocket. By November of 1925, just a little over a year after he joined the company, E.L. paid off the Chicago money men's investment plus interest. On Feb. 2, 1926, he became the company's president and assumed complete control.

The rocket didn't slow down. Almost overnight, Auburn Automobile became known as a company of innovation. It still couldn't compete in quality or price with the huge Detroit car builders already known as "the Big Three." But it accelerated away from the pack in two areas it could control: style and state-of-the-art features.

Cord showed an intuitive sense of what the public wanted. In the Roaring Twenties, America admired wealth and fine living. Even though Auburns were modestly priced, ads showed the cars in front of elegant homes and country clubs. "Even if you don't have money," the ads seemed to say, "you can look like you do."

Cord further refined this marketing ploy through two lines of high-end cars. In 1926 he bought Duesenberg Automobile and Motors Corp., which produced cars known for inventive engineering and high quality (style rated a distant third). Cord used the Duesenberg line to pursue a lofty ­­ and well publicized ­­ ambition: to build the best car in the world. If he didn't reach his goal, he came close. Duesenbergs turned heads and sold for prices only royalty and movie stars could afford.

Meanwhile, E.L. developed a radically new line of autos that bore his own name. The very first Cord ­­ now known as the L-29 ­­ could claim to be the first production front-wheel-drive car. Because of its unique engineering, it sat sensuously low to the ground. The public swooned. Many people would for the rest of their lives remember exactly when and where they saw their first Cord.

Unfortunately, E.L.'s ambition outpaced his love for automobiles.

After 1929, he turned his attention to other transportation arenas, most significantly aviation. Without Cord's intuitive sense of American taste, the company steamed ahead like the Titanic. Incredibly talented engineers and designers continued to churn out highly stylized cars that reeked of wealth and privilege.

At the same time, America ran smack into the Great Depression. With breadlines and unemployment lines growing, the country turned its back on the very qualities Cord's cars embodied. Disgusted with the then-legal insider manipulations that helped cause the frightening stock market crash (a game that E.L. played like an Old Money pro), Americans washed their hands of ostentatious wealth. Even the rich tried to look poor.

In that atmosphere, cars that smacked of champagne and exclusive clubs became anathema to the times. Duesenbergs and Cords sat unsold. Auburn-brand autos, though their prices were further slashed, suffered by association with their high society sisters.

Bucking the trend of other automakers, Auburn Automobile Co. continued to pull in profits as late as 1931. But, when the carmaker fell, it fell fast.

As Cord fought off real and imagined threats from all sides of his empire, Auburn Automobile management fought among themselves. Some of the cars today's collectors most treasure ­­ including the still-fresh looking Cord 810 ­­ came out of this period. At the time, though, each innovative product only postponed the inevitable.

Almost immediately after a hostile takeover pushed Cord out of control of his myriad companies, the new owners closed Auburn Automobile Co.'s doors. The date: Nov. 11, 1937.

Today, most of the buildings of the vast complex that belched smoke and danced with history have disappeared. The beautiful administration building, constructed between 1929 and 1930, remains.

Despite it failure in the past, the building now serves as home of the Auburn Cord Duesenberg Museum and is a focal point of the wildly successful, similarly named annual festival.

Think of the museum as an automobile lover's swizzle stick, still stirring the imagination.