Nowadays, we take photos what seems like, well—constantly. Let’s head back to an era when photographs were rare, and an affordable form of photography first made Its debut. Tintypes, the popular “instant photographs” of the 19^th century, could be produced in a matter of minutes at a price most people could afford.


Silas McConnell, a Cortland County, New York, general storekeeper, with his daughter Louise, about 1875. / THF278362

Beginning in the mid-1850s, tintypes gave more people than ever before the chance to have a real likeness of themselves—capturing unique glimpses of how everyday Americans looked and lived. Tintypes democratized photography.


Koohns family of Perry County, Indiana, about 1890. / THF289961

There is no tin in a tintype. A tintype is a photograph made on a thin, black-painted sheet of iron. The thin metal of the iron plate probably reminded people of tin, leading to the popular name tintype.


Young boy, 1860 - 1870. / THF126296

A tintype is a reverse image of the person or scene that was taken directly from the camera. (Notice the reversed lettering on the bakery wagon below.) It looks like a positive print because of the dark color of the metal plate it is on.


L. Hamberger's Bakery Wagon, about 1880. / THF278482

Having your photograph taken was considered an event. People got dressed up and went to the tintype studio in their city or town to have their portrait made.


Mother and daughter in front of a painted backdrop, about 1885. / THF278436

What was a tintype photo studio like? Greenfield Village’s will give you an idea. Built in 1929, it’s designed to look like a small tintype photographic studio from the 1870s and 1880s. A tintype studio had many windows to provide maximum light for the photographer. A studio was equipped with cameras, equipment to develop the photographs, backdrops, and posing chairs.



Tintype studio in Greenfield Village. / THF151617, THF122780

Most tintypes were studio portraits of one or two people. Photographers often posed couples with the husband seated and the wife standing by his side.


Woman holding a parasol, about 1878. / THF327828


Husband and wife, about 1885. / THF278380

People didn’t smile in early photographs—their expressions were more serious and formal. Early photography was heavily influenced by pre-photographic portraiture—people hadn’t grinned when having their likenesses drawn or painted, either. Having one’s image made was important occasion—it called for a more timeless expression.


Unidentified man, 1870-1880. / THF277876

As direct images, tintypes did not produce photographic negatives from which multiple copies of an image could be made. But tintype cameras could be fitted with multiple lenses, allowing several copies of the same tintype image to be produced at one time on a single sheet of iron. When multiple copies were made on a single sheet of iron, the images could be separated with a pair of tin snips and given to family and friends.


Tintype camera, used in Harry Patmore's Photographic Studio in Wyandotte, Michigan about 1882. / THF161617


Multiple images of a young boy probably taken in A.G. Metzger's photographic studio in Harleysville, Pennsylvania about 1895. / THF278490

In the early days of photography, the sitter needed to remain motionless. Any movement would result in a blurred area and an unusable image. A headrest cradled the head and kept it still during the exposure (probably about 10 seconds). As photographic equipment and processes improved, less exposure time was needed and headrests became obsolete. Photo studios also had special chairs with head braces to keep the head from moving.


Photographer’s headrest, used in Harry Patmore's Photographic Studio in Wyandotte, Michigan about 1882. / THF161050

Photographing infants and toddlers could be challenging. Some images show the mother’s hand, covered by a shawl, helping to steady and soothe the infant “off camera”—her arm would be covered by a decorative mat. If a child moved during the exposure, the image would turn out blurry. The tintype for the baby below turned out nicely—nestled into a chair, it was not in danger of tumbling over!


Photograph of an infant, probably taken in Indiana about 1865. / THF243420

The child in the tintype image below has been dressed in her best, bedecked with a necklace, and had her hair curled. Like this young girl, children were often photographed with toys—their own or perhaps studio props. Unlike today, having your child’s photograph taken was not a frequent event. For kids from families of modest means, just one photograph might be taken during childhood.


Girl seated at a table with her toys, about 1870. / THF278444

Some tintype customers—like this family—wanted their images enhanced with color. For an additional charge, red might be applied to give cheeks a rosy hue. Gold paint emphasized jewelry, buttons, or buckles.


Portrait of a family, with accessories accented with gold paint, 1860-1870. / THF277866

Tintypes—inexpensive and durable—proved to be of special value in the 1860 presidential campaign, when small tintype images of Abraham Lincoln (Republican candidate) and Stephen Douglas (Democrat candidate) decorated tokens, medals, and campaign pins. The use of photography in political campaigns was still unusual at the time—most campaign buttons did not yet include photographic images of the candidates.



Abraham Lincoln and Stephen Douglas presidential campaign tokens, 1860. / THF101182, THF128085

During the Civil War, many soldiers had their photographs taken in uniform—either at a studio before leaving home or in the field by photographers who followed the army. Quickly made, inexpensive and sturdy, tintypes could be left with loved ones or slipped inside a letter and sent through the mail. These images often captured a soldier’s pride in serving his country—and helped preserve his memory if he did not return home from battle.


17-year-old Civil War soldier Frank Stough of Elyria, Ohio, a member of the 128^th Ohio Infantry, about 1865. / THF277880

Photograph albums—introduced in the very early 1860s—provided a way to organize, preserve, and conveniently view photographs of friends and relatives. The album below holds “gem” photographs, the smallest tintype at ¾ to 1 inch in size.



Photograph album containing gem tintypes, about 1865. / THF278461, THF278566

Outdoor tintypes were quite rare until the 1880s, when a new, more convenient dry-plate process replaced the earlier wet-plate process. Even with the challenges that outdoor photography presented (taking tintype equipment out of the studio and lack of ready access to a dark room to develop the image), photographs of outdoor scenes became more common.


Workers and horse-drawn wagons at a sawmill, 1880-1900. / THF278450

Tintypists sometimes traveled with their equipment from farm to farm, offering their services to rural customers, who assembled their family—dressed in their best clothing—and proudly posed in front of their homes. In the early 1880s tintype below, the Webster family is shown in front of their farmhouse in rural Delaware County, Ohio.


William and Corilla Webster, their daughters Lucy and Clarabel, and son William in front of their Delaware County, Ohio farmhouse about 1881. / THF97629

Work gave meaning to people’s lives—it was part of one’s personal identity. Many people sat for the photographer in the clothing they wore while working, holding objects that represented their occupation. In the first tintype below, the men worked as plasterers. The three men in the tintype below that also hold the tools of their trades—typesetter, butcher, and blacksmith. The blacksmith had the most challenging “prop” to bring to the tintype studio—a 200-pound anvil on a wood block!


Plasterers, about 1881. / THF306586


Typesetter, butcher, and blacksmith, about 1880. / THF278446

Most occupational tintypes were of men rather than women—it was a male-dominated workforce during this time. But tintypes did capture images of those who worked for pay outside the home—women like factory workers, milliners, or domestic servants. The young women below worked in a textile mill, tending power looms.


Two textile workers holding spindles of thread, about 1870. / THF278406

For his portrait, the drygoods salesman below not only brought along “props”—thread, buttons, and fabric—from his retail establishment, but a “customer” as well.


Salesman displaying his wares, about 1860. / THF278414

People not only had tintypes taken of themselves at “work,” but also at “play.” This young man, dressed in his baseball uniform and holding a bat, headed to the tintype studio for a portrait. By the 1880s, when this tintype was taken, playing baseball was a popular sport in many American communities.


Baseball player with bat, about 1880. / THF94413

Group portraits were more complicated to capture than photographs of individuals. The photographer had more people to pose artfully—and then had to keep everyone’s attention during the several-second exposure. Images of outdoor leisure activities like the picnic below became more common in the late 1800s.


Group of women at a picnic, about 1895. / THF278356

Tintypes became less popular as new and better forms of photography replaced them. But traveling tintypists still found work at country fairs, summer resorts, and other vacation spots during the late 19^th century—and well into the 1930s.


Photographer outside his studio, likely at a vacation spot or resort, about 1890. / THF146156

In 1901, Henry Ford’s family—wife Clara, son Edsel, and mother-in-law Martha Bryant—had their tintype taken during a trip to Niagara Falls, though the image itself was made in a nearby tintype studio in front of a painted backdrop.


Clara Ford and family “playing tourist” at Niagara Falls, 1901. / THF96764

Hope you enjoyed this look at tintypes. Don’t forget to strike a properly timeless expression should you meet up with this photographer!


Studio portrait of a photographer with his camera, about 1870. / THF122762


Jeanine Head Miller is Curator of Domestic Life at The Henry Ford.

by Jeanine Head Miller, photographs, photography, #THFCuratorChat

THF85791

Cyclecars – slim, cheap cars with motorcycle engines – took the United States by storm starting around 1912. But most were poorly built and rattled to pieces on America’s rough, unpaved roads.


The cyclecar’s reputation was so bad by 1917 that Woods Mobilette carefully described this two-passenger Model 5A as a “light car” rather than a cyclecar. / THF84558


The Woods was, in fact, better built than its competitors. The 3-speed transmission surpassed the 2-speed units in most cyclecars, and the Inline-4 was bigger than the 2-cylinder motorcycle engines in competing vehicles. Woods promised that its gearbox caused “no clashing, no grating, no slipping or grabbing.” / THF84560


The company also offered a third seat – in reality, a folding chair – to turn the 5A into a 3-passenger car. But the base price for the little Woods was $20 more than a full-size Ford Model T. Small wonder that 1917 marked the final year for Mobilette production. / THF101167


This post was adapted from an exhibit label in Henry Ford Museum of American Innovation.

20th century, 1910s, cars

We all know that 2020 was quite the year—there was a worldwide pandemic, protests across the United States, and a contentious presidential election. It’s understandable that during the year, we all had a lot on our minds.

That said, we shared more than 160 new posts on our blog during 2020. Most of these were eagerly found and devoured by our readers. But a few really great stories from our collections might have gotten lost in the shuffle—and we wanted to make sure you didn’t miss them. Here are ten of those hidden gems to help you start off 2021 right.

Happy New Year!

Explore Art and Design

Jazz Bowl, circa 1931 / THF88364

The Jazz Bowl: Emblem of a City, Icon of an Age. Discover how a 24-year-old ceramic artist, Viktor Schreckengost, designed a bowl that both captured the essence of New York City in the early 20^th century and became an icon of America’s “Jazz Age.”


Molded Plywood Lounge Chair, 1942-1962 / THF16299

Charles and Ray Eames: Masters of Collaboration. Learn how husband-and-wife design duo Charles and Ray Eames collaborated on an early plywood leg splint, the iconic chairs they are known for, and on Mathematica, now in Henry Ford Museum!

Dive into Computers—and Computing

Burroughs E8000, circa 1965 / THF298298

“Wherever There’s Business There’s Burroughs.” In this post from the William Davidson Initiative for Entrepreneurship, explore the history of the Burroughs Corporation and their entrepreneurial journey from perfecting mathematical calculating machines, through work on wartime bomb sights, to the early computer market.


A LINC console built by Jerry Cox at the Central Institute for the Deaf, 1964.

New Acquisition: LINC Computer Console. The LINC computer may not be as familiar to you as the Apple 1, but it is in contention for the much-debated title of “the first personal computer.” Learn more about its history and the people involved in its creation.

Immerse Yourself in Pop Culture

Lady and the Tramp Charm Bracelet, circa 1955 / THF8604

Lady and the Tramp Celebrates 65 Years. Take a new look at an old classic—Disney’s 1955 movie Lady and the Tramp. Learn how it came to be and share in some personal memories from one of our curators.


Display for Sensation Comics #82

Comic Book Preservation: Tips from Our Conservators. Go behind-the-scenes in our conservation lab to learn how we take care of the comic books in our collections—and how you can take care of your own.

Examine Radio Innovations

Pocket Radio, circa 1925 / THF156309

A “Pocket-Sized” Possibility for the Future. Our idea of what constitutes “portable” has changed over time. Learn how the “pocket radio” allowed people to take their music with them during the 1920s.


Crosley Reado Radio Printer, 1938-1940 / THF160315

Experiments with Radio Facsimile at W8XWJ. Learn about the “Press-Radio War” of the 1930s, and a revolutionary, but ultimately short-lived, experiment by Detroit News radio station W8XWJ to deliver print-at-home news.

Uncover the Stories Behind Fashion Fabrics

Washington Anderton's Textile Samples Notebook, Cocheco Mfg. Co., 1876-1877 / THF670787

"Sampling" the Past: Fabrics from America's Textile Mills. Learn what textile sample books are, and take a visual tour through example pages from the extensive collection of sample books The Henry Ford received from the American Textile History Museum in 2017.


Wells, Richardson & Company "Leamon's Genuine Aniline Dyes: Purple," 1873-1880 / THF170208

A More Colorful World. Discover how a chemistry student, seeking to create a synthetic cure for malaria, inadvertently created the first synthetic dye, aniline purple—and then created more, transforming the world’s access to color.


Ellice Engdahl is Digital Collections & Content Manager at The Henry Ford.

19th century, 20th century, 2020s, 21st century, radio, popular culture, fashion, design, COVID 19 impact, computers, by Ellice Engdahl

THF90278

Most Americans weren’t very interested in small cars—until 1973, when Middle Eastern oil-producing countries cut back on oil exports. Gas prices skyrocketed in the U.S., and shortages led to long lines at service stations. Many people still wanted big American-style cars, but more and more actually bought small four-cylinder, front-wheel-drive, European-inspired cars like this Ford Escort. “The new world car” evoked the Model T’s slogan: “the universal car.”


Model Ts were built in 20 countries, on every continent but Antarctica. / THF104934


Ford responded to competition from small gas-sipping foreign cars by making an Escort for the North American market. Introduced in Europe in 1968, the Escort was built and sold in many countries, coming to the U.S. in 1981. / THF84548


Many Escort ads focused on technology that improved the car’s fuel efficiency, reflecting customers’ growing interest in improved gas mileage. / THF84549


This post was adapted from an exhibit label in Henry Ford Museum of American Innovation.

1980s, 20th century, Ford Motor Company, cars

THF90796

Fred Duesenberg set out to build an automotive masterpiece. Its superlative engineering included a 265-horsepower engine that could push the car to a 116-mph top speed. Duesenberg built only 481 Model Js between 1928 and 1935. No two are identical because independent coachbuilders crafted each body to the buyer’s specifications. Is it the world’s finest? One thing is certain--the Model J will always be in the running.



Duesenberg ads associated the car with wealth and privilege. / THF101796, THF83515




These are a few of the many body styles offered in a 1930 catalog. But that was just a starting point--each car was customized to the owner’s taste. / THF83517, THF83518, THF83519


The Henry Ford’s Duesenberg has luggage designed to fit the trunk precisely. / THF90800


This post was adapted from an exhibit label in Henry Ford Museum of American Innovation.

Additional Readings:

• 1937 Cord 812 Convertible: Unusual Technology, Striking Style
  
• 1903 Oldsmobile Curved Dash Runabout
  
• 1965 Ford Mustang Convertible, Serial Number One
  
• 1896 Ford Quadricycle Runabout, First Car Built by Henry Ford

20th century, 1930s, luxury cars, Henry Ford Museum, Driving America, convertibles, cars

As part of American Archives Month in October, staff from The Henry Ford's archives developed some quiz questions about our holdings, which they shared on Twitter. We thought at the end of the year, that our fans might want to check their own knowledge around our archival collections. Try your luck at the ten-question quiz below--or if it does not appear for you, access it directly here.

Continue Reading

quizzes, by Kathy Makas, by Ellice Engdahl, archives

THF91242

Seven feet, seven inches tall, this limousine was designed to make a grand entrance. And it wasn’t short on style, either. Even the chauffeur’s compartment was done up in leather and mahogany. The owners gazed at the world through French plate-glass windows or shut out prying eyes with silk curtains. They enjoyed an umbrella holder, a hat rack, a flower vase, and interior electric lights to illuminate them all.


This 1910 ad for the Rambler limousine promotes luxuries such as a mahogany ceiling, a mirror, a clock, a cigar case, and a speaking tube so the owner could talk to the chauffeur. / THF83353


The Rambler, like many luxury cars, published a magazine for owners. Many issues emphasized the company’s quality construction methods. / THF83351


Rambler Magazine showed workers putting finishing touches on a body in 1911. Before Henry Ford developed the moving automotive assembly line in 1913, cars were built like this—on sawhorses. / THF83356


This post was adapted from an exhibit label in Henry Ford Museum of American Innovation.

limousines, 20th century, 1910s, luxury cars, cars

Postcard of Percy Jones General Hospital, 1944. / THF184122

When most people think of Battle Creek, Michigan, breakfast cereal comes to mind--the industry created there by “cereal” entrepreneurs W.K. Kellogg and C.W. Post at the turn of the 20^th century.

Yet, Battle Creek was also home to an important World War II military medical facility, the Percy Jones General Hospital. By the end of the war, Percy Jones would become the largest medical installation operated by the United States Army. The hospital and its story are, perhaps, hidden in plain sight in a building now known as the Hart-Dole-Inouye Federal Center—unless one notices the historical marker located there.

Before a Hospital, a Sanitarium

Even before its genesis as Percy Jones, the site and its buildings had rich layers of use and history. In 1866, the Seventh Day Adventists established the Western Health Reform Institute in a cottage on the site to promote their principles of preventative medicine and healthful nutrition. In 1876, Dr. John Harvey Kellogg (older brother of cereal entrepreneur W.K. Kellogg) became its director, renaming the facility the Battle Creek Sanitarium and expanding it to include a central building, a hospital, and other cottages. In 1902, a fire destroyed the sanitarium. An elegant, six-story Italian Renaissance style building soon rose in its place, completed in 1903. In 1928, the sanitarium was enlarged with a fifteen-story tower addition containing more than 265 hotel-like guest rooms and suites, most of which had private bathrooms. This expansive health and wellness complex on 30 acres could accommodate almost 1,300 guests. After the economy crashed in 1929, business declined. By 1933, the sanitarium went into receivership, and the Great Depression that followed forced the institution to sell assets to help pay its debt.


The 1903 sanitarium building. / THF620117


The sanitarium with its 1928 fifteen-story tower addition. / THF620119

Percy Jones Hospital Springs to Life

With the outbreak of World War II in Europe in 1939, the United States military began to build up its armed forces and medical treatment capabilities. In late 1940—in order to mobilize for what would become a growing need if the United States entered the war—the Medical Department began to develop a plan for providing a comprehensive system of progressive medical care from battlefield to stateside. A year later, with the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941, the United States did enter the war. The military not only constructed new hospital facilities, but also acquired civilian buildings, making alterations and expanding as needed.

In August 1942, the United States Army purchased the near-vacant main Battle Creek Sanitarium building and converted it into a 1,500-bed military hospital, with crews working around the clock for six months to complete it. Dedicated on February 22, 1943, the hospital was named after Col. Percy L. Jones, a pioneering army surgeon who had developed modern battlefield ambulance evacuation during World War I. By the time the hospital opened—a little over a year after the United States entered the war—American troops had fought in the North Atlantic, North Africa, Italy, and the Pacific. Two and one-half more years of fierce fighting in Europe and the Pacific lay ahead. World War II—a global war which would directly involve 100 million people in more than 30 countries—would become the most costly and far-reaching conflict in history.

Percy Jones Hospital was one of the army’s 65 stateside General Hospitals, providing more complex medical or surgical care—those more difficult and specialized procedures requiring special training and equipment. Percy Jones Hospital specialized in neurosurgery, amputations and the fitting of artificial limbs, plastic surgery, physical rehabilitation, and artificial eyes. The Army’s rehabilitation program included physical conditioning and the constructive use of leisure time in educational pursuits to achieve the best possible physical and mental health for each convalescing soldier.

Percy Jones would become one of the army’s nine Hospital Centers, medical facilities that included both a General and Convalescent Hospital. Nearby (three miles from Battle Creek) Fort Custer, a military training base and activation point for Army inductees from Michigan and the Midwest, also served as the site of Percy Jones Convalescent Hospital for patients further along in the recovery process. In 1944, W.K. Kellogg’s summer mansion on nearby Gull Lake became a rehabilitation center for Percy Jones General Hospital and the Convalescent Center.

As the number of casualties increased, the facility grew—its authorized capacity would reach 3,414 beds. In one month alone, over 700 operations were performed. At the end of the war in August 1945, the number of patients at the hospital’s three area sites peaked at 11,427.

The massive Battle Creek hospital complex was self-contained and fully integrated. It had its own water supply and power generation, as well as a bank, post office, public library, and radio station. An indoor swimming pool and a bowling alley helped wounded vets regain their health. Rails and ramps were constructed throughout the facility. The Percy Jones Institute, an accredited high school, offered educational and training programs for patients, ranging from photography to agriculture to business.


Convalescing soldiers at Percy Jones Hospital in April 1944. The soldiers are wearing the Army-issued convalescent suits and bathrobes provided to patients at stateside hospitals. / THF270685


In August 1944, private Dean Stauffacher—training at nearby Fort Custer—sent the postcard at the top of this post (THF184122) of Percy Jones General Hospital to his wife, noting that “This is now an Army Hospital & is full of war casualties, etc.” This postcard was first published during the sanitarium era—the caption on the back dates from that period. Only the title on the front was updated to reflect the building’s use as a military hospital. / THF184123_redacted

Supporting the Troops at Percy Jones

People on the home front found ways to support the troops at Percy Jones. Hundreds of people visited soldiers daily. Celebrities Bob Hope, Jimmy Stewart, Ed Sullivan, Gene Autry, and Roy Rogers visited as well. Organizations provided snack food, reading material, and other gifts for the soldiers. Other groups organized social and recreational activities for convalescing soldiers.


A Ford Motor Company employee purchased two wheelchairs for Percy Jones Hospital with his muster out pay from the military, March 1944. / THF270681





In April 1944, Ford Motor Company employees gathered gifts of food (including candy and potato chips) and reading material for Percy Jones’ convalescing soldiers. / Four images above: THF270683, THF270699, THF270705, THF620569


Musical performances also provided entertainment for the convalescing soldiers. / THF620567





Detroit’s AFL/USO Committee organized a series of weekend social activities for servicemen from Percy Jones Hospital. Volunteer hostesses provided companionship for these soldiers during dinner, dancing, or a visit to local points of interest, as seen in the four images above: Program of social activities, April 1945; soldiers and hostesses gather for the day’s activities; visiting the Willow Run Bomber Plant near Ypsilanti, Michigan; enjoying dinner at the Federal Building in Detroit. / THF290072, THF211406, THF211408, THF289759

After a short deactivation period after World War II, the hospital reopened soon after the Korean War broke out in June 1950. Once again, wounded soldiers found medical treatment and emotional support at Percy Jones Hospital until the war’s end three years later.

A Lasting Legacy

With the end of the Korean War, the hospital closed permanently in 1953. But its legacy lived on in the lives of the nearly 95,000 military patients who received care at Percy Jones during World War II and the Korean War. And in the fact that Battle Creek became the first American city to install wheelchair ramps in its sidewalks, created to accommodate Percy Jones patients who visited downtown.

The hospital’s story would begin its fade from recent memory in 1954, as federal agencies moved into the building (now renamed the Battle Creek Federal Center)—only to reemerge (albeit subtly) in 2003. That year, the complex was renamed to honor three United States senators who had been patients at Percy Jones Hospital during World War II: Philip Hart of Michigan, Robert Dole of Kansas, and Daniel Inouye of Hawaii. The building’s new name honored the public service careers of these men—and also quietly reflected what Percy Jones Hospital and its staff had offered not only these World War II veterans, but tens of thousands of their fellow soldiers.


Jeanine Head Miller is Curator of Domestic Life at The Henry Ford.

1940s, 20th century, World War II, veterans, philanthropy, Michigan, healthcare, by Jeanine Head Miller

THF90723

In an era of extreme automotive styling, the Mark II was elegantly understated. Its advertising slogan, “the excitement of being conservative,” confirmed that Mark II’s appeal depended not on chrome, but rather on flawless quality control, extensive road testing, shocks that adjusted to speed, and power steering, brakes, windows, and seats. Not understated was the $10,000 price. Owned by VIPs like Frank Sinatra and Nelson Rockefeller, it was the most expensive American car you could--or couldn’t--buy.


William Clay Ford (left) reviews a clay model of the Mark II in 1953. He inherited a passion for styling from his father, Edsel Ford, and directed the Mark II’s design and development. / THF112905


The dashboard--luxurious in 1956--featured an instrument panel inspired by airplanes, with a pushbutton radio, watch-dial gauges, and throttle-style climate control levers. / THF113250


Like the car, advertising was understated. This Vogue magazine ad links the car with classic design in architecture and fashion. / THF83341


This post was adapted from an exhibit label in Henry Ford Museum of American Innovation.

Additional Readings:

• 1965 Ford Mustang Convertible, Serial Number One
  
• The First McDonald's Location Turns 80
  
• The Henry Ford’s Tollbooths and the Cost of Good Roads
  
• 1981 Checker Marathon Taxicab

20th century, 1950s, luxury cars, Henry Ford Museum, Driving America, cars

THF90825

Longer than a Duesenberg. Twice the horsepower of a Rolls-Royce. More costly than both put together. The Bugatti Royale was the ultimate automobile, making its owners feel like kings. It is recognized as the epitome of style and elegance in automotive design. Not only did it do everything on a grander scale than the world’s other great luxury cars, it was also rare. Bugatti built only six Royales, whereas there were 481 Model J Duesenbergs and 1,767 Phantom II Rolls-Royces.

Ettore Bugatti formed Bugatti Automobiles S.A.S. in 1909. His cars were renowned for their exquisite design and exceptional performance—especially in motor racing. According to lore, Bugatti was at a dinner party when a woman compared his cars unfavorably with those of Rolls-Royce. In response, he designed the incomparable Royale.


The Royale's elephant mascot was based on a sculpture by Rembrandt Bugatti, Ettore Bugatti's brother, who died in 1916. / THF90827

Because Bugatti Royales are so rare, each has a known history. This is the third Royale ever produced. Built in France and purchased by a German physician, it traveled more than halfway around the world to get to The Henry Ford. Here is our Bugatti’s story.


Joseph Fuchs took this 1932 photograph of his new Bugatti, painted its original black with yellow trim. His daughter, Lola, and his mechanic, Horst Latke, sit on the running board. /THF136899

1931: German Physician Joseph Fuchs orders a custom Royale. Bugatti Automobiles S.A.S. builds the chassis in France. Its body is crafted by Ludwig Weinberger in Munich, Germany.

1933: Fuchs leaves Germany for China after Hitler becomes chancellor, taking his prized car with him.

1937: Japan invades China. Fuchs leaves for Canada—again, with his car. Having evaded the furies of World War II, Fuchs and his Bugatti cross Canada and find a home in New York City.

1938: A cold winter cracks the car’s engine block. It sits, unable to move under its own power, for several years.

1943: Charles Chayne, chief engineer of Buick, buys the Bugatti. He has it restored, changing the paint scheme from black and yellow to white and green.

1958: Now a General Motors vice-president, Chayne donates the Bugatti to Henry Ford Museum.

1985: For the first time, all six Bugatti Royales are gathered together in Pebble Beach, California.


The first-ever gathering of all six Bugatti Royales thrilled the crowds at the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance in 1985. They are the ultimate automotive expression of style and luxury. / THF84547


This post was adapted from an exhibit label in Henry Ford Museum of American Innovation.

Additional Readings:

• 1903 Oldsmobile Curved Dash Runabout
  
• Fozzie Bear’s 1951 Studebaker Commander
  
• 1956 Chevrolet Bel Air Convertible
  
• Mimi Vandermolen and the 1986 Ford Taurus

20th century, luxury cars, Henry Ford Museum, Driving America, convertibles, cars