The Fast Times of Albert Champion

by Peter Joffre Nye

  Champion felt compelled to go back there, this time to get new orders. He had built a portable electrical ignition set that fit into a suitcase.33 On a table he could quickly assemble the magneto, spark plug, and a wire connecting them. By turning a hand crank in the magneto, he built up volts, which created an electrical charge that flowed along the wire to the spark plug mounted on a metal stand to simulate being in the engine chamber. The plug fired its spark and demonstrated the superiority of his Champion porcelain spark plug, He packed his electrical ignition set and took a horse-drawn cab to Boston’s South Station to board a train.

  On his return to Detroit, like everybody obsessed with cars, Champion made a beeline for the Pontchartrain Hotel in central Detroit. He would have been familiar with the hotel’s homage to French King Louis XIV’s minister of state, the floridly named Louis Phélypeux, Comte de Pontchartrain,34 who had never set foot in America. French explorer and fur trader Antoine de la Mothe Cadillac and his men had built a fort in 1702 and dubbed it Pontchartrain. The fort surrounded the fur-trading settlement called Ville d’Etroit, or “City of the Strait,” which had been simplified to Detroit.

  The Pontchartrain Hotel served as the unofficial auto-industry headquarters. The saying went that you could meet anyone who was part of the automobile game in the club-like atmosphere of the lobby.35 Inside the hotel, partnerships were formed and broken.36 Outside, parked at the curb, new models made their debut.37 People flocked to admire the latest whiz wagon. The Pontchartrain dining room, when emptied after lunchtime, revealed tablecloths that had been marked up with sketches of engine details, crankshafts, and all manner of mechanical devices.38

  Champion booked a room but spent little time in it. The action unfolded at the rear of the hotel, in the barroom. There, every weekday morning when the black hands on the white marble wall clock struck 11:30, a spirited crowd of accessory manufacturers, journalists, dealers, racecar drivers, and other thirsty patrons converged under the ceiling of mahogany and gilded beams.39 Everyone pressed against the polished brass rail and traded shoptalk while waiting for their drinks from a half-dozen bartenders frantically pouring drafts, uncorking wine bottles, and mixing cocktails. Industry gossip was heard first in the Pontchartrain.40 A company buying a large vacant property signaled a new factory coming. If a senior executive had left for a better offer from a competitor, that could warn of a hard time ahead for his former employer. Drinking and dining at the Pontchartrain often broadcasted the future that loomed over the horizon.

  Somewhere in the barroom, Champion had found an open table and set up his electrical ignition set.41 The Pontchartrain’s clientele was inclined to gather around and watch. Stories about his demonstrations circulated into Detroit’s auto-community folklore.

  Days later, he returned to Boston. He filed expenses in the Cyclorama building and regaled the Stranahans with stories. Not long afterward, he climbed aboard another train to Detroit. Commuting each way took thirty-some hours of nonstop swaying in the belly of train cars rumbling along at 35 to 40 mph, eating in the restaurant car, spending the night in a sleeper car over the rumble of rails. The time and expense of the journey were part of the price a company paid for being away from the throb of the Pontchartrain and the proliferating number of companies migrating to Michigan.

  In the spring, Robert Allen Jr. was promoted from the stock room.42 He received an executive title, although to his chagrin his salary remained meager.43 Even so, he had become interested in how essential spark plugs, magnetos, and coils were to propelling autos.44 He had found his career. He frequented the Whittier Street shop when Champion went out of town.

  Robert was determined to work his way into the good graces of Albert Schmidt, the designer of Champion spark plugs. Artisans like Schmidt fiercely protected their craft secrets. The company had only one kiln, in a room of its own. Schmidt at first barred even Albert Champion from entering the kiln room, although Champion insisted that he be allowed to learn how spark plugs were made. A motivated Robert would have made himself useful in the tasks of machine-threading the steel shells and gland nuts, then assembling fired clay insulators between the two metal parts and carefully setting the spark plug gap.

  Over time he won Schmidt’s confidence. Schmidt needed more assistance and had showed Prosper Champion and Basil De Guichard the essential skills to operate a kiln and fire the clay into porcelain insulators. Schmidt also educated Robert in the art of the kiln.

  Champion may have considered that moving his operation to Roxbury would sidestep the need to deal with Robert, whose ego rivaled his own, only to discover that the youngest Stranahan had inveigled his way into learning the craft of spark plug manufacture. Champion knew all too well that Yankee ingenuity led to rivals selling cheap knock-offs. He took out a half-page ad in Automobile lampooning monkeys copying his Champion spark plug.45 The ad flaunted, “Imitation Is Sincerest Flattery.” A half-dozen long-tailed monkeys stood with paint brushes before easels surrounding a human-sized Champion spark plug, posed like a nude model. Albert grew impatient with Robert butting into his shop, as Champion and the two elder Stranahan brothers had created the business before Robert joined their enterprise. Robert doubtless felt entitled to learn the business cofounded by his brothers.

  A fistfight between Albert and Robert was inevitable. Legend handed down the corporate ranks from Robert to his son Robert III at Champion Spark Plug Company contends that after regular work hours Albert and Robert put up their fists and fought.46 Albert fancied himself a good boxer. Robert, a couple inches taller, took pride in his wrestling. Neither had ever backed down from anybody.

  The only way they could avoid each other was for Albert and Robert to alternate traveling back and forth between Boston and Detroit to sell orders. The strategy lasted until late into the summer.

  The Stranahan-Eldridge Buick dealership had vacated the Cyclorama for a spacious facility on a side street near Commonwealth Avenue.47 One early September day Champion heard, likely from Frank Stranahan, that the director of the Buick Motor Company, William C. Durant, was in town to survey the dealership. Durant had built up Buick in four years from almost nothing to the biggest selling car in the country.48 Buick’s sales of 8,820 cars that year surpassed the sales of Ford (6,181) and Cadillac (2,380).49 His success was especially extraordinary when considering the fact that the production of Buicks tripled during the Panic of 1907, when the New York Stock Exchange had lost half its value and the country had cratered into recession.50 Dozens of small auto companies that had been surviving on thin margins were forced to liquidate.51 Durant had hired ambitious men in wholesale and retail branches, and he’d opened attractive dealerships in twenty-seven cities from coast to coast.52 He had cruised through the national economic turmoil to a profit of about $1.1 million ($27.7 million in 2014) on sales of $4.2 million ($106 million).53

  While in the Boston Buick dealership, Durant was arranging the sales room when Champion approached him with spark plugs samples.54 Durant exuded calm and breathed success. Smartly trim all his life, he stood medium height, nearly as tall as Champion, and spoke in a soft voice.55 He had a sharp and delicate nose that newspaper illustrators appreciated, a high forehead, and he never went in for facial hair. Now forty-six,56 he was one of America’s rare millionaires,57 despite having dropped out of high school in Flint for a job paying seventy-five cents a day58 in his grandfather’s lumber business,59 one of largest among the many Flint lumber mills. He had never heard of Champion and had missed the Albert Champion Company ads.

  Champion, in his strong French accent, said, “I can make spark plugs out of porcelain.”60

  Durant paused. He realized at a glance that the samples were well made.61 In a heartbeat he recognized that he and Champion were going to do business together.

  Durant’s deep-rooted love was selling—feeling a glow from the personal transaction in providing a good product to a customer.62 He came from the school of salesmen who sold themselves first as trustworthy, credible citizens,
and sold their product second. After a brief stint in lumber he had honed his skills as a vendor of cigars, groceries, patent medicines, and real estate.63 By age twenty he’d grown impatient waiting around for customers to come into the store.64 He wanted something he could go out and sell.65 Young Durant had thrived on action.66 He preferred to hustle,67 take initiative, concentrate on the job at hand. Initially, he had become an insurance agent. The underlying current of dramatic tension in persuading people to buy a policy had intrigued him.

  One of his guiding principles was to look for a something that practically sold itself, what he called a self-seller.68 Another principle was if you couldn’t find one, then make one.69 In the 1890s he had come across an opportunity that changed his life. He paid $50 to purchase the patent for a light, two-wheeled horse cart that had a unique suspension system for a smooth ride despite steel-rimmed wooden wheels.70 Durant formed a partnership with his friend Josiah Dallas Dort, a hardware clerk.71 They hired a contractor to build ten thousand carts.72 Durant scrambled day after day to sell them all in a short time, earning a reputation as a super salesman.73 He and Dort put their profits into financing the Durant-Dort Carriage Company to turn out Blue Ribbon buggies and carriages. The company diversified with vehicles at different price points and models for a broad array of markets,74 which they sold nationwide through farm-implement companies and mail-order houses.75

  To guarantee a continuous supply chain to produce a steady quantity of finished products on time, Durant controlled ownership of sixteen local accessory plants that manufactured every part of the buggies, including a full line of wooden bodies, wheels, axles, forgings, stampings, leather, paint, even whip sockets.76 His companies produced more than fifty thousand Blue Ribbon vehicles a year, which they sold nationwide.77

  William Durant recruited Champion to make spark plugs in Flint before Durant founded General Motors. Durant took GM to the brink of bankruptcy twice in ten years. Photo courtesy of General Motors Media Archive.

  His booming business had turned into a major employer. Durant acquired a legendary reputation for working longer hours than any of his employees,78 needing only a few hours of sleep,79 and greeting every morning with a smile.80 The fawning Flint press referred to him as “the Little Giant.”81 Appreciative associates called him Billy.82 Some dubbed him “The Man”83 when passing on instructions.84 By the turn of the twentieth century, the year before he turned forty, Blue Ribbon carriages had made Durant a millionaire.85 The carriage market’s vitality was on the wane.86 Thus, he needed another endeavor to conquer, so he set off to New York to study Wall Street and the New York Stock Exchange.87

  In August 1904 the owner of another carriage company invited the Little Giant back to Flint to turn around the floundering Buick Motor Company,88 now the property of the Flint Wagon Works.89 The wagon company’s management looked to cars to take up the slack for a drop in carriage orders. Durant, however, regarded autos as noisemakers that shocked people and frightened horses.90 A medical doctor friend invited him to take a ride on a September afternoon in the physician’s Buick.91 They motored over smooth roads, including one of Flint’s few paved streets. Afterward, Durant borrowed the Buick and drove it alone. Over the following weeks, as his schedule allowed, he borrowed the doctor’s Buick for off-road rambles. He steered into the countryside,92 charging through swamps, bouncing over ruts, and grinding into stretches of soft sand. The engine powered up hills and persisted over rugged terrain that had stopped other makes.93 He was impressed.

  Flint civic leaders had proudly declared their town slogan, “The Vehicle City.” Every Saturday farmers came to town in buggies and wagons to shop for supplies.94 Their horses clip-clopped under the slogan printed on top of steel arches spanning Saginaw Street, the main downtown thoroughfare lined with storefronts and hitching posts and rails.

  Another characteristic of Buicks caught Durant’s attention.95 Whenever he left the car parked unattended at the curb downtown on Saginaw Street, he noticed men and women hurrying over to look at his self-seller. He changed his mind about autos. He now believed that they could replace horses and buggies.

  The car carried the name of David Dunbar Buick. Buick had deep-set, dark eyes, kept his pitch-black hair cut short and brushed up at the front, and wore a mustache. He’d been a child when his parents emigrated from Scotland to settle in Detroit.96 Mechanically inclined, he developed a money-making plumbing-fixtures business. His patent for putting porcelain on cast iron,97 essential for modern bathtubs and sinks, could have made him wealthy. Yet bathtubs and sinks failed to hold his attention. He rushed instead into reeking, noisy gas-combustion engines and built them for boats, farm vehicles, and then a car. In 1901 he produced his first auto, equipped with a tiller for steering and an uncomfortable bench seat wide enough for a passenger. He and two engineers designed a powerful and efficient two-cylinder engine with air-intake valves built directly over the pistons,98 referred to as the “valve-in-head” engine (now called “overhead valve” engine).99 It offered a more compact combustion chamber than the others engines in widespread use.

  David Buick served a short term as president of the Buick Manufacturing Company,100 but he was an impulsive, argumentative mechanic rather than a prudent entrepreneur.101 The business blew through more money than it brought in. Rising debts pushed him out—he was among the first of the industry’s many brilliant, progressive men who left their names behind while they faded into obscurity.102

  Investors restructured the organization, moved it to Flint, and renamed it the Buick Motor Company. Despite the potential of its sturdy little engine, the enterprise floundered. Local leaders appealed to Durant. Out of loyalty to the town and his friends,103 he agreed to do what he could. On November 1, 1904, he was elected to the Buick board of directors.104 He declined the title of president or vice president,105 but he took charge and was free to call the shots.

  Every young industry needs a charismatic visionary like Durant to inject matchless energy and creativity. He had applied an efficient supply chain and a foundation of dealerships to make his carriage company a success. In the four years after he took control, Buicks came to rate first in speed, power, and durability.106

  When Champion approached Durant in the Boston Buick dealership, the company in Flint employed twenty-five hundred people.107 A new car rolled out of the factory every twelve minutes—a high standard for the era.108 The Buick Motor Company was displacing the buggy trade. Buicks were destined to keep up Flint’s slogan as the Vehicle City.

  A few decades and twenty-five million General Motors cars later,109 Durant in his last years finally sat down to compose his autobiography. In the third chapter he describes his momentous first meeting with Champion.110 The Man noted that the spark plug that Champion had brought that day was unsuited for a Buick engine. Although he had no interest in buying what Champion showed him then, he was still impressed with the gadget. “I thought that anyone who could produce that kind of a device might do other worthwhile things as well.”111

  He recollected their discussion:

  “Have you a factory?” I asked.

  “No, just a shop.”

  “What are you making?”

  “Magnetos and spark plugs.”

  “We do not use magnetos, but I am interested in spark plugs. Can you make a good one?”

  Champion would have bragged that he made the best,112 and he would not have failed to mention that he had been employed in Paris with automaker Adolphe Clément-Bayard and that he followed Clément-Bayard’s production methods. Champion may also have brought up Edouard Nieuport’s production of spark plugs, magnetos, and coils, which he had imported before manufacturing his own.

  Durant’s secret to selling was to engage the customer,113 and though Champion wasn’t a potential customer, Durant was certainly engaged. After a while he asked Champion to take him to his shop and give him a tour of the facility. Champion protested that it was quite some distance away, in Roxbury. Durant, a native of Boston and
frequent visitor to the city, kept the conversation going.

  “I later persuaded him to take me to his place of business,” Durant wrote. “I landed in a part of Boston that was not familiar to me. On the third floor of a warehouse building, I found a very neatly arranged workshop with a small line of tools. It took him but a few moments to show me what he had.”

  Durant noticed the dozen or so men Champion employed, observed how they went about their jobs, eyed what their kiln produced, and gauged output capacity. At that point, he could have said in his polite soft voice that he had enjoyed their meeting and walked away. Instead, he chose to close the deal: “I began to quiz him about spark plugs.”114

  America’s top-selling automaker sounded out Champion before nudging the focus toward recruiting him to Flint, a backwater town about sixty-five miles northwest of Detroit:

  During our conversation I told him that we were having considerable difficulty in finding a spark plug suited to our needs, due to the fact that we had a very high-speed, high-compression, valve-in-head motor (twenty years ahead of the times) and had been able to find only one plug in the country that answered our purpose—the Rajah made in Bloomfield, New Jersey for which we were paying thirty-five cents each. If he were quite sure that he could make a plug that would answer our purpose, I suggested that we go to Flint, and if he liked the place and the layout, I would start an experimental plant, and if he could make good, I would give him an interest in the business. He had never been to Flint, knew nothing of the Buick, or the plans I had for the future.115