1925 Ford Model TT delivery van

Henry Ford was a man of vast contradictions: He was an engineering genius, a pioneer in establishing modern manufacturing methods and one of the first global industrialists. He sought to improve the lives of his workers by paying them unheard-of wages (CCJ reacted in disbelief when he raised wages to $5 a day) and the lives of his customers by giving them affordable and dependable cars and trucks.

The Tin Lizzie, as the famous Model T was often called, was not Ford’s first successful automotive design. But it was the first automobile built using Ford’s assembly line techniques. As mass production of cars became a reality, vehicle prices dropped dramatically. And it didn’t hurt that the Model T was a tough, versatile car or truck that could be used to make life for Americans in both urban and rural areas much easier.

The Model T appeared in 1908. Ford and his engineers had no existing template to work with when it came to laying vehicle instrumentation and controls, so they simply invented their own control system. Ford himself deemed the Model T’s controls the absolute simplest and safest method possible for driving an automobile and stubbornly stuck with it for almost 20 years — long after the rest of the automotive industry had adopted the familiar three-pedal system we still use today.

Ford was also convinced the Model T was all the car anyone would ever need. It was one of his many character quirks that for all his engineering genius, the thought of continuous technological evolution was anathema to him. He considered the Model T the height of automotive engineering technology and refused to sanction any meaningful changes to the design until the late 1920s, when it was painfully clear that Ford’s competitors — most notably Chevrolet — were pulling far ahead by offering ever more powerful, comfortable and safer cars and trucks for sale.

All of which brings us to this month’s CCJ Test Drive Truck, a 1925 Ford Model TT Panel Delivery Van. This one-ton truck is owned by the Qualls family of Tullahoma, Tenn. Mark Qualls acquired the Model TT more than 20 years ago and has restored it and driven it regularly ever since. The TT does more than collect dust in the Qualls’ old barn in the Tennessee hill country: It’s a movie star in its own right, with Mark sitting beside actor Tom Hanks in the old truck and (attempting) to teach him to drive it for the movie “The Green Mile.”

Mark says Hanks didn’t do too well behind the wheel. And one glance inside the driver’s window tells you why: Although the TT is visually much closer to our concept of a truck than the Auto Wagon, the overall vehicle design — and particularly its controls — bears an unmistakable 19^th century influence.

A quick walk around the vehicle confirms this impression. The tires and wheels still look more like horse-drawn wagon wheels than modern tires and rims. Likewise, the suspension — which, interestingly, is not as beefy as the Auto Wagon’s — is cast from the most modern methods and materials available to Ford. The same is true for the TT’s body, which is primarily fashioned from wood, with a steel frame and fenders. Mechanical brakes and brass headlamps serve as final reminders that old Henry wasn’t about to let the 19^th Century fade away just yet.

Things brighten up looking under the hood — which is a two-piece affair hinged down the middle. The little four-cylinder engine can run on either gasoline or kerosene — an early Flex Fuel example that boosted Model T sales to farmers whose tractors often burned kerosene at the time. The engine design is amazingly simple — it could be maintained with the most rudimentary of tools — yet highly tough and robust: an essential requirement given the remote farms many Ford customers lived on.

The TT requires a hand crank to start, a problem for Ford in the mid 1920s as electric starters were quickly becoming the standard of the day. Once the little engine is ticking over, it sounds more like a sewing machine than anything else: The throaty roar of Ford’s revolutionary V-8 power plant was still eight years away. The little engine produces about 20 horsepower when properly tuned up. For a little perspective, consider that an original Volkswagen Beetle’s air-cooled engine produced about 65 horsepower. And although it’s a four-cylinder design, the Model TT’s 10-mpg fuel economy isn’t anything to get excited about.

Mark Qualls has painted his TT to evoke a bakery — a good choice since the TT, despite its rather anemic performance — was designed to provide businesses with modern low-cost, urban delivery methods. The TT isn’t flashy and it isn’t powerful, but it’s a good bet that if FedEx or UPS had existed back in the 1920s they’d have been running TTs through the streets of Manhattan and San Francisco.

Climbing into the TT isn’t easy. The seat isn’t adjustable. Nor is the steering wheel, for that matter. One surprise is that there are no seatbacks for either the driver or the passenger. As it turns out, the TT would have come equipped with a seatback for the driver — Qualls has simply removed it for some restoration work — but the passenger simply sat upright as the little truck bounced down the road. Another surprise is how low the seats are to the floor of the vehicle. The overall impression is more akin to laying down than actually sitting in a car seat: Your legs are splayed out in front of you and there’s no real way to get comfortable. Adding to all of this is the utter lack of room in the cab. As with the Auto Wagon, simply wedging my feet into the proper position to operate the truck proved to an astonishing complex task. And there was so little space between the three pedals that again I found myself worrying about getting my boots hung up as I drove down the road.

All of this might not have been as daunting if the TT operated like a modern car or truck. But it doesn’t. So in addition to simply moving my feet properly, it turned out I was also going to have to use them in a way that was completely foreign to me.

On a Model T, the accelerator isn’t on the floor. Like the Auto Wagon, it’s located on the steering column mounted just below the steering wheel itself and just above the spark advance lever. To your left is a combination parking brake/gear selection lever. Move the lever all the way back and you’re parked. Move it forward to put the TT into the first of its two planetary transmission’s gears. On the floor, the pedal to the far left is sort of like a clutch…but not really. You use the left pedal to engage the gear, but you must do so in conjunction with the handbrake, which must be either halfway or fully forward with the left pedal held down to enter low gear. You can also put the TT into neutral by moving the hand lever all the way up or letting up on the gear-engagement pedal. To enter high gear, you simply push the hand lever all the way forward while taking your foot all the way off the gear pedal. Once you’ve done that, adjust your gas and spark levers and the TT will cruise down the roadway without your having to press any of the pedals.

As if all of this isn’t confusing enough, it turns out the middle pedal engages the truck’s reverse gear, while the far right pedal — where we’re all used to stepping on the gas today — is your brake pedal. More than one novice Model T driver has sent his passengers into the car’s windshield by accidentally stepping on the brake pedal when he thought he was hitting the gas.

It can be maddening to drive a TT when you’ve been conditioned all your life to operate a vehicle the way we do today. But, when comparing the TT to the Auto Wagon, and considering that the vast majority of Model T buyers had never been behind the wheel of an automobile before, the system starts to make a good bit of sense. Compared to the Auto Wagon’s controls, the TT is highly refined and, in fact, rather elegant. As it turned out, Ford was wrong: There was a better, more logical way to control a motorized vehicle. But he didn’t do too badly with the Model T’s controls, considering he worked them out in the 1900s.

Moving down the road, driving the TT is about what you’d expect: It rattles and sways from side to side. The engine is surprisingly noisy, given how small it is. Numerous drafts of air (and water, since it was raining the day I drove it) found its way through the wooden windowpanes and into my face and lap. But the fresh air was actually a good thing, considering all the exhaust and gas fumes also coming into the cab from the engine compartment.

The real surprise was how well the TT rode and drove. There’s more lateral sway than we’d expect (or put up with) from a modern vehicle suspension. But the overall ride is very smooth. The TT’s steering is very precise. It does tend to wander a bit as you head down the road. But it responds very well to steering inputs and doesn’t require near the foresight the Auto Wagon does when maneuvering in restricted spaces. At cruise speeds, as mentioned, there’s not a lot to do except steer. It’s only when you’re slowing down (or starting out) that the flurry of arm, leg and hand movements begin as you attempt to put every lever and pedal in its proper place to get the performance you want out of the little truck. It’s a lot to keep track of and a lot of work: I was drenched with sweat once my little test drive was over. But it was well worth the effort in order to get an intimate look at how our industry fore bearers handled urban delivery operations almost 100 years ago.