Dearborn, Mr. Ford and Me

      The little dot of my personal involvement in the delightfully large story of the Edison Institute makes not a whit of impact in its rather fascinating history. However it was a challenge to write up my small part in the drama – my attendance in grades kindergarten through sixth – without the greater contextof the Henry Ford Museum and Greenfield Village, Dearborn and Mr. Ford himself.

Having already discussed the Edison Institute, let’s talk about Dearborn and Mr. Ford. If you’ve ever lived or worked in Dearborn, you know that Mr. Ford was a complex character whose influence on the City was arguably greater than any other individual’s. My Snow ancestors arrived in Dearborn about the same time as the Ford family did in 1847 and there were connections, as there would be in any small town.

My great-great grandfather was a pioneer doctor who made his money more from real estate and farming than from doctoring. Dearbornites will probably recognize the Snow name – Snow Elementary School, Snow Woods, Snow Branch Library and Snow Hill Condominiums – but not know its origin. As one of the few area doctors in the latter half of the 19^th century, he occasionally treated members of the Ford family. I learned this from finding several Ford names among the entries in Dr. Snow’s journals in the Dearborn Historical Museum. I know that Mr. Ford eventually purchased some of the Snow lands, but I am not aware of any special relationship with the Ford family and my family until a friendship was forged between Dr. Snow’s granddaughter and Mrs. Henry Ford. They had much in common, in addition to their names – both were christened Clara.

Despite the 18-year difference in their ages, both Clara Snow and Clara Ford loved gardening and literature. With Katharine Bryant, Mrs. Ford’s sister-in-law and others, they founded the Dearborn Public Library and were active in two garden clubs. I have a few notes written to my Clara by Clara Ford. Here’s the best one: “Dear Clara, Just a short note, for with three weeks to see England, cannot take much time for writing. Staying the weekend with Lady Astor, charming woman, fine old house, beautiful grounds, want to tell you about it when I return…She had the King & Queen over for tea, and now we think we have seen England…” After Mrs. Ford’s death, Clara Snow wrote a small book on her reminiscences of Mrs. Ford.

There was a lovely Victorian clock which graced Clara Snow’s living room when I was growing up. The often-told family story is that the clock didn't work right and stopped altogether. On one of his visits, Mr. Ford noticed the problem and insisted on personally repairing it, which he did. The story goes on, however, that the repair didn't last long. The clock is still in the family...and still doesn't run.

Also still in the family is a child’s toolbox with three-quarter-sized tools, well used, that Mr. Ford had his craftsmen make for my mother’s eighth birthday. It has her name as "Katharine" in stylized letters on a brass plate on the lid. The story is that he gave it to her because he was so impressed that a little girl liked “making things” with carpentry. Dearborn was a small town then. She told me that at first she was afraid to use it, but that once she began to use the tools, she thoroughly enjoyed herself and kept it in her workshop area all her life. I remember grabbing tools out of it when I was a child, not knowing anything about its origins.

There are testimonials to Henry and Clara Ford in nearly every corner of Dearborn – statues and school names, for example. When Dearborn named its latest library the Henry Ford Centennial Library in 1979, it was because it opened on Mr. Ford’s birthday, July 30, 106 years after Mr. Ford’s birth. My mother was one of the speakers at that event and her talk was called “Growing Up in Henry Ford’s Town.” I quote in part: “It was a little like living near a kindly but unpredictable magician, who had only to wave a magic wand to cause all kinds of fascinating things to happen…But we could not but be aware of the tremendous power that he possessed; power that affected us all.”

I remember being told that Mr. Ford was a quirky kind of guy who liked things done his way. He thoroughly enjoyed children and loved to give them special surprises and opportunities. Henry Ford Museum and Greenfield Village were extensions of his mania for collecting and he wanted every item displayed, so allowed no storage space. At least, that’s the story I was told. I have read that no basement storage was built for other reasons (see earlier chapters), but, then, there are lots of conflicting stories about Mr. Ford.

The village was arranged the way he wanted it and that sometimes changed. He was obsessive about historical accuracy in the details of the creation of Henry Ford Museum and Greenfield Village…unless he liked it better otherwise. For example, he liked most of the village buildings painted white, regardless of the color they had been originally. He wanted the village to reflect pure Americana…unless he liked something else; hence a Swiss chalet and a Cotswold cottage are intertwined with Noah Webster’s home and McGuffey’s birthplace.

When Mr. Ford was alive, the Greenfield Village Schools were run the way he wanted them to run and the children told wonderful stories about their personal interactions with Mr. Ford. They had a really special experience. Many of those traditions were carried on by Mrs. Ford for the three years she lived past the death of her husband.

My parents told me that they had a lively discussion about sending their children to a private school founded by Mr. Ford versus sending them to the public school. The fact that we ended up at the Village schools must have been difficult because they tended to oppose the concept of privilege. The Dearborn schools were quite good, in any case. I speculate that my mother was acutely aware of the Mr. Ford’s darker side but had a genuine fondness for him as well. It seems to me that she had an appreciation for the historical significance of the privileges she had enjoyed growing up knowing the Ford’s. Perhaps she wanted to offer her kids a taste of that special experience by allowing them to attend the Greenfield Village Schools.

Mr. Ford died a few months before my brother started kindergarten at Greenfield Village and not long before I turned two years old. Mrs. Ford died just as I was starting kindergarten. My brother remembers meeting Mr. Ford who seemed to him to be a small wizened old man who enjoyed being the center of attention. As for me, I know my parents tried ever-so-hard to keep alive my memory of the day my great aunt Clara Snow took me to see Mrs. Ford and feed her peacocks. Apparently, the peacocks scared me. I still feel the need to whisper the fact that I don’t remember it or Mrs. Ford.

It was hard for me to fully comprehend the relationships my parents had with the Ford’s. For my mother, it was all of her life until both the Ford’s had passed away. My dad only knew Mr. Ford for a few years. The Ford’s were important to them and they often spoke of the Ford’s or of things that I now know are Ford-related. My parents and the older generation never called Henry and Clara Ford anything but “Mr. and Mrs. Ford” within my hearing.

After the death of both Fords, the schools and indeed the entire Edison Institute floundered. The era of obsessively collecting America’s past had ended; the high school closed. Those of us who were schooled in the remaining years of the elementary program from 1952 to 1969 experienced a slow separation from Mr. Ford’s vision. Mr. Ford had been the underlying force who gave life to the program and that dream faded with the day-to-day loss of Mr. Ford’s presence.

But that is not to say we didn’t have our own special experience or cannot tell our own wonderful stories. We didn’t have Mr. Ford or his special guests surprising us in the balcony during our daily chapel services…but there were often guests in the balcony and the daily chapel services were carried on by the elementary school students. Sometimes the guests were our parents, and sometimes the chapel services were tortuous – say if you were the shy child reciting the poem for the day – but the traditions continued. Mr. Ford’s favorite songs were still sung and his favorite poems still memorized. We didn’t do our own gardening or homemaking or photography but we experienced living history in some fun and unusual ways and learned to do – or see demonstrated – more crafts and industrial skills than I have ever desired.

I’m not sure that in retrospect my parents would have made the same decision regarding sending their children to the Village schools as opposed to the public schools. But speaking for myself, I am glad they opted for this particular private school. The years I spent there greatly enriched my life and there’s always therapy to overcome the parts of me that weren’t enriched. I’m sure it wasn’t perfect in the public schools, either.