“Sorry to lose you, Ford. Hope you’ll be coming back before long,” they said, and he knew the neighborhood had learned of his intention to invent something and thought him suddenly become a fool.
As soon as they reached Detroit and found a boarding house where he could leave his wife he started out to get a job. He wanted one where he could learn something about electricity. So far his knowledge of it was purely theoretical, gained from reading and thinking. Electric lights had come to Detroit since he left it; the Edison Electric Lighting and Power Company had established three power stations there. He asked nothing better than a chance to work in one of them.
Charles Gilbert, manager of the plants, was having a hard time that morning. By one of those freaks of Fate which must be left out of any fiction plot because they are too improbable, two of his engines had chosen that day to break down simultaneously. One of the engineers who had been responsible had been summarily discharged; the others were working on the engine in the main plant, and one of the sub-stations was entirely out of commission, with no prospect of getting to work on it until the next day.
Into this situation Henry Ford walked, and asked for a job.
“He looked to me like any tramp engineer,” Charles Gilbert says to-day. “A young fellow, not very husky-looking—more of a slight, wiry build. You wouldn’t have noticed him at all in a crowd. He talked like a steady, capable fellow, but if he had come in on any other day I’d have said we couldn’t use him. As it was, I thought I might as well give him a chance.”
He listened to Ford—looked him over.
“Know anything about steam engines?” he asked him. Ford said he did.
“Well, the engine at sub-station A quit this morning. I got a couple of mechanics working on it, but they don’t seem to be doing much. Get out there and see what you can do, and let me know.”
“All right, sir,” Ford replied, and went. It was then about ten in the morning. Gilbert, busy with the troubles in the main plant, heard no more from sub-station A until 6 o’clock that evening. Then a small boy arrived with a message: “Engine running O. K.—Ford.”
Gilbert went out to the sub-station. The engine, in perfect order, was roaring in the basement. On the first floor the dynamos were going at full speed. His worries with sub-station A were over. He went down to the engine and found Ford busy with an oil can.