Then they inspected the hospitals, the rest rooms, noted the daylight construction of the whole plant, the ventilating system which changes the air completely every ten minutes, the labor-saving devices, the “safety-first” equipment.
At last they returned to Henry Ford’s office, with notebooks full of figures and information to be taken to the manufacturers of France. They thanked Ford for his courtesy and assured him that they comprehended every detail of his policies save one.
“We find, sir,” said the spokesman, courteously, “that last year you had more orders than you could fill. Is it not so?”
“Yes, that is correct,” replied Ford. “But with the increased output this year we hope to catch up.”
“And yet, is it not so that this spring you lowered the price of your car fifty dollars?”
“Yes, that is true,” said Ford.
“But, sir, we cannot understand—is it then true that you reduce your prices when already you have more orders than you can fill? This seems strange to us, indeed. Why should a manufacturer do that?”
“Well,” Ford answered, “I and my family already have all the money we can possibly use. We don’t need any more. And I think an automobile is a good thing. I think every man should be able to own one. I want to keep lowering the price until my car is within the reach of every one in America. You see, that is all I know how to do for my country.”
Unconsciously, he was voicing the new patriotism—the ideal to which he was to give the rest of his life. He said it simply, a little awkwardly, but the French commission, awed by the greatness of this Detroit manufacturer, returned and reported his statement to the French people as the biggest thing they had found in America.
Yet this viewpoint was the natural outcome of his life. A simple man, seeing things simply, he had arrived at a place of tremendous power in America. He had come to a time when he need no longer work at his engine or his factory organization. He had leisure to survey his country and its problems, to apply to them his machine idea.