My grandfather was very proud to be a Vermonter, and he was especially proud to have a history in the Mad River Valley towns of Warren, Waitsfield, Fayston, and Moretown. His great-grandfather pioneered in Warren over two centuries ago. His father, who lived to over 99 years of age, was a farmer as well as founder of the original general store in Warren. My grandfather worked on the farm and in the store. After serving in WWI, going to college and becoming a teacher in Connecticut, he and my grandmother returned to Vermont each summer after they purchased Little House in North Fayston. (See Wheel Tracks, “The Softer Side,” July 2025.)
In 1971, he decided to submit a few articles to the Valley Reporter. He anticipated writing 8 or 10 but ended up writing more than 50 articles over a two-year period. His column was called Reminiscing… My mother, who was very good at chronicling family history, copied and bound his columns into binders for his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Shortly thereafter, in 1980, she collected recipes from family members and self-published The Little House Cook Book, which she dedicated to her parents (my grandparents) in honor of happy memories made at Little House. I often get out my copy of Reminiscing… and read bits and pieces. What follows is an abridged article about women and cars. Please excuse the plagiarism, and perhaps the chauvinism.
“If someone asked you, What man or woman did the most to speed up the liberation of women, one name I suspect you wouldn’t think of would be that of Charles Kettering. His invention of the electric self-starter was a major step toward putting women on wheels… Up until then, cars had to be cranked by hand, and this took more muscle than the average women possessed, plus a certain amount of know-how. A broken arm or wrist could result if the one cranking didn’t have the correct stance or follow-through. My wife reminds me that up to the early 1920s, women’s skirts still came down nearly to their shoe tops and could easily have gotten tangled up with the crank when starting a car.
“There was another major reason why driving a car, unless in the company of a man, was not for the girls. The low quality of tires…was a constant threat to happy motoring. Young people today can hardly imagine changing tires several times while driving a hundred miles. A classmate of mine in high school told of changing tires seven times between Bethel and Randolph, about eight miles… One day in about 1915, I started out for St. Johnsbury when my car’s motor stopped. I walked back to a house with a telephone. The owner of a garage in Plainfield came and quickly found what was wrong. I had to wait for him to go back to Plainfield, where he located the needed replacement, returned and soon had the car running. For all of which he said he would have to charge me two dollars. The return trip was in heavy rain. I feared a blowout all the way home. When I drove up in front of our store, strips of rubber were flapping around and much of the fabric was showing.
“A few women braved these difficulties and drove a car in spite of them. A neighbor of ours was one of them. Her husband was a traveling salesman whose product was sold only in large cities. His wife had a Ford and became known up and down the valley as “Gasoline Alice.” One evening at a movie theater in Montpelier, two women were watching a comedy film in which a central figure was a woman driving the well-known ‘flivver.’ One of the women was giggling and remarked, “That looks like Gasoline Alice.’ She was nudged slightly by a young lady in an adjoining seat. “I’ll have you know,’ she said, ‘that Gasoline Alice is my mother.’
“Thanks, Grandpa, for committing your memories to paper!”
Leave a Reply