Magazines
British Car Magazine - October/November 1999
They say one can't buy happiness, but after meeting Marjorie Greene it seemed to me one can get pretty close.
No, Marjorie is not a billionaire. And although she does live just north of Palm Beach, Florida, where multi-million dollar mansion abound and Rolls Royces are more common than Chevrolets, she doesn't own any of the above. As many vintage British car owners will tell you, some happiness can be bought by simply purchasing what may look like a useless junker, and turning it into a showpiece.
Marjorie bought her little source of happiness, a tiny 1927 "baby" Austin Seven, in 1967. It took her and her son twenty years to complete the restoration, but today she enjoys attending car shows and often taking home the top prizes.
Getting into the mood
To be honest, when I first saw the car my heart sank and my high hopes
shattered. "What? This is it?" I said to myself. The miniature
automobile looked more like a Hollywood movie prop than a vintage car. I
expected something grand, with a magnificent aura and lots of trimmings,
and these were all missing. I swallowed my disappointment and went inside
the garage to meet Marjorie. But, I learned later, to truly appreciate
such a car, one had to get into the mood.
The first thing that got me curious, was seeing Marjorie - she's 82 years old - standing by a table upon which numerous ancient parts rested in a half-orderly fashion, and polishing away a part of an old headlight. Wearing two miniature spark plugs for earrings and a silver Austin symbol for a necklace, Marjorie beamed with pride. Then, she introduced me to her son, Dick, who restores old cars for a living, and gave me a brief rundown of the car's history. Sir Herbert Austin introduced the Austin series in 1922 as a reliable car for the man on the street "who could afford a motorcycle and a side car." The Austin Motor company, located in Longbridge, England, became a major company producing more than 350,000 cars annually till 1939. The prototype Austin Seven was built in March 1922 and was on the market in July. In those years, Austin Sevens were manufactured by the thousands much like the Volkswagen beetles, she said, but this one was no ordinary Austin. It was pulled off the assembly line and custom-made to the exact specification of the Pulitzer family of Palm Beach, who were the first owners of the car. In 1935, Mr. Ohmer, also of Palm Beach, bought the car from the Pulitzers and used it for daily transport. However, in 1947 the engine caught on fire after overheating and the car became inoperable. It sat around in Ohmer's back yard till 1969, when Marjorie bought it. It was hard for me to fathom a car that was older than my grandfather was.
As a sort of proof, and perhaps because I was gawking, Marjorie pulled out a thick album of photos, some from the early 30's, and newspaper clippings featuring the car, and showed me a photo of how the car looked like when she first bought it. It looked horrible. "There are many Austins out there," she said proudly, "but this is the only one of its kind. There isn't another one like that in the world." Having gained more respect for the car, my high hopes returned, and we promptly went outside to look at it. After all, I was about to meet a part of history.
The friendly horseless carriage
The car measures nearly 9 feet and is almost 4 feet wide. The car can
accommodate two thin and preferably short people in the cabin, and one
person in the rumble seat. I had a hard time getting inside, since my
knees wouldn't clear the dashboard, but after some squirming I managed to
squeeze in.
The Seven's wheelbase spans 6 feet, 3 inches, and its track is 3 feet 4 inches. This baby weighs only 650 lbs. And has a four gallon fuel tank. The engine has 4 cylinders and outputs seven laughable horsepowers. In the twenties, Austin Motors boasted the Seven reached a top speed of 55 MPH and traveled 50 miles per gallon, although no accurate tests have been recorded to verify these claims. "I've had it up to 35 MPH," Marjorie said, "and I thought I was flying. The suspension is so rigid, you feel every bump. It's not the most comfortable ride." Shifting between the four gears (three gears plus reverse) is done using a tight yet sensitive clutch and a stick shift located near the center of the car. The chassis is like a capital A in layout, with two more crosspieces providing a base for the radiator and the front suspension. Quarter elliptic springs serve the rear half, while the front is equipped with transverse leaf springs. The law at the time required all cars to have two independent forms of braking. The Seven's system was the cheapest way to comply with the law: The back brakes were handled by a foot pedal with cables so thin and insufficient, they didn't do much good. The front ones operated by hand were even worse. This was partly because the rear brake cables were installed in a diagonal line rather than a straight one and tended to get tangled together.
This body was custom made by the Matthew Coach company of London, and the engine was built by the Austin Motors. Elephant Motor Ltd. produced the bumpers as well as sold and distributed the car. But regardless of its shortcomings, the car is still a beauty. For one thing, it still starts and runs perfectly, WITHOUT having had its engine rebuilt even once. That's what I call reliability. Secondly, it's in mint condition, and all of the parts are 1927 originals, excluding the upholstery and paint. Can you see any today's cars till kicking around in 2069? These days one is happy if one's car is still together one year after the warranties expire. Finally, this car has a personality. Besides being nicknamed "baby Austin" for the obvious reason, the Austin Seven was also commonly known as the "Chummy." Besides its user-friendly design, the Seven's funny bumper, round headlights and sizeable "snout," indeed give the impression the car is constantly smiling. The restoration Twenty years after she purchased the car, Marjorie and Dick were finally able to step back and look at their creation.
Fortunately, despite its looks and condition on the outside, the car proved to be mechanically sound and was 99 percent there. "The process was relatively easy since we didn't have to look for parts," Dick said, "We took off each part and restored it piece by piece, and other than the horn button, which is a replacement one, we managed to fully complete the restoration with the original parts." Although disassembled to the core, the car's body was never taken off the chassis, and the engine was never opened up "as far as we know." Still, "Marjorie spent a lot of time under the car, cleaning the undercarriage," Dick said. They had to make new spokes for the wheels since the existing ones were beyond repair. "We were unable to find someone who could do it for us, so we threaded each of the new spokes ourselves by hand," he said. When Dick tried to change the oil, nothing came out of the drainage hole. "It was thick," he said, "and since the oil goes through a small oil pump and is injected by two tiny jets, I had to be very careful not to damage them when I was cleaning out the oil chunks."
The outside of the top was redone by a local upholsterer while the seats and carpet were replaced by Marjorie who hand-sowed the seat covers out of Bedford Cord. The wood paneling along the dashboard was taken out and refinished. As an additional challenge, Marjorie and Dick had to contend with several moves from one home to another, the last one being to Stuart, Fla. "We had to move the car in pieces three times," Marjorie said. "It was a major undertaking." And at the end, the paint job had to be tackled. The original paintjob where the car is now blue, was an amazingly detailed custom, hand-painted lace-like web of thin cream lines over deep blue. "We had to paint over it since it was in bad shape, and we couldn't find anyone who could reproduce it," she said. "It was beautiful, since whoever did the paint work, managed to keep the lines perfectly straight, even over bumps and curves. We had to paint it with simple blue and black." After twenty years of part-time restoration work, the car which carries the "horseless carriage" license plate, was finally finished and ready for the 'show biz.'
A special Seven
Since the car is in such an excellent condition and because it is
custom-made, Marjorie usually leaves each show with some prize,
"almost always it's the first or second prize," she said,
smiling. "In one recent show, the car received three prizes,
including 'first in its class' and 'best of show,' and in 1989, the car
won the National First prize in the Antique Automobile Club's junior and
senior classes." The Seven has several unique features, which sets it
apart from the rest of the Sevens. The first, which I feel is the most
nifty, concerns the 'power windows' (you have to have a lot of 'power' to
roll them down...). When you roll down the window, you don't have to
switch directions to roll the window up! You just keep rolling in the same
direction and the window magically starts going up. I asked Marjorie to do
it one more time, just to make sure I saw what I thought I saw. Then,
Marjorie introduced me to the 'air conditioning' system, consisting of two
small flaps, situated at about ankle level, one on each side of the car.
These can be opened like a miniature door and air rushes into the cabin as
one drives.
The dashboard has a special drawer which must be the forerunner for the glove compartment. Located right next to the steering wheel, the drawer pulls out to reveal ample space for one's keys and perhaps some documents. The compartment can be locked as well. Finally, the Pulitzer specified in their order that they wanted a special place for tools. Normally, the Seven had a bit of space for the tools under the chair. In this Seven, the battery was placed under the chair, for easy access, and the ledge which stretches along the passenger's side, was transformed into a tool compartment. One simply releases the levers which lock the ledge cover, lifts the ledge up and gets the tools he or she needs.
Beyond the dirty work
For Marjorie, the car symbolized much more than a completed mechanical
restoration project. "I've had it for so long and have driven it so
much," she said, "that I can hardly imagine not having it."
The old Seven serves more purposes than winning prizes. "It gets me
out and about, going to shows and expositions. I work on other restoration
projects whenever my son needs help. This car makes me go out and do
things, and it helps me keep healthy and happy." Marjorie and Dick
are currently working on another project, restoring a 1928 Austin Seven.
And from the sound of things, it doesn't look like they would stop
restoring antique British cars anytime soon.