Detroit Electric 1918: Tesla's great-grandfather, its owner and the search for a smile
21.8.2020
Responsibility for translation Jessica Johnson-Ferguson
Pictures: Thomas Kunz
Hansueli Wartenweiler is entering his 103-year-old electric car into a beauty contest for cars. He doesn't rate his chances of winning. But that's not what the 65-year-old is aiming for.
«In those days...oh yes, there were a lot of cars with steam or electric motors,» Hansueli tells me. The 65-year-old former numismatist looks at his car. Everyone else is looking too. Built in 1918, the Detroit Electric doesn't look like the other cars at the Zürich Classic Car Awards (in German) at the city's Bürkliplatz.
«Here come the judges,» he says, straightening his straw boater. He leaves his audience standing in the sun for a moment. This is where things get serious. The judges of the Concours d'Élegance assess the most beautiful classic cars from 103 years of automotive history.
8 km/h uphill
The Detroit Electric is unique even among the other eye-catching automobiles on show. It's the only one without a steering wheel, as Hansueli uses a tiller to steer the electric vehicle. When he pushes it forwards, the wheels turn left. If he pulls the lever, the specially-made tyres (costing 600 francs a piece) turn right.
The Detroit Electric is a desirable object. Hansueli owns 80 cars, which are all housed in their own hall, but «Grandma Duck» has a special place in his heart. He calls the vehicle Grandma Duck because Disney's Dorette Duck drives the same type of car. This is apparently also one of the reasons why Hansueli bought it on eBay.
He took on two students for the restoration, who got it working again as part of their master's theses. Their task: keeping it as faithful to the original as humanly possible. The batteries had to be replaced, but the wooden frame was retained. And now the Detroit is purring around the streets again.
«It manages 30 km/h, depending on the gradient of the road,» explains Hansueli, «It can even do 8 km/h uphill. I have to be careful I'm not overtaken by pedestrians.»
His audience laughs. He is surrounded by men, women and children. They listen to the man in braces and a bow tie as he talks about his vehicle with love and passion, sometimes gesticulating with a bamboo cane. But the judges are coming soon. No doubt about it. They will be bestowing the award for the best-looking car of the day.
«Oh, they'll give it to another car,» says Hansueli. «It'll probably be one of those Ferraris over there. Or the Opel Olympia Rekord. I've got no chance with my Grandma Duck.»
A restless enthusiast
Hansueli is a restless soul. He travels, collects cars and supports the young. Otherwise, the vintage car scene will go the way of coin collecting, he fears. Without new blood, the scene will die out.
«That would be a shame,» says the man who would fight alone to the death for his passion if he had to. The man who today stands with like-minded people between Ferraris and Opels, next to a Willys Jeep in post van colours and alongside Rolls-Royces and rarities like the Marcos Mantis.
During the lockdown caused by the Covid-19 pandemic, he planned a magazine by himself, sourced advertising clients, printed it, and now displays physical copies of «Kolbenfresser» (Piston Seizure) on the car's left step. There are 500 copies of the Swiss Bubble Car Club magazine. Hansueli is the club's president. Of course.
He leaves «Kolbenfresser» on the step for a moment with its Comic Sans typeface. Because Hansueli wants to quickly tell me about one of his passion projects: he's encouraging the next generation. He supports the Rally Academy in Rümlang, a garage for classic cars and young enthusiasts.
«And we also run courses for rally drivers,» he adds. That's what he loves about driving. Being in the dirt and gravel racing over hill and dale. That's where Hansueli feels at home. He kicks up a cloud of dust over the Bürkliplatz gravel.
But mister «Kolbenfresser» needs to dash off. Just for a few minutes. Because the judges are on their way. They'll be here soon. Definitely. They should see the «Grandma Duck» Detroit at its absolute best.
A journey to happiness
He doesn't really care what the judges think, because it's not about the prize at the end of the Concours d'Élegance for him. In conversation with two women, one in a floral dress, he explains why he bought the expensive car, meticulously restored it, loves it dearly and chugs along at 30 km/h early in the early morning only to lose – by his own account – a hopeless competition. Speaking of competition, the judges are coming. Any moment now, they'll be here to look at Grandma Duck.
«There are so many heartbreaking things in the world. Sexism, racism, politics, hunger, poverty. It can be overwhelming.»
He picks up his cane, points to the square, and thinks for a moment about whether he doubts his own logic.
«But when I drive into town with Grandma Duck, I don't just drive around. I drive with a smile.»
He talks about all the faces that smile back at him – naturally in one of his suitably exuberant outfits. It won't solve any of the world's problems, but Hansueli hopes to offer a short respite from the daily grind. He laughs because he buys a motorway sticker for Grandma Duck every year.
He pauses. He doesn't have much time. The judges are already in view.
«Oh! Listen to this.»
He climbs inside the Detroit. It's a three-seater. The driver sits on the left, with the passenger behind to the right. Then there's a seat next to the tiller for a second passenger. It's rotated to face the other seats like in a train compartment.
He pulls the two levers. Suddenly, a roaring, grunting horn pierces the air. It's exactly how you'd imagine a 100-year-old car horn would sound. Sitting behind the tiller, Hansueli pushes a button. His face lights up with an almost childish grin. He's a 65-year-old rascal who's just told a really good joke.
And the people at Bürkliplatz are breaking out into laughter.
Journalist. Author. Hacker. A storyteller searching for boundaries, secrets and taboos – putting the world to paper. Not because I can but because I can’t not.
