United States auto manufacturers produced vehicles for military use only during World War II. After the war, the supply of new cars quickly increased, but by the end of the 1940s, a large demand still existed for an inexpensive “people’s car.” Henry J. Kaiser, the aluminum baron, borrowed funds from a government agency to produce an inexpensive car that he claimed most families could afford. Government loan specifications required the list price “not exceed $1300,” and the vehicle had to be capable of 50 miles per hour speed for a sustained period of time.

Kaiser introduced a car in September 1950 that met those specifications. The car named the “Henry J” was a bare bones car that had the fewest number of components built from the fewest number of parts. The Henry J had no molding around the steering column—a bare steering column. Therefore the car had no ventilation system. Front wing windows and rear windows were fixed and could not be opened. The car had no rear trunk lids or handles, so owners accessed the trunk by folding down the rear seat. The Henry J was offered only in a two-door sedan that lacked a glove box, armrests, and a passenger inside sun visor. The “rear seat” had no cushion. The Henry J was utterly utilitarian.

The Henry J was indeed an inexpensive people’s car but it achieved that goal by sacrificing convenience and safety. Poor performance and poor sales led to the demise of the Henry J, and production of the car stopped at the end of 1953. Jennie Kaul Oswald’s stepfather, Charles “Sarge” Wingert owned a Henry J.


Near Springfield, Illinois, June 1953

The events described are true. Non-family names are fictitious.
Driving with his car window open from the country into Auburn, John Doe savored the fresh early morning air. The summer day promised to be hot later, maybe the warmest day of the season. Traffic was light, as he drove along central Illinois state highway 4 at a moderate speed on his commute to work. He appraised the farm scenery as he did each morning—the corn was on its way to a good crop and cows had been milked and put to pasture. He thought about his coming workday, as he could now clearly saw the grain elevator and town roofs ahead of him. As he approached Auburn Corner, he saw a small car, a Henry J, pull up to a stop sign at highway 104, and then, as if in slow motion, as John Doe drew closer, the little car slowly began to pull in front of him. He honked, but the little car kept moving into his traffic lane. He barely reached his brake pedal and began to skid when his front end crushed into the small vehicle at the passengers’ side.

Jennie Oswald sat in the front passenger seat in the Henry J car next to her stepfather, Sarge Wingert, in that era before seat belts were even a glimmer in designers’ plans. She recalled yesterday’s visit to her mother in the hospital in Galesburg. It was so nice to see her but so sad to see her condition and to realize that Bertha Wingert showed little recognition of her visitors. She took a deep breath, and in her nurse’s clinical mind, tried to reconcile her mother’s senile condition. She understood her mother’s illness, but it seemed so unfair. Senility can come with age, but she was relatively young with two still vigorous sisters more than ten years older who were still living. Jennie, Sarge, and the girls left their motel early this morning on their way to Farina, Illinois to visit those spry ladies, Aunts Gertrude and Lou. Sarge approached a major highway where a stop sign vaguely intruded into her daydream.

Sarge pulled the green Henry J up to the stop sign—the rising sun in his face and a road and cornfield to his right. Jennie’s mind dwelled on yesterday spent with her mother, as Linnaea and Jennifer, unready to rise so early dozed on the back seat. The old man pressed the accelerator and the small engine began to move the car into the intersection. Jennie heard a car horn from nowhere; a large hulking shape appeared at her right hurtling toward them. A primal shudder convulsed Jennie as her nurse’s mind cried for help. She forced both feet to the floorboard of the car trying to stop its motion but a violent force rocked her body as metal and glass collapsed upon her.
The little Henry J car spun wildly across the road teetering on shredded tires and came to a stop against a filling station’s gas pumps. The station’s proprietor who was unlocking his shop ran to his next door home and yelled at his wife, “Betty, call the Sheriff! We have a terrible accident here.”