Model A Ford
Episode 3
Following is the third part of a four-part series about a Model A (um, the “A-Model”) that my grandfather had when my dad and aunt were kids. Enjoy!
OUR FAMILY MODEL A (Part III)
I’ve gotten involved and am so enjoying my search into the history of Model A Fords, that it may become my new hobby. Today I spent a significant amount of time going through old photo albums in search of Model A pictures from my youth. I’ve found one picture thus far and though crowded with other modes of transportation, I decided to share it. To me, the most surprising things that I learned as I studied Model A’s today are:
- The Model A had a throttle lever on the steering column that could be set, allowing the driver to take their foot off the accelerator pedal for cruise control
- Some Model A trucks were equipped with an accessory which used the heat from the engine’s exhaust manifold to cook food
I am 99.9% certain our Model A did not include anything that could pass as cruise control (although my nephew insists that all Model A’s have this feature!), and certainly we did not use it for cooking. Be that as it may, Mama’s fried chicken almost always accompanied us on the longer trips, of which there were only two regular ones. We talked about one of our Grant Parish adventures in a past article. Today, I am walking down the memory lane of any one of our many family trips to Rayne, Louisiana.
Rayne is known for a number of things, including being the Frog Capital of the World, the City of Murals, and a mention in Ripley’s Believe It or Not. Knowing Louisiana as well as I did back then, I do not find it difficult to believe the St. Joseph’s Cemetary story. The construction crew’s orders were to move an original cemetary five miles north of its initial location to accommodate the town’s expansion toward the railroad. In their haste to complete the job of transporting and reestablishing the graves in their east- west position, a few of the first graves were inadvertantly cast in a north- south direction. No one checked to verify the direction and the result is today’s only U.S. cemetery where the graves face north-south, rather than the accepted east-west tradition.
While those things were interesting to know, with us, they did not carry a candle to the Johnson H Yeager Wholesale Lumber Company. Johnson Yeager, as Daddy’s oldest son, held a special place in my heart. As a youngster, I considered him rich; as an adult, I discovered he simply worked very Dash Lite January 2026 Page 6 hard and was an exceedingly generous man. He managed his company for forty-three years, before retiring in the early 1990’s due to ill health. He died at age 84 on April 16, 2003. He and his wife, Viola, had four children, lived in a nice-sized house in an upper-class neighborhood. They had a piano, a living room, a kitchen AND a dining room, in addition to the balance of their five bedroom home. WOW.
That’s our Model A behind the horse and my cousin, Wilbur Harris on the horse. The car behind our vehicle would have been from Texas. I am not certain if it belonged to Wilbur and he brought Aunt Denie to visit or maybe Aunt Nawata’s vehicle. At any rate, our out-of- state visitors more often than not came from the Houston area.
Rayne, located about a hundred and ten miles south of Tioga, required approximately three-and-a-half hours to get there, depending on the number of stops necessary and the state of the roads. When we were planning such an exciting trip, the preparation began at least a week ahead. The first item on the list was our Model A. The Tioga mechanic and good friend of Daddy’s, Rush McCarty, received an over-sized welcome to our house. Not being mechanically inclined himself, Daddy admired those who were. A cup of coffee on the porch set the scene where Mr. McCarty and Daddy discussed our upcoming trip as if it were cross-country and one of a kind. After a thorough understanding of the route—as if he had never heard it before—Mr. McCarty handed his cup off to Mama and he and Daddy approached the car. (As an aside, Daddy told us that Mr. McCarty earned his nickname of ‘Rush’ due to his slowness. Funny how that still sticks in my mind, almost as much as the grease under his fingernails!)
The two of them circled the Model A, kicking tires, opening and closing doors and discussing the weather. Finally, giving the car a passing grade based on this preliminary review, Mr. McCarty opened the hood. I have no idea what they talked about during much of the half-hour or more while they prodded and probed every inch. I did hear chuckles when Mr. McCarty removed the radiator cap.
“John, we’ve talked about this before. We need to replace some hoses here. In fact, we need to replace the radiator. Should we get that fixed this week?”
“Well, I don’t know, Rush. Can it make the the trip?”
“Yes, I think it can. It may add some time to the drive and you need to be prepared.” He replaced the radiator cap and they both laughed.
The next step involved them getting in the car, Mr. McCarty at the wheel, and driving off. Upon their return, Daddy took his wallet from the breast pocket of his overalls, gave Mr. McCarty some bills, they shook hands and our Model A carried an approved status in Daddy’s opinion.
The balance of the week included deciding what time to leave—at first light of day—and what we kids would need in terms of snacks on the way, sometimes PBJ’s, sometimes fried chicken. Our clothes were chosen the night before to speed the early morning departure and it took very little time from waking up to being on the road. Daddy packed the last needed items once Mama and we kids were loaded. The scene repeated itself on every trip.
“Everybody ready?” Daddy asked.
“Yessir.” We answered in unison, eager to get on the road.
“Well, we don’t know what the road will be like today. Don’t look like rain though.”
With that, he put a gallon jug of water on the floor of the back seat, climbed behind the wheel, and our experience began. Though each trip felt singular in nature, all were a carbon copy of every other Rayne trip already taken or yet to come. Highway 167 existed and, in many areas, provided a paved road and a pleasant ride. In others, not so much! Potholes and mud required Daddy’s close attention as he worked his way through. To me, this constituted part of the fun. The ditches all had water and, as we watched closely, we saw turtles, herons, egrets and tons of other birds. Seeing an alligator was not unusual and nutria were plentiful. I saw my first armadillo on one of these treks and loved the treat of seeing the occasional raccoon or opossum still hanging around the creeks in the early morning hours. To the best of my memory, we even saw a bear once! I often wonder if I dreamed that up since no one else in the car saw or remembered it.
After the first half-hour to forty-five minutes into the ride, Daddy would pull over, get the gallon jug of water from the backseat, open the Model A hood and pour the liquid into the radiator. If we were near a stream, and we typically were, he would refill the jug and place it again in the back seat. This would happen maybe three times or more on the way to Johnson’s and another three times or more on the way home.
As I look back on these trips, a few things still confound me:
- We never stayed overnight at Johnson’s despite his requests that we do so and the fact that we might spend seven to eight hours in driving time for a two- or three-hour visit
- Years passed before I put together the Model A checkup conversation between Daddy and Mr. McCarty and the multiple radiator refills required along the highway
- Daddy meticulously cared for everything on our Model A except the radiator. Still makes no sense to me Among the things I learned on those expeditions were:
- Sometimes it is people’s quirks that make them special, memorable and loved
- Model A’s were (are) resilient, durable and a great place to make a memory of a lifetime
Ann Mullen-Martin October, 2025
Ann loves storytelling, and writing has been an escape and a hobby of hers for as long as she can remember. She has written four full-length books and participated in one Christmas Anthology.
Writing does not make Ann’s living, but it does make her living more pleasant.
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