There was a time before World War II when car companies binged on a trend toward companion cars. That binge reflected the sometimes up-and-down nature of the car-selling business, and the volatility of the economy in which new cars were sold.
The 1920s was not an easy decade for the car industry in America or, for that matter, the world. After the 1918 armistice ending the Great World War, a glut of soldiers returned to peacetime America, hoping to reclaim their jobs. A good number did, but others found that their jobs had changed, been eliminated or were filled by others. The economy took a real jolt when military contracts were suddenly nulled. Social and economic chaos resulted. At times like that, buyers tend not to purchase a new car. The decade known as the “Roaring Twenties” were just that in the dawning years of the decade; the “roaring” was a series of threats and dangers that undermined the production and financial progress in industrial America.
More than several makes of cars vanished from the scene as the early 1920s were plagued by car-company defaults on loans, questionable management judgments and exorbitant retooling costs. It was at that time that the rising name of Lincoln was transferred to the Ford Motor Co., and the likes of the exquisite and expensive Lafayette was eventually gobbled up by Nash, only to reappear some years later as a not-too-costly model name in that company’s lineup.
As the 1920s progressed, there were good sales months and poor months. Study the ups and downs of the stock market in that decade and you’ll see many failed companies, stock schemes, faulty land investments and questionable mining interests. Confidence in the economy weathered those blips and swirls, somehow tempting more and more hard-working folks to invest their excess income into the very market that would implode in the fall of 1929.
So car companies hedged their future bets by introducing companion cars. Ask a Cadillac collector about that, and the name LaSalle floats into the conversation as one of those companion brands, slotted slightly less in cost than Cadillacs. The LaSalle’s 1927 entry was to fill a price gap between Buick and Cadillac. General Motor’s chief, Alfred P. Sloan, Jr., promoted the notion with good success. That fostered more investigating to see if there were other gaps in the GM lines. What resulted was the Pontiac-Oakland connection, the Viking-Oldsmobile relationship and the Marquette-Buick companionship. Being at the low end of the pricing structure was Chevrolet, which was a cornerstone of sales success for the entire corporation, so it was not in need of a companion-car filler for a price gap.
Howard C. Marmon expanded his company’s market coverage with a downward step in price with the Little Marmon for 1927. Its price of around $1,000 implied that the quality of the costly Marmons could be had at a bargain price. Hence, more than 10,000 Little Marmons sold in that first year, followed by succeeding annual sales successes of nearly 15,000 units, then more than 22,000. There were profits in companion cars.
Well, more or less. Some companies (GM included) realized that the gains of companion cars occasionally resulted in lesser sales for the higher-priced cousins in the line. As those patterns developed and were recognized, it became judicious to ax the newbie in favor of the old, reliable brand. By the Wall Street Crash of 1929, that change became inevitable since production costs and resultant lower sales tallied in a depressed economy meant car concerns had to tighten their belts or face extinction.
When Ransom E. Olds shifted his corporate gears from Oldsmobile to REO by 1905, he carried resultant sales success along with him. His new company was fourth-most wealthy among domestic car makers, which positioned the organization for greater things. Mr. Olds added to his reputation as an innovator, and back then, he was generally accepted as the “practical father” of the modern car industry. There were others who wanted that title and may have earned it, but Mr. Olds held it in the minds of most Americans.
The REO Flying Cloud models and the stately REO Royale were highly respected models in their day. The Cloud was introduced in 1927 and enticed the interests of the public as far away as Australia. The REO Royale Eight would come by 1931 as conveyances for the well-to-do. But least of the trio of inventive ideas was a practical car also launched in 1927 — the REO Wolverine.
It was all REO in concept and promotion, but it really wasn’t all-REO in the sense of carrying a REO-built body and a REO-made engine. Those Wolverine six-cylinder, 199-cubic-inch engines were by Continental, well made and reliable with the REO name attached by order. Wolverine bodies (fitted to a 114-inch wheelbase) were by Murray Corp. of America which, by 1927, also provided bodies on order to Hupmobile, Willys-Knight, Chandler, Jordan, Marmon, Durant, Studebaker, Chrysler, Dodge and, by 1928, even Ford. Of course, REO officials supplied the designs, ordered adjustments and received good value for their money. Truly, the Wolverine was a companion to the higher-classed REOs.
Those Wolverines were history by the end of 1928, serving their two-model-year run well, but not sufficiently enough to be considered for the long term.
Survival was the corporate goal. That goal spawned many grand companion cars to be made for short terms before the war. Due to that binge, the car hobby today is more diverse, more interesting and more historically rich. After all, how many times have you seen a Little Marmon, a Viking, a Marquette or a Wolverine?
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