Of the 51 Tucker automobiles assembled and ineptly brought to market in 1948, 47 exist today. They’re held in the protective clutches of museums and private collectors. The car that Preston Tucker originally planned to sell for $1,000—dubbed the “Tin Goose” in its prototype stage—can nowadays command upwards of $3 million at auction.
Preston Tucker and His Battle to Build the Car of Tomorrow describes the gregarious and ambitious Preston Tucker as part Svengali and part rainmaker. He could charm anyone, oversell anything, and win the trust of others, sometimes against their better judgment. He also had the confidence and ingenuity to bring to the consumer automobile industry a wholly new brand, based upon a distinctive exterior design along with various new features that Detroit automakers had been slow to introduce on their own cars—among them disc brakes, automatic transmission, a roomier step-down interior, padded dashboards, independent suspension.
Tucker’s timing was good. American automobile production ceased during World War II as assembly-line plants and metal supplies were taken over to build war vehicles and defense weapons. Once the war ended, the Big Three automakers (Chrysler, General Motors, Ford) were selling new cars that were, in truth, prewar models—some delivered in new colors, yet with the same engines and body designs. Americans wanted a new car, and Preston Tucker had the goods. So great was reaction to the first wave of publicity about the 1948 Tucker sedan that 150,000 people wrote to the manufacturer to ask how they could buy one.
In his foreword, Jay Leno, himself a tireless car collector, explains that
Unfortunately for Tucker and the talented designers and engineers he hired, the business side of his dream to build and sell a genuinely new automobile was beyond his capability. He managed financials and investors so poorly that rumors of fraud and malfeasance plagued him. The author has been wise to write a comparatively short account: As he describes Tucker’s detractors in high places—the federal government, the Detroit automotive establishment—and his fast dance to keep ahead of production snafus and SEC scrutiny, Steve Lehto introduces many then-important but now obscure names in the auto industry. To follow the machinations of these men in a dense narrative would have been tedious in the extreme—something this book is not.
An ardent family man and provider, Tucker wore a suit and expensive tie at all times, even on the assembly line. Endearing personality traits drew people to him. He was dynamic, with a flare for publicity, and always made good copy. Even his malapropisms—he might say that the Tucker “exhilarated” rather than accelerated, or refer to a “physical,” rather than fiscal, year—seduced most journalists.
He also had luck on his side: During a highspeed test run, the engine of a Tucker model failed—someone had filled the tank with aviation fuel rather than gasoline—causing the car to stall, spin off the track, and roll over three times. The car landed right side up, largely undamaged, and the driver walked away. And the safety windshield popped out, just as it was designed to do. A potential public-relations disaster turned into a positive story about safety features.
Preston Tucker’s dream to become a major automaker died on May 28, 1948, the day he was informed by the Securities and Exchange Commission that it was launching an investigation into his business:
On June 3, agents descended on the Tucker Corporation’s offices and asked to see books and records—with no explanation of what they were looking for or why. Tucker’s attorney was assured the investigation would be confidential, but three days later, columnist Drew Pearson announced that the SEC was about to launch a major investigation into Tucker and his corporation. The next day, Tucker stock crashed and, overnight, investors lost $10 million in value, an immense sum in 1948.
Throughout the turmoil, including Tucker’s loss of credit and his inability to buy materials, factory workers continued to assemble cars with whatever parts were available, and finished cars drew rave reviews. But while Tucker was eventually exonerated by the SEC, his business was destroyed: He closed his plant for the long Thanksgiving weekend, and it never reopened.
Preston Tucker’s first job in the automobile business was at Cadillac, in Detroit, where he worked as an office boy. To move through the office labyrinth faster and more efficiently, Tucker put on roller skates to make his rounds—and soon after he crashed into his boss as both were rounding a corner, he lost his job. Crashing just when things seem to be going well was the signature move of this flamboyant, charming, ingenious, but ultimately flawed entrepreneur.
Walter Vatter is a writer in Chicago.
