The Amazing Mr. Kendall

The Amazing Mr. Kendal

Britain's lower middle classes have always envied--and wanted--a cheap auto like their American cousins had. But until a year ago they saw scant chance of ever getting one. Then William Denis Kendall, 43, manufacturer and member of Parliament, who seemed to be a happy fusion of Henry Kaiser, Van Johnson and Superman, set all Britain abuzz with plans for a People's Car.

As described by Kendall, it sounded wonderful. It would have a neat aluminum body, would do 60 miles an hour and would retail for only -L-100, one-third under Ford or Morris. Best of all, Magician Kendall promised production of 500 a week by 1947. Those who scoffed were told to look at what he had already done.

Big Wages. In 1938 he turned up in the Lincolnshire town of Grantham as works manager of the Hispano-Suiza 20-mm. cannon works (later the British Manufacture and Research Co.). With him Kendall brought a picaresque legend: a Yorkshire miller's son, he had run away to sea at 14, made $5,000 helping police raid opium dens along China's Yangtze River, run a waterfront cabaret in Shanghai. Eventually he ended up in Philadelphia as a steeplejack. Later he went to work for Philadelphia's Edward G. Budd Manufacturing Co. He rapidly rose to Budd's representative at France's famed

Citroen auto plant and eventually Citroen's works manager. Then he went to Grantham.

With his deep-set blue eyes, his "well-groomed earthiness" and his tremendous shirtsleeve energy, Kendall took Grantham's fancy. But it was his production of millions of pounds worth of World War II cannons and high wages (-L-11 a week) that made him something of a British industrial hero and legend.

He bought a Rolls-Royce, a Chevrolet, a yacht, rented a flat in London, built himself a luxurious -L-22,000 house in Grantham. He threw lavish parties. And when he stood for Parliament as a champion of the little people, the grateful little people of Grantham elected him, twice in a row.

Bigger Trouble. When peace came, Kendall seemed well prepared. Leaving British Manufacture and Research, he talked a group of rich Indians into putting -L-300,000 into his own Grantham Productions, leased the Grantham plant and announced his car, for "the little people."

As the.months passed, Grantham Productions was able to turn out only half a dozen samples of the People's Car (on which the price had gradually risen to -L-250). Suppliers, said Kendall, had let him down. And his capital, ridiculously tiny in the first place, was gone. Grantham Productions owed -L-445,379.

The people of Grantham kept their faith as Kendall scurried romantically off to India to look for more money. He came back emptyhanded, but talked melodramatically of a "miracle." Then he rushed off to meet a mysterious man in London's Cumberland Hotel who was to save the People's Car. But the miracle did not happen. Finally Kendall told the faithful at Grantham: "I've failed."

Next day he faced his creditors and told his story. It was not enough. They voted for a voluntary liquidation of Grantham Productions.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.