John Deere B

Every farming community across America has a preference for a particular brand of farm equipment. I grew up in a community that had more John Deere equipment than it had Farmall, Ford, Oliver, Allis Chambers, or Massey Ferguson.  The preference for John Deere tractors was most noticeable in the springtime when the earth seemed to shake from the slow but steady chug …. chug …. chug of the two cylinder John Deere models A and B. The Model A was the larger and had two pistons, each of which was probably the diameter of a large pizza pan. That machine could pull a 3 bottom plow while the Model B, with two smaller pistons, would handle two 14 inch plows.

Though they were powerful machines, they were unquestionably the simplest tractors to operate. The pistons turned a crankshaft with a large flywheel on the left and a drive pulley on the right. The tractor was operated by a single lever, which, when pushed forward, engaged the drive pulley to turn the wheels and power take off. When the lever was pulled back it stopped the transmission; and, if pulled back hard, acted as a brake. Nothing could be easier to operate – push the lever forward to go and pull it back to stop.

My cousins had once tried to teach my grandfather to drive a tractor – not a John Deere but a Farmall Cub. We did get him a little beyond giddy-up and whoa, but not much. I can still hear him saying “Feed her the carbide” when he wanted to speed up. I also remember him gesturing wildly and yelling, “gee, gee” and then “haw, haw” after he plowed down half a row of corn. My grandfather never did learn how to drive. Perhaps he would have had he had a John Deere.

As I began approaching my teen years it occurred to me that it would be nice to have transportation to and from town. That mile and a half trek home from school was a bit tiresome when there were extracurricular activities.  In addition, my best friend lived over a mile away as the crow flew but over two miles by car. That distance to my friend’s house was hard to cover by foot when it was muddy or when the corn was high. Since my dad worked in the factory and was often not around, my mom was the obvious candidate for the job of chauffer. The only problem was that she had never learned to drive.

With youthful enthusiasm and being totally ignorant of the consequences, I decided to teach my mother how to drive. I figured that there was no easier way to accomplish that task than to use our old reliable John Deere B. With her willing consent, but without her knowing that my eventual goal was to get her behind the wheel of a car, we set out to haul a wagon load of trash back through the field to a dump.

I got the wagon ready and helped mom get up into the seat. While she got comfortable and surveyed the yard from her high perch, I opened the gate then went back to the tractor. I put my left foot on the drawbar, my right foot on the axle, held onto the seat with my left hand, and used my right hand to ease the lever forward. The tractor and wagon rolled smoothly through the gate and I pulled the lever back, gently stopped, dismounted and closed the gate. I resumed my position on the tractor and guided my mom’s hand as she pushed the lever forward.

We navigated the lane, crossed the bridge, and stopped at the dump – all with my mom doing the steering. She only had to use the lever once to stop when we got to the dump. The trip back up the lane with an empty wagon was uneventful and we even advanced the throttle a notch. We got to the gate and she pulled the lever back, stopping the tractor while I dismounted and went around opening the gate.

I held the gate open and told mom to drive through. Had I any foresight at all I would have put the throttle back to an idle position because, when she put the lever forward, the tractor lurched ahead. My mom immediately crossed her arms and yelled, “I ain’t gonna touch it!” Scrambling as fast as I could, I was not able to get around to the back of the tractor in time to stop it from flattening three expensive steel lawn chairs.

As I drove the John Deere B back the lane to the dump, with the wagon and three flat lawn chairs, my dreams of mobility slowly faded. My mother never did learn how to drive, but a couple of years later I had saved up enough money to buy a Cushman Super Eagle and horizons opened – when it wasn’t raining.