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Discover Mid-America — September 2007
The King Midget —
a schoolboy’s dream
I was a teenager in the 1950s — before seatbelts, airbags, catalytic converters, anti-lock brakes and other devices were mandated to protect us from ourselves. The farm kids I grew up with drove tractors and pickup trucks (without the above conveniences) by the time their feet could reach the pedals.
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Most of my friends eventually bought full-size jalopies or otherwise well used Fords and Chevies as first cars. I had my eye on something different — a King Midget.
A couple of WWII army vets in Athens, OH, were building a midget car that looked like fun on wheels. I saw their small ad in a 1952 Popular Mechanics magazine and was hooked immediately.
The ad described the King Midget as “the world’s lowest priced 2-passenger car.” It was also a convertible, in which a young man and his girl were pictured, obviously having the time of their lives. The car was “ready to run, or assemble it with our bolt-together parts.” I sent 25 cents for the “detailed literature,” and started saving my money.
The next spring one of my buddies and I put in 40 acres of soybeans on my dad’s farm. We worked the ground with two tractors, our Super C Farmall and my friend’s Ford. That fall, my share of the proceeds paid for my King Midget. My folks (always good for a road trip) took me to Athens for a tour of the factory where I bought the car. I thought about driving it home to Missouri but wiser heads talked me out of it. The car was delivered by truck in a large crate, fully assembled.
Aircraft construction techniques reduced weight for the tiny two-seat car, which measured only a little over eight feet in length. It was powered by a 7.5 hp air-cooled Wisconsin engine, which drove one of the rear wheels by way of a 2-speed belt transmission. Top speed was about 50 mph if the wind was at your back and you were going downhill, but in the tiny car it seemed a lot faster.
That winter, I learned the car was basically a summer vehicle. The “heater” was a small vent below the seat, which drew warm air from the engine, but it made little difference on cold days. Side curtains helped, but not much.
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The King Midget had one advantage in snow: When you got stuck, you could climb out, grab the front bumper and lift the car to get it going in another direction. At the high school my buddies soon learned this trick, and when I returned to my car, it was seldom exactly where I had parked it.
With its narrow track, there were few alleys and sidewalks the King Midget didn’t explore. Local law enforcement officials missed a few chances to write me up, but always looked the other way, and occasionally even stopped me to examine the engine and belt drive.
The car always attracted attention. The manager of the local drive-in theater recognized the car’s promotional value and invited me to drive the King Midget through the concession area, giving my girlfriend and me free theater passes and Cokes.
The King Midget always drew stares from passing cars. Driving with the top down on a country road with one of my buddies, we noticed an older couple following us closely, apparently sizing us up. We decided to play a trick on them. My friend hunched down on the passenger side of the bench seat, out of sight, but able to steer the car. I turned completely around on the driver’s side, looked back at the old couple, and waved both hands at them.
They were close enough that I could see their eyes widen in horror. Fearing they had encountered the ultimate lunatic, they braked their car sharply and nearly drove it off the road.
At the University of Missouri, the King Midget was a popular vehicle, although not as unique as it was on the farm. In Columbia, it shared the streets with a variety of other small cars, including a Messerschmidt, a couple of Isettas, and at least one Nash Metropolitan.
For a time, I was a pledge at a fraternity, which rented a house with a good-sized ballroom. My friends talked me into bringing the car inside where they attached old mattresses to the King Midget’s rear bumper and got a wild ride as I careened around the wooden floor.
All good things come to an end. I soon moved on to other vehicles, and by 1970 the company that manufactured the King Midget faded into history. Owners still have reunions in Athens and other sites, and occasionally the tiny cars turn up at antique car shows.
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A few years ago at an old-time steam and gas engine show in Hamilton, MO, I bumped into a fellow King Midget owner. We exchanged stories, had a few laughs, and he let me take my grandson for a ride around the show grounds in his car. Really made my day.
Later, I saw a King Midget among the more than 200 cars on display at the Pioneer Village Museum in Minden, NE. The car is a twin to mine except that it has no headlights or taillights, which I recall were optional. Dwarfed by the full-size cars and trucks in the museum building, the King Midget looks pretty good, its factory coat of California Cream repainted a bright yellow. (All colors other than California Cream cost an extra $10.) I had repainted mine light blue — with a brush!
A pair of King Midgets (one the same model as mine) can be seen at the Bruce Weiner Microcar Museum in Madison, GA. Visit www.microcarmuseum.com.
The King Midget legacy is kept alive and well by members of the International King Midget Car Club. Visit www.kingmidgetcarclub.org.
Ken Weyand can be reached at kweyand1@kc.rr.com
> Traveling with Ken Archive — past columns
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