ness--in all this publicity I have seen nothing that gave
me a clear idea of Henry Ford himself. I wanted
to see him--to assure myself that he was not some
fabulous being out of a Detroit saga. I wanted to
know what kind of man he was to look at and to listen
to.

The Ford plant is far, far out on Woodward Avenue.
It is so gigantic that there is no use wasting words in
trying to express its vastness; so full of people, all of
them working for Ford, that a thousand or two more
or less would make no difference in the looks of things.
And among all those people there was just one man I
really wanted to see, and just one man I really wanted
not to see. I wanted to see Henry Ford and I wanted
not to see a man named Liebold, because, they say, if you
see Liebold first you never do see Ford. That is what
Liebold is for. He is the man whose business in life
it is to know where Henry Fordisn't.

To get into Mr. Ford's presence is an undertaking.
It is not easy even to find out whether he is there. Lie-
bold is so zealous in his protection that he even protects
Mr. Ford from his own employees. Thus, when the
young official who had my companion and me in charge,
received word over the office telephone that Mr. Ford
was not in the building, he didn't believe it. He went
on a quiet scouting expedition of his own before he
was convinced. Presently he returned to the office in
which he had deposited us.

"No; he really isn't here just now," he said. "He'll

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