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Urban Shrinkage,
Industrial Renewal
and Automotive Plants
Sujata Shetty
Urban Shrinkage, Industrial Renewal
Fordism meets Urban Shrinkage. Illustration by Andreas Luescher
Andreas Luescher · Sujata Shetty
Urban Shrinkage,
Industrial Renewal
Andreas Luescher Sujata Shetty
College of Technology, Architecture Jack Ford Urban Affairs Center,
and Applied Engineering, Department Department of Geography and
of Architecture and Environmental Planning
Design The University of Toledo
Bowling Green State University Toledo, OH, USA
Bowling Green, OH, USA
ISBN 978-3-030-03379-8 ISBN 978-3-030-03380-4 (eBook)

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03380-4
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018959728
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2019

This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights
of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction
on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and
retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology
now known or hereafter developed.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are
exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and
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Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied,
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Cover illustration: Pattern © Melisa Hasan
This Palgrave Pivot imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature
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The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
Acknowledgements
We have benefited from the generous support of many individuals who

helped us with this book. We are most grateful to Kevin Perlongo,
Yankee Air Museum; Laura Voelz, Toledo-Lucas County Public Library;
Valerie Brugeman, Center for Automotive Research; Deborah Rice,
Walter P. Reuther Library at Wayne State University; Carla Reczek,
Detroit Public Library; Sean Boyd, Greg Lynn FORM; Julie Marin,
University of Leuven in Belgium; Yveline Lecler, Lyon Institute of East
Asian Studies; Martin Klindtworth, Munich; Vincent Lavergne, Paris;
Thomas Moran, University of Michigan; Ines Knye, Bonn, Germany;
Leonard Thygesen, Flint; and Nancy Parson and Julie Steiff for their
invaluable editorial support.
v
Contents
1 Introduction 1
1.1 The Advent of the Automobile 2
1.2 The Evolution of the Auto Industry 4
1.3 Outline of the Book 6
References 7
2 Automotive Production and Its Relationship

with the Built Environment 9
2.1 The Changing Geography of the Auto Industry 10
2.2 The Changing Form of the Auto Factory 13
2.3 Challenges at the Local Level 20
References 21
3 The Packard Plant as a Testament

to Automotive Heritage 25
3.1 The Packard Plant as a Witness to the Changing Fortunes
of the Motor City 27
3.2 The Packard Plant as the Original
Auto Industry Model 30
3.3 The Packard Plant’s Lasting Influence 34
3.4 The Packard Plant’s Fate: To Be Repurposed 36
References 46
vii
viii Contents
4 To Be or Not to Be an Autotown: Four Case Studies 49

4.1 Janesville and General Motors: An American Story 53
4.2 Ford Motor Company’s Willow Run Plant: A Symbol of
Mass Production 56
4.3 Bochum: Once a Vital General Motors Home in Germany 62
4.4 Ford Motor Company’s Genk: A Symbol of the Belgian-
Dutch-German Rust Belt 67
4.5 Answering the Same Big Question Differently 74
References 76
5 Strategies to Address Decommissioned Automotive Plants 81

5.1 Kiss the Good Times Goodbye 82
5.2 Repurposing, Transforming, and Revitalizing 85
5.3 Five Phases in Repurposing the Former Jeep Parkway Site 87
5.3.1 The Brownfield Phase 90
5.3.2 The Infrastructure Phase 91
5.3.3 The Catalytic Agent Phase 92
5.3.4 The Enterprise Zone Phase 93
5.3.5 The Nodes Phase 94
5.3.6 An Alternative Model: Ten Design Strategies for
Civic Leaders 95
References 98
6 The Future of Automotive Plants 101

6.1 Gläserne Manufaktur 104
6.2 The Deep South as the Next Auto-manufacturing Hub 105
6.3 Competition and Changing Patterns of Production 107
6.4 The Concept of Clusters 109
6.5 A Time of Change 111
References 114
Index 117
List of Figures
Fig. 2.1 Aerial view of the Ford Highland Park Plant that was
completed in 1914; its main building is the monumental
power plant framed by five tall smokestacks which acted,
for some time, as a landmark. 1936 (Source Walter P. Reuther
Library, Archives of Labor and Urban Affairs, Wayne State
University, Detroit, Michigan) 18
Fig. 3.1 Aerial view of the Packard Plant. In the foreground is the
iconic pedestrian bridge that spans East Grand Boulevard,
and in the background is the Detroit skyline (Source Greg
Lynn FORM and Keith Muratori, 2016) 27
Fig. 3.2 Street map showing the relationship between downtown and
the Packard Plant (Source Nadau Lavergne Architects, 2014) 28
Fig. 3.3 Interior view of Kahn’s structure, a steel-reinforced concrete
design (Source Nadau Lavergne Architects, 2014) 29
Fig. 3.4 Exterior view of Kahn’s structure, a steel-reinforced concrete
design (Source Nadau Lavergne Architects, 2014) 31
Fig. 3.5 Aerial view of the Ford River Rouge Plant with rows of parked
cars illustrating the enormous workforce (on the right side)
as intended by Henry Ford to make this plant as much like
a self-sufficient industrial city as possible, 1936 (Source Walter
P. Reuther Library, Archives of Labor and Urban Affairs,
Wayne State University, Detroit, Michigan) 33
Fig. 3.6 Geddes Toledo Tomorrow Plan (Source Ward M. Canaday
Center for Special Collections, University of Toledo,
Ohio, 1945) 35
ix
x List of Figures
Fig. 3.7 Overview of the 1st prize titled “Cross the Plant,” a plan
to transform the place into an urban center with five schemes:
open up, connect, reinvest, attract, and develop existing
buildings in the main axis, Grand Boulevard, the railways,
and Bellevue Street (Source Nadau Lavergne Architects, 2014) 37
Fig. 3.8 Isometric projection of the 1st prize titled “Cross the Plant”
(Source Nadau Lavergne Architects, 2014) 38
Fig. 3.9 Rendering of the 1st prize titled “Cross the Plant” (Source
Nadau Lavergne Architects, 2014) 38
Fig. 3.10 Model view of the design proposal “Detroit Reassembly
Plant” (Source T+E+A+M, 2016) 40
Fig. 3.11 Perspective view of the design proposal “Detroit Reassembly
Plant” (Source T+E+A+M, 2016) 41
Fig. 3.12 Detail view of the design proposal “Detroit Reassembly Plant”
(Source T+E+A+M, 2016) 42
Fig. 3.13 Exploded axonometric of the design proposal “Center for
Fulfillment, Knowledge, and Innovation” (Source Greg Lynn
FORM, UCLA IDEAS Robotics Lab and UCLA A+UD
Ph.D. Research Assistants, 2016) 43
Fig. 3.14 Plan view of the model “Center for Fulfillment, Knowledge,
and Innovation” (Source Greg Lynn FORM, UCLA IDEAS
Robotics Lab and UCLA A+UD Ph.D. Research Assistants,
2016) 43
Fig. 3.15 Close-up view of the design proposal “Center for Fulfillment,
Knowledge, and Innovation” (Source Greg Lynn FORM,
UCLA IDEAS Robotics Lab and UCLA A+UD Ph.D.
Research Assistants, 2016) 44
Fig. 4.1 Comparison diagrams of the four sites: General Motors’
Assembly Plant in Janesville, Wisconsin; the Willow Run
Plant in Ypsilanti, near Detroit, Michigan; Adam Opel’s
plants in Bochum, Germany; and Ford Motor’s Genk Body &
Assembly Plant in Belgium (Source Authors, 2018) 51
Fig. 4.2 View toward the remaining structure of the Willow Run
Plant, with the two iconic bay doors, and under construction,
the concrete swale (stormwater system), which will collect any
contaminated water for treatment (Source Authors, 2018) 52
Fig. 4.3 Interior view of the remaining structure of the Willow Run
Plant with its large and long span frames and trusses that
permit maximum flexibility of operations in automotive and
aircraft production in the hangar (Source Authors, 2018) 56
Fig. 4.4 Interior view of one of two original and operational roll-
out hangars with a very rare US Navy World War II PB4Y2
List of Figures xi
Privateer (to be restored), located perpendicular to the bay

doors (Source Authors, 2018) 57
Fig. 4.5 Aerial view of the Kaiser-Frazer automobile plant in Willow
Run, Michigan, 1948 (Source National Automotive History
Collection, Detroit Public Library) 59
Fig. 4.6 Situation plan for the former Opel Werk I (Source Stadt
Bochum Stadtplanungs- und Bauordnungsamt, 2016) 66
Fig. 4.7 First prize for the urban design competition for the develop-
ment of the neighborhood and district of the Bochum-Laer,
which is also part of the revitalization of the former Opel-
Werk I (Source skt Umbaukultur/Architects, Bonn and City of
Bochum, Germany, 2015) 67
Fig. 4.8 Ford Motor’s Genk Body & Assembly Plant in its current
state, 2015. The northern part of the site was sold in the
1990s to the City of Genk, which used it for automotive
suppliers. Most of the buildings within the complex itself have
the potential to be repurposed except for the C-structure,
which is to be dismantled and demolished (Source WIT
Architects, Leuven; Onderzoeksgroep stedenbouw en archi-
tectuur (Research Group Urbanism and Architecture, OSA)
KULeuven and Lateral Thinking Factory (LTF), Brussels) 71
Fig. 4.9 Phase One, “Activation,” highlights the temporary pro-
gramming of the Ford site by reactivating existing trans-
port infrastructures for bicycles and other forms of soft
mobility within the large context of the region (Source WIT
Fig. 4.10 Phase Two, “Incubation,” emphasizes biomass harvesting,
utilizing the green areas of the complex as a buffer where
rainwater and coppice can stimulate growth (Source WIT
Fig. 4.11 Phase Three, “Circulation,” focuses on the ecological concept
that pipelines and other flow-supporting utilities provide infra-
structural spaces for new circular productivity (Source WIT
Fig. 5.1 Aerial view of Buick City in 1936, when Flint still played a
dominant role in the automotive industry. This was before the
xii List of Figures
city became a symbol of disinvestment, deindustrialization,

depopulation, and urban decay, and before it gained notoriety
for the Flint water crisis (Source Walter P. Reuther Library,
Archives of Labor and Urban Affairs, Wayne State University,
Detroit, Michigan) 84
Fig. 5.2 Aerial view of Buick City just before it was demolished (Source
Leonard Thygesen, Flint, 2000) 85
Fig. 5.3 Aerial view of the Willys-Overland factory in Toledo/Ohio,
ca. 1955, before the company became known as the Kaiser-
Jeep Corporation in 1963. The picture was taken before the
factory was encircled by I-75, the second longest north–south
interstate highway, after I-95 formed in 1960 (Source National
Automotive History Collection, Detroit Public Library) 88
Fig. 5.4 Aerial view of the former Jeep Parkway complex (better
known at that time as the Willys-Overland factory) on the left
side, separated by the Norfolk Southern Railroad on the right
side of the Chevrolet transmission plant, ca. 1956 (Source
Toledo-Lucas County Public Library, http://images2.
toledolibrary.org/) 89
Fig. 5.5 The left side is the original development of the Willys-
Overland Motors Manufacturing plant, which began in 1904
as a bicycle factory before becoming an automobile assembly
plant around 1910; it was completely demolished by 2010.
The right side is the proposed development, which also began
in 2010. The construction of two new auto-supplier manu-
facturing facilities has been completed and opened in 2017
(Source Authors, 2018) 97
Fig. 6.1 Aerial view of the BMW Leipzig Plant with a focus on the
central building, designed by the Pritzker Prize winning archi-
tect, Zaha Hadid (Source BMW AG and Martin Klindtworth,
2005) 103
Fig. 6.2 Concentration of firms and infrastructure around
Bangkok and Samut Prakan (Source Yveline Lecler 2003.
The cluster role in the development of the Thai car
industry, International Journal of Urban and Regional
Research, 26(4), 804) 110
List of Tables
Table 2.1 Analysis of evolving design and planning/policy guidelines

for automotive facilities 14
Table 3.1 Property size as it developed over last 115 years due to the
demands of automotive factories (assembly) 34
Table 4.1 Comparison chart of the four sites around the globe: General
Motors’ Assembly Plant in Janesville, Wisconsin; the Willow
Run Plant in Ypsilanti, near Detroit, Michigan; Adam Opel’s
plants in Bochum, Germany; and Ford Motor’s Genk Body &
Assembly Plant in Belgium 50
Table 5.1 An interpretative matrix based on Speck’s “Making Better
Places: Ten Resolutions for Civic Leaders” 97
xiii
CHAPTER 1
Introduction
Abstract This chapter outlines the development of the Fordist model

at the beginning of the last century and its role in shaping the urban
landscape. We first highlight the influence of the automobile on the form
of the American city. We then briefly describe the evolution of the auto
industry itself, setting the stage to examine the relationship between
automotive production and the built environment in subsequent chap-
ters. We summarize the contents of the five chapters that follow, which,
taken together, tell the interlocking stories of the automobile and the
built environment at multiple scales.
Keywords Automobile · Model-T · Automobile industry
The spatial layout of American cities underwent one of its most

profound periods of rearrangement during the nineteenth century as
the Industrial Revolution moved work from home to factories and, in
a shift from the era of craft production, separated workers physically
from their places of work. As coal-fired production polluted city air
and the waste created by factories was easily dumped close to the fac-
tories themselves, city life became less healthy and less appealing. Yet
the factories attracted workers, including poor immigrants, which led to
increasingly dense cities. Workers and families lived in crowded condi-
tions in unsafe tenement buildings, on streets often filled with garbage,
horse manure, and the city’s waste. Residents had little access to fresh
© The Author(s) 2019 1

A. Luescher and S. Shetty, Urban Shrinkage, Industrial Renewal
and Automotive Plants, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03380-4_1
2 A. LUESCHER AND S. SHETTY
air or open space. Those who could moved away. As modes of urban
transportation developed, the outward movement of the more affluent
continued along linear routes, following horse-drawn carriages, street-
cars, and electric trolleys. Cities spread out as the radius of a half-hour
commute to the center of the city expanded, adding to a pattern of sub-
urbanization and differentiation. The urban landscape was being shaped
by the “transportation revolution and the erosion of the walking city”
(Jackson 1985).
1.1 The Advent of the Automobile

The introduction of the automobile quickened the pace of this trans-
formation. Henry Ford’s revolutionary Model T, introduced to the
American public in 1908, was well designed, reliable, and affordable, not
least because of the manufacturing innovations that allowed the vehicle
to be produced on an assembly line. A moving conveyer belt with each
worker along the line performing a single, repetitive task allowed auto-
mobiles to be assembled efficiently. These first assembly lines could not
accommodate many variations—Ford reportedly said that consumers
could have their Model T in any color as long as it was black—but they
did keep prices low. Standardized and interchangeable components, pre-
cision engineering, and synchronized assembly were the hallmarks of this
innovation.
Although he was not the only innovator in the industry, Ford’s influ-
ence was unmatched. Of the Model T, he said, “I will build a car for the
great multitude. It will be large enough for the family, but small enough
for the individual to run and care for. It will be constructed of the best
materials, by the best men to be hired, after the simplest designs that
modern engineering can devise. But it will be so low in price that no
man making a good salary will be unable to own one – and enjoy with
his family the blessing of hours of pleasure in God’s great open spaces”
(Ford and Crowther 1922, p. 73).
Sales took off. From 1908 to 1909, over 10,000 cars, built in the
Piquette Plant in Detroit, were sold. Ford foresaw rising demand and
acquired 60 acres in Highland Park, near Detroit, to build a new fac-
tory. He raised prices on his cars to cover these additional costs and, in
1909–1910, sold 18,664 cars. Once the new factory starting production,
he was able to cut prices, selling 34,528 cars from 1910 to 1911.
1 INTRODUCTION 3
That is the beginning of the steady reduction in the price of the cars in the
face of ever-increasing cost of materials and ever-higher wages. Contrast
the year 1908 with the year 1911. The factory space increased from 2.65
to 32 acres. The average number of employees from 1,908 to 4,110, and
the cars built from a little over six thousand to nearly thirty-five thousand.
You will note that men were not employed in proportion to the output.
(Ford and Crowther 1922, p. 74)
Ford and his competitors did indeed make automobile ownership acces-
sible to a vast middle class. In the years between the wars, technolog-
ical advances made cars more powerful, and a growing road network
expanded the boundaries of private automobile transportation. Better
cars and roads beget even more private car ownership and made driv-
ing easier (Wells 2013), eventually allowing the increasing numbers of
automobile owners to organize their physical environments and activities
around car ownership.
It was not just car owners but also a number of other interrelated factors
that helped create the infrastructure to support automobile transportation.
Following World War II, a large number of young soldiers returned, ready
to settle down and buy homes. At the same time, modular construction
made home building quicker and easier, and federal mortgage loan guar-
antee programs promoted homeownership. Perhaps most critically, the pas-
sage of the Federal-Aid Highway Act under President Eisenhower in 1956
authorized the design and construction of 41,000 miles of interconnected
highways across the country. It was this policy, combined with industrial
decentralization, that most contributed to the unintended consequence
of large-scale suburbanization and influenced the shape of the present-day
American city (Fishman 2005; Shetty and Luescher 2016).
As automobile driving became easier, cheaper, and more widespread,
the American landscape itself transformed to become more hospitable to
this mode of travel. Suburban subdivisions in the image of Levittowns,
regional malls, roadside motels, and drive-through banks and fast-food
restaurants were all land uses and building types that arose from an
automobile-centric society. The car made it possible to greatly enlarge
the radius of everyday activities and allowed people to spread themselves
more widely across the landscape. More people than ever were now able
to easily access the countryside—green space, fresh air, outdoor recre-
ation, nature itself. Ironically, these parkways to the country, much like
Robert Moses’ Long Island Parkway, became the arteries along which
development occurred.
1.2 The Evolution of the Auto Industry

The idea of mass production of automobiles began to spread. In the
USA, Buick, Cadillac, Oldsmobile, Oakland, and several other smaller
firms came together to form the General Motors Company in 1908.
Combining these allowed GM to control the manufacture and supply
of parts as well as build a wider variety of models. It took some time
for mass production to take hold in Europe. In Britain, Morris Motors
started by importing parts from the USA, but World War I intervened.
At the end of World War I, Ford had plants not only in the USA but also
throughout the world, dominating the industry. GM was its only major
competitor.
The decade of the 1920s reshaped the industry. After a slump fol-
lowing the little-known Depression of 1920–1921, GM came emerged
as the largest and most successful, followed by Ford. A few years later,
Ford, after closing production for 18 months as it switched from the
Model T to the Model A, ceded ground to Chrysler (formed by the
reorganization of the Maxwell Motor Company and later the acquisi-
tion of the Dodge Brothers Company). Thus, began the Big Three. By
the beginning of the Depression, these Big Three companies had three-
fourths of the American car market.
The ensuing Depression eliminated the smaller manufacturers and
increased the market share of the Big Three. At the same time, produc-
tion fell from about five million cars in 1929 to just over one million in
1932. Production rose slowly but did not reach previous highs before
World War II hit.
There was a parallel evolution in Europe, though at a much smaller
scale. In 1929, British production stood at 239,000, and the equivalent
Big Three (Austin, Morris, and Singer) had three-quarters of the market.
Unlike the same period in the USA, however, the 1930s in Europe were
a period of growth. At the end of the 1930s, there were three additional
major car manufacturers, Roots, Ford, and Vauxhall (a GM subsidiary).
In the 1920s and 1930s, France was dominated by four car companies,
Citroen, Renault, Peugeot, and Simca. Daimler, Benz, and Volkswagen
had a presence in the German market, which General Motors entered
by acquiring Opel. The German car industry was hit hard by World War
I and took time to recover. Italy’s auto industry at this time was special-
ized and small.
1 INTRODUCTION 5
The auto industry was pressed into service during World War II. In
the USA, automotive firms were responsible for about 20% of the coun-
try’s military production, including trucks, tanks, guns, and bombs. The
British built shadow factories close to existing auto factories, which were
pressed into service to manufacture military equipment when needed,
drawing on the expertise of the auto industry. Ford and Volkswagen
in Germany and Renault in France were similarly pressed into war
production.
The post-war years have been a time of tremendous change in the
industry. Production has increased exponentially, but it is no longer con-
centrated in the USA. In 2017, China was the largest producer of cars,
responsible for 29% of the world’s production, followed by the EU at
20%, and Japan and the USA at about 10% each, although the USA built
about a million fewer cars in 2017 than in 2016 (ACEA 2018). While
there will still be demand in the old triad of North America, Europe,
and Japan for vehicles in the field of new mobility (e.g., car-sharing or
ride-hailing), for premium vehicles and small vehicles (such as subcom-
pacts and microcars), production in Europe and the USA appears to
be reaching capacity. However, emerging markets’ share of global sales
is expected to rise from 50% in 2012 to 60% by 2020. The location of
auto-production facilities does not currently align with these grow-
ing markets (McKinsey & Company 2013), but huge investments and
increases in production are expected in coming years, especially in the
BRIC countries—Brazil, Russia, India, and China (Bentley et al. 2013;
Gao et al. 2014). New auto factories will be built in these regions of the
world even as factories in old industrial regions continue to close.
While there is an extensive literature on industrial architecture includ-
ing automotive factories, the consequences of these large factories’
heavy imprints on the landscape, especially as they stop production, have
been far less discussed in design and planning scholarship. The need to
address this issue grows increasingly urgent as automotive plants con-
tinue to close. In 2017, Australia joined Saudi Arabia as the only G20
economy without a major auto plant. Since 2004, the Big Three—
General Motors, Ford, and Chrysler—have closed 22 major auto plants
in the USA, and only eight of these have found buyers. The Big Three
and their largest suppliers have closed 128 manufacturing plants in
North America since 1980, most of which are still vacant (Brugeman
et al. 2011).
1.3 Outline of the Book

In the coming chapters, we shift across various scales, from the design
of the individual auto factory to the spatial distribution of plants across
the world, highlighting the interlocking stories of these factories and the
communities of which they were a part. Chapter 2 draws attention to
the complex relationship between the restructuring of the automotive
industry and the physical restructuring that occurs at multiple scales.
We examine the relationship between automotive manufacturing that
has dispersed across the world in the last few decades and the once-
thriving industrial belts now in decline, the so-called rustbelts dotted
with “shrinking cities.” We then scale down, focusing on the evolving
form of the factory itself. We also examine challenges that local govern-
ments face in managing the consequences of shuttered plants, particu-
larly in weak markets. This chapter demonstrates the need for rigorous
research on decommissioned auto plants, which have a profound influ-
ence on a place even as they lie empty.
Chapter 3 provides a formal introduction to automotive plant clos-
ings using an iconic building and manufacturing facility, the Packard
Automotive Plant in Detroit, as an example. Designed by Albert Kahn,
famous for being the first reinforced concrete automobile factory in the
USA, known for the long lengths between columns and floor-to-ceiling
windows, and widely considered a world-class facility in its time, the fac-
tory ceased production in 1958. Using this as an exemplary case study,
we highlight the conditions that had been developing for some time that
led to the Packard Plant’s obsolescence, and we examine the struggles to
develop a coherent plan for reuse of this 3.5-million-square-foot com-
plex that sprawls across 40 acres. We close the chapter by pointing to the
abiding interest in this site, analyzing architectural plans and models for
the plant that have been presented at various architecture competitions.
Chapter 4 examines the relationship between auto communities and
their plants as they transition from being decommissioned to serving
other uses. Four plants, General Motors’ Assembly Plant in Janesville,
Wisconsin; the Willow Run Assembly Plant in Ypsilanti near Detroit,
Michigan; Adam Opel’s plants in Bochum, Germany; and Ford’s Genk
Body & Assembly in Belgium, were chosen for their historical signif-
icance, location near urban corridors, economic impact, architectural
and land use strategies, size, (around 4 million square feet), and date of
1 INTRODUCTION 7
closure (all were shut down within the last decade). We briefly describe
the context and history in each case, addressing the decision-making
process that occurred before the closure of these plants, roles played by
different levels of government and other decision-makers, incentives and
compromises discussed into keep the plant from closing, and the effects
on the labor force and the larger community. Studying two plants in
Europe and two in the USA allows us to highlight some broad parallels
and differences.
Chapter 5 considers the inherent complexity of dealing with decom-
missioned automotive plants focusing on the site, neighborhood, and
city scales. Using Flint, Michigan, and Toledo, Ohio as examples, we cat-
egorize a set of five widely used strategies that shape the physical evolu-
tion and repurposing of automotive plants and their sites, post closure.
These relate to brownfield remediation, infrastructure, catalytic projects,
enterprise zones, and developing nodes. We conclude that we have not
yet developed models that offer a truly successful approach to dealing
with decommissioned automotive plants.
Chapter 6 makes the case that the outsize imprints of abandoned
automotive plants on our landscapes demand renewed attention. We
showcase efforts to reimagine the future of auto plants, arguing that
their forms will be varied, ranging in scale from boutique-style facilities
to mega-formations, and ranging in distribution from local to regional
clustering. As changes in technology and innovation lead us to new kinds
of automobiles, automobile production, and geographies of produc-
tion, we look at the role that practical design and planning could play
in reframing our understanding of the links between preservation, reuse,
redevelopment, and the larger urban environment in old industrial cities
and regions facing economic decline.
References
ACEA. (2018). European Auto Manufacturers’ Association Economic and
Market Report, 2017. https://www.acea.be/uploads/statistic_documents/
Economic_and_Market_Report_Q4_2017.pdf. Accessed July 2018.
Bentley, G., Bailey, D., & MacNeill, S. (2013). The Changing Geography of
the European Auto Industry. In F. Giarratani, G. Hewings, & P. McCann
(Eds.), Handbook of Industry Studies and Economic Geography (pp. 67–96).
Cheltenham, UK: Edward Elgar.
Brugeman, V., Hill, K., & Cregger, J. (2011). Repurposing Former Automotive
Manufacturing Sites: A Report on Closed Auto Manufacturing Facilities in the
United States, and What Communities Have Done to Repurpose the Sites. Ann
Arbor: Center for Automotive Research.
Fishman, R. (2005). Urban Transformation as an Unintended Side Effect of
Planning and Its Limits in the Restructuring of the American Metropolis.
In P. Oswal (Ed.), Shrinking Cities (Vol. 2, pp. 606–614). Ostfildern-Ruit,
Germany: Hatje Cantz.
Ford, H., & Crowther, S. (1922). My Life and Work. Garden City, NY: Garden
City Publishing Company.
Gao, P., Hensely, R., & Zielke, A. (2014, October). A Road Map to the Future
for the Auto Industry. McKinsey Quarterly. https://www.mckinsey.com/
industries/automotive-and-assembly/our-insights/a-road-map-to-the-future-
for-the-auto-industry. Accessed 26 July 2018.
Jackson, K. (1985). Crabgrass Frontier: The Suburbanization of the United States.
New York: Oxford University Press.
McKinsey & Company. (2013). The Road to 2020 and Beyond: What’s Driving
the Global Automotive Industry? Stuttgart: McKinsey. https://www.mckinsey.
com/~/media/mckinsey/dotcom/client_service/Automotive%20and%20
Assembly/PDFs/McK_The_road_to_2020_and_beyond.ashx. Accessed 26
July 2018.
Shetty, S., & Luescher, A. (2016). Toledo Tomorrow: Reading Norman Bel
Geddes’ Vision for the Future in a Shrinking Midwestern City. Journal of
Urban Design, 21(2), 177–194.
Wells, C. (2013). Car Country: An Environmental History. Seattle: University of
Washington Press.
CHAPTER 2
Automotive Production and Its Relationship

with the Built Environment
Abstract This chapter draws attention to the complex relationship

between the restructuring of the automotive industry and the physical
restructuring of the built environment that occurs at multiple scales. We
examine the relationship between automotive manufacturing, which has
dispersed across the world in the last few decades, and the once-thriving
industrial belts now in decline, so-called rustbelts dotted with “shrinking
cities.” We then scale down, focusing on the evolving form of the factory
itself. We describe the challenges that local governments face in manag-
ing the consequences of shuttered plants, particularly in weak markets.
This chapter highlights the need for rigorous research on decommis-
sioned auto plants, which have a profound influence on a place even as
they lie empty.
Keywords Geography of auto industry · Auto factory ·

Decommissioned auto plants
The auto manufacturing industry is a diverse collection of firms. At the

top of the pyramid are the firms that consumers know best, names such
as General Motors, Ford, Toyota, Kia, Mercedes, Volvo, and their com-
petition. These are the original equipment manufacturers (OEMs)—
firms that do some manufacturing of parts but increasingly focus on
other aspects of producing and selling cars, such as research, design,
marketing, and overseeing production rather than building the entire car
© The Author(s) 2019 9

A. Luescher and S. Shetty, Urban Shrinkage, Industrial Renewal
and Automotive Plants, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-03380-4_2
themselves. Below these OEMs firms lie a vast network of suppliers who
fall into three broad categories. Tier 1 companies build parts or systems
that meet high OEM standards, which they then supply directly to the
OEM. Tier 2 suppliers do not sell directly to OEMs and supply to both
automotive and non-automotive clients. Tier 3 companies supply raw or
minimally processed materials such as metal or plastic.
2.1 The Changing Geography of the Auto Industry

Auto production in the USA used to be concentrated in a Midwest
industrial belt of which Detroit was the capital. It is now concentrated
along “Auto Alley,” which is about 800 miles long and 250 miles wide
and runs from the Gulf of Mexico to the Great Lakes and farther into
Canada. About 73% of the assembly plants and 62% of the parts suppli-
ers in North America are located in this belt. Europe’s Auto Alley is a
roughly east–west corridor stretching from Great Britain to Hungary and
is home to about 73% of assembly plants and 74% of the parts supplier
plants located in Europe.
These Auto Alleys evolved over time. In the USA, there were two peri-
ods of agglomeration, the first in the early 1900s and the second starting
in the 1980s. In the early 1900s, an industry that had centers of pro-
duction fairly evenly distributed between southeastern Michigan and
the northeast began to concentrate in Michigan to take advantage of its
heritage of building gasoline engines and horse-drawn carriages, both of
which directly contributed to the evolving design of the car. In 1913,
80% of the total auto manufacture in the USA was done in southeastern
Michigan (Rubenstein 1992). When it became clear that it was cheaper
to assemble cars closer to their consumers and cheaper to ship parts
rather than whole cars, the major car companies began to build assembly
plants near population centers in the northeast, south, and west coast,
although parts production continued to be concentrated in southeast
Michigan.
The second shift in the spatial distribution of the plants occurred
in the 1980s. The Big Three faced intense competition from Japanese
companies, which initially imported cars into the USA but in the
1980s began to build cars in the USA. Rubenstein (1992) argues that
both Japanese and American companies soon realized that the geogra-
phy of motor vehicle production that had served the industry so well
since before World War I had to change. Japanese firms clustered their
2 AUTOMOTIVE PRODUCTION AND ITS RELATIONSHIP … 11
assembly plants and suppliers in the interior to be closer to consum-

ers (Woodward 1992). As US automakers started varying the sizes and
designs of the cars they built to stay competitive and give their custom-
ers greater choice, it became easier for a single plant to build a single
kind of car. The companies still wanted to minimize the cost of shipping
the entire car, so plants began to concentrate along Auto Alley, which
was within a day’s delivery distance to a vast swath of the population
from the east coast to Texas. Through the 1980s and early 1990s, auto
assembly plants outside this corridor declined, particularly coastal plants
(Rubenstein 1992).
For most of the twentieth century, Europe’s auto industry was a col-
lection of firms, each closely associated with a particular country. The
auto industry in Europe in the early twentieth century was multi-nodal.
Thus, all firms—whether Fiat (Italy), Renault and Peugeot (France), or
Volkswagen (Germany)—located their plants in their home country and
had a firm hold on the auto market there, even though they also sold
cross-border. However, that pattern has since changed. Bentley et al.
(2013) write that “during the period of the Fordist system of produc-
tion, the pattern was one of decentralization. In the post-Fordist era and
into a post-Japanization phase…the pattern has been one of centrali-
zation both at the world-region scale and also at the subnational level”
(p. 76). Klier and Rubenstein (2015) point to two sets of events in the
1990s that prompted the centralization of the European auto industry.
The first consisted of political changes within Europe, while the second
related to Japan’s increasing share of the European auto market.
The creation of the European Union (EU) and the fall of the Iron
Curtain had a substantial impact on the distribution of auto produc-
tion facilities on the continent starting in the 1990s. The EU brought
a uniform regulatory regime, a more integrated European economy, the
adoption of the Euro, and the removal of trade barriers between coun-
tries. The fall of the Iron Curtain enlarged the European market, and as
more Central European nations joined the EU, automobile production
expanded into this newly open region, taking advantage of a newly stable
political and business environment, a skilled workforce, incentives, and
lower costs (Bentley et al. 2013).
The Japanese auto companies that had shaken up the North American
market in the 1980s were slower to enter the European market.
However, anticipating a similar strategy in Europe, European automakers
in the 1990s adopted new production methods to increase quality and
productivity to compete better with Japanese cars. They also located new
facilities within the northwest-southeast Auto Alley, thereby minimizing
the distance to their markets (Klier and Rubenstein 2015).
Over the last few decades, the US automotive industry has shifted
from traditional concentration at the northern end of Auto Alley, around
Detroit and the surrounding region, to the southeast, where a number
of foreign manufacturers have made large investments. These invest-
ments have drawn suppliers from Japan, Korea, and Germany, as well as
domestic suppliers interested in working not only with the Big Three,
but also with Toyota, Honda, BMW, Mercedes, and others in their new
southern facilities (Goldsberry 2013; Cuneo 2014). In 1972, Alabama,
Georgia, Kentucky, Mississippi, North Carolina, South Carolina, and
Tennessee together had 7% of transportation sector employment in
1972. In 30 years, that share had grown to 16% (Klier and Rubenstein
2008). The draw to the southern end of Auto Alley has been attributed
to a number of factors, including lowered freight costs because of access
to rail and highway infrastructure; large ports such as Mobile, Savannah,
and Charleston; low utility costs; low cost of living; the presence of
existing automotive plants and other key industries such as aerospace;
lower wages; and non-unionized labor (Segers 2015; Rubenstein 1992).
Within the European Auto Alley, post-1990 investment in new auto
assembly plants has also moved east, to countries previously behind the
Iron Curtain (Bentley et al. 2013, p. 81). This section was home to 12
of the 17 large assembly plants that were opened in the corridor between
1990 and 2013.
Another distinct geographic shift has been the suburbanization
of plants, particularly in the USA. As early as 1917, Henry Ford plant
built a large plant outside Detroit, in River Rouge. This trend acceler-
ated in the 1940s and 1950s. The Big Three built 25 new plants in the
metro Detroit region between 1945 and 1957, and all of them were
in suburban locations. These new plants, all built on previously unde-
veloped land, were called greenfield plants. Unlike earlier plants such as
the Highland Park, River Rouge, or Packard plants, which had multiple
stories and a relatively small footprint, the new plants were single-story
buildings, often spread out across a large, elaborately landscaped campus,
surrounded by parking lots (Sugrue, n.d.).
The geography of the auto manufacturing industry is related not just
to assembly plants but also to parts supplier plants. Suppliers are becom-
ing much more important to OEMs in terms of how much value they
2 AUTOMOTIVE PRODUCTION AND ITS RELATIONSHIP … 13
add, which makes their location increasingly important (McKinsey 2013;

KPMG 2017). In the USA, suppliers have been shown to value proxim-
ity to assembly plants as they make their location decisions. The impor-
tance of reducing transportation costs is reflected in the importance
assigned to good highway access and shorter distance to assembly plants
(Klier and McMillen 2008; Smith and Florida 1994). As a result, suppli-
ers have followed OEMs to locate along Auto Alley, but they have con-
tinued to keep a strong presence in the larger auto region centered on
Detroit, including southern Michigan, Ohio, and Indiana. The degree
of agglomeration is similar for old and new plants (Klier and McMillen
2008). This pattern of agglomeration is also visible in Europe, where
Klier and McMillen (2008) found that the main forces of agglomeration
were highway access and proximity to assembly plants and other supplier
plants.
2.2 The Changing Form of the Auto Factory

Next, we analyze the main design principles underlying the typical early
plant, the plant specifically designed for the moving assembly line, the
current approach that focuses on site selection rather than on the build-
ing, and government incentives that continue to be used to drive loca-
tion decisions within a certain region. This analysis yields a few broad
categories of difference (Table 2.1).
The plans of the earliest auto factories were not very specific to car
production. Ford’s first cars were built in a rented building that was
previously a wagon shop (thehenryford.org, n.d.). Soon after, as the
wagon shop grew too small, Ford built the Piquette Plant, designed by a
Detroit architectural firm in the style of New England textile mills. This
plant, which included a number of safety features unusual at the time,
started operating in 1904. As the moving assembly line was developed,
auto plants were designed to accommodate this new mode of produc-
tion. A new industrial aesthetic developed, and the architect began to
play a more prominent role. Among the earliest and most influential of
these was Albert Kahn, known for his technical and structural innova-
tions—particularly with reinforced concrete—and designs that clearly
reflected the demands of production (Bucci 1993, p. 38).
Working closely with Henry Ford over many decades, Kahn devel-
oped the design principles that gave shape to the modern automotive
factory and continue to be applied today. Kahn considered his design
Table 2.1 Analysis of evolving design and planning/policy guidelines for automotive facilities
14
Design principles for Typical guidelines for the Typical guidelines for the Typical Typical forms of
automotive facilities early plant—based on architect-designed plant— guidelines for government
Henry Ford based on Albert Kahn megasites (contemporary) support for the automotive
(e.g., Piquette plant, (e.g., Highland Park industry (contemporary)
1904) plant, 1909)
Manufacturing guidance
Know the manufacturing •
process
Keep the building size •
proportionate to the
A. LUESCHER AND S. SHETTY
production process
Maintain appropri- •
ate distances to avoid
interference between
technical systems within
the building
Choose construction •
materials on the basis
of specific qualities and
convenience
Provide adequate levels •
of illumination and
ventilation
Include a fire prevention •
system
Functional design
Straight-line production •
Flexibility •
(continued)
Table 2.1 (continued)
1904) plant, 1909)
2
Generous column •
spacing
Suitable floors and •
ceilings
Good lighting •
Adequate ventilation •
Low initial and upkeep •
costs
Construction execution
Accurate preliminary •
estimates
Speed •
Complete and accurate •
drawings
A good contractor •
Adequate supervision •
Site conditions
Minimum of 1000 acres •
with 700–800 contigu-
ous, developable acres
Location within 25–30 • •
AUTOMOTIVE PRODUCTION AND ITS RELATIONSHIP …
miles of at least 50,000

people
15
(continued)
Table 2.1 (continued)
16
1904) plant, 1909)
Transportation • •
infrastructure
• Easy access to rail-
roads, airport and
major port
A. LUESCHER AND S. SHETTY
• Within 3–5 miles,

via truck route, of an
interstate, four-lane
divided highway
Located outside the 500- •
year flood plain
Located within an attain- •
ment area (an area with
good air quality)
Adequate access to •
utilities
Geotechnical and soil •
assessments completed
Proximity of final •
merchants
Sources of raw materials •
(continued)
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CHAPTER XIV
T HERE had been a complete change in the officials of the oasis

since we had last been there. The new doctor—Wissa by name
—came round to call the day after my arrival. He was a Copt.
He belonged to a rich family, owning large landed estates in the
neighbourhood of Assiut.
He spoke English almost perfectly, for like so many Egyptians he
was a born linguist. He was, I believe, almost equally at home with
French and German. His people being very well-to-do had given him
an excellent education, part of which he had received in England and
other European countries.
Like all the Egyptians who have been educated in Europe, he was
an interesting mixture of East and West—and a very curious
compound it was. He talked most learnedly on the subject of
medicine, and appeared to have especially studied such local
diseases as “dengue” and “bilharsia.” Whenever I allowed him to do
so, he gave me most racy accounts of his life as a medical student in
Europe.
But he was an ardent treasure seeker, and his favourite topic of
conversation was occultism and magic, in all of which he had the
native Egyptian’s profound belief. He, the Senussi sheykh, Ahmed el
Mawhub, and the ’omda of Rashida, had formed a sort of partnership
to search for treasure, agreeing to divide equally between them
anything that they found.
He told me a good deal about the Mawhub family of the Senussi
zawia at Qasr Dakhl. He said they were entirely neglecting their
religious work in order to make money, and had then only got five
pupils left in the zawia at Qasr Dakhl, where formerly they had had
great numbers. Old Sheykh Mohammed el Mawhub, who was well
over seventy, had just started, he said, for Kufara with one servant
and three men, who had been sent from that oasis to fetch him.
Wissa professed to have collected information from some
unknown source of treasure that was hidden in many places in or
near the oasis. One place in which he said it was to be found was in
a stone temple eighteen hours’ journey to the west of the village of
Gedida. I afterwards met a native who said he had ridden out and
found this place, so probably it exists—the temple, not the treasure.
He was clearly badly bitten with the treasure-seeking mania.
He was, of course, the possessor of a “book of treasure.” In the
triangle between Mut, Masara and Ezbet Sheykh Mufta there is, he
said, an old brick building on a white stone foundation covered by a
dome, known as the Der el Arais—I saw this place afterwards. In it,
under the dome, the book said, is a staircase with seven flights of
steps, at the bottom of which is a passage seven cubits long. At the
end of the passage is a monk—painted, Wissa thought, on the wall.
The book said that there is an iron ring let into the floor near his feet,
and that by pulling the ring a door would be caused to appear—this
Wissa concluded to be a trap-door. Below is a flight of steps, which
the book said must be descended without fear. At the bottom of the
stair is a small chamber in which a king is buried.
The king has a gold ring with a stone in it on his finger. This is a
magic ring, and if it is immersed in water, which is then given to a
sick person, he will at once be cured, no matter what the nature of
his malady may be. In the chamber there is also a clock that goes for
ever, and in addition a sagia (wheel for raising water) that contains
the secret of Zerzura.
After I had got to know him better, he one day suggested that “as I
was looking for Zerzura,” we should join together to search for the
Der el Arais. He offered to let me keep the wonderful clock and
sagia, and any treasure we might find, if I would only let him have
the ring. With the help of that magic ring he felt certain that he would
become the greatest doctor in the world—yet this was a man who
had taken a diploma at the Qasr el ’Aini Hospital, spent a year at St.
Thomas’s, six months at the Rotunda, and another six studying
medicine between Paris and Geneva—and he wanted to cure his
patients with a magic ring!
On leaving Dakhla, as he was an unusually capable native doctor,
he was appointed to Luxor. Here he got into trouble. His sister
contracted plague, and Wissa, without notifying the authorities, as he
should have done, took her into his house, where he seems to have
neglected the most elementary sanitary precautions. The last I heard
of him he was, perhaps naturally, again in disgrace, and was on his
way to take up an appointment at Sollum, where delinquents of his
kind are sent when there is no room for them in the oases.
All this just shows what inestimable benefits an unusually
intelligent native will reap from a highly expensive European
education!
I had several times noticed in Mut a man dressed like a Tripolitan
Arab in a long woollen blanket, but had never been able to get a
good look at him, as he always avoided meeting me. On one
occasion, when he saw me approaching, he even turned back and
slunk round a corner to get out of my way.
Meeting Wissa one day, I asked him if he knew this Maghrabi
Arab. He replied that he was not really an Arab at all, but a native of
Smint, in Dakhla, and that he was a local magician he had often
spoken to me about, who only wore the Tripolitan dress for effect, as
the Western Arabs are noted as being the best sorcerers.
This man was a member of the Senussi—or as it was usually
expressed “he followed the Sheykh.” I found that he was staying with
Shekyh Senussi, the Clerk in Mut, and by a curious coincidence
Qway also happened to be living in the same house.
I gathered that Qway was in the position of an honoured guest, for
nearly every time I saw him he dilated upon Sheykh Senussi’s
kindness to him. At times he became almost sentimental on the
subject, declaring that he was like a brother to him. The reason for
Qway’s affection evidently being that his camel, of which he was so
proud, was being fed on the fat of the land and that he apparently
was getting unlimited tea. This rapprochement between Qway and
the Senussi, added to the rather secretive manner in which it was
going on, made me suspect that this lavish hospitality had some
ulterior object, though it was difficult to see what they were planning.
There were signs, too, that the Senussi were endeavouring to get
round my other men, for when I went one morning to look at the
camels, I saw an unpleasant-looking, pock-marked Arab skulking
about in the yard to which Abd er Rahman had moved them to
protect them from the wind—or the afrit. He kept dodging about
behind the beasts and making for the entrance to the yard, evidently
trying to avoid being seen. When I called him up and spoke to him,
he told me he had come from “the north,” and tried to give the
impression that he had recently left Assiut.
But on questioning Abd er Rahman about him afterwards I found
that he was one of Sheykh Ahmed’s men, who had come down from
his ezba in charge of two camels on some mysterious errand, the
nature of which was not quite clear. Abd er Rahman, when I told him
that he looked a disreputable scoundrel, was loud in his praise.
I managed to elicit one useful piece of information from him, as he
told me that, owing to most of the camels belonging to the Senussi
having gone with old Mawhub, on his journey to Kufara, they only
had three left in the oasis. This was rather welcome news, as I was
afraid that they might go out and tamper with the depots I was
intending to make in the desert.
CHAPTER XV
A S soon as the camels had been got into good condition I sent
Qway, Abd er Rahman and Ibrahim off with the caravan loaded
with grain, which the two Sudanese were to deposit at Jebel el
Bayed, the hill we had reached at the end of our last journey the
season before.
Ibrahim had not been with me at all the previous season and, as
Abd er Rahman had never even been within sight of the hill, as I had
sent him back to Mut to bring out more water on the journey on
which I reached it, I arranged that Qway should ride with them as far
as the edge of the plateau, where he was to give Abd er Rahman
directions to take him to Jebel el Bayed. Here, however, he was to
leave the caravan and to ride west along the tableland and come
back and report what he had seen.
Abd er Rahman, following the directions given him by Qway,
easily found Jebel el Bayed, and left the grain to form the depot in
the neighbourhood. Qway himself rejoined the caravan on their way
back just before reaching Mut, so they all returned together.
Qway, of course, had done practically nothing. It was difficult to
see the best way of dealing with him. I could, of course, have
discharged him, but drastic remedies are seldom the best, and to
have done so would only have had the effect of playing straight into
the hands of the Senussi, as he was a magnificent guide and they
would have at once gained him as a wholehearted recruit. As he
unfortunately knew the whole of my plans, the better scheme
seemed to be to keep him with me and to tie him up in such a way
that he could do no harm. In the circumstances I thought it best to
send Sheykh Suleyman a letter, asking him to let me have Abdulla
and the best hagin he could find. This, at any rate, would ensure my
having a guide if Qway went wrong; and I hoped by stirring up a little
friction between him and Abdulla to make the latter keep an eye
upon his actions.
Soon after the return of the caravan the mamur left and I went
round to see him off. On the way I looked into the enclosure where
the camels were housed, and again caught Sheykh Ahmed’s pock-
marked camel-man hobnobbing with my men, and saw that he was
stabling his two camels in the neighbouring yard.
On reaching the mamur’s house I found him in a great state of
excitement. The post hagan, with whom he was going to travel, had
omitted, or forgotten, to bring any camels for his baggage. The
mamur was in a terrible state about this, saying that he might have to
send in to the Nile Valley for beasts before he could leave, and that
he was due there himself in six days.
This was an opportunity too good to be lost. I told him there were
two unusually fine camels in the yard next to my caravan, and
suggested that as a Government official going back to the Nile on
duty, he had the power to commandeer them and their drivers, and
suggested that he should do so. No petty native official can resist the
temptation to commandeer anything he has a right to in his district—
it is a relic of the old corrupt Turkish rule. The mamur jumped at the
idea and departed shortly after with a very sulky camel driver and
two of the finest camels owned by the Senussi. It was with great
relief that I saw the last of that pock-marked brute and his beasts, for
their departure left the Senussi with only one camel until in about a
month’s time, when old Mawhub was due to return from Kufara. I
went back to my rooms feeling I had done a good morning’s work,
and effectually prevented the Senussi from getting at the depot I was
making near Jebel el Bayed.
Abdulla, whom I had asked Sheykh Suleyman to send, did not
turn up on the day I had expected; but a day or two afterwards Nimr,
Sheykh Suleyman’s brother, arrived in Mut on some business and
came round to see me. Gorgeously arrayed with a revolver and
silver-mounted sword, he looked a typical bedawi—he certainly
behaved as one. He drank about a gallon of tea, ate half a pound of
Turkish Delight and the best part of a cake that Dahab had made,
and topped up, when I handed him a cigarette box for him to take
one, by taking a handful. He then left, declaring that he was very
mabsut (pleased) with me and promising to send Abdulla along as
soon as he could, and to see that he had a good hagin. As he went
downstairs he turned round, looking much amused, and asked how I
was getting on with Qway!
While dressing one morning I heard Qway below greeting some
old friend of his in the most cordial and affectionate manner; then I
heard him bring him upstairs and, looking through the window, saw
that Abdulla had arrived at last. Qway tapped at the door and, hardly
waiting for me to answer, entered, beaming with satisfaction and
apparently highly delighted at the new arrival—he was an admirable
actor.
Abdulla looked taller and more “feathery” than ever. With a native-
made straw hat on the back of his head and his slender waist tightly
girthed up with a leather strap, he looked almost girlish in his
slimness. But there was nothing very feminine about Abdulla—he
was wiry to the last degree.
He carried an excellent double-barrelled hammer, ejector gun,
broken in the small of the stock it is true, but with the fracture bound
round and round with tin plates and strongly lashed with wire. His
saddlery was irreproachable and hung round with the usual
earthenware jars and leather bags for his food supply.
His hagin was a powerful old male and looked up to any amount
of hard work. I told him to get up on his camel and show me his
paces. Abdulla swung one of his legs, which looked about four feet
long, over the cantle of his saddle and seated himself at once
straight in the seat. He kicked his camel in the ribs and at once got
him into a trot. The pace at which he made that beast move was
something of a revelation and augured well for his capacity as a
scout. He was certainly a very fine rider.
But when I made him take off the saddle I found, as is so often the
case with bedawin camels, the beast had a sore back. There was a
raw, festering place under the saddle on either side of the spine.
As Abdulla had a hard job before him, I had to see his camel put
right before he started, so we went off to a new doctor, who had
come to take Wissa’s place, to buy some iodoform and cotton-wool,
and proceeded to doctor the hagin. But it was clear that it would take
some days to heal.
It made, however, no difference as it turned out. For the caravan
was unable to start as four ardebs[3] of barley that I had ordered
from Belat, never turned up. The barley question was becoming a
serious one; but by dint of sending the men round Mut from house to
house I managed to buy in small quantities, of a few pounds at a
time, an amount that when put together came to about three ardebs,
with which I had for the moment to be content.
The sores on Abdulla’s hagin having sufficiently healed, I packed
the whole caravan off again into the desert. Abd er Rahman and
Ibrahim as before were to carry stores out to the depot at Jebel el
Bayed. Abdulla’s work was to go on ahead of the caravan, following
directions to be given him by Abd er Rahman, as I was afraid Qway
might mislead him, till he reached Jebel el Bayed. There he was to
climb to the top of the hill, whence he could see the one I had
sighted in the distance the season before. This lay in practically the
same line from Mut as Jebel el Bayed itself. Having in this way got
its bearing, he was to go on to the farther hill, which he was also to
climb and make a note of anything that was to be seen from the
summit. He was then—provided the country ahead of him was not
inhabited—to go on again as far as he could along the same bearing
before returning to Dakhla.
I asked Abdulla how far out he thought he would be able to get. In
a matter-of-fact tone he said he thought he could go four, or perhaps
four and a half, days’ journey beyond Jebel el Bayed before he
turned back. As he would be alone in a strange desert, I doubted
somewhat if he would even reach Jebel el Bayed. But I did not know
Abdulla then.
There really was nothing much for Qway to do, but, as I thought it
better to send him off into the desert to keep him out of mischief, I
told him to ride west again along the plateau.
Qway was rather subdued. Abdulla’s arrival had considerably
upset him, in spite of his efforts to disguise the fact. He objected
strongly to his going on ahead of the caravan to scout, but I declined
to alter the arrangement. So to keep Abdulla in his place, Qway, with
the usual high-handed manner of the Arabs, when dealing with
Sudanese, collared a water tin of his for his own use. On hearing of
this I went round to the camel-yard and gave Abdulla back his tin,
and pitched into Qway before all the men. Having thus sown a little
discord in the caravan, I told them they had to start in the morning.
I went round again later in the day and found all the Sudanese
having their heads shaved by the village barber and being cupped
on the back of their necks, preparatory for their journey. The cupping
they declared kept the blood from their heads and made them
strong!
This operation was performed by the barber, who made three or
four cuts at the base of the skull on either side of the spine, to which
he applied the wide end of a hollow cow’s horn, pressed this into the
flesh and then sucked hard at a small hole in the point of the horn,
afterwards spitting out the blood he had thus extracted. It seemed an
insanitary method.
The Sudanese were all extremely dark. Abd er Rahman and
Ibrahim even having black, or rather dark brown, patches on their
gums. Their tongues and the palms of their hands, however, showed
pink. Abdulla was even darker. He came up to my room the evening
after his cupping and declared that he was ill. There was nothing
whatever the matter with him, except that he wanted pills and eye-
drops because they were to be had for nothing. But I made a
pretence of examining him, took his temperature, felt his pulse, and
then told him to show me his tongue.
The result of my modest request was rather staggering. He shot
out about six inches of black leather, and I saw that not only his
tongue was almost black, but also his gums and the palms of his
hands as well. He was the most pronounced case of human
melanism I ever saw.
Sofut.
Sand erosion producing sharp blades of rock very damaging to the soft feet of a
camel. (p. 87).
The Descent into Dakhla Oasis.

This cliff was several hundred feet in height, but the sand drifted against it and made
the descent easy. (p. 36).
A Made Road.
Made roads are practically unknown in the desert. This one was notched out of the
side of the slope and led to the site of an unknown oasis, where treasure was said to
be hidden. (p. 205).
CHAPTER XVI
T HE caravan, with Abd er Rahman and Ibrahim, returned, dead

beat, but safe. No less than four of the tanks they had taken out
filled with water had leaked and had had to be brought back. They
had had to race home by day and night marches all the way. But
they had got in all right—we had extraordinary luck in this way.
As Abdulla did not come in till two days later, I began to fear that
something had happened to him. He arrived with his camel in an
awful state. The sores on his back, which appeared to have healed
when he started, had broken out again and were very much worse
than when he first reached Mut.
His camel had gone so badly, he said, that he had not been able
to do half as much as he would have done if his mount had been in
good condition, and he was very vexed about it indeed. He had
followed Abd er Rahman’s directions and had found Jebel el Bayed
without difficulty. He had climbed to the top and seen the second hill
beyond. He had then gone on towards it—his camel going very badly
indeed—for a day and a half over easy desert, after which he had
crossed a belt of dunes that took about an hour to negotiate. Then
after another half-day he managed to reach the second hill and had
climbed to the top of it. To the south and south-west lay open desert
with no dunes, falling towards the west, dotted with hills and
stretching away as far as he could see. To the north he had been
able to see the cliff on the south of the plateau—the pass down
which we had descended into the “Valley of the Mist” being distinctly
visible, though it must have been a good hundred and twenty miles
away. After this he said he could do no more with such a wretched
camel, so he had been obliged to return. He was very apologetic
indeed for having done so little.
It never seemed to occur to this simple Sudani that he had made
a most remarkable journey. Acting only on directions given him by
Abd er Rahman, he had gone off entirely alone, into an absolutely
waterless and barren desert, with which he was totally unacquainted,
with a very sore-backed camel and riding only on a baggage saddle
—his riding saddle had got broken before the start—but he had
covered in thirteen days a distance, as the crow flies, of nearly four
hundred miles, and more remarkable still had apologised for not
having been able to do more! He got some bakhshish that surprised
him—and greatly disgusted Qway who got none.
The fact that Abdulla saw the pass into the “Valley of the Mist”
from the top of the hill he reached—Jebel Abdulla as the men called
it—shows that the hill was of considerable height, for it, Jebel el
Bayed and the pass, lay in practically a straight line, and the desert
there was very level. The summit of the pass was about 1700 feet
high—the cliff itself being about 250 feet. But it could not be seen
from the top of Jebel el Bayed, which was 2150 feet, owing to a low
intervening rise in the ground. A simple diagram will show that, as it
was visible over this ridge from the top of Jebel Abdulla, the latter
must have been at least 2700 feet high.
Qway, of course, though excellently mounted, had done
practically nothing. There could be little doubt that he and the
Senussi were hand in glove. He was always asking leave to go to
places like Hindaw, Smint and Qalamun, where I knew the Senussi
had zawias, and the Sheykh el Afrit at Smint and Sheykh Senussi,
the poet in Mut, were his two intimate friends, and both of them
members of the Senussia.
The Senussi had always been a nuisance to travellers wanting to
go into their country. It was, however, difficult to see what they could
do. They would not, I thought, dare to do anything openly in the
oasis and, by getting rid of two out of their three camels I had rather
tied them up for the time being, so far as the desert was concerned.
So I went on with my preparations for our final journey with a fairly
easy mind, making the fatal mistake of underestimating my
opponents.
First I engaged the local tinsmith to patch up six tanks that had
developed leaks. Then I sent Ibrahim round the town to see if he
could not find some more weapons. He returned with a neat little
battle axe, a spear and a six-foot gas-pipe gun with a flint-lock. All of
which I bought as curiosities.
We then went out and tried the gun. It shot, it is true, a few feet to
one side; but little trifles like that are nothing to a bedawi. The
general opinion of the men was that it was a very good gun indeed.
Abdulla said he had been in the camel corps and understood guns,
and undertook to put it right. He shut one eye and looked along the
barrel, then he rested the muzzle on the ground and stamped about
half-way down the barrel to bend it. He repeated this process several
times, then handed the gun back to Ibrahim, saying that he thought
he had got it straight.
I got up a shooting match between the three Sudanese to test it.
The target was a tin of bad meat at eighty yards, and Ibrahim with
the flint-lock gun, with his second shot, hit the tin and won the ten
piastres that I offered as a prize, beating Abd er Rahman and
Abdulla armed with Martini’s.
Then I set to work to buy some more barley for our journey and
difficulties at once arose. I sent Abd er Rahman and Abdulla with
some camels to Belat, but the ’omda told them he had sold the
whole of his grain; though they learnt in the oasis that he had not
been able to sell any and still had huge stores of it left.
Abd er Rahman began dropping ponderous hints about Qway, the
Senussi, “arrangements” and “intrigue”; but, as usual, declined to be
more definite. Qway, when I told him of the difficulty of procuring
grain, was sympathetic, but piously resigned. It was the will of Allah.
Certainly the ’omda of Belat had none left—he knew this as a fact. It
would be quite impossible, he said, to carry out my fifteen days’
journey with such a small quantity of grain and he thought the only
thing for me to do was to abandon the idea of it altogether.
I told him I had no intention of giving the journey up in any
circumstances. The only other plan he could think of was to buy the
grain from the Senussi at Qasr Dakhl. They had plenty—excellent
barley. I mentioned this to Dahab, who was extremely scornful,
declaring that they would not sell me any, or if they did, that it would
be poisoned, for he said it was well known that the Mawhubs
thoroughly understood medicine.
The new mamur arrived in due course. The previous one, ’Omar
Wahaby, had endeavoured to ayb me by not calling till I threatened
him. The new one went one better—he sent for me—and had to be
badly snubbed in consequence.
The natives of Egypt attach great importance to this kind of thing,
and I was glad to see that my treatment of the mamur caused a
great improvement in the attitude of the inhabitants of Mut towards
me, which had been anything but friendly before.
The mamur himself must have been considerably impressed. He
called and enquired about my men, and asked if I had any
complaints to make against them. I told him Qway was working very
badly and had got very lazy; so he said he thought, before I started,
that he had better speak to them privately. I knew I should hear from
my men what happened, so thinking it might have a good effect upon
Qway, I sent them round in the afternoon to the merkaz.
They returned looking very serious—Abd er Rahman in particular
seemed almost awed. I asked him what the mamur had said. He told
me he had taken down all their names and addresses, and then had
told them they must work their best for me, because, though he did
not quite know exactly who I was, I was clearly a very important
person indeed—all of which shows how very easily a fellah is
impressed by a little side!—il faut se faire valoir in dealing with a
native.
The mamur afterwards gave me his opinion of my men. His views
on Dahab were worth repeating. He told me he had questioned him
and come to the conclusion that he was honest, very honest—“In
fact,” he said, “he is almost stupid!”
The barley boycott began to assume rather alarming proportions.
The men could hear of no grain anywhere in the oasis, except at
Belat, Tenida and the Mawhubs, and it really looked as though I
should have to abandon my journey.
I could, of course, have tried to get some grain from Kharga, but it
would have taken over a week to fetch. It was doubtful, too, whether
I could have got as much as I wanted without going to the Nile Valley
for it, and that would have wasted a fortnight at least. I was at my
wits’ end to know what to do.
The Deus ex machina arrived in the form of the police officer—a
rather unusual shape for it to take in the oases. He came round one
afternoon to call. I was getting very bored with his conversation,
when he aroused my interest by saying he was sending some men
to get barley for the Government from the Senussi at Qasr Dakhl.
From the way in which he was always talking about money and
abusing the “avaricious” ’omdas, I felt pretty sure that he lost no
chance of turning an honest piastre; so finding that the price he was
going to pay was only seventy piastres the ardeb, I told him that I
was paying hundred and twenty, and that, if he bought an extra four
ardebs, I would take them off him at that price—and I omitted to
make any suggestion as to what should be done with the balance of
the purchase money.
As trading in Government stores is a criminal offence, I felt fairly
sure that he would not tell the Senussi for what purpose that extra
four ardebs was being bought.
The result of this transaction was that, in spite of the barley
boycott that the Senussi had engineered against me, I was
eventually able to start off again to explore the desert, whose secrets
they were so jealously guarding, with my camels literally staggering
under the weight of some really magnificent grain, bought, if they
had only known it, from the Senussi themselves!
The plan for the journey was as follows: we were to leave Dakhla
with every camel in the caravan, including the hagins, loaded to their
maximum carrying capacity with water-tanks and grain. At the end of
every day’s march a small depot was to be left, consisting of a pair of
the small tanks I had had made for the journey, and sufficient barley
for the camels and food for the men for a day’s supply. The reduction
in the weight of the baggage entailed by the making of these depots,
added to that of the water and grain consumed by the caravan on
the journey, I calculated would leave two camels free by the time that
we reached the five bushes.
Qway and Abdulla, who were to accompany the caravan up to this
point, were then to go on ahead of the caravan with their hagins
loaded with only enough water and grain to take them out to the
main depot at Jebel el Bayed. Here they were to renew their
supplies, go on for another day together and then separate. Qway
was to follow Abdulla’s tracks out to the second hill—Jebel Abdulla
as the men called it—that the Sudani had reached alone on his
scouting journey, and was to go on as much farther as he felt was
safe in the same direction, after which he was to retrace his steps
until he met the caravan coming out along the same route, bringing
out water and supplies for his relief. Abdulla’s instructions were to go
due south when he parted from Qway for two or, if possible, three
days. Then he was to strike off west till he cut Qway’s track, which
we should be following, and return upon it till he met the caravan,
which would then go on along the line of the old road we had found
to complete our fifteen days’ journey, and, if possible, push on till we
had got right across the desert into the French Sudan.
I was not expecting great results from Qway’s journey, but he
knew too much about our plans and was too useful a man in the
desert to make it advisable to leave him behind us in Dakhla, where
the Senussi might have made great use of him. Abdulla was well
armed, an experienced desert fighter, and, in spite of his “feathery”
appearance, was a man with whom it would not be safe to trifle. As
there was a considerable amount of friction between him and Qway,
owing to the Arab’s overbearing attitude towards the Sudanese in
general, I had little fear of their combining.
Abdulla, too, had special instructions to keep an eye on Qway,
and, as there was not much love lost between them, I felt sure he
would do so. While Abdulla was with him on the journey out to the
depot, and for a day beyond, Qway, I felt, would be powerless; while
if, after parting from him, he turned back to Jebel el Bayed to try and
get at the depot, he would have us on top of him, as we should get
there before him. When once the caravan had reached the depot we
should pick up all the water and grain it contained and take it along
with us following his tracks.
I had made him dependent on the caravan, by only giving him
about five days’ water for his own use, and none at all for his camel.
So long as he adhered to his programme he was quite safe, as we
could water his camel as soon as he rejoined us. But if he tried to
follow some plan of his own, he would at once run short of water and
find himself in trouble.
I felt that the precautions I had taken would effectually prevent
any attempt at foul play on his part. My whole scheme had been
thought out very carefully, and had provided, I thought, for every
possible contingency, but “the best laid plans o’ mice and men gang
aft agley”—especially when dealing with a Senussi guide.
CHAPTER XVII
A T the start everything went well. Qway, it is true, though he did

his best to disguise the fact, was evidently greatly put out by my
having been able to produce so much barley. But the rest of the men
were in excellent spirits. Ibrahim, in particular, with the flint-lock gun
slung over his back, was as pleased with himself as any boy would
be when carrying his first gun. The camels, in spite of their heavy
loads, went so well that on the evening of the second day we
reached the bushes.
I found that a well which, without finding a trace of water, I had
dug the year before to a depth of thirty feet had silted up to more
than half its depth with sand. Here we cut what firewood we wanted,
and on the following morning Abdulla and Qway left the caravan and
went on ahead towards Jebel el Bayed.
I walked with them for a short distance as they left, to give them
final instructions. I told them that we should closely follow their
tracks. Having some experience of Qway’s sauntering ways when
scouting by himself, I told him that he must make his camel put her
best leg forward, and that if he did I would give him a big bakhshish
at the end of the journey.
He at once lost his temper. The camel was his, he said, and he
was not going to override her, and he should go at whatever pace he
choose. He was not working for me at all, but he was working for
Allah. My obvious retort, that in that case there was no necessity for
me to pay his wages, did not mend matters in the least, and he went
off in a towering rage. The Senussi teach their followers that every
moment of a man’s life should be devoted to the service of his
Creator; consequently, though he may be working for an earthly
master, he must first consider his duty towards Allah, as having the
first claim upon his services—a Jesuitical argument that obviously
puts great power into the hands of the Senussi sheykhs, who claim
to be the interpreters of the will of Allah.
Abd er Rahman, who had been watching this little scene from a
distance, looked very perturbed when I got back to the caravan.
Qway, he said, was feeling marbut (tied) and that was very bad,
because he was very cunning, and he prophesied that we should
have a very difficult journey.
The Arabs are naturally a most undisciplined race, who kick at
once at any kind of restraint. They are apt to get quite highfalutin on
the subject of their independence, and will tell you that they want to
be like the gazelle, at liberty to wander wherever they like, and to be
as free as the wind that blows across their desert wastes, and all that
kind of thing, and it makes them rather kittle cattle to handle.
Abd er Rahman was right; things began to go wrong almost at
once. The first two days after leaving Mut had been cool, but a
simum sprang up after we left the bushes and the day became
stiflingly hot. Towards midday the internal pressure, caused by the
expansion of the water and air in one of the tanks, restarted a leak
that had been mended, and the water began to trickle out of the
hole. We unloaded the camel and turned the tank round, so that the
leak was uppermost and the dripping stopped. But soon a leak
started in another of the mended tanks, and by the evening the water
in most of those I had with me was oozing out from at least one
point, and several of them leaked from two or more places.
When a tank had only sprung one leak, we were able to stop the
wastage by hanging it with the crack uppermost; but when more than
one was present, this was seldom possible. One of the tanks leaked
so badly that we took it in turns to hold a tin underneath it, and, in
that way, managed to save a considerable amount of water that we
poured into a gurba.
On arriving in camp, I took the leaks in hand and stopped them
with sealing-wax. This loss of water was a serious matter. Every
morning I measured out the day’s allowance for each man by means
of a small tin; in face of the leakage from the tanks, I thought it
advisable to cut down the allowance considerably.

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miles of at least 50,000

• Within 3–5 miles,

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T HE caravan, with Abd er Rahman and Ibrahim, returned, dead

A T the start everything went well. Qway, it is true, though he did

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