The Waterbury Democrat., 1936-03-16
(By JAMES BRADEN

In the folded hills of Eastern Pennsylvania is of the greatest stories of transportation in the world. That sounds like some great job of moving = an army of men overcoming nature in the raw moods of spring or late winter, Q fleet of trucks bucking the spump floods of a wild river, snorting monster on rails pulling countless loads over the hog back of everlasting rock that tumbles in the pathway of pan.
 None of these. No mighty surge of united human effort.
 But much more important.
 One man against the tangible and intangible things that rear their shaggy heads in the span of years of an individual and make or un- make or unmake for that peculiar and sometimes illusory thing that we all seek in this world-happi- ness. One man and one-woman- and an automobile.
 At first flush 1t sounds a little silly to say that this combination gives Q basis for @ great story of transportation.
 But not all of the great stories in this world arc found where are the brass bands and trumpets.
 This one Is located in @ quiet spot that many in tumultuous cities may think no longer exists in America. It has no far flung de- sign. It is all included within a radius of 25 miles of a hamlet, . little town of four or five hundred souls that is neither on the big road of the federal marking system nor on the big road of modern in- dustry and finance.
 But read the story and you will agree that 1t is one of the greatest stories of transportation in the world. You will find that this thing that has happened in the eastern hills of Penn's Woods is, finally, Q story of Detroit.
 The mans name Is Hiram Doh ner. His wife's name is Mary. They live in Quentin, Pennsylvania. That is near Lebanon-where the farms are the despair of farmers the world over. Not because those farmlands are bad but because they are so good-so abundantly fruitful to the stewardship of the, sturdy men and women who live. on them and whose ancestors have lived on them since our country's early days of history.
 But Hiram and Mary Dohner do not live on a farm. and they do not directly partake of the blessings that come to the farmers of East- ern Pennsylvania.
 They are little people-little in stature, in physical attainments and little in the realm of finance.
 Hiram A Carpenter
 Hiram is a carpenter. Lots of men are carpenters. There have been carpenters in the world for long time.
 But Hiram Dohner is one car- penter who did not want to go to a big town or to city. He wanted to live in the hamlet of Quentin. rich legends of early continental America and, tylical of all that is American.
 And in 1914 when the huge black clouds of war were rilling over Europe and the Liszt symphony of our modern era was rumbling and laundering, the carpenter, Hiram Dohner, was facing one of the greatest problems of his life.
 He wanted to live in his placid and peaceful village with his wife, Mary, who had that distracting sense of proportion that we call sense of humor, and there wasn't enough work for him to sustain livelihood there and there wasn't any transportation.
 Detroiters will recall that about that time the particular phase of industry that is called mass pro- duction and which brought the au- tomoble within the reach of mill lions instead of hundreds. was just stretching itself in Michigan. A new automobile company that had start ed in 1911 and which no one paid much attention to was making a car that was labeled by the high