Hours before the funeral, umbrellas bobbed along the sidewalks in front of St. Paul's Cathedral. Along Detroit's Woodward Ave., the curious hung out of windows, perched on roofs and climbed the trees to get a better view. At the cathedral's entrance, the limousines disgorged the auto city's great. From a maroon Lincoln limousine, Clara Bryant Ford stepped out, leaning on the arm of her grandson, Henry. Inside St. Paul's, in a sealed casket, lay the pinch-faced, fragile remains of her husband.
All day, the day before, the body of Henry Ford had lain...
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