You can tell Ferdinand Porsche was preoccupied with traction in the 1930s. The ruling Nazi party wanted to prove Germany’s technical might in Grand Prix racing, so it pushed wheelbarrows full of money toward Mercedes and Auto Union, the latter of which built a series of cars of Porsche’s design.
The Types A, B, and C had horsepower like no one had ever seen, thanks to a supercharged V-16 mounted behind the driver. Called the P-Wagen after old-man Porsche, the first of the series, the 1933 Type A made 295 horsepower; a year later, the 1934 Type B made 375 hp; the 1935 Type C made an astonishing 520.
For decades, racing engines outpaced the chassis and tires of the day, and perhaps that was never more true than with the Auto Unions. In his book The 16-cylinder G.P. Auto Union, Cyril Posthumous describes drivers experiencing wheelspin in these cars at over 100 miles per hour. Or at 160 mph in the wet. The mind reels
Needless to say, traction was a problem. Like any good engineer, Porsche aimed to fix it.
Porsche actually patented an early form of limited-slip differential in 1933, and working with supplier ZF—of eight-speed automatic fame today—the duo made a unit that debuted on the 1935 Type C. Auto Union also used a hill-climb version of the Type C with dual rear wheels because, at the time, no one made tires wide enough to handle the V-16’s thrust.
The LSD proved effective and became much more commonplace after the war. But there was something else Porsche was looking into in the 1930s that was so ahead of its time, it’s almost unbelievable—traction control.
Porsche applied for a German patent, DE 695718C, in 1937 for a traction control system and received it in 1940. It’s not immediately obvious when traction control finally became a road-car reality, though Buick may have been the first, with a system called Max-Trac in 1971. So Porsche was about 35 years ahead of the curve.
Conceptually, the system Porsche describes in the patent works just like a conventional traction-control system in a two-wheel drive vehicle. You have some sort of device comparing the speeds of the driven and non-driven wheels, and if the former exceeds the latter, you reduce engine torque. The 1971 Buick—and so many cars that followed—use wheel-speed sensors all connected to a computer. If the computer sees a big difference, it sends a signal to the engine to reduce torque. that send data that gets interpreted by a computer of some sort.
Porsche’s patent describes three different variants of a traction-control system: One that uses a differential mechanism, one that uses hydraulics, and one that uses electricity. Each is essentially looking at the speeds of the driven rear axle and the undriven front axle. If the rear-wheel speed exceeds the front-wheel speed, the comparison device actuates a series of levers attached to the engine’s carburetor.
So, essentially, a 100-percent mechanical traction control system.
Even the electrical comparison device Porsche describes uses a generator for each axle, with voltage created by their rotation. If the voltages are uneven, the comparison device actuates a lever and lights up a bulb on the dash, letting the driver know that the traction-control system is active. Electrical, but not electronic.
Even to this day, this is basically how traction control works. Now, you have speed sensors for each wheel providing data. Electronic controls regulate an internal-combustion engine’s torque output, not just via throttle actuation, but through spark timing as well.
Electric traction motors in hybrids and EVs can control torque output at the source with incredible precision, too. We also have traction control systems that integrate with stability control, leveraging brakes, or perhaps even differential or suspension adjustments in more advanced vehicles to ensure stability.
Still, Porsche had the right idea. In 1937.
This isn’t well-known among Porsche’s inventions. It’s unclear if he ever tested it on a road car. The outbreak of World War II effectively ended grand prix racing for a time, and the Allies threw Ferdinand in jail afterwards. Porsche was obviously instrumental in developing the Nazi regime’s proposed people’s car, the KdF Wagen, which became the Volkswagen Beetle, and other military vehicles.
As a history from the German Patent and Trade Mark Office explains, “Porsche also used forced laborers at the Volkswagen factory, even actively asked for them and was fully aware of their murderous working conditions.”
The story—which was where I first learned about this traction-control patent—also makes no bones about the fact that Porsche’s Nazi ties enriched him and his family, the same family that owns VW to this day.
Porsche was acquitted in 1948. Around the same time, his son Ferry established the Porsche company we know today in Austria, creating the 356. Ferdinand died in 1951 in Stuttgart, aged 75.
Today marks the 150th anniversary of his birth. Ferdinand Porsche’s legacy is tough to reckon with. Indisputable engineering genius and an influence that’s still felt today. And complicity with one of history’s most monstrous regimes.
On his 150th birthday, we should acknowledge Ferdinand Porsche’s brilliance and impact, and the reality of who he was, and the Faustian bargain he made.
