Gasoline rationing during the Second World War, as we have seen, was far from the most popular governmental program of all time. Many Americans viewed the system as just another means of harassing the public. Its necessity for the war effort was constantly called into question – in Congress, and at the gas pumps and ration boards.

The Office of Price Administration (OPA) later claimed that compliance with rationing had been, on the whole, fairly good. Not as universal, certainly, as they had hoped; but perhaps as good as could be expected. Yet abuses, large and small, abounded. Years later, Newsweek magazine suggested that "many drivers saw the rationing system not as an appeal to their patriotism, but as a challenge to their ingenuity in figuring out how to beat it."

From the beginning in May 1942, motorists in all walks of life were ready to explain to their local ration boards why they needed more gas than their neighbors. If an honest appraisal of one's needs was unlikely to produce a "B" or "C" coupon book, many did not hesitate to make fraudulent claims. Or, more likely, to take advantage of the "black market" that developed early in the war.

Not all evasive tactics were equally serious, of course. Much of the abuse amounted simply to driving more than necessary. Claiming a necessity to drive to work, for example, when an alternate means of transportation could have been found. Or using part of one's business allotment for pleasurable pursuits.

When the OPA began checking race tracks and sports stadiums, they spotted quite a few autos with "B" and "C" stickers parked in the lots. Late in 1942, when 102 such motorists were questioned, 38 of them, according to the New Republic, "surrendered their cards rather than try to explain" their presence.

Before rationing became nationwide in December 1942, motorists living near the edge of the rationed East Coast were often not averse to crossing a state border, to purchase unlimited gasoline. Before long, a 50-mile buffer zone was created, with service stations in that area instructed not to sell gas to rationed drivers unless they presented coupons.

The "hardship" rations issued for driving to secure medical treatment, visit sick relatives and the like – and for moving to another clty – were subject to many spurious claims. Some well-to-do motorists, wishing to spend their winters in sunny Florida and summer in the North, expected to receive sufficient gas to drive their cars both ways. The Mileage Rationing Record Issued with each coupon book, and endorsed whenever special allotments were issued, helped to curb excesses. But it wasn't always easy to decide which claims were legitimate.

Some violations were more blatant. Since commercial vehicles were entitled to extensive allotments, a few private station wagons were magically transformed into trucks before one's appearance at the ration board. Salesmen not engaged in trade of essential goods, granted only a "B" sticker, sometimes became (in their own minds) wholesale distributors or consultants, in the hope of gaining a "C" rating.

One problem lay in the fact that display of a "C" sticker was often viewed as a sign of status. A doctor or other "essential" worker might not have needed to drive extensively in the course of his or her duties. But if his auto sported only an "A" or "B" sticker, what would the neighbors think?

Local ration boards, consisting mainly of volunteers from the community, faced a formidable task in evaluating each claim for special treatment. The OPA, with only one multi-dutied investigator for each U.S. county, was able to check up on only a small portion of the abuses.

During the ban on pleasure driving in the East in 1943, for instance, investigators could hardly interrogate every driver on the road – even though they were aided by local authorities. Moreover, the distinction between "essential" and "pleasure" driving was not clear-cut in every case.

All told, the prevailing attitude for a large part of the motoring public seemed to be "give the military all the fuel it needs – but only after I get mine." In addition to the basic reluctance to tolerate scarcity, though, there were a few tangible reasons for the lack of public acceptance.

For one thing, the system was not well-defined. Members of ration boards could make relatively easy decisions about the number of coupons to be issued for shoes or sugar. Those rules were standardized. In rationing fuels, however, the local boards were given a great deal of discretion.

Board members' decisions were not always appreciated by their neighbors, either. Joe M. Dawson. writing in the Saturday Evening Post about his experiences as a board member in New York, lamented that his fellow members were "about as popular as tax collectors." In smaller communities, some became virtual "social pariahs" as a result of their activities.

Another stumbling block lay in the myriad of complex rules and regulations, many never adequately spelled out. Small businessmen (and the 7 million farmers who owned trucks) were particularly dismayed by the detailed forms required for commercial rations. In addition, their applications might be denied for obscure reasons.

Public acceptance might have been greater if the necessity for the program – and for its subsequent changes – had been better explained by officials. As Chester Bowles, the third and last OPA Administrator, wrote in Life magazine that the public was "suspicious of the shortages which made rationing necessary, confused by conflicting statements from Washington, and thoroughly skeptical of the new wartime bureaucracy."

Early in the rationing era, a far more serious problem developed: the well-known black market in gasoline. It became worse as the war continued, by 1943 constituting a major threat to the war effort.

Actually, very little gasoline was stolen from legitimate sources, pumped into the tanks of avaricious motorists in the dead of night, out in the boondocks. Instead, the black market operated almost entirely within the coupon system, according to the Quarterly Journal of Economics, amounting to theft and manipulation of coupons rather than of fuels.

No real safeguards were provided during the initial 10- week trial period on the East Coast, when punch cards were used. The system depended solely upon the honesty of dealer and consumer, with no evidence of the transaction remaining.

The coupon system, initiated in the East in July 1942, was an improvement – particularly after a "flowback" provision was added. Each dealer was then required to turn in all of the coupons received – pasted onto gummed sheets – to his fuel supplier, who in turn deposited them in a Ration Bank account, handled by his banker.

Once a month, fuel suppliers had to write a "check" for the number of coupons that had been turned in by their dealers and fill out certain OPA forms. Future allotments – to the supplier and to the retail dealer – would depend upon the total number of coupons submitted. This information would also help the OPA in planning future coupon valuations.

Theoretically, the "flowback" system appeared foolproof. A given number of coupons would circulate, valid for a stated number of gallons. Then, each dealer's stock would be replenished only to the extent of the coupons that he had actually received from motorists.

In reality, there was plenty of room for manipulation. Many dealers managed to acquire surplus coupons, purchasing them from operators of commercial vehicles. These spurious coupons were then used to account for gas sold to favored customers, typically at a premium price: at least a few cents per gallon over the OPA ceiling, sometimes double that amount or even higher.

That was only the beginning. Millions of coupons were stolen from local boards and government warehouses, winding up in the hands of gasoline dealers. Besides that, an astonishing number of counterfeits began to appear.

All of these illicit coupons found their way into the "flowback," thereby diminishing the supply available for legitimate users. A dealer handling them would receive more gas in future shipments than he was honestly entitled to receive. The swollen total of coupons, then, effectively reduced the eventual gallonage value of all coupons.

The extent of the black market was enormous. In March 1944, the OPA estimated that 2½ million gallons of gasoline each day were being purchased with illegal coupons.

Participation in the illicit traffic was evidently not difficult. A Texas reporter, writing in Colliers in 1943, described a 2,000-mile trip he took, using not a single legal coupon. He even managged to buy extra bootleg coupons along the way. As punishment for his extralegal activities, the OPA withheld his ration privileges for the following year, warning that he had been irresponsible in "pointing out how easy it is to violate the law."

A Federal judge, announcing a 6-year jail sentence given to gas racketeers, compared their crime to outright treason. Administrator Bowles concurred In that description. Writing in The New York Times, furthermore, Bowles warned that "a vast number of good American citizens are operating in the black market as consumers." In his view, though, most did not realize how much they were "sabotaging the war effort."

Not everyone participated, of course. Many millions of Americans went along – whether eagerly or grudgingly – with the shortages and restrictions. By the spring of 1944, some 15 million citizens signed the Home Front Pledge, vowing to "accept no rationed goods without giving up ration stamps," and to "pay no more than ceiling prices."

Still, in 1944 it was estimated that 15% of all the "C coupons in use were either stolen or counterfeit. At least 25% of the coupons circulating in New York – and a whopping one-half of those in Milwaukee – were thought to be illicit. Even those Americans who wouldn't dream of using illegal coupons were hardly unaware of their existence.

Various enforcement techniques were adopted by the OPA, in an attempt to stem the tide of bootleg gas. To begin with, in November 1942, consumers were asked to sign their coupons – and to write down the car's license number – before turning them in to the dealer. This requirement was not popular at all, attacked by both the oil industry and the public.

Noting early in 1944 that only half of the nation's coupons were being signed (or were endorsed by dealers rather than customers), the OPA initiated an all-out campaign to inform drivers of the seriousness of the situation. The Petroleum Industry War Council also began producing ads warning of the "menace of the black market." By July, it was claimed that 97% of the coupons were being correctly endorsed.

Also in early 1944, issuance of ration coupons with serial numbers began, for holders of all but "A" books. Not everyone would be willing, it was assumed, to present a numbered coupon – and endorse that coupon – knowing or suspecting that it was fraudulent in some way.

While many racketeers and dealers "got away with" their manipulations, a considerable number did not. During the first five months of 1944, for example, 1,362 counterfeiters and traffickers in stolen coupons were arrested, and more than 1,500 service station operators had their licenses suspended. During the first three years of the program, according to U.S. News & World Report, more than 32,000 drivers lost their ration privileges.

Obviously, the fact that black market gas siphoned off the available supply did not necessarily mean that the military had to go without. There was no evidence that any tank or plane was ever forced to curtail its operations because of lack of fuel. Nonetheless, a tremendous amount was needed: a Flying Fortress, according to Bowles, consumed as much fuel in 3½ hours as a passenger car required in a whole year.

After the war came to a close in August 1945, the restrictions on driving were llfted – and promptly forgotten. During the postwar years, the automobile became an even more crucial facet of social and economic life. The only gas lines seen were those resulting from unique local shortages – and during the periodic "price wars" in some areas.

Prior to the war, in 1940, there had been about 27½ million cars in the U.S., each traveling a bit over 9,000 miles per year, consuming a total of about 16.3 billion gallons of gasoline annually. By 1976, the number of cars rose to nearly 110 million, using up over 78 billion gallons.

Interestingly, the number of miles traversed by each private auto went up only slightly through that period, to 9,733 miles per year in 1976. The rise in total mileage and consumption was due, of course, to the massive increase in the number of drivers – and multi-car families – as well as to a 10 percent drop in average fuel economy.

With the auto industry expanding so dramatically, hardly anyone – save a few pessimists – gave a thought to oil. When considered at all, most motorists (and oil-industry experts) viewed the supply as virtually inexhaustible. Refining capacity managed to keep pace with the increasing demand, so why worry?

Going into the 1970s, however, relatively few Americans were aware of the country's growing dependence on foreign oil. For that reason, the Arab oil embargo in 1973 came as a shock. Seemingly overnight, the specter of the ration book loomed once again over the nation's gas pumps.

Foreseeing the potential shortage as early as May 1973, Senator Henry Jackson Introduced a measure in Congress that would require then-President Nixon to set up a rationing plan. By November, the last of the Arabian oil was arriving on American shores, and the gas lines that most citizens never dreamed they would see again began to appear.

Nixon steadfastly resisted the growing pressures for standby gas rationing, not wanting to use any power that might be granted by Congress. John Love, the Director of White House Energy Policy, advocated the introduction of rationing by January 1974. Secretary of the Interior Morton agreed that it was inevitable. But most others in the Nixon Cabinet, including "energy czar" William Simon, remained staunchly opposed. So did most American drivers.

The Office of Management and Budget, though, was studying the situation closely, coming up with several tentative plans. A system similar to that used during the war – with A, B and C priorities – was seen as the least desirable, presenting the risk of a new black market.

The proposal receiving greatest support involved issuing a fixed number of coupons to drivers, but permitting them to sell any excess coupons in a "white market." A family might receive coupons worth 10 or 15 gallons of gas per week. Motorists whose needs were met with less than that amount could sell unused coupons – either at a stated price or for whatever the market would bear – to any driver who wanted extras. Or, possibly, return them for a refund.

During the war, an "A" coupon book had been allowed for each vehicle owned by a family. But far more households – more than a third – owned two or more cars in the 1970s than had been the case in prewar years. Granting coupons to each family in the country, or to each licensed driver, was generally thought to be more equitable.

Another possibility, giving coupons to every citizen (regardless of car ownership or possession of a driver's license), had a certain appeal. It would allow the poor, who were less likely to own cars, an opportunity to earn a few dollars each month by selling their coupons.

But as Henry C. Wallich commented in Newsweek, many low-income persons do indeed drive – often for long distances – to their jobs. That system could conceivably produce the inverted picture of well-to-do urbanites (who didn't need to drive) selling coupons to impoverished workers. Wallich also suggested that issuing coupons to every car owner would merely keep clunkers on the street, "earning'' coupons for their owners, when they should be in the junkyard.

In any case, early in 1974 the Administration proposed a contingency rationing plan. Each of the nation's 118 million licensed drivers (over age 18) would receive an authorization card. Upon application at a Post Office or bank, he or she would receive coupons good for a one-month supply of gas.

The exact value of each coupon would fluctuate according to the shortfall in supply for that month. The ration would vary from one region to another, too, depending upon the availability of public transportation. Larger allotments could be obtained by those with special needs. Consumers would have to sign their coupons, and a 60-day validity period was suggested, to discourage hoarding and speculation as to future coupon valuations.

Simon predicted that drivers would Initially be entitled to 32-35 gallons per month – slightly more than the maximum "B" ration during the war. Coupons could be traded in a "white" market, at any price. Dealers would have to turn used coupons in to their suppliers, by way of their banks, in a manner similar to the wartime "flowback."

The long gas lines in many areas during the Christmas holidays – coupled with Sunday closings and limitations on gas purchases – had provided an added incentive to proceed with the program. Early in January, then, Simon ordered a 3-month supply of coupons to be printed.

They weren't needed, of course. The embargo was lifted, and the rationing scare and temporary shortage appeared to be over. Speculation about rationing did not disappear, though. Increasing numbers of experts and officials saw the short-term crisis as a sign of things to come, sooner or later. Most drivers did not agree, consuming just about as much gasoline as before.

In 1975, Congress asked the Ford Administration to come up with its own standby rationing plan. A system that would have provided coupons to every licensed driver was drafted, but never formally submitted. President Carter also was instructed to submit a proposal, by June 1976, but it too never reached Congress for consideration.

Not until 1979, with a new crisis at hand, was rationing taken seriously. President Carter's plan differed from earlier ones, in that it would give coupons for each vehicle owned by a family (or business), determined by vehicle-registration lists. Ration "checks" would be mailed to motorists every three months, which could then be converted at a bank into coupons worth five gallons each.

Such a standby program was intended to go into effect only when the shortfall reached a predetermined level, remaining there for a stated period (perhaps 30 days). For a 20 percent shortfall, it was estimated that nine coupons (good for 45 gallons) might be issued per month. A "white" market would be permitted, with coupons traded at any price. In addition, local areas could impose supplementary rationing methods, such as odd/even driving days, at their discretion.

Any contemporary rationing system at that time would be costly, amounting to somewhere between ½ and 1 billion dollars per year. Moreover, it would take at least six months to put it into effect, once Congressional authorization had been given. Those coupons printed back in 1974 were still tucked away in a warehouse – 4.8 billion of them – but they would have to be imprinted with serial numbers, at considerable expense in itself. Computerization might make the day-by-day functioning of any system less formidable than it had been during World War II, of course, but a massive bureaucracy would still be needed.

Popular Opinion On Rationing

Much of the strongest criticism over the years has been directed less at rationing itself than at the question of whether there is – or ever will be – a real shortage of fuels. Through the 1980s, millions of Americans remained convinced that the 1970s crisis had been created by the oil companies (perhaps with the collusion of the government), in an attempt to drive gas prices skyward.

Through the spring and summer in those years, motorists insisted that "when the price gets to a dollar a gallon, we'll have all the gas we need." Those who argued that the shortage was indeed real, even if aggravated by oil-company manipulations – or more important, could be real next time – have often been scoffed at as doomsayers.

In view of the abrupt cessation of lines at the gas pumps later in the summer of 1979, augmented by the hefty profit increases reported by the oil companies, the former opinion would appear to have been proven correct. Supplies returned closer to normal (even though gas-station hours grew shorter). As usual, it was amazing how easily drivers grew accustomed to the new high prices. But appearances may deceive. Since even the most knowledgeable experts continued to disagree vehemently about the prospect of actual depletion of crude oil resources in the months and years ahead, there is little value in arguing the point here.

More important, the crisis – real or not – got people thinking and talking. Even those who insisted that oil would remain plentiful for many years to come increasingly came around to the opinion that world problems and/or oil company greed could indeed produce temporary – and potentially serious – shortages.

Rationing as a possible remedy, while growing somewhat in acceptance, never became a popular approach. A bit of superstition enters in. Many have seemed to feel that once the door has been opened – that rationing has been approved on a standby basis – it will inevitably become a reality, whether needed or not. And that, once put into effect, it will stick around indefinitely. Therefore, we shouldn't even open that door a crack.

Part of the opposition is based on past experience. The Prohibition era revealed the typical American's inclination to disregard an unpopular law. Moreover, since so many motorists chose not to cooperate with the rationing system during wartime, when the need was presumably critical, could they be expected to eagerly comply with a peacetime program?

Not likely. Compliance with unpopular laws has hardly improved since the 1970s, as can be seen from the massive disobedience of speed limits, along with violation of drunk-driving, drug, and gambling laws.

If any loophole is allowed into future rationing systems, it's safe to assume that plenty of motorists will happily take advantage of it, using up all the gas they can get their hands on. Still, rationing may well come to pass one day, especially if the public finally comes to accept that reliance on fossil fuels is truly harming the planet beyond repair. And a standby program might be prudent – preferable to the chaos that could develop if no preparations are made.

Only by considering what rationing would mean to motoring can we even hope to ward off its introduction. And let's face facts: only voluntary conservation has any real chance of preventing a ration book in our future. We cannot count on the development of synthetic fuels, electric vehicles, the courting of OPEC nations (and Mexico) or the discovery of untapped oil reserves as a solution, no matter how much we might want – or expect – them to come about.

Unfortunately, conservation has become almost a dirty word to many motorists. Because it's seen as part of the concern expressed by environmentalists – the often-derided "ecology freaks" – all too many drivers refuse to have anything to do with the notion. While quite a few have voluntarily cut back on driving at some point as a money-saving measure, by the Reagan era it became unfashionable – even unpatriotic, in some strange way – to admit that conservation of fuel played any part in that decision.

Is it so terrible to demonstrate some concern for the future of oil supplies – even if they do indeed last for centuries – as well as for our pocketbooks? Not until fuel conservation can be judged on its own, it seems – apart from other environmental questions – is it likely to have a real effect.

Whether conservation or rationing lies ahead, some thought should be given to the difference between "essential" and "pleasure" driving. During the war, and in subsequent rationing proposals, driving to work and in the course of one's business has consistently been defined as "essential." The social and recreational portion (estimated at a bit over one-fourth of the total in 1973) is the one that, it is felt, can be curtailed without significant harm to the American lifestyle.

One day, a partial choice between the two may have to be made by motorists, but most of us seem to want it both ways. We want to drive to work, but also to have enough gas left on the weekend – and in summer – to engage in pleasurable activities. Let's not forget, though, that while one's work may be seen as essential, driving there isn't necessarily so.

All too many motorists are horrified at the thought of contributing tax dollars to the improvement of public transportation – and equally appalled by the prospect of taking public conveyances themselves. In 1975, more than two-thirds of American heads of households drove alone to work, another 17 percent used car pools – and only 5 percent relied on public transport.

According to research by Statista Consumer Insights, at least 73 percent of commuters currently drive to their jobs. Only about 13 percent take public transportation, while 11 percent reported riding a bicycle. Only about 9 percent use carpooling.

Frequently overlooked is the fact that increased usage of public transportation leads to less-crowded highways – surely a benefit for those who simply cannot abide mass transit for themselves, or for whom adequate public facilities are unavailable. While many rush-hour drivers see the time spent In their cars as a respite from the tensions of the job, only a masochist can honestly say that an hour or more of stop-and-go, bumper-to-bumper traffic is the high point of his or her day.

The trouble, of course, is that excessive fuel usage has been "built into" the contemporary social and economic system. And that rail and bus transport has been allowed to decay to an astonishing low level In many areas.

The push for suburban housing in the postwar years was only the beginning. More recent moves of businesses into the suburbs have produced the absurd vision of expressways that are almost equally crowded in both directions during rush periods: suburbanites driving to jobs ln the city, while urban residents make their way to suburban companies. By 1975, almost one-third of workers were driving more than 10 miles to the job.

Overindulgence in business travel has its impact, too. At times, Congresspersons have been subjected to hostility regarding their propensity for junkets and trips back to the constituency at home. But similar scrutiny is seldom given to travel in the private sector. Can we honestly say that all of the salesmen and consultants traveling each day, whether on land or in the air, are conducting business that could not as easily be handled with a letter or phone call? All the more so in the 2020s, with availability of email, texting, Zoom meetings, and remote work.

Obviously, the big changes cannot be made overnight. However, even a modest reduction in daily, mundane driving just might have enough of an effect to minimize the need for rationing at some future point.

What About the Oldies?

Perhaps even more important than securing a large allocation, then, is the need for ascertaining that our allotted number of gallons can be used as we choose. Should the driver who takes pains to conserve on mileage during the week be penalized by having his coupons expire before they can be used for a needed vacation, antique-car event, or other recreational purpose.

Many old-car owners in the 1970a undoubtedly perked up a bit when hearing President Carter's proposal, which would have given coupons on the basis of vehicles owned (up to a maximum of three per household). Some car collectors wouldn't be satisfied with that amount, insisting on a full allotment for every car in the garage (or undergoing restoration, or lying in the back yard in pieces). But the fact is, even three can be too much, if the vehicles owned are not driven on a regular basis.

Public opinion has to be drawn toward the desirability of allowing any rations at all for older and historic vehicles. Hard as it may be for collectible-vehicle fans to believe, not everyone loves to see old cars on the road. If shortages and rationing do come, the driver of a late-model subcompact is not necessarily going to appreciate the sight of a V-16 Cadillac or a gas-guzzling 1960s muscle car at the gas pump. Even during temporary crises, there have been signs of hostility from some motorists.

Perhaps it might be wiser to seek an allotment slightly less than that granted to regularly-driven cars, for older autos that receive infrequent use. Better to be content with an assurance of a modest amount, than to wind up with zero. Such an outcome could best be avoided by presenting a rational case for reasonable allocations to hobbyist vehicles. Insisting upon a limitless supply is not going to yield many friends.

Let's not ignore reality. A dash of conservation, and a touch of attention paid to the proposals that are likely to affect old and special-interest automobiles, may well make even a rationed future future a happier one.

Note: An early version of this article, written only a few years after the 1973-74 oil crisis, appeared in Car Exchange, a magazine devoted to collectible vehicles. Because it was originally written in the 1970s, most references to the possibility of revived gas rationing and to antique vehicles pertain to that time period, half a century ago, rather than the present time.