The worldwide staff of T'n'T are car people. More specifically, we are Big Three car people. Watching what may be the death rattles of Chrysler, and, particularly, General Motors, has been quite difficult. For me, GM loyalty runs deep.
On the paternal side, Dad was an industrial engineer with the General. So, in my youth, General Motors put food on the table, a roof over my head, and kept me in Levi's, Nikes, and the occassional Coke Shirt. We lived about twenty miles outside of Dayton, Ohio. Back in the 70's and early 80's, Dayton was essentially a company town for the General. There were something like six or seven plants in town.
One plant, in the industrial area of Loraine, was the final assembly plant for Chevy S-10 pick-ups. Watching a car get put together is like the world's most awesome jigsaw puzzle. It is both science and art--creating something that is an object of both passion and utility. There was a point where the body assebly line and the frame assembly line merged. The bodes would come from up high and get dropped down onto the lower line that the frames were on, all while both continued to move forward. It's an industrial tango of equisite angles and timing. I never met someone who couldn't stand there and watch it all day in wonder. If I ever actually met a guy who didn't think that was simply awesome, I'd probably punch him in the face.
Mom's contribution to the GM-love has always been more about the cool factor. She has said to me, that if she ever became independently wealthy she wouldn't buy a big house. Nope. She says she'd build a seven-car garage and have a new Corvette, a classic Corvette Stingray, a Camaro, a Cadillac Escalade, a Cadillac CTS, a Pontiac Solstice, and a Chevrolet Silverado or Avalanche. Basically, it'd be a car for every day of the week.
Mom and I share an appreciation for Corvettes. I remember one time when we were driving home from a Cincinnati Reds game up I-75. There was a guy in a Corvette that was weaving in and out of traffic. I watched out the rear window as he came up behind us, pulled out and then went around us. Moments later I heard Mom yell, "Oh God, no! Not the Corvette." I looked and saw it do a 180 and slide off the highway backwards into ditch. As we passed and saw the driver slap his hands against the steering wheel in frustration, Mom says, "Whew. Good, it doesn't look like he did much damage to the 'Vette."
So, what's the point of my ramblings? Well, it's this. As P.J. O'Rourke discusses in this WSJ column is that a big part of what went wrong with the American automotive industry is that it lost, because we as Americans lost, the love affair with the auto.
I fear that once the "G" in GM stands for "Government" rather than "General", that what remaining passion roams the halls of the Renaissance Center will be squeezed out. Who could possibly want a car brought to you by the same people who bring you the Post Office and the Social Security Administration. When plant expansion or closing decision don't just have politica considerations, but are considered political in their entirety, how long will it be before we have an empty plant in southwestern Pennsylvania named for John Murtha. And when the broad parameters of design, engineering, and salemanship are driven by the whims of a Congressional committee, I suspect it won't be long before we are asked to buy Chevrolet Algores that are as bloated and content-free as their namesake.
Where do we go from here? Well, I hope that the General comes out of this on the other side as a still viable entity. I hope that it doesn't go the way of British Leyland.
But, more immediately, I'm going to do my part to remember how much I love cars. I'm going to encourage the rather unhealthy man-crush that I have for my car by driving around tomorrow for no particular purpose with the sun-roof open, the windows down, and the Beach Boys blaring and an ear-drum shattering volume. I encourage all of you to do the same.
