GM: Death of an American dream
I was in the audience at GM's Tech Center in Warren, Mich., on the day in October 1999 when GM revealed the production version of the Pontiac Aztek to the press for the first time. The company was positioning it as a "lifestyle support vehicle" that was the "most versatile vehicle on the planet." With our curiosity piqued, we watched drapes pulled off - and the room went strangely silent. The Aztek bristled with gills, creases, roof racks, and plastic cladding - and that was the good news.
A toxic mix of overreach by market research, compromises by manufacturing, and pound-foolish accounting by finance had resulted in a vehicle that appealed to practically no one. Within weeks the Aztek would be judged one of the ugliest cars of all time. Creating vehicles that people want to buy is the most fundamental mission of any auto company, and GM had failed with the Aztek.
Now it's September 2006, and I fly to Southern California to drive GM's new fuel-cell car, called the Sequel. New government fuel-economy standards and changing consumer preferences are creating a demand for cleaner vehicles; GM wants to leapfrog its Japanese competitors with fuel-cell cars. Since the Sequel isn't licensed for on-the-road use, GM has rented the U.S. Marine Corps' Camp Pendleton as a proving ground. Aside from some stalling problems caused by software glitches, the vehicle runs as promised, generating electricity from the fuel cell and producing only water droplets as exhaust. A GM executive calls it a "game changer." We are told GM will have a production-ready fuel-cell vehicle by 2010. Is GM ready to become a technology leader again?
Just four months later GM announces it is heading down a different research road. In Detroit another group of executives unveils plans for a plug-in electric car called the Chevy Volt, and it also will be ready for market in 2010. A GM executive calls it a "game changer," and nobody mentions fuel cells. Has the future suddenly dimmed for fuel cells? Or have they fallen victim to some corporate infighting? GM isn't saying. Here is the nation's biggest carmaker, struggling mightily to meet tough new fuel-economy standards, suddenly changing strategy without warning. What's remarkable about it is that it isn't surprising.
My father wasn't much of a car guy, but he considered himself a shrewd shopper and always looked for the best deal. In the summer of 1952, I was sitting on the front step of our home in Byram, Conn., when a new Chevrolet Deluxe two-door was delivered. Price: $1,696. The Taylor family turned out not to be loyal GM customers. My father moved on to Fords, a Plymouth, and then, as my siblings and I reached driving age, a hodgepodge of used European imports that wouldn't be hurt by dings and dents. But the idea of a big, powerful General Motors resonated in my unformed mind.
A couple of years later Time named GM's president, Harlow Curtice, man of the year. Time described Curtice as "first among equals," a businessman "whose skill, daring, and foresight are forever opening new frontiers for the expanding American economy." Curtice told the magazine, "General Motors must always lead." I started telling people that I wanted to be the chairman of General Motors when I grew up.
After getting out of college and journalism school, however, I decided to be a network TV correspondent. So I went to work as a reporter at a Time-Life television station in Grand Rapids. Like the rest of lower Michigan, Grand Rapids was part of the GM empire, home to three big GM parts plants. One gloomy afternoon a smallish man in a gray suit named Richard Gerstenberg came to town to hold a news conference. He was next in line to run the largest corporation in the world. GM sold half the cars in the U.S., and by itself, the Chevrolet division was larger than most standalone auto companies. Everybody knew the slogan "See the U.S.A. in your Chevrolet."
