Of Love and the Big Three

At the first mention of the letters G and M, I think about my parents' Oldsmobile station wagon, which after about 3 years, would start if you poured gas directly into some hole in the engine. Free association reminds me of the Ford Taurus that seemed like a spaceship at the beginning, but had a leaky sun roof that would never have protected from the vacuum of space. I then remember the Datsun 210 that outlived the family dog by a significant margin, and went on to be my sister's mode of transportation for her whole time in high school.

When I was in high school I had a sclerotic green-and-rust '78 Volvo 240 station wagon with faux sheepskin seat covers. No style, but it ran great and was a perfect buffer against the teenage idiocy of which I was quite guilty. A good, safe first relationship with the road.

The best car I ever owned was an '03 Mazda Protege5. I took that car everywhere, including the Northwest Territories over 400 miles of gravel. It was a little loud on the highway, but it ran and ran and ran. It was comfortable, had a good sound system, and was perfect for the city or for camping in the boonies. I'm glad that my brother is now its proud owner. The Mazda was clean and smooth, but lacked the soul of some other cars I drove. It was the car you'd take home to your parents, while you quietly mourn the bad girl from Detroit that they'd never approve of.

But the car I loved the most was the '86 Pontiac 6000-LE that I received from my grandmother, 12 years old, with 26,000 miles on it. College road trips were shaped and defined in that car. Ohio to Toronto by way of Niagra Falls. Ohio to Colorado in the middle of the night. DC to Portland Oregon and back, with some pizza delivery peppered in there. Ohio to DC through rain, snow, trucks and the jersey walls of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Midnight runs to Denny's. Over about 4 years and another 25,000 miles the car needed a new radiator, thermostat, A/C compressor, engine suspension and struts, and 2 new tires after a blowout in South Dakota due to ruined alignment from driving too hard over the Bitterroot range of Idaho. A friend miscalibrated the spedometer by pinning it against the 85 for hours across Nebraska in the middle of the night, so I had to keep it at 55 to really be going 65. But I loved that car. My love for that Pontiac was the passionate love of a mutually abusive relationship.

In recent times, as a business traveler I've become a connoisseur of the American rental car fleet. My options range from the square, though well-appointed Chevy Malibu, to the chintzy, plasticky Chrysler Sebring, to my favorite, the leather clad sexy-shaped Pontiac G-6. Oh, and the occasional Hyundai.

My observations are that some of the cars that are made here in America by Americans working for American companies (an increasingly rare combination) aren't so bad. The G-6 handles great, has tons of room, gets over 30 mpg on the highway, has excellent pick-up, and feels well-made. I've even read that Fords and some GM models are now on par with Toyota and Nissan in terms of initial quality. Chryslers, on the other hand, are terrible buzzboxes not worthy of ownership by anyone other than Avis.

So today, the CEOs of GM, Chrysler and Ford are asking for a $25 billion loan to keep making their products. They argue that their continued existence is all that stands in the way of the rust belt getting rustier, of our national security for building the vehicles of war, of national pride. I think of my own likely future decisions in car purchasing. I love renting a G-6, but I'll buy a Toyota Camry. Is $25 billion going to change that? Doubtful.

Is $25 billion going to keep the good people of Michigan gainfully employed making a product that the world demands at a premium? I think not.

Could that $25 billion be better spent on enhanced unemployment benefits, job retraining, tax incentives, business incubator programs, and other ideas? I think so.

If the Federal government's most pressing concern at the bankruptcy of the Big Three is that of the long-suffering workers on the lines of Michigan, Ohio and elsewhere, why not help them directly? Shouldn't ravenous long-term junkies who think only of their next fix of corporate earnings go to rehab, find God, and maybe go on to produce something better? That's far preferable to giving them yet another injection of unfettered capital. Isn't that true even if they have people to take care of? Maybe the plant workers of the midwest would be better off as wards of the state, rather than living under the roof of a long-neglectful, absent parent company.

I love you Pontiac, but baby, you have to change before I come back home.