of praise from the client's chairman of the board and-even more
significant-a major TV network had committed itself to showing Auto City
as a public service during prime viewing time. As a result, Barbara's
own standing at OJL had never been higher, and she and Gropetti had been
asked to work together on a new f1drn for another agency client.
The others congratulated her, Brett with obvious pride.
Soon after, the talk returned to the Orion and the dealer preview
extravaganza. "I can't help wondering," Erica said, "if all this week
is really necessary."
"It is," Adam said, "and I'll tell you why. Dealers and salesmen at a
preview see any car at its best-like a jewel in a Tiffany setting. So
from that, plus all the carnival, they go back charged up about the
product that in a few days will be dropped off in front of their
dealerships."
"Dropped off dusty," Brett said. "Or maybe grimy from the journey, with
hub caps off, bumpers greasy, stickers and sealing tape all over. A
mess."
wheels 465
Adam nodded. "Right. But the dealer and salesmen have already seen the
car as it should be. They know how great it is when prepared for a
showroom. Their enthusiasm doesn't leave them, and they do a better
selling job."
"Not forgetting, advertising helps," Barbara said. She sighed. "I know
that critics think a lot of the hoopla's corny. But we know it works."
Erica said softly, "Then mostly because all three of you care so much,
I hope it works for the Orion."
Under the table, Adam squeezed her hand. He told the others, "Now we
can't miss.~
A week later, when the Orion was on view in dealer showrooms throughout
North America, it seemed that he was right.
"Rarely," reported Automotive News, the industry's weekly holy writ,
"has a new car evoked such a remarkable response so soon. Already, a
huge backlog of orders has its manufacturers elated, their production
men harried, competitors alarmed."
A press consensus reflected the same view. The San Francisco Chronicle
declared, "The Orion has most of the safety and clean air hardware we've
been promised for years, and looks beautiful too." The Chicago Sun-Times
conceded, "Yessirl This one's zazzy!" The New York Times pontificated,
"Conceivably, the Orion may mark the end of an era which, while
admittedly encouraging engineering advances, of ten subordinated them
to styling needs. Now, both out-of-view engineering and external form
appear to be proceeding hand-in-hand."
Newsweek and Time both featured Hub Hewitson and the Orion on their
covers. "The last time that happened," a gleeful p.r. man told anybody
who would listen, "was with Lee Iacocca and the Mustang."
466-wheels
Not surprisingly, the company's top echelon was in a happy mood when, soon
after the Orion's public introduction, it met to consider Farstar.
It was a final product policy meeting-last of a series of three. The
Farstar project had survived the preceding two. Here, it would either go
forward as a firm commitment-a new car to be introduced in two years'
time-or would be discarded forever, as many projects were.
The previous meetings had involved intensive study, presentations,
argument, and tough interrogation, but were relatively informal. The final
meeting would still feature the same kind of study and dissection but, as
to formality, would be like a black-tie dinner party compared with casual
lunch.
The product policy board, which today would total fif teen people, began
assembling shortly after 9 A.M. The meeting would commence at 10 A.M.
promptly, but it was traditional for informal discussions, between groups
of two and three, to occupy most of the hour beforehand.
The meeting place was on the fifteenth floor of the company staff
building-a smallish, luxuriously appointed auditorium, with a horse-
shoe-shaped table of polished walnut. Around the closed end of the
horseshoe were five black leather, high-backed chairs for the chairman of
the board, president, and three executive vice-presidents of whom Hub
Hewitson was senior. In the remaining lower-backed chairs the remaining
participants would sit, in no particular order.
At the horseshoe's open end was a raised lectern f or use by whoever was
making a presentation. Today it would be occupied mainly by Adam Trenton.
Behind the lectern was a screen for slide and film projection.
A smaller table beside the horseshoe was for
wheels--467
the meeting's two secretaries. In the wings and a projection booth were
staff backup men, with thick black notebooks containing-as a wag once put
it-every answer known to man.
And as always, despite the prevailing Orion happiness and a surf ace ease
which might deceive an outsider, the underlying tone of the product policy
meeting would be deadly serious. For here was where an auto corporation
put millions of dollars on the line, along with its reputation and its
life. Some of the world's greatest gambles were launched here, and they
were gambles because, despite research and backup, an " aye" or "nay"
decision in the end must be based on instinct or a hunch.
Coffee service in the auditorium began with first arrivals. That was
traditional, as was a waiting pitcher of chilled orange juice-for the
chairman of the board who disliked hot drinks in daytime.
The room was filling when Hub Hewitson breezed in near 9 - 30. He first
got coffee for himself, then beckoned Adam and Elroy Braithwaite, who were
chatting.
Looking pleased with himself, Hewitson opened a folder he had carried in
and spread out several drawings on the horseshoe table. "Just got these.
Timely, eh?"
The Design-Styling vice-president strolled to join them and the four pored
over the drawings. No one needed to ask what they were. Each sheet bore
the insignia of another of the Big Three manufacturers and included
illustrations and specifications of a new car. Equally obvious was that
this was the competitive car which Farstar would f ace two years from now,
if today's proposals were approved.
The Silver Fox whistled softly.
468-wheels
"It's extraordinary," the Design-Styling vicepresident mused, "how, in
some ways, their thinking has paralleled ours."
Hub Hewitson shrugged. "rhey keep an ear to the ground just as we do, read
the same newspapers, study trends; they know the way the world's moving.
Got some bright boys on their payroll, too." The executive vice-president
shot a glance at Adam. "What do you say?"
"I say we have a far better car. We'll come out ahead."
"You're pretty cocky."
'If that's the way it seems," Adam said, "I guess I am."
Hub Hewitson's face relaxed into a grin. "I'm cocky, too. We've another
good one; let's sell it to the others."
He began folding the drawings. Later, Adam knew, they would analyze the
competitive car in detail, and perhaps make changes in their own as a
result.
"I've often wondered," Adam said, "what we have to pay to get this stuff."
Hub Hewitson grinned again. "Not as much as you'd think. Ever hear of a
well-paid spy?"
"I suppose not." Adam reflected: Spying was something which all big auto
companies practiced, though denying that they did. His own company's
espionage center-under an innocuous name-occupied cramped, cluttered
quarters in the Design-Styling Center and was a clearinghouse for
intelligence from many sources.
For example, research engineers of competitive companies were a mother
lode of information. Like all scientific researchers, engineers loved to
publish, and papers at technical society meetings often contained a phrase
or sentence, by itself insignificant, but, taken in conjunction with other
fragments from elsewhere, gave clues to a com-
wheels 469
petitor's thinking and direction. Among those engaged in auto espionage it
was accepted that engineers are innocents."
Less innocent was a flow of intelligence from the Detroit Athletic Club,
where senior and middlerank executives from all companies drank together.
A result of their drinking was that some, relaxed and off-guard, tried to
impress others with their inside knowledge. Across the years, finely tuned
ears in the D.A.C. had garnered many tidbits and occasionally news of
great importance.
Then there were leakages through tool-anddie companies. Sometimes the same
tooling companies served two, or even three, major auto makers; thus, a
seemingly casual dropper-in to a die-making shop might see work in
progress for an auto firm other than his own. An experienced designer
looking at the female portion of a die could sometimes tell what the
entire rear or front end of a competitor's car looked like-then go away
and sketch it.
Other tactics were sometimes used by outside agencies whose modi operandi
were not scrutinized too closely. They included enlistment of competitors'
disaffected employees to purloin papers, and sif ting of garbage was not
unknown. Once in a while an employee, unconcerned about conflicting
loyalties, might be "planted" in another company. But these were grubby
methods which top executives preferred not to hear about in detail.
AdarWs thoughts switched back to Farstar and the product policy board.
The auditorium clock showed 9:50 and the company chairman had just
arrived, accompanied by the president, The latter, a dynamic leader in the
past but now considered "old schoor' by Adam and others, would be retiring
soon, with Hub Hewitson predicted to succeed him.
470-wheels
A voice beside Adam asked, "What variances will Farstar have for Canada?"
The questioner was head of the company's Canadian subsidiary, invited here
today by courtesy.
'Ve'll be going into that," Adam said, but he described the variances
anyway. One of the Farstar lines would be given a differing name-
Independent-exclusive to Canada, and the exterior hood emblem would be
changed to include a maple leaf. Otherwise the can would be identical with
Farstar models in the U.S.
The other nodded. "As long as we have some difference we can point to,
that's the main thing."
Adam understood. Although Canadians drove U.S. cars, produced by U.S.
controlled subsidiaries employing U.S. union labor, national vanity in
Canada fostered the delusion of an independent auto industry. The Big
Three had humored these pretensions for years by naming the heads of their
Canadian branches presidents, although in fact such presidents were
answerable to vicepresidents in Detroit. The companies, too, had
introduced a few "distinctively Canadian" models. Nowadays, however,
Canada was being regarded more and more by all auto makers as just another
sales district, and the special models-never more than a fagade-were being
quietly dropped. The "Canadianized" Farstar Independent would probably be
the last.
At a minute to ten, with the fifteeen decision makers seated, the chairman
of the board sipped orange juice, then said whimsically, "Unless anyone
has a better suggestion, we might as well begin." He glanced at Hub
Hewitson. "Who's starting?"
"Elroy."
Eyes turned to the Product Development vice-president.
wheels--471
'Aft. Chairman and gentlemen," the Silver Fox said crisply, "today we
are presenting Farstar with a recommendation to proceed. You've all read
your agendas, you know the plan, and you've seen the models in clay. In
a moment we'll get down to details, but first this thought: Whatever we
call this car, it will not be Farstar. That code name was merely chosen
because, compared with Orion, this project seemed a long way distant.
But suddenly it isiYt distant any more. It's no longer a Farstar; the
need is here, or will be in two years' time which in production terms,
as we know, is the same thing."
Elroy Braithwaite paused, passing a hand across his silver mane, then
went on, "We think this kind of car, which some will call revolutionary,
is inevitable anyway. And incidentally"- the Silver Fox motioned to the
folder of competitor's drawings on the table in front of Hub
Hewitson-"so do our friends on the other side of town. But we also
believe that instead of letting Farstar, or something like it, be forced
on us the way some of our activities have been in recent years, we can
make it happen, now. I, for one, believe that as a company and an
industry it's time we took the offensive more strongly once again, and
did some way-out pioneering. That, in essence, is what Farstar is about.
Now we'll consider details," Braithwaite nodded to Adam, waiting at the
lectern. "Okay, let's go."
'-rbe slides you are now seeing," Adam announced as the screen behind
him filled, "show what market research has demonstrated to be a gap in
availability, which Farstar will fill, and the market potential of that
gap two years from now."
Adam had rehearsed this presentation many times and knew the words by
rote. Generally, through the next two hours, he would "follow the
472-wheels
book," now open in front of him, though as usual at these meetings there
would be interruptions and pointed, penetrating questions.
As the half dozen slides went through, with Adam making brief
commentaries, he still had time to think of what Elroy Braithwaite had
said moments earlier. The remarks about the company taking a strong
offensive had surprised Adam, first because it had not been necessary
to make a comment of that kind at all, and also because the Silver Fox
had a reputation for caginess and gauging wind directions carefully
before committing himself to anything. But perhaps Braithwaite, too, was
infected with some of the new thinking and impatience pervading the auto
industry as old war horses retired or died and younger men moved up.
Braithwaite's phrase "way-out pioneering7 had reminded Adam, too, of
similar words used by Sir Perceval Stuyvesant during their own con-
versation five weeks ago. Since then, Adam and Perce had spoken by
telephone several times. Adam~s interest had grown in the possibility
of accepting the presidency of Sir Perceval's West Coast company, but
Perce continued to agree that any kind of decision be delayed until the
Orioifs launching and today's presentation of Farstar. After today,
however, Adam must decide-either to go to San Francisco for more
discussions or to decline Perce's offer entirely.
Adam had talked with Erica, for the second time, about the proffered
West Coast job during their two days in the Bahamas. Erica had been
definite. "It has to be your decision absolutely, darling. Oh, of course
I'd love to live in San Francisco. Who wouldn't? But I'd rather have you
happy in Detroit than unhappy somewhere else, and either way we'll be
together."
Her declaration cheered him, but even after
wheels--473
that he remained in doubt, and was still uncertain now.
Hub Hewitson's voice cut brusquely across the Farstar presentation.
"Let's stop a minute and talk about something we might as well face up
to. This Farstar is the ugliest son-of-a-bitching car I ever saw."
It was typical of Hewitson that, while he might support a program, he
liked to bring out possible objections himself for frank discur, sion.
Around the horseshoe table there were several murmurs of assent.
Adam said smoothly-the point had been anticipated-"We have, of course,
been aware of that all along."
He began explaining the philosophy behind the car: a philosophy
expressed by Brett DeLosanto during the af ter-midnight session months
earlier when Brett had said, "With Picasso in our nostrils, we've been
designing cars like they rolled off a Gainsborough canvas." That had
been the night when Adam and Brett had gone together to the teardown
room, moving on later to the bull session with Elroy Braithwaite and two
young product planners, of whom Castaldy was one. They had emerged with
the question and concept: Why not a deliberate, daring attempt to
produce a car, ugly by existing standards, yet so suited to needs,
environment, and present time-the Age of Utility-that it would become
beautiful?
Though there had been adaptations and changes in outlook since, Farstar
had retained its basic concept.
Here and now Adam was circumspect about the words he used because a
product policy board meeting was no place to wax overly poetic, and
notions about Picasso took second place to pragmatism. Nor could he
speak of Rowena, though
474-wheels
it had been the thought of her which inspired his own thinking that night.
Rowena was still a beautiful memory, and while Adam would never tell Erica
about her, he had a conviction that even if he did Erica would understand.
The discussion about the visual look of Farstar ended, though they would
return to the subject, Adam knew.
"Where were we?" Hub Hewitson was turning pages of his own agenda.
"Page forty-seven," Braithwaite prompted.
The chairman nodded. "Let's get on."
An hour and a half later, after prolonged and inconclusive discussion,
the group vice-president of manufacturing pushed away his papers and
leaned forward in his chair. "If someone had come to me with the idea
for this car, I'd not only have thrown it out, but I'd have suggested
he look for employment elsewhere."
Momentarily, the auditorium was silent. Adam, at the lectern, waited.
The manufacturing head, Nolan Freidheim, was a grizzled auto industry
veteran and the dean of vice-presidents at the table. He had a
forbidding, craggy face which seldom smiled, and was noted for his
bluntness. Like the company president, he was due for retirement soon,
except that Freidheim had less than a month of service remaining and his
successor, already named, was here today.
While the others waited, the elderly executive filled his pipe and lit
it. Everyone present knew that this was the last product policy meeting
he would attend. At length he said, "ThaCs what I'd have done, and if
I had, we'd have lost a good man and probably a good car too."
He puffed his pipe and put it down. "Maybe that's why my time's come,
maybe that's why I'm glad it has. There's a whole lot that's happening
nowadays I don't understand; plenty of it I dislike
wheels--475
and always will. Lately, though, I've found I dont care as much as I used
to. Another thing: Whatever we decide today, while you guys are sweating
out Farstar-or whatever name it gets eventually -I'll be fishing off the
Florida Keys. If you've time, think of me. You probably won't have."
A ripple of laughter ran around the table.
"I'll leave you with a thought, though," Nolan Freidheim said. "I was
against this car to begin with. In a way I still am; parts of it,
including the way it looks, offend my notion of what a car should be.
But down in my gut, where plenty of us have made good decisions before
now, I've a feeling that it's right, it's good, it's timely, it'll hit
the market when it should." The manuf acturing chief stood up, his
coffee cup in hand to replenish it. "My gut votes 'yes.' I say we should
go with Farstar."
The chairman of the board observed, "Thank you, Nolan. I've been feeling
that way myself, but you expressed it better than the rest of us."
The president joined in the assent. So did others who had wavered until
now. Minutes later a formal decision was recorded: For Farstar, all
lights green I
Adam felt a curious emptiness. An objective had been gained. The next
decision was his own.
chapter thirty
Since the last week of August, Rollie Knight had lived in terror.
The terror began in the janitor's closet at the assembly plant where
Leroy Colfax knifed and killed one of the two vending machine
collectors, and where the other collector and the foreman, Parkland,
were left wounded and unconscious. It continued during a hasty retreat
from the plant by the four conspirators-Big Rufe, Colfax, Daddy-o
Lester, and Rollie. They had scaled a high, chain-link fence, helping
each other in the darkness, knowing that to leave through any of the
plant gates would invite questioning and identification later.
Rollie gashed his hand badly on the fence wire, and Big Rufe fell
heavily, limping afterward, but they all made it outside. Then, moving
separately and avoiding lighted areas, they met in one of the employee
parking lots where Big Rufe had a car. Daddy-o had driven because Big
Rufe's ankle was swelling f ast, and paining him. They left the parking
lot without using lights, only turning them on when reaching the roadway
outside.
Looking back at the plant, everything seemed normal and there were no
outward signs of an alarm being raised.
"Man, oh man," Daddy-o fretted nervously as he drove. "If I ain't glad
to be clear o' thatl"
From the back seat, Big Rufe grunted. "We ain't clear o'nuthin'yet."
Rollie, in front with Daddy-o and trying to stem the bleeding of his
hand with an oily rag, knew that it was true.
Despite his fall, Big Rufe had managed to get
wheals 477
one set of chained cash bags over the fence with him. Leroy Colfax had the
other. In the back seat they hacked at the bags with knives, then poured the
contents-all silver coins-into several paper sacks. On the freeway, before
reaching the city, Colfax and Big Rufe threw the original cash bags out.
In the inner city they parked the car on a dead-end street, then
separated. Before they did, Big Rufe warned, "Remember, all we gotta do
is act like there ain't nuthun' different. We play this cool, ain't nobody
gonna prove we was there tonight. So tomorrow, everybody shows their faces
just like always, same as any other day." He glared at the other three.
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