Well, it so happens that some of the best engineering brains in this
business think it isn't a practical objective, or even a worthwhile one.
We have better ideas and other objectives."
Braithwaite passed a hand over his silver
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mane, then nodded to Adam. He gave the impression of having had enough.
"Wbat we believe," Adam said, "is that clean air-at least air not
polluted by motor vehiclescan be achieved best, fastest, and most
cheaply through refinements of the present gasoline internal combustion
engine, along with more improvements in emission control and fuels. That
includes the Wankel engine which is also an internal combustion type."
He had deliberately kept his voice low key. Now he added, "Maybe that's
not as spectacular as the idea of steam or electric power but there's
a lot of sound science behind it."
Bob Irvin of the Detroit News spoke for the first time. "Quite apart
from electric and steam engines, you'd admit, wouldn't you, that before
Nader, Emerson Vale, and their kind, the industry wasn't nearly as
concerned as it is now about controlling air pollution?"
The question was asked with apparent casualness, Irvin looking blandly
through his glasses, but Adam knew it was loaded with explosive. He
hesitated only momentarily, then answered, "Yes, I would."
The three other reporters looked at him, surprised.
"As I understand it," Irvin said, still with the same casual manner,
"we're here because of Emerson Vale, or in other words, because of an
auto critic. Right?"
Jake Earlham intervened from his window seat. "We're here because your
editors-and in your case, Bob, you person ally- asked if we would
respond to some questions today, and we agreed to. It was our
understanding that some of the questions would relate to statements
which Mr. Vale had made, but we did not schedule a press conference
specifically because of Vale."
Bob Irvin grinned. "A bit hair-splitty, aren't youjake?"
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The Vice-President Public Relations shrugged. 1 guess."
From Jake Earlham's doubtful expression now and earlier, Adam suspected
he was wondering if the informal press meeting had been such a good
idea.
"In that case," Irvin said, "I guess this question wouldn't be out of
order, Adam." The columnist seemed to ruminate, shambling verbally as
he spoke, but those who knew him were aware bow deceptive this
appearance was. "In your opinion have the auto critics-let's take Nader
and safety-fulfilled a useful function?"
The question was simple, but framed so it could not be ducked, Adam felt
like protesting to Irvin: Why pick me? Then he remembered Elroy
Braithwaite's instructions earlier: 'We'll call things the way we see
them."
Adam said quietly, "Yes, they have fulfilled a function. In terms of
safety, Nader booted this industry, screaming, into the second half of
the twentieth century."
All four reporters wrote that down.
While they did, Adam's thoughts ranged swiftly over what he had said and
what came next. Within the auto industry, he was well aware, plenty of
others would agree with him. A strong contingent of younger executives
and a surprising sprinkling at topmost echelons conceded that basically
-despite excesses and inaccuracies-the arguments of Vale and Nader over
the past few years made sense. The industry had relegated safety to a
minor role in car design, it had focused attention on sales to the
exclusion of most else, it had resisted change until forced to change
through government regulation or the threat of it. It seemed, looking
back, as if auto makers had become drunken on their own immensity and
power, and had behaved like Goliaths, until in the end
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they were humbled by a David-Ralph Nader and, later, Emerson Vale.
The David-Goliath equation, Adam thought, was apt. Nader particularly-
alone, unaided, and with remarkable moral courage-took on the entire
U.S. auto industry with its unlimited resources and strong Washington
lobby, and, where others had failed, succeeded in having safety
standards raised and new consumer-oriented legislation passed into law.
The fact that Nader was a polemicist who, like all polemicists, took
rigid poses, was often excessive, ruthless, and sometimes inaccurate,
did not lessen his achievement. Only a bigot would deny that he had
performed a valuable public service. Equally to the point: to achieve
such a service, against such odds, a Nadertype was necessary.
The Wall Street Journal observed, "So far as I know, Mr. Trenton, no
auto executive has made that admission publicly before."
"If no one has," Adam said, "maybe it's time someone did."
Was it imagination, or had Jake Earlhamapparently busy with his
pipe-gone pale? Adam detected a frown on the face of the Silver Fox, but
what the hell; if necessary, he would argue with Elroy later. Adam had
never been a "yes man." Few who rose high in the auto industry were, and
those who held back their honest opinions, fearing disapproval from
seniors, or because of insecurity about their jobs, seldom made it
higher than middle management, at best. Adam had not held back,
believing that directness and honesty were useful contributions he could
make to his employers. The important thing, he had learned, was to stay
an individual. A misguided notion which outsiders had of auto executives
was that they conformed to a standard pattern, as if stamped out by
cookie cutters. No concept could be
wheels-65
more wrong. True, such men had certain traits in common--ambition, drive, a
sense of organization, a capacity for work. But, apart from that, they were
highly individual, with a better-thanaverage sprinkling of eccentrics,
geniuses, and mavericks.
Anyway, it had been said; nothing would undo it now. But there were
postscripts.
"If you're going to quote that"-Adam surveyed the quartet of reporters
-"some other things should be said as well."
Which are?" It was the Newsweek girl's query. She seemed less hostile
than before, had stubbed out her cigarette and was making notes. Adam
stole a glance: her skirt was as high as ever, her thighs and legs
increasingly attractive in filmy gray nylon. He felt his interest
sharpen, then tore his thoughts away.
"First," Adam said, "the critics have done their job. The industry is
working harder on safety than it ever did; what's more, the pressure's
staying on. Also, we're consumer oriented. For a while, we weren't.
Looking back, it seems as if we got careless and indifferent to consumers
without realizing it. Right now, though, we're neither, which is why the
Emerson Vales have become shrill and sometimes silly. If you accept their
view, nothing an automobile maker does is ever right. Maybe that's why
Vale and his kind haven't recognized yet-which is my second point-that the
auto industry is in a whole new era."
AP queried, "If that's true, wouldn't you say the auto critics forced you
there?"
Adam controlled his irritation. Sometimes auto criticism became a fetish,
an unreasoning cult, and not just with professionals like Vale. "They
helped," he admitted, "by establishing directions and goals, particularly
about safety and pollution. But they had nothing to do with the
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technolofTi-al revolution which was coming anyway. It's that that's going to
make the next ten years more excitinv for evervbody in this business than
the entire half century just gone."
"Just how?" AP said, OancimZ at his watch.
"Someone mentioned breakthroughs," Adam answered. "The most important
ones, which we can see coming, are in materials which will let us design
a whole new breed of vehicles by the midor late '70s. Take metals. Instead
of solid steel which we're using now, honeycomb steel is coming; it'll be
strong, rigid, yet incredibly lightermeaning fuel economy; also it'll
absorb an impact better than conventional steel-a safety plus. Then there
are new metal alloys for engines and components. We anticipate one which
will allow temperature changes from a hundred degrees to more than two
thousand degree Fahrenheit, in seconds, with minor expansion only. Using
that, we can incinerate the remainder of unburned fuel causing air
pollution. Another metal being worked on is one with a retention technique
to 'remember' its original shape. If you crumple a fender or a door,
you'll apply heat or pressure and the metal will spring back the way it
was before. Another alloy we expect will allow cheap production of
reliable, high-quality wheels for gas turbine engines."
Elroy Braithwaite added, "That last is one to watch. If the internal
combustion engine goes eventually, the gas turbine's most likely to move
in. There are plenty of problems with a turbine for cars-it's efficient
only at high power output, and you need a costly heat exchanger if you aim
not to burn pedestrians. But they're solvable problems, and being worked
on."
"Okay," The Wall Street Journal said. "So that's metals. What else is
new?"
"Something signfficant, and coming soon for
wheels-67
every car, is an on-board computer." Adam glanced at AP. "It will be small,
about the size of a glove compartment."
"A computer to do what?"
"Just about anything; you name it. It will monitor engine components
-plugs, fuel injection, all the others. It will control emissions and warn
if the engine is polluting. And in other ways it will be revolutionary."
"Name some," Newsweek said.
"Part of the time the computer will think for drivers and correct
mistakes, of ten before they realize they're made. One thing it will
mastermind is sensory braking-brakes applied individually on every wheel
so a driver can never lose control by skidding. A radar auxiliary will
warn if a car ahead is slowing or you're following too close. In an
emergency the computer could decelerate and apply brakes automatically,
and because a computer's reactions are faster than human there should be
a lot less rear-end collisions. There'll be the means to lock on to
automatic radar control lanes on freeways, which are on the way, with
space satellite control of traffic flow not far behind."
Adam caught an approving glance from Jake Earlham and knew why. He had
succeeded in turning the talk from defensive to positive, a tactic which
the public relations department was constantly urging on company
spokesmen.
"One effect of all the changes," Adam went on, "is that interiors of cars,
especially from a driver's viewpoint, will look startlingly different
within the next few years. The in-car computer will modify most of our
present instruments. For example, the gas gauge as we know it is on the
way out; in its place will be an indicator showing how many miles of
driving your fuel is good for at present speed. On a TV-type screen in
front of the
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driver, route information and highway warning signs will appear, triggered
by magmetic sensors in the road. Having to look out for highway signs is
already old-fashioned and dangerous; often a driver misses them; when
they're inside the car, he won't. Then if you travel a route which is new,
you'll slip in a cassette, the way you do a tape cartridge for entertainment
now. According to where you are, and keyed in a similar way to the road
signs, you'll receive spoken directions and visual signals on the screen.
And almost at once the ordinary car radio will have a transmitter, as well
as a receiver, operating on citizens' band. It's to be a nationwide system,
so that a driver can call for aid-of any kind-whenever he needs it."
AP was on his feet, turning to the p.r. vicepresident. "If I can use a
phone...;'
Jake Earlham sliDped from his window seat and went around to the door. He
motioned with his pipe for AP to follow him. "I'll find you somewhere
private."
The others were getting up.
Bob Irvin of the News waited until the wire service reporter had left,
then asked, "About that on-board computer. Are you putting it in the
Orion?"
God damn that Irvin! Adam knew that he was boxed. The answer was "yes,"
but it was secret. On the other hand, if he replied "no," eventually the
journalists would discover he had lied.
Adam protested, "You know I can't talk about the Orion, Bob."
The columnist grinned. The absence of an outright denial had told him all
he needed.
"Well," the Newsweek brunette said; now that she was standing, she
appeared taller and more lissome than when seated. "You trickily steered
wheels 69
the whole thing away from what we came here to talk about."
"Not me." Adam met her eyes directly; they were ice blue, he noted, and
derisively appraising. He found himself wishing they bad met in a
different way and less as adversaries. He smiled. "I'm just a simple
auto worker who tries to see both sides."
"Really!" The eyes remained fixed, still mirroring derision. "Then bow
about an honest answer to this: Is the outlook inside the auto industry
really changing?" Newsweek glanced at her notebook. "Are the big auto
makers truly responding to the times-accepting new ideas about community
responsibility, developing a social conscience, being realistic about
changing values, including values about cars? Do you genuinely believe
that consumerism is here to stay? Is there really a new era, the way you
claim? Or is it all a front-office dress-up, staged by public relations
flacks, while what you really hope is that the attention you're getting
now will go away, and everything will slip back the way it was before,
when you did pretty much what you liked? Are you people really tuned in
to what's happening about environment, safety, and all those other
things, or are you kidding yourselves and us? Quo Vadis?-do vou remember
your Latin, Mr. Trenton
'Ifes," Adam said, "I remember." Quo Vadis? Whither goest thou?...
The age-old question of mankind, echoing down through history, asked of
civilizations, nations, individuals, groups and, now, an industry.
Elroy Braithwaite inquired, "Say, Monica, is that a question or a
speech?"
"It's a m6lange question." The Newsweek girl gave the Silver Fox an
unwarmed smile. "If it's
70-wheels
too complicated for you, I could break it into simple segments, using
shorter words."
The public relations chief had just returned after escorting AR "Jake,"
the Product Development vice-president told his colleague, "somehow these
press meetings aren't what they used to be."
"If you mean we're more aggressive, not deferential any more," The Wall
Street Journal said, "it's because reporters are being trained that way,
and our editors tell us to bore in hard. Like everything else, I guess
there's a new look in journalism." He added thoughtfully, "Sometimes it
makes me uncomfortable, too."
'Well, it doesn't me," Newsweek said, "and I still have a question
hanging." She turned to Adam. "I asked it of you."
Adam hesitated. Quo Vadis? In other forms, he sometimes put the same
interrogation to himself. But irt answering now, how far should open
honesty extend?
Elroy Braithwaite relieved him of decision.
"If Adam doesn't mind," the Silver Fox interposed, "I believe I'll answer
that. Without accepting all your premises, Monica, this company-as it
represents our industry-has always accepted community responsibility;
what's more, it does have a social conscience and has demonstrated this
for many years, As to consumerism, we've always believed in it, long
before the word itself was coined by those who..."
The rounded phrases rolled eloquently on. Listening, Adam was relieved he
hadn't answered. Despite his own dedication to his work, he would have
been compelled, in honesty, to admit some doubts.
He was relieved, though, that the session was almost done. He itched to
get back to his own bailiwick where the Orion-like a loving but demanding
mistress-summoned him.
chapter five
In thQ co-or-ite T_)(-ia--Stvling Center-a mile or so from the staff
building where the press session was Pow co-cluding-the odor of modeling
clay was, as usual, all-pervading. Regulars who worked in De-i-n-Slvling
claimed that after a while they ceased to notice the smell-a mild but
insistent mix or sul-hur and glycerin, its source the dozens of
security-guarded studios ringing the DesignStvlincr Ccnter's circular inner
core. Within the studios, sculptured rrodels of potential new automobiles
were taking shape.
Visitors, though, wrinkled their noses in distaste when the smell first
hit them. Not that many visitors got close to the source. The majority
penetrated only as far as the outer reception lobby, or to one of the
half-dozen offices behind it, and even here tbey were checked in and out
by security guards, never left alone, and issued color-coded badges,
defining-and usually limiting severelythe areas where they could be
escorted.
On occasions, national security and nuclear secrets b,.d been guarded less
carefully than design details of future model cars.
Even staff designers were not allowed unhampered movement. Those least
senior were restricted to one or two studios, their freedom increasing
only after years of service. ne precaution made sense. Designers were
sometimes wooed by other auto companies and, since each studio held
secrets of its own, the fewer an individual entered, the less knowledge
he could take with him if he left. Generally, what a designer 1Aas told
about activity on new model cars was based on the military principle of
"need to know." However, as designers grew older in the
72-wheels
company's service, and also more "locked in" financially through stock
options and pension plans, security was relaxed and a distinctive badge
-worn like a combat medal-allowed an individual past a majority of doors and
guards. Even then, the system didn't always work because occasionally a
top-flight, senior designer would move to a competitive company with a
financial arrangement so magnanimous as to outweigh everything else. Then,
when he went, years of advance knowledge went with him. Some designers in
the auto industry had worked, in their time, for all major auto companies,
though Ford and General Motors had an unwritten agreement that neither
approached each other's designersat least, directly-with job offers.
Chrysler was less inhibited.
Only a few individuals -design directors and heads of studios-were allowed
everywhere within the Design-Styling Center. One of these was Brett
DeLosanto. This morning he was strolling unhurriedly through a pleasant,
glass-enclosed courtyard which led to Studio X. This was a studio which,
at the moment, bore somewhat the same relationship to others in the
building as the Sistine Chapel to St. Peter's nave.
A security guard put down his newspaper as Brett approached.
"Good morning, Mr. DeLosanto." The man looked the young designer up and
down, then whistled sof tly. I shoulda brought dark glasses."
Brett DeLosanto laughed. A flamboyant figure at any time with his
long-though carefully styled -hair, deep descending sideburns and
precisely trimmed Vandyke beard, he had added to the effect today by
wearing a pink shirt and mauve tic, with slacks and shoes matching the
tie, the ensemble topped by a white cashmere jacket.
"You like the outfit, eh?"
wheels-73
The guard considered. He was a grizzled exArmy noncom, more than twice
Brett's age. "Well, sir, you could say it was different."
"The only difference between you and me, Al, is that I design my
uniforms." Brett nodded toward the studio door. "Much going on today?"
"There's the usual people in, Mr. DeLosanto. As to what goes on, they
told me when I came here: Keel) my back to the door, eyes to the front."
"But you know the Orion's in there. You must have seen it."
"Yes, sir, I've seen it. When the brass came in for the big approval
day, they moved it to the showroom."
"What do you think?"
The guard smiled. "I'll tell you what I think, Mr. DeLosanto. I think
you and the Orion are a lot alike."
As Brett entered the studio, and the outer door clicked solidly behind
him, he reflected: If true, it would scarcely be surprising.
A sizable segment of his life and creative talent had gone into the
Orion. There were times, in moments of self-appraisal, when he wondered
if it had been too much. On more hundreds of occasions than he cared to
think about, he had passed through this same studio door, during
frenetic days and long, exhausting nights-times of agony and
ecstasy-while the Orion progressed from embryo idea to finished car.
He had been involved from the beginning.
Even before studio work began, he and others from Design had been
apprised of studies-market research, population growth, economics,
social changes, age groups, needs, fashion trends. A cost target was
set. Then came the early concept of a completely new car. During months
that followed, design criteria were hammered out at meeting after
meeting of product planners, designers,
74-wheels
engineers. After that, and working together, engineers devised a power
package while designers -of whom Brett was one-doodled, then became
specific, so that lines and contours of the car took shape. And while it
happened, hopes advanced, receded; plans went right, went wrong, then right
again; doubts arose, were quelled, arose once more. Within the company,
hundreds were involved, led by a top half-dozen.
Endless design changes occurred, some prompted by logic, others through
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