Not many days ago there was a revelation in the massive board room of the Ford Motor Company.
The mood in the room was serious when the head honchos of finance, manufacturing, marketing and sales trooped in and took their seats. Black & white photos of Henry Ford stared down upon the execs, and there was disappointment in Henry’s unwavering gaze. “What have you morons done to my great company?” Henry seemed to say. “We ruled the world once, and now we can’t even hold our own in Michigan! We survived the Great Depression and World War II! Now the Japs and the Koreans are beating our brains out. I’m disgusted with you boys.”
The chairman didn’t look any happier when he arrived. Dispensing with the usual upbeat patter, he launched right in: “Our stock’s in the tank and we’re bleeding money like a hemophiliac. Americans aren’t buying SUV’s anymore. In fact, if our marketing people are right, the SUV, our stock-in-trade, our beloved cash cow, is dead as a dinosaur, croaked by $4 a gallon gas.”
A couple of executives burst into tears. Another cursed the Arabs. Someone else claimed the sudden spike in the price of gasoline was a plot hatched by Hugo Chavez of Venezuela. “The CIA should have killed that bastard. Isn’t that why we have a CIA – to take out the enemies of Big Business!”
“Actually,” the CFO said, “the CIA has outsourced the killing of foreign political enemies to Blackwater. According to the Wall Street Journal, it’s a growth industry with an almost unlimited upside.”
“Gentlemen,” the chairman said. “We can point fingers until the sun goes down but that’s not going to help us out of this mess. I love the Expedition as much as you do. The idea that three generations of a family or an entire little league team can travel comfortably together in one vehicle, each with his or her own cup holder, is quintessentially American. But, whether we like it or not, the world has changed. What we need now is a new idea.”
For a solid minute it was so quiet you could have heard a fly fart. The chairman waited for his brain trust to come up with something; Henry Ford waited.
The VP of Marketing spoke first. “What about bringing back a Ford classic, like, I don’t know, the Fairlane? Americans loved the Fairlane. We can create an entire campaign around a theme of nostalgia.”
“Most of the people who remember the Fairlane are dead or living in nursing homes,” the head of manufacturing said. “If I heard the chairman correctly, we’re looking for a new idea, something fresh, out-of-the-box, and by box I don’t think he’s referring to a coffin.”
Around the table heads nodded in agreement, although every man in the room would have given his left testicle to revive the Fairlane from the automobile museum. Or if not the Fairlane, the Falcon or the Galaxie or the Torino or the Ranchero. The past was sweet, predictable and comfortable; the future was bitter, unpredictable and anything but comfortable. The Indians and the Chinese were growing more powerful and uppity, testing nuclear weapons and hosting the Olympic Games, snapping up US Treasury bonds like the sky was the limit, asserting their new-found power at every opportunity and thumbing their noses at the US of A. What kind of world was it when Chinese communists beat American capitalists at their own game? A perverse and twisted world, that’s what.
Rising slowly to his feet, the VP of Sales said, “I know this will sound crazy, but what if we design and build a line of high-quality, fuel efficient cars.”
“We’ve already got the Focus line-up,” the VP of Manufacturing growled, “and nobody’s buying.”
“That’s because the Focus is shit,” someone said. “If I understand the concept here, we’re talking about taking Toyota and Honda on at their own game, about blowing the roof off fuel efficiency and really getting behind the whole hybrid deal.”
“Holy shit,” said the CFO. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing!”
“We do it in Europe,” the chairman said. “But the question is -- can we do it here? Are Americans ready for a sea-change at Ford Motor Company? Are we ready?”
“We’re about to become European,” the VP of Sales said, his voice laden with sadness.
“It’s the death of the great American road, the death of everything we hold near and dear, the death of life as we know it.”
Henry Ford glowered at them. “No shit, Sherlock. If you jackasses were worth all the money you’re making, you would have figured this out ten years ago and Ford wouldn’t be swimming in the piss hole with GM and Chrysler. There’s nothing worse than a businessman with no vision and no balls, except an entire nation that can’t read the writing on the wall even when it’s written in bright red ink.”
No comments:
Post a Comment