Car Guys vs. Bean Counters - Bob Lutz [3]
In 2000, John Devine, GM’s newly hired chief financial officer, invited me to dinner. Over a late supper in a dark booth in the restaurant at the Dearborn Ritz-Carlton, John outlined his plan: sensing disarray in GM’s management structure and passenger-car creation, he wanted me to join the company as vice chairman for product development.
“Sounds good to me, John,” I replied.“What does Rick think about it?” Ah, there was the rub! John hadn’t discussed it with Rick yet, and this would have to await the right mood and moment. I wasn’t expecting anything, and thus was neither surprised nor disappointed when that’s exactly what I got.
Then, a few months later and quite out of the blue, I ran into François Castaing, formerly my chief of product development at Chrysler, now retired. A reformed Frenchman, Castaing had become a U.S. citizen but still spoke with a heavy accent. His reputation as a brilliant, fast-moving, troop-motivating leader was firmly established in the industry. His years of running Renault’s Formula One racing team had honed his focus on speed and precision. A large measure of Chrysler’s huge success in the 1990s can be ascribed to him.
What François wanted to convey to me was this: he had been asked to work for GM in a consulting capacity, to assess the product program and methods, and to provide ideas for improvement. He had seen all the future products, he told me. Naturally, I asked what he thought.
“C’est une catastrophe!” was his verdict. “If you think the Pontiac Aztek was bad, you don’t want to see what’s next.The stuff is awful! I can’t change it; I declined the offer.” Just what I wanted to hear to raise my level of enthusiasm for an offer which might or might not even come!
One or two more dinners with John Devine ensued at which he reaffirmed his desire to have me join GM, while adding that “Rick wasn’t quite there yet.” I began to discount the thought of ever working for GM . . . it sounded too much like John had changed his mind but hadn’t gotten around to telling me.
Then came the dinner of the Harvard Business School Club, held at Oakland Hills Country Club in the summer of 2001. I was their guest speaker and honoree. Wagoner, a Harvard Business School graduate and officer of the club, gave the introduction. Rick, always witty, delivered the introduction in a mildly irreverent way, almost as a “roast,” to which I responded by suggesting that any automotive CEO who bore even distant responsibility for the Aztek should perhaps be measured in his criticisms.
It was meant in jest, but it clearly stung. Speech done and trophy in hand, I shared a table with Rick.
“So, Bob, what’s your candid opinion of where GM stands in terms of product, and what should we do?”
“How much time do you have,” I replied,“and where do you want me to begin?”
The floodgates were open. Ignoring normal table etiquette and the others around us, Rick asked, and I replied to, countless questions. When the club was shutting down for the night, Rick asked if we could meet again to “continue this interesting conversation.”
Thus, a few weeks later, the aforementioned modest breakfast at Exide headquarters took place. I had no conference table in the sparsely furnished office, so I sat behind my desk with Rick seated opposite me and leaning slightly forward. He soon allowed that he had come to the conclusion that GM could, in fact, use the services of a natural, intuitive, experienced car guy.
“Who do you know,” Rick asked, “who is just like you,