Car Guys vs. Bean Counters - Bob Lutz [98]
Note the purity of that mission statement: Most of the ones you see include something about “serving the communities in which we work” (goal conflict: how much money and time gets deflected for that?), “protecting our environment” (ditto the goal conflict), “treating our people as our most valuable resource” (so, no firings, layoffs, demotions, or early retirement? No salary cuts in hard times?), and, of course, the perennial, all-time sine qua non: “create shareholder value.” That one is almost guaranteed to drive bad behavior on the part of a significant minority. If “shareholder value” is as important as “great product,” why not squeeze a tiny bit of goodness out of the vehicles, reduce cost by a few hundred dollars, improve the margins (before the customers catch on), and have a blowout quarterly result that drives the stock up?
It is really only the simple purity of the mission statement “to design, build, and sell the world’s best cars and trucks” that can be conveyed internationally, all the way to the hourly workers in Korea and China. In an unequivocal fashion, it sanctifies the customer and the product. And, of course, if the company gets that right, all of the other desirable “goals” evolve naturally from the market success of the products. (During Chrysler’s success in the 1990s, the mission statement was “It is the mission of Chrysler to design and build cars and trucks that people want to buy, will enjoy driving, and will want to buy again.” I doubt that that mission statement survived the acquisition by Daimler.)
Understanding the beauty and efficiency of the simple message was Ed’s genius.Whitacre is much smarter than he wants you to believe, but in a battle of IQs, I’m sure he, as almost all of us, would succumb to the intellectual powerhouse that resided in Rick Wagoner. Who has the better leadership style? Who was a more effective CEO? Whitacre’s term was too short to draw any meaningful conclusions. But I’ll offer one tiny nugget.
While in the graduate school of business at UC Berkeley, I was a pilot in VMA-133, or Marine Attack Squadron 133, a Douglas-A-4-equipped reserve unit flying out of Naval Air Station Alameda, near Oakland.
We were advised that the squadron would be receiving a new commanding officer. Rumor had it that he was a modest man, with much to be modest about. He was already older and had received his commission in World War II, on the battlefield. He had no higher education. And, to top it off, his “civilian” occupation was “Hoseman Number 2” in the San Francisco Fire Department. He had almost no jet time! The lieutenants and captains in the squadron, all ambitious graduate students at Cal and Stanford, were shocked: the Marine Corps was giving us an uneducated, elderly fireman as a leader.
At the change-of-command ceremony, we discovered that our new CO, Art Bauer, was also of modest stature. Truly, an uninspiring sight. After the formal ceremony, Lt. Col. Art Bauer called the twenty-odd junior officers together and gave the following talk, as I remember it:
Gentlemen, I don’t know why the Corps chose me to lead this unit, but choose me they did, and we’re all going to make the most of it. I know my education is far below yours, and my civilian profession, although I’m proud of what I do, is humble. All of you have recent active-duty experience, and all of you are more skilled pilots and know much more about today’s Marine Corps than I’ll ever know. So, I’m not going to run this squadron. You each have your squadron roles, be it Intelligence Officer, Operations Officer, Safety Officer, Maintenance Officer, or Administration. I want and expect you to each do your jobs; talk to each other, be a team, and help each other. I’m going to