Paul Horrell of Top Gear Magazine heads to New York to drive the Saab Phoenix concept car and learns that aside from minor changes, this will be the shape of the new 9-3 coupe.
Noteworthy quotes:
–> “Something real? Huh? A concept with scissor doors and wings like the handles of a shopping bag? “Look, even couture clothes have to fit a real human body. And this car fits a real platform. The crash structure is real, and the drivetrain, and the cooling. The packaging is real. Real people can fit inside.” Indeed they can – it’s quite accommodating in there, and you can even see out. It really does feel driveable.”
–> “Suddenly, as if remembering the rules of some PR script, he back-pedals a little. “It’s not the next 9-3 and I didn’t want this to be Photoshopped onto magazine covers as that.” OK, but a few minutes later, I’m with Saab’s chairman Victor Muller who can’t resist getting out his smartphone and showing me an image of a 9-3 coupe he’s had Castriota design. It’s basically the PhoeniX without the wings and the lower-body layering, and it really does look like a car to give the TT and RCZ pause.”
–> “Anyway, Castriota says the whole nose section of the 9-3 replacement will look just like what’son the PhoeniX. The swept-back wheel-arch modelling too. And since the PhoeniX uses Saab’s new platform, the relationship of wheels to bumper is right, including the shortened but more effective front crash structure, so Saabs won’t look as nose-heavy. “
Jason Castriota also designed the Maserati GranTurismo and Ferrari 599.
You can expect the production steering wheel to be round.
–> “Even if you don’t take your car advice from to a load of intoxicated barflies, take it from TopGear. On the strength of this car, new Saabs do deserve to see the light of day.”
Is there hope for the trolls in Trollhattan? Read on for details (its one of those annoying slide show articles):
The Missouri Department of Transportation has lengthened yellow lights at some intersections, resulting in a dramatic reduction in red light camera violations. By allowing more time for intersections to clear, opportunities for collisions are reduced.
In Arnold, Missouri, violations dropped from 709 to 17 by adding 1.5 seconds to the duration of yellow lights. Assuming fines of $100 per violation, ticket revenues decreased from $70,900 to $1,700.
The middle class woke up one morning, saw $4.50 fuel prices, and almost overnight traded in their Tahoes, Suburbans, and Expeditions for Priuses and Corollas. Unfortunately, many succumbed to panic and lost more on their trades than they would ever save in fuel.
For much of the middle class, the quadrupling of fuel prices brings with it a harsh new reality — a piece of the American dream, the joy and pleasure of piloting a mansion on wheels, has eroded. Contrary to the beliefs of environmentalists, Americans haven’t abandoned their affection for large autos, they’ve simply compromised to mitigate the effects of resource scarcity.
But those are all “poor people problems.”
For luxury buyers, fuel prices are a non-issue. A household earning $100,000 or more after taxes has more important concerns than $3000 in annual fuel costs (assuming 12,000 or fewer miles per year), which translates to a piddly $250 per month on a monthly income of over $8000. Time is arguably more scarce than crude oil, and dwelling over ways to reduce a $250 monthly fuel expense is time and energy that could otherwise be used to increase income and wealth.
Luxury car buyers, more often than not, will get what they want, and despite the ongoing economic slump, Escalade sales have remained steady since 2009 at more than 26,000 units per year. While that number is far off the mark from the 2004 peak of 62.000 units, it continues to be a highly profitable vehicle for Cadillac and General Motors. Most of the investment and development cost is absorbed among the rest of the GMT900 SUV lineup including the Yukon, Tahoe, Suburban, and Avalanche.
For 2007, the toned down, grown up Escalade moved out of the inner city and blended into the suburbs.
(2007 Escalade)
Cadillac has been intertwined with black America since the Great Depression. GM was prepared to kill the brand until a clever executive named Nicholas Dreystadt convinced GM to pursue newly affluent African Americans rather than shunning them.
From Forbes: “Dreystadt said he had a plan to make Cadillac profitable in 18 months, Depression or no Depression. The first part of his plan resulted from an observation he had made traveling around the country to the service departments of Cadillac dealerships. Cadillac was after the prestige market, and part of its strategy to capture that market was its refusal to sell to African-Americans. Despite this official discrimination, Dreystadt had noted that an astonishing number of customers at the service departments consisted of members of the nation’s tiny African-American elite: the boxers, singers, doctors and lawyers who earned large incomes despite the flourishing Jim Crow atmosphere of the 1930s. Most status symbols were not available to these people. They couldn’t live in fancy neighborhoods or patronize fancy nightclubs. But getting around Cadillac’s policy of refusing to sell was easy: They just paid white men to front for them.
“Dreystadt urged the executive committee to go after this market. Why should a bunch of white front men get several hundred dollars each when that profit could flow to General Motors? The board bought his reasoning, and in 1934 Cadillac sales increased by 70%, and the division actually broke even. In June of 1934 Nick Dreystadt was made head of the Cadillac Division.”
The moral of the story: money transcends race.
Back in 2002 the Escalade received a bold Art and Science-themed redesign. The truck was prominently displayed in rap videos and was often driven by black athletes, actors, and musicians. A trendsetter for Cadillac, it catapulted the brand from near-death to superstardom.
(2002 Escalade)
As far as pop culture is concerned, if you were black and you “made it,” you drove an Escalade, period. As with rock music, white America followed black America’s lead, and Escalades found their way into McMansion garages all over the country.
Predating the first-generation (’99-’01) Escalade was Lincoln’s Navigator (released in 1998), which underwent a clean and conservative redesign for 2003. It failed to capture the Escalade’s cachet and bravado but served as a worthy alternative for those seeking a more refined interpretation of luxury.
(2003 Navigator)
Unfortunately, the mature and understated Navigator was often overlooked in a prosperous time where extroverted wealth was more socially acceptable. The Escalade was a better fit for the mood of America during the Bush years.
—————————————————-
Earlier this year, I went to Wichita to see a friend and got a chance to drive his 2007 Escalade.
2007 was the first year for the GMT900 SUV platform (pick-up versions debuted in 2006 as the Silverado and Sierra). GM’s current generation of full size SUVs is expected to continue production through 2014, a lengthy run partly because of lower demand for large SUVs, and mostly because of GM’s recent bankruptcy which has delayed product development.
The redesigned 2007 Escalade takes inspiration from, strangely enough, the 2003 Lincoln Navigator. With its modest use of chrome, stealthier presence, and more upscale appearance, the ultimate ghettoblaster has evolved into a posh high-end luxury cruiser. No doubt, the Escalade is larger than ever, but its level of intimidation has been dialed back significantly.
The new 2007 Navigator, meanwhile, adopted a garish front-end that looked like a last-minute afterthought.
(2007 Navigator)
Lincoln claims the 1960s Continental was its inspiration. I see a closer resemblance to a sewer grate:
There’s an ongoing theme here of Lincoln and Cadillac borrowing from each other, attempting to consume each other’s share of the market.
The 2003-2006 Navigator had a steering system that was pure magic for a vehicle of its size and heft, offering ample feedback, quickness, and sharpness. The 2002-2006 Escalade, meanwhile, wandered a bit and required minor steering corrections to maintain highway accuracy.
For 2007, the Escalade’s steering system is dramatically improved, with smooth fluidity and reasonable accuracy, feeling more like a Cadillac DTS sedan than a 5700-pound house on wheels.
Braking follows the same theme. The Navigator was never equipped with excellent brakes, but it stopped with a greater sense of control than the Escalade. The ’99-’06 Escalade’s brakes felt like stepping on a plastic bag filled with thick paste, and stopping distances were in excess of 210 feet. Again, this all changes for 2007 with the Escalade adopting a revised braking system that feels reasonable, safe, and predictable. Braking distances for 2007 are down to 187 feet for according to Car and Driver. [As a point of reference, a 2006 Cadillac DTS sedan requires 178 feet.]
The Escalade also gains features previously exclusive to the Navigator including power-retractable running boards (Platinum edition) and a power liftgate.
The Navigator’s ace in the hole, one feature that retained its desirability in the market despite the Cadillac’s charisma, was its interior.
(2003 Navigator Interior)
Even with a few cheap plastics here and there, the nickel, wood, and leather-appointed ’03-’06 Navigator was a nice place to be. Unfortunately, Lincoln took a step backward in 2007 by replacing the clean and classy Optitron gauges for a garish square-themed instrument cluster inspired by Lincolns of the 1980s.
(2007 Navigator Instrument Cluster)
You get the feeling that the 2007 Navigator is desperate for attention, good or bad, like a child who acts out in school. Fortunately, the Escalade’s interior is clean and restrained:
(2007 Escalade Clock)
(2007 Escalade Passenger Seat)
(2007 Escalade Dashboard)
(2007 Escalade Dashboard)
A tasteful combination of leather, wood, and aluminum trim look to have been inspired by the 2003-2006 Navigator. Unfortunately, some of the plastics on the dashboard, center console, and door panel feel hollow with a cheap-looking grain. Much of this was improved for the luxurious Platinum edition (not pictured).
(2007 Escalade Center Stack)
The new gauges are classier and less fussy than the cheap-looking instruments from 2002-2006:
(2007 Escalade Instrument Cluster)
(2002 Escalade Instrument Cluster)
Unfortunately, the new gauges lack transmission temperature and oil pressure information. [CORRECTION: Transmission temperature can be displayed digitally by cycling through the menus. Oil pressure, however, cannot.] The numerical readouts are replaced by vague tick marks. GM’s blue fluorescent information display is mounted higher with multiple lines for better readability. The gear shift indicator’s “3 2 1” are replaced by “M”, a manual shift mode operated from the column-mounted stalk.
The entire steering wheel is surrounded by a single, uninterrupted strip of wood.
(2007 Escalade Steering Wheel)
Most luxury buyers favor the look of wood steering wheels, but the feel is unappealing. Leather breathes while polished wood does not, and this causes the hands to sweat on sunny days — sweaty hands on polished wood lead to a loss of grip. My complaint with most wood-trimmed steering wheels is the lack of a constant feel all around as most only have wood applied to the top and bottom of the wheel.
By covering the entire outside edge of the wheel with wood, the Escalade’s feel remains consistent, but for me, that makes it all-around unpleasant.
(2007 Escalade Front Door Switches)
My other complaint is the inconsistent texture and quality of the door and dashboard surfaces. The stitched leather inserts on the door panels and arm rests are beautiful, but the top part where a driver might dangle his arm is covered in cheap-looking squishy plastic. The wood and stitched leather surrounding the window switches are nice touches.
The standard GM knobs and switches offer soft tactile feedback, giving the impression of luxury. Even the headlight knob on the dashboard gets a tasteful chrome treatment.
(2007 Escalade Sunroof Switches)
(2007 Escalade Second Row Seats)
(2007 Escalade Second Row Seats)
The previous owners unfortunately took this truck to the beach and often wore suntan, which caused the once-buttery black leather to take on a shiny vinyl-like appearance.
(2007 Escalade Cargo Area)
Above there’s plenty of room in the third row/cargo area. The third row seat, unlike the Navigator, does not fold flat into the floor. It folds onto itself to make room for luggage, but for maximum cargo space it must be unlatched and removed entirely.
(2007 Escalade Cargo Area)
With the third row gone, there’s lots of space for my beagle to hang out.
(2007 Escalade Infotainment System)
The 8-inch touch screen infotainment system is easy to use with a large ‘Eurostile’ font and well-organized menus. The system performs reasonably well with few delays between functions, a massive improvement over the confusing and cluttered navigation systems of the past.
XM tuning is delightfully simple with stations organized into folders by category, making it easy to navigate through hundreds of channels.
The Escalade boasts a 10-speaker 300-watt Bose discrete 5.1 surround audio system that produces plenty of deep, satisfying bass but neglects details in the highs and mids. In that regard, the system is a microcosm of the rest of the truck.
(2007 Escalade Exterior)
(2007 Escalade 22” OEM Wheels)
(2007 Escalade Exterior)
(2007 Escalade Exterior)
(2007 Escalade Exterior)
(2007 Escalade Exterior)
The exterior gets high marks for being tasteful and restrained, except for the vents on the fenders.
As for the paint, there is obvious orange peel on the doors and front fenders.
Arguably, the older GMT800 Escalades were built to a higher standard. Although their interiors more closely resembled downmarket Chevrolet trucks, the plastic, leather, and steel felt more substantial.
It does in fact cost General Motors less to manufacture the GMT900 trucks and SUVs, thus the reason for their accelerated release in 2006 and 2007. Still, the GMT900s are quite a bit stiffer and offer more torsional rigidity and improved handling.
(2007 Escalade Passenger Side Tail Light)
Tail lights gain a bit of Cadillac style through additional creases, a design detail intended to resemble traditional Cadillac tail fins. If you look closely, you can see that this crease extends all the way up the D-pillar:
(2007 Escalade Passenger Side Tail Light)
I’ve been quite critical so far, but on a luxury truck with a sticker price that typically exceeds $70,000, the details matter.
Thankfully, a 403hp 6.2L OHV V8 produces 417 lb-ft of torque and throaty roar that would make a lion whimper. 0-60 times drop from 7.8 seconds in the previous generation to 6.5, running neck and neck (in a straight line) with some luxury sedans including the E46 BMW 330i and Lexus LS430.
Despite the numbers, full-throttle acceleration actually feels slower in the 2007 Escalade, and that’s likely due to a lack of dive and squat from the firmer suspension. The old Escalade was a marshmallow, loosely connected to the surface. The current generation is hardly what I would call taut, but it does feel much more controlled and restrained, going around corners more like a big sedan and less like an ice cream truck.
The exhaust note is intoxicating, filling the cabin with a refined roar that mimics GM cars of the 1960s (see my review of the ’64 Impala). There is little else to say about how the Escalade drives — its big, comfortable, steady, and wonderfully loud at full throttle. If you’ve driven a Cadillac DTS, imagine it being a bit faster with a higher seating position and more space.
Thanks to a six-speed automatic, highway fuel economy improves from 17 to 19 MPG for 2WD models. Unfortunately, the previous and current Escalade are both rated at 14 MPG combined by the EPA. This is a non-issue for people who buy $70,000 luxury cars, but it does matter for GM’s CAFE compliance.
The 6L80E 6-speed automatic is developing a bit of a reputation for being problematic, prone to jerks, stalls, error lights, and unexpectedly early rebuilds. If you buy used, get an extended warranty with thorough transmission coverage. This is, as far as I know, the only major issue on this truck, and it is an expensive one.
Perched on the throne of this massive three-ton urban tank, there’s a bit of guilty pleasure from dominating and brutalizing the earth below. An Escalade driver may find himself looking down (literally) at the “little people” crammed into their potato-shaped Priuses, watching them sip on every last drop of fuel like paupers savoring crumbs.
One may also enjoy the smug satisfaction of knowing that elite athletes and pop stars are cruising around in the same vehicle. While you may never get a chance to be with Charlize Theron, it’s satisfying to know that the gentleman she’s snogging probably owns an Escalade.
Ride: 10/10
This is a big Cadillac that owns the earth it rests on. The ride is compliant without being wobbly.
Powertrain: 6.7/10
Engine: 10/10 — Stump-pulling torque and a glorious exhaust note. Transmission: 5.9/10 — Questionable reliability. Decent performance when functioning correctly.
Braking: 6.5/10
More responsive than before with more bite and less mushiness. Massive improvement over the last generation.
Steering/Handling: 6.7/10 — Hugely improved steering and well-sorted suspension. Mimics a full-size luxury sedan but a far cry from being sporty. Adequate for daily motoring.
Audio/Accessories: 9.3/10 Easy to use navigation, a large 8” display, responsive menus, and a brilliantly designed XM tuner. Sound quality is satisfying for an OEM sound system but falls short of excellent. In the Platinum edition, the Escalade enjoys more options than the Navigator Ultimate including LED headlights.
Interior: 7.9/10 A good effort. Panels are tightly fitted and well-assembled but some surfaces lack a luxury feel. Lots of unexpected details like additional stitching on the leather-wrapped column shifter, a Cadillac script logo embedded in the aluminum trim, and additional wood on the center arm rest. The climate controls are a bit low on the center stack and the third row is still the same idiotic design as before, requiring total removal to gain full cargo space.
Comfort: 10/10 Seats are wide and supportive and controls are intelligently laid out. Side bolstering is woefully inadequate, but you shouldn’t be cornering in a three-ton SUV in such a way that any side bolstering is necessary.
Styling: 8.8/10 Lacks the boldness of the previous generation but advances in leaps and bounds in terms of refinement and attention to detail. The vents on the fenders are a bit tacky as are the GM badges on the front doors. Still, everything about it says “Get the hell out of my way, I drive a Cadillac,” and that’s a good thing.
Quality/Reliability: 6.7/10 There have been reports of transmission and wind noise issues. At least it’s not a Land Rover, I guess.
Overall: 7.9/10 It will depreciate rapidly, guzzle gas, go out of style, and offend a few. But who cares? If you make a comfortable living and you want to feel like Lebron James on your commute, then buy one. However, I question the wisdom of the middle class purchasing them used.
Wheelbase: 116.0 in Length: 202.5 in Width: 79.0 in Height: 74.3 in
Curb Weight: 5676 lbs
Fuel Economy:
12 city / 19 highway (2WD)
12 city / 18 highway (AWD)
Update, 7/23/2011:
I met up with two friends in Wichita, Kansas and traveled in the Escalade to San Antonio, Texas, about 630 miles one way. Sprawled across the second row, I indulged in living room-like space and comfort and was even able to lay across and take a nap.
Rear seat passengers are treated to a full suite of audio and climate controls along with two headphone jacks with separate volume knobs. The rear seat passenger cannot tune XM stations independently from the front because of only one satellite tuner available on board, but AM and FM reception are stellar with clear static-free audio over long distances. Vents in the ceiling, a broad selection of rear climate controls, and a powerful blower motor provide back seat passengers with exceptional comfort.
Unfortunately, I have one gripe, and that’s wind noise.There are several theories behind the cause including door alignment, glass alignment, and rubber seals. 2007 models appear to be the primary vehicles affected. One theory is that because of a robot failure, UAW workers were used to install glass which resulted in inconsistencies. Some say its a design and engineering flaw, and a few customers have had their vehicles replaced by GM under their state’s vehicle lemon laws.
Whatever it is, going down the road at 80 MPH gives the impression that a door isn’t closed all the way or a window is cracked open. It isn’t nearly as loud as my aging Saab convertible (which is reasonably quiet for a 21 year-old ragtop) but in a cavernous SUV that’s free of road and engine noise, the howl of the wind becomes annoyingly apparent.
My advice is to test drive the truck at Texas highway speeds with the radio off and a piece of duct tape over the salesman’s mouth before making a purchase.
Robert A. Lutz, the outspoken cigar-smoking fighter pilot who helped turn Chrysler around before it merged with Daimler-Benz in 1998, sat down and wrote a book on business before his brief retirement.
As Daimler-Benz and Chrysler were merging, Lutz, an vocal opponent of the merger and an instrumental part of Chrysler’s 1990s overhaul, was squeezed out, perhaps perceived as a threat to Daimler management, or a “disruptive change agent” as he describes himself.
“Guts” goes into revealing detail explaining how Chrysler saved itself from bankruptcy by reorganizing its product development and detailing how the company designed, built, and engineered the Dodge Viper for only $80 million. The Viper program, it is revealed, was more than an exotic car project. It was a an experiment to test Chrysler’s new platform teams, groups of people with shared interest and fast communication, eliminating the delays, costs, and mediocrity caused by Chrysler’s bureaucratic structure.
Before instituting more cohesive supplier relationships, Chrysler took the same approach as Wal-Mart in procurement, aggressively demanding price concessions of five percent each year, or else. Suppliers were pitted against each other in a highly competitive auction process that guaranteed the cheapest part, quality be damned.
Chrysler learned to sit down and seek input from suppliers, fostering a more symbiotic relationship. As a result, savings were realized and quality slowly improved. And much like Wal-Mart, Chrysler learned to share cost savings with suppliers, creating a financial incentive for both parties.
He reveals Ford’s nitpicking, micromanaging, creativity-stifling culture of the 1970s and 1980s. A Polaroid Camera worth $25, used by a service rep to send pictures of parts (rather than the whole part) for warranty replacement approval was stolen. To receive a new camera and get on with business, the executive was asked by a panel:
Why does the company provide cameras in the first place?
Who pays for the film?
How do we know the reps don’t use the cameras on weekends to photograph their family?
Do we have controls?
Do we count films?
Why not?
How many packs are allocated per week to each service rep?
Who checks?
Who keeps the books on films?
This barrage of stupid questions was in spite of the fact that the camera saved Ford hundreds, perhaps thousands of dollars on freight costs. The executive who asked for a new camera said he would return in a few months with a report on how to monitor film usage. Ford rewarded sniveling, shit-eating, micromanaging behavior, and it resulted in forgettable and sometimes awful cars.
While reflecting on his youth, the Marine Corps, his time at UC Berkeley, and his time at BMW, Ford, GM, and Chrysler, Lutz shares his “Immutable Laws of Business,” listed below with brief summaries:
1. The customer isn’t always right. Focus groups and surveys only reveal the present. They don’t create new paradigms or introduce new ideas. People in focus groups tend to be dishonest, presenting themselves as sensible when real purchases are often made on emotion and impulse, something that can’t be measured by Q&A sessions.
Lutz reveals how an excessive emphasis on marketing surveys caused the Shadow and Sundance to balloon in size, approaching Chrysler’s midsize offerings in dimensions but with much lower prices, adversely affecting profitability. The customer doesn’t see or understand the future — that’s what an auto manufacturer’s creativity and inventiveness are for.
Relying too heavily on the customer for input, says Lutz, is what transformed the Ford Thunderbird from a small, sporty two-door coupe into a characterless, two ton land barge.
Lutz discusses a part he encountered that was being produced for the upcoming 1995 Lincoln Continental. The Continental, apparently inspired by focus groups, attempted to please every customer by offering electronic settings to configure steering effort and suspension damping, supposedly to cater to both spirited and relaxed drivers. I’ve played with this system myself, and its completely pointless. It confused customers and made Lincoln look wishy washy and unsure of itself.
Instead of making a clear decision on how the car should drive, Lincoln farted out a watered down example of what was otherwise an excellent car. In later model years, these idiotic settings were removed.
Across town, GM’s Cadillac Seville STS was much more expensive, used cheaper interior materials, and was generally less reliable, but the Seville was sure of its character and mission and handily outsold the everything-to-everyone Lincoln. [I’ve owned three Cadillac Sevilles and zero Continentals… partly because of this.]
Girls hate it when guys let them make all the decisions. No one loves a wuss. No one likes unfocused products.
2. The primary purpose of business is not to make money.
In his own words:
“What I mean to suggest with this Law, however, is that companies that do make a lot of money almost never have as their goal “making a lot of money.” They tend to be run by enthusiasts who, in the normal course of gratifying their own tastes and curiosities, come up with products or services so startling, so compelling, and so exciting that customers practically rip their trouser pockets reaching for their wallets.”
For example, the purpose of Wal-Mart, when Sam Walton was running it, wasn’t entirely to make money. His motives were competition, action, and victory — profitability tagged along for the ride.
3. When everybody else is doing it, don’t! Companies have a compulsion to follow fads. Executives read the pages of the Wall Street Journal and Forbes asking themselves, “Why aren’t we doing this?” The consultant selling the shiny new idea is hired at a hefty hourly rate to speak to the company and advise managers. Before soon, the same magazines and newspapers that had praised the latest, greatest fad are suddenly publishing critiques, asking how so many managers could fall for such a short-sighted plan.
Lutz also stresses the need for creativity and innovation. He depicts the soft drink market before Coca Cola on a pie chart. You have one third tea, one third coffee, and one third juice. As far as anyone knew, that was it, and new competitors simply made tea, coffee, or juice. Then along came Coca Cola, busting the pie open and adding a new soft drink category instead of following everyone else.
The same could be said of the large crossover segment, pioneered by Chrysler with the poorly executed but clever Pacifica. Now, American roads are filled with Buick Enclaves, GMC Acadias, and Honda Pilots.
4. Too much quality can ruin you. Of course, too much of anything can ruin you, and the worship of quality can create tunnel vision. Rolls Royce “cleaned” the GM Hydramatic transmissions installed in its cars, resulting in incorrect fluid pressures and poor shift quality. Chrysler, for half a century, installed its lug nuts with reverse threads thinking that normal threads might spin off and cause the loss of a wheel. After decades of realizing this wasn’t the case, Chrysler switched to normal (righty-tighty/lefty-loosey) threads.
And, explains Lutz, there’s more to satisfaction than quality, which, based on surveys, is merely the absence of defects rather than the presence of greatness. “Given two extremes-‘zero defects with no delight’ and ‘delight with a few squeaks in it’-the public will always buy the latter.”
Of course, I might disagree with him and note that the Toyota Camry, a lifeless lump designed for sad sacks, is a top seller. On the other hand, the zippy, high-tech Ford Fusion is gaining momentum. Maybe there’s hope for American drivers.
5. Financial controls are bad! “Tight controls do harm in two ways. First, they can jeopardize an organization’s ability to exploit big opportunities. While I was at Ford of Europe, for example, one of our products was getting murdered in the market because it lacked a then-high-tech cassette tape deck. It was a matter of our spending $40,000 (the cost of engineering and tooling for the tape deck) in order to protect an $8 million business. Finance balked!”
He explains that strict controls without a regard for growth, for creativity, and for common sense will doom an organization to mediocrity. He uses the $25 Polaroid camera at Ford as an example. There is a strong tendency for overly strict financial controls to only maintain the status quo.
6. Disruptive people are an asset. Bob Lutz, of course, classifies himself as a disruptive person. He goes on to distinguish the difference between people who vocalize their concerns and push an organization to improvement… and people who are nuts.
“Sometimes the temptation to fire all disruptives can be keen. Resist it. Removing irritants feels good, but only in the same way that changing doctors feels good when your old one has been needling you to lose weight. Switch doctors however much you like, you’re still fat.”
7. Teamwork isn’t always good. Citing Hollywood’s recycling of themes as an example: ”Me-too movies, like most other mediocre products that stumble gracelessly to market, are the fruit (mealy fruit, I might add) of too much teamwork. Teams prefer the safe, the familiar, the middle of the road, the well-researched. They fear originality.”
“In truth, most groups, left to their own devices, devote far more time and effort to the practice of teamsmanship (promoting group harmony, smoothing and protecting everybody’s ego) than they do to working.”
“The ability to compromise is, of course, a wonderful thing. And the promotion of team members’ self-esteem is, of course, a noble goal. But neither is an end in itself. We’re not running major corporations in order to perform social experiments. We are attempting to get work done. Remember work? It’s what’s required of us if we are to create the breakthrough products our shareholders expect and the public demands. And if that means, every so often, that we have to let some of the steam out of someone’s self-esteem, I say fine; so be it.”
————————————–
Part 3 of the book rambles on a bit, with Lutz sharing his views on education, politics, military service, and declining American culture. It starts to sound a bit like a BIll O’Reilly book, with personal experiences muddied by inconsistencies.
For example, he rails against the federal government for being too large, too controlling, and against free enterprise. With this, I agree, but he then suggests that the US should have compulsory military service, like Switzerland, to instill character into the citizenry, to counteract the “Fear Factor” generation. [If you recall, Fear Factor was a reality show on NBC back in the late 90s. People ate bugs and acted like desperate morons for a little bit of money.]
That sounds like a massive federally-funded social experiment.
You cannot criticize the government for stifling the rights of a free society while demanding that the same government send the unwilling to war. The Marine Corps, he says, did wonders to turn him around, to drag him out of his wandering youth and give him a sense of purpose.
Lutz, a product of wealth and privilege, assumes that the rest of us need military service to become decent people. What he neglects to acknowledge is that some of us already have our heads screwed on straight and don’t require millions of federal tax dollars in combat pilot training as an expensive form of therapy.
I congratulate him for his accomplishments and his strong moral character, but I take issue with being forced at gunpoint to give my productivity to a government that he acknowledges has little respect for my freedom.
[I hate getting into politics on this blog.]
He also talks about how we should complain more about bad service at restaurants.
————————————–
In most of “Guts”, Lutz praises Chrysler’s merger with Daimler Benz as a positive step in a new direction. Hindsight is 20/20, and its unfair to criticize him for being wrong about a merger that most people perceived as productive. And in fairness, he mentions in his new book “Car Guys vs Bean Counters” that he misjudged the success of the merger.
The epilogue was written just after Jurgen Shrempp was ousted from Daimler Benz but before the involvement of Cerberus, the US Treasury, and FIAT. He gives his version of how things went wrong, suggesting that a major part of the issue was that the Germans broke up Chrysler’s executive dream team. Lutz, Castaing, Pawley, and CEO Bob Eaton had retired or been replaced.
Bob Eaton, one of the original architects of the merger, has more or less gone into hiding. I would perhaps do the same if I were him.
“Daimler management failed to understand the change that had occurred. They assumed that even though the roster of senior talent had been shuffled, ‘Chrysler would still be Chrysler’ and that the company’s mastery of its business would continue as before.”
Perhaps, then, its possible to say that Chrysler’s culture was too dependent on a few charismatic leaders rather than a companywide, deeply instilled, fundamental cultural change. Its the dilemma facing Apple as CEO Steve Jobs undergoes treatment for pancreatic cancer. Can the ship keep moving without its talented captain?
Likewise, GM’s recent product turnaround happened under the guidance of Lutz who was fired after the US Treasury took ownership in 2009. Was Lutz able to instill long-term changes at GM, or will product development suffer as it did after he and others left Chrysler?
The Germans at Daimler, he says, tried to mask falling sales and rising costs by pushing leases, which adversely affected resale value and made subsequent leases too expensive:
“The lesson here is that a car company pulls the lease trigger too aggressively at its peril: You can look good today and pay dearly in two years, or you can admit up front that you have problems ‘making the numbers’ and cut production now. It’s really a simple matter of pay now or pay later.”
“Needing to buy time, they gambled that an incredibly buoyant used-car market two years down the road would soak up all those off-lease vehicles. It didn’t.”
He then explains that the Germans should have, at the risk of hurt feelings, pushed harder to integrate Chrysler into its corporate culture:
“In order to realize the promised savings and offset the inevitable operational slowdown during the assimilation process, it is imperative for the dominant partner in the merger to move rapidly to impose its structure, its metrics, and its executive appraisal systems-in short, its entire operating philosophy, plus that qualitative thing called culture. Somebody has to be the boss!”
His last comment on the merger is this:
“If it’s a merger, the weeding out must be done gradually: You need enough people to be able to conduct business during alterations. If it’s an acquisition, though, your only option is to move fast and let all heads role at once.”
He neglects to mention that Chrysler’s merger with Daimler-Benz was a fraud. It was, in reality, an acquisition, and the lies that sold the takeover to shareholders resulted in half-assed, slow-moving measures by German management concerned about looking predatory.
Everyone suffered as a result.
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Finally, at the end of his epilogue, Lutz adds one additional rule:
8. When you inherit a really big rat’s nest, don’t try to lure them out with food. Use a flamethrower. “No matter how good the acquired (or merged) company, digesting a corporate body almost as big as one’s own presents peril, not just opportunity.”
Citing IBM’s Lou Gerstner as an example, Lutz says a newly acquired firm has to flush out dead weight in order to adopt new practices and philosophies. As an example of a poorly executed acqusition, he mentions Rover. Billions were poured into the company while BMW’s management took a hands-off approach. It got to a point where the Rover division, operating autonomously within BMW, dragged down the entire company and was sold for one dollar to Ford (Mini was retained).
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Lutz concludes with the following:
“I don’t know how DaimlerChrysler’s story will unfold. There were, undeniably, some initial mistakes made in the mega-merger-as how could there not be in any undertaking so enormous? I do know, though, that when the last chapter is written, the controlling factor in the company’s success or failure won’t be that it took a few missteps. We all do that. It will be how well the executive team members toughed it out, how well they fought their way back to a true course, how well (if I may be permitted one last word) they showed guts.”
Well, we all know how that turned out. They got gutless and farted out half-hearted, half-assed, half-baked lumps like the ungainly 2007 Sebring, the pointless Jeep Compass, and the crude and disposable Dodge Caliber. The Dodge Viper, a modern American icon and the heart of Chrysler’s 90s revival, was discontinued (for a few years, but new owner Fiat says a new Viper is under development).
Instead of taking risks with bold designs and innovative products as it did before, the company rolled out compromised turds that looked like they were heavily influenced by focus groups, and the participants were apparently a bunch of aging lesbians with cataracts.
Once a beacon of hope for American manufacturing, Chrysler became a go-to example of everything wrong with Detroit. And once again, the company stood in line applying for federal assistance, this time alongside the once formidable giant General Motors.
I’m cautiously optimistic about Fiat’s involvement, however, and products like the new Dodge Durango, Jeep Grand Cherokee, Dodge Ram, Pentastar V6, and dramatically revised Chrysler 300 serve as evidence that the spirit of innovation is still alive at Chrysler.
Like the current Japanese-market Camry, the nose and tail will be slightly different from what’s sold in America. Expect the interior to look as pictured but with the steering wheel on the other side, obviously.
Maybe she started nagging and criticizing. Maybe she spent all of your money. Maybe you were lazy and unambitious. Maybe she cheated. Maybe you didn’t pay her enough attention. Or worst of all, maybe she forgot to flush and you saw what was in the toilet — the horror!
A few years after the breakup, you run into her. You wonder, “How did it ever end? It was so good!” You find yourself talking to her for hours as if you were never apart. You rationalize your idiocy by convincing yourself that the unstable, untrustworthy flake you despised for years was the one that got away.
And so it goes with automobiles.
The first car I picked out for myself was a 1988 Mazda 929. The Nissan Sentra I was given as a parental hand-me-down had finally called it quits after being rear-ended three times. I took my insurance check to a shady dealer in a bad neighborhood and took my Mazda home.
It was rear-wheel drive with metallic brown paint, feather-light steering, automatic climate control, power leather seats, a sunroof, and motorized oscillating vents. Fancy stuff for an eighteen-year-old guy back then (2000).
Never mind the dented door, the cracked glass, or the yellow mustard that squirted out of the wiper washer nozzle (yes, this happened). Never mind the timing belt that broke and left me stranded outside of town. The radio worked when it wanted to and the leather upholstery was badly cracked and faded. Then one day, the oil pan rusted out and the car spewed enough smoke to cover five lanes of traffic. The engine seized and that was the end. I sold it for $50.
Being the irrational young man that I was, I went out and bought another.
I was 20 years old, making peanuts working at a hotel, and had to borrow a bit of cash from a friend to buy a white 1988 Mazda 929 that I found listed in a local circular. It ended up needing a set of tires, new upholstery, rear glass (I was dragged into a bit of a physical confrontation with some questionable characters), and darn near everything else. I spent so much money trying to keep my beloved heap together that I fell behind trying to pay back my friend, which I finally did several months later.
One day, it overheated on my way home from school and the head gasket blew. The head was machined and the gasket was repaired, but a cylinder was dead beyond revival.
I sold it to a dealership and handed them a mountain of records. I couldn’t believe it when I was offered $950 for it, about $950 more than I thought it was worth. As far as I know, that car sat on their lot for a year and probably ended up being traded for a roll of Mentos.
Despite the headache-inducing reliability issues, the 929 is still a car I remember very fondly, both of them. I’d probably buy a third if I found a decent one.
One evening in 2007 I was driving home from my office in Kirkwood, Missouri, perched behind the wheel of a shiny Range Rover — I had finally pulled myself out of the poverty of my early 20s. I chased down a man in a smoke-belching 929, waving and honking at him the entire time. He finally pulled over and put his window down, looking back at me with a scared-shitless expression. I put my window down, smiled, and said, “I love your car! I owned two of them!” and drove off.
He probably thought I was nuts. [I was.]
I romanticized my memory of the car and became convinced that total strangers shared my fanatical level of affection.
I went through the same experience with a 1992 Infiniti Q45 I owned from 2003-2005. I bought it through an ad on Autotrader and spent every waking moment polishing, cleaning, and detailing it. It needed timing chain guides, the air conditioning was broken, it left me stranded about three times within the first couple months, and it had a serious alignment problem. Still, to me, it was motoring nirvana.
I paid $3600 for it and proceeded to spend $7000 over the course of two years trying to keep it together, and that was mostly with labor I performed myself. I received free help and technical assistance from the good people at NICO Club, thankfully, otherwise I’d have easily spent over ten grand. [Huge thanks to Wes.]
The infatuation was strong — I started Q45.org as an archive of the most important articles and posts from NICO and accumulated a mountain of Q45-related brochures, books, articles, and advertisements. I never did get the air conditioning to work for more than a few months at a time.
Finally, at 200,000 miles (35,000 miles later), I sold it for $900 to a guy from California. Last I heard, it was sold to someone else who then installed a body kit and a new transmission.
It didn’t end there.
A year later, in 2006, I got nostalgic and bought another Q45, this one from Los Angeles. I flew across the country and drove it home, discovering the remnants of Route 66 along the way.
Somehow, It wasn’t the same. It was too perfect, too well maintained, and didn’t “need” me like my last one did. Aside from a few squeaky suspension bushings, the car was flawless. I was even free to invest my time and energy into upgrading the sound system and buying a set of wheels (not pictured). I played around with the exhaust too.
It did have an intermittent injector issue which I could have repaired for ten dollars and 45 minutes of my time, but I used it as an excuse to leave — after less than a year of blissful driving pleasure I sold it.
Why? Because I developed a love for misery.I longed for the stimulation of pain and suffering.
The relationships you remember most are the ones that excite you, the ones that make you crazy and cause you to do irrational things. But they’re never good for you.
Chris at NICO Club drove his sister’s recently purchased Mercedes C230. You may remember seeing these cars years ago, offering young [mostly female] up-and-comers an affordable way into a brand new Mercedes-Benz. Unfortunately, the $26,000 supercharged C230’s moment of glory was short-lived as the Infiniti G35 and Cadillac CTS arrived in late 2002 with starting prices just under $30,000, offering more space, more power, and more comfort for not much more money.
Because of heavy competition and America’s downmarket perception of hatchbacks, the W203 C-class coupe was discontinued for the US market in 2005.
That’s what the elderly often say when they stubbornly refuse to accept the efficiencies and improvements of the modern world. But for the Chevrolet Impala, its the truth.
I embarked on a road trip from St Louis, Missouri to Spokane, Washington and because of snow reported in the inland northwest, I took a detour through Denver, Las Vegas, San Francisco, Portland, and Seattle.
Gary, who I’ve known for a few years through several Cadillac Owners meets, lived just south of Portland in Independence, Oregon, so we stopped in for a visit.
This was my first time driving a real American classic. Before Gary’s Impala, the oldest car I had driven was a Toyota pickup from 1978. The 70s and early 80s were a dark period for most of the auto industry with chintzy build quality, thin steel, and hardly enough power to mow a lawn.
And this was, unfortunately, the era of automobiles I grew up in. While Gary adores the full size American car that shaped his childhood, I’m stuck with memories of a smoke-belching Datsun B210, an orange primer-patched Honda Accord CVCC, and a white Datsun pickup. The B210, after just a few years of service, was so badly corroded that water splashed into the passenger footwell as you drove over a puddle. With the ’78 Accord, I remember Dad telling us kids to be careful getting in, or else the floor might break through.
Sure, these little death traps got 30 mpg or more, necessary after the oil crisis of the 1970s, but as a kid I felt more confident on my Huffy than some of the rolling garbage cans we carted around in. We were poor immigrants, so we had to make do for our first few years in America, but these cars weren’t exactly old when we had them. In less than a decade, they aged like milk left on the counter.
But I digress.
In 1964, America was building things of lasting substance and value. Tangible things you could hold, sit in, touch, look at, show off, and admire. Things that required human creativity, engineering, and craftsmanship. Things other than reality TV shows or Books of Faces.
“Impala,” elegantly rolls off the tongue like “Eldorado,” suggesting power, prestige, and elegance. And with a Chevrolet badge, that prestige and elegance still came with a reasonable price tag: $3,828 with air conditioning, about $26,000 today, similar to the price of a 2010 Impala.
An impala, in case you were wondering, is Bambi on steroids. Impalas travel in massive herds as large as 200 and have enough speed and agility (60 mph, 33-foot leaps), to outrun leopards and cheetahs.
When I arrived at Gary’s house in Oregon, the first thing I noticed was the Impala’s length. It barely fit into his garage, a two-car unit attached to a modern home. The space was intended for Camrys, Altimas, and Malibus rather than the roadworthy Queen Marys of the 1960s.
Enthusiasts favor Impala’s balanced styling, with just enough chrome to glimmer without looking like one of Elton John’s suits. This third generation, model years 1961-1964, turns heads without screaming for attention the way domestic cars of the 1950s tended to do, though I have a fondness for the ornately chromed pastel-colored Chevrolets, Buicks, and Cadillacs of the 1950s.
Its long body, straight belt line, upright shoulders, long nose, and extended rear deck convey quiet, powerful confidence, like a locomotive. And its proportions are perfect with an open, pillarless greenhouse offering excellent visibility in all directions and a beltline low enough to dangle your arm over the door. Classic American full size motoring is about comfort cruising, so the arm dangle is absolutely necessary to complete the experience.
Gary bought “Betty” in 1999 for only $3000, owned by a gentleman in San Luis Obispo, CA. Since then he’s spent around $20,000 on restoration and upkeep, including a 4-speed transmission upgrade (THM700R4 pulled from a Chevy Silverado), an engine rebuild, and an interior restoration. Considering the $6600 I’ve spent on restoring my ’91 Saab in just eighteen months of ownership, I think he’s doing fine, especially considering the Impala’s age at nearly half a century.
Some collectors are into extreme preservation, hauling their cars from show to show on covered trailers, racking up trophies while driving only 50 miles a year. I respect the exhausting work done by preservationists, but cars were meant to be driven. They aren’t diamonds or jewels. They are machines.
Gary’s ’64 is nice enough to appear at shows and take pride in, but minor indications of regular use keep it from being a prissy garage queen. When his Cadillac is in the shop (he and I both drive 2001 Sevilles, his white, mine silver), he takes his Impala to work. He can park Betty outdoors without worrying that one scratch or dent will ruin his week.
It also helps that General Motors built and sold millions of them, making used parts easy to come by and reducing rarity which in turn reduces owner anxiety.
Approaching the Impala, the first thing I noticed was the exterior door handle. Made of chrome with chunky mechanical pushbuttons, they feel more substantial than the plastic pull-levers typically found on modern vehicles. On some recently built (last 20 years) Lincolns and Chryslers, the feather-light plastic door handles occasionally break off. I’ve witnessed it myself.
Opening the door, I noticed an impressive absence of sagging or creaking. After a half century on the road, the doors still closed with a heavy, reassuring sound, like an older European luxury car but with definitive mechanical action. It reminded me of my old Saab in that regard, a testament to sound engineering, precise manufacturing, and quality materials.
A lot of GM cars from the 80s, by contrast, suffered from sagging and drooping doors.
Years ago, a friend of mine came over to visit in his 1988 Chevy Cavalier. When he opened his door to go home, it fell completely off, hitting the pavement. I was watching from my bedroom window and thought about going outside to help, but I was already in my robe getting ready to sleep and it was cold outside, so I stayed indoors and watched him reattach the door and drive home.
He told me the next day that the pin in the hinge broke. Under CEO Roger Smith’s reign of destruction, GM had taken its cost cutting to such an extreme that doors were no longer able to remain attached. Even Yugos, to their credit, didn’t have this problem.
[The moral of the story is, if you want to know how well a car is made, ask the doors.]
I took a seat in the front bench while Gary was under the hood installing the battery. I pushed and knocked on the dashboard, door panels, and headliner, looking for creaks, gaps, and potential rattles. I played with the glove box to see how precisely it opened and closed — glove box doors and headliners are my “thing.” Impressively, everything was tightly bolted together and rock solid. The only cracks were little ones in the corners of the padded dash, expected for a car that enjoyed several decades of southwest American sunshine.
The seats felt good too, wide and inviting with enough room to lay across and take a nap. It wasn’t quite like sitting on a couch. Rather, it was a bench with supportive springs that offered a sense of space while providing a reasonable level of alertness and support. There were, obviously, no side bolsters, but this was a six-person American family car, not a sport coupe. And thanks to front and rear bench seats, the kids (as many as four if your wife tagged along) could slide in and out of one door when parallel parked.
Gary, his girlfriend Erin, my friend Ian, Gary’s dog Hoover, my dog Newton, and I all climbed in and headed to the dog park.
After months of being snowed and rained on, I was welcomed to Oregon by a beautiful, clear, sunny day. Oregonians love the outdoors, and they have the privilege of favorable weather, clean air and water, and beautiful scenery. Naturally, we opened all the windows.
I was pleased to discover that the Impala has no B-pillars! For the layman, this means that there is no pillar separating the front door glass from the rear. Like a convertible, when all the rear windows are down, the roof is anchored at the front and rear while the middle is wide open. Back seat passengers enjoy a full, unimpeded view of the world outside.
The glass is trimmed with chrome and seals nicely when closed, and the rear windows, unlike modern cars, go all the way down. Being a child of the 60s in an Impala must have been quite a treat, with room to stick your whole head out the window and catch the rushing air (and bugs) in your mouth. Modern vehicle beltlines are in some cases so high that a child can’t even see out the window. I suppose that explains the popularity of back seat DVD players. How many times is a kid supposed to Find Nemo?
If the view outside got boring, a kid could always stare at the sky:
When creative types ran the show at General Motors, designers could pull off clever details like this starry headliner.
Small but significant details like the shiny metal buttons on the upholstery and unnecessary goodies like the large pieces of chrome on the outside edges of the seatbacks conveyed a sense of luxury.
Gary fired up the 250hp 327 cubic inch small-block OHV V8, surrounding the cabin with a smooth and unexpectedly refined rumble. For the uninitiated like me, classic cars are expected to burp, shake, and lope like drag racers with aggressive cams, as portrayed in Hollywood films. Instead, the Impala was “Jet Smooth” — its factory exhaust carried just enough sonic feedback to remind us of what was under the hood without being disruptive or crude. If Saabs were inspired by Swedish fighter jets, the Impala was influenced by the Boeing 727.
The sound instantly reminded me of the 6.2L OHV V8 in the Cadillac Escalade with a smooth, deep tone and an elegant ‘woosh’ under acceleration.
A clever light on the dashboard reminds the driver that the engine is still cold, so he knows to leave the heat off until the light goes away.
The factory push-button AM radio was there to maintain the interior’s original appearance, and Gary cleverly installed a modern head unit inside a dash-mounted tissue box holder. The tissue box was a dealer-installed option and has a chrome door to hide its contents, so it looks appropriate, discourages thieves, and delivers something a bit more interesting than dead trees.
Air conditioning was still a noteworthy option in 1964. A blue bowtie sticker on the rear glass proudly announced it the way badges on cars today brag about having turbochargers, roll stability control, superchargers, ethanol flexfuel capability, hybrid drive, and electronic stability control. The compressor is by Frigidaire, a company that General Motors used to own when GM owned everything, before America started buying its appliances from Samsung (Korea), Haier (China), and LG (Korea).
Thanks to minor enhancements including front and rear stabilizer bars and wider tires, we didn’t wander sloppily around corners or plow through curves like hockey pucks. It was like driving a modern SUV, but with the handling reassurance that comes from being closer to the ground.
Coil springs support the front and rear along with premium KYB G2 shocks.
After a half hour or so at the dog park, we headed to lunch and Gary let me take the wheel. This was my first time, ever, piloting a classic, iconic American car.
And I’m pleased to say, it far exceeded my expectations.
No, the old Impala isn’t as sharp around corners as modern family sedans, nor should it be. We’ve advanced five decades since 1964, and despite the regression of the 70s and early 80s, I’d be disappointed if we hadn’t made any progress by 2011.
Besides looking and sounding great, there’s a few things the Impala does noticeably better than some modern cars. On the road, I felt like I owned and dominated the earth. The width and weight, rather than making the car cumbersome, inspired confidence.
Maybe it was an illusory sense of security, but I felt entirely comfortable at modest speeds through corners — we carved through what Gary called the roller coaster road. Except for parking, I felt right at home behind the wheel on the Impala’s big, inviting bench seat.
Some large cars make you feel like you’re “driving Dad’s car,” like a ten year old wearing pants that are ten sizes too large. The 1997 Cadillac Deville I once drove gave me that impression. But in the Impala, I had a wide, commanding view, easy access to all the buttons and switchgear, easy reach of the pedals, and a good sense of control.
The power drum brakes felt reasonably modern, stopping undramatically with adequate force.
We parked at Oregon State University, and with its array of round tail lights and distinctive green paint, it draws the eye like an outdoor museum piece. However, its subdued enough to tastefully fit in with traffic, drawing admiration without begging for it.
That was a motoring experience I will fondly remember.
Ratings:
Its a challenge to numerically evaluate a car from 47 years ago with criteria based on modern standards, so I’ll do my best to justify each rating and take the era of technology under consideration.
Ride: 10/10 — Steady without being harsh and soft without being sloppy. There’s an earth-conquering road-dominating feel that makes you feel in charge.
Powertrain Overall: 10/10
Engine: 10/10 — For its time, the Impala is surprisingly efficient. Thanks to four speeds, you can expect 10/15 mpg or better, similar to a Lincoln Navigator. The 327 hums with unexpected refinement and delivers a mountain of torque.
Transmission: 10/10 — Gear shifts are imperceptible! While it isn’t geared for drag races, there’s enough grunt at low revs to feel confident pulling into traffic and overtaking trucks.
Comfort: 10/10 — A bench seat (front and rear) doubles as a mattress with enough bottom and back support to keep the driver awake and alert. There’s REAL room for six adults, even fat ones. Everything is within easy reach. Thanks to the absence of B-pillars and the low beltline, visibility is outstanding.
Steering/Handling: 6/10 — Lots of turns lock to lock with a bit of manual recentering required. Its steady and straight on the open road, which is where it counts. There’s a reasonable amount of feel through the large thin-rimmed steering wheel. Although the Impala is similar to today’s Cadillac DTS in length, parking can be a bit cumbersome until you get used to it. Once you’re out on the open road, driving the Impala is delightfully easy.
Features/Accessories: 8/10 — For its time, the Impala was well-optioned with air conditioning and power brakes. A wide selection of seating, roof, transmission, engine, and interior configurations made the Impala suitable for almost every middle and upper middle class buyer, quickly becoming the best-selling car in America at around a million units a year. Accessories and options for 1964 include air conditioning, AM-FM radio with mechanical presets, cruise control, wire wheel covers, rear speakers, electric clock, windshield washer, trash box, and a choice of sixteen exterior colors and seventeen interior colors. While much of what we enjoy as standard in today’s cars was optional in 1964, it was at least available.
Interior: 10/10 — A clean, timeless dashboard with well-marked gauges, easy to reach switches, and pleasing lights make it a nice place to spend several hours. After half a century there are NO SQUEAKS OR RATTLES. Materials are durable, precisely built, and exceptionally well made with an old-world sense of craftsmanship. Most surfaces are soft and nicely padded.
Styling: 10/10 — Timeless thanks to its straight lines, beautiful proportions, and well-balanced mix of creases and curves. Because of its low roof and extended hood and rear deck, it looks long and sleek.
Braking: 6/10 — Power brakes, while hardly neck-snapping, feel modern and safe.
Reliability: 10/10 — Well, its lasted this long, hasn’t it? Unlike some classics from the same era (particularly France, Italy, and the UK), there’s no risk of catching fire or losing the use of your headlights and wipers in a thunderstorm. You can expect an Impala to be as loyal and reliable as a labrador. Maintain it and it will serve you.
Overall: 9.8/10 — With a few minor modernizations and upgrades, the Impala is the perfect classic car for people who drive their collectibles. You get a sense of pride, confidence, and pleasure from the high build quality, dominating road presence, and overall sense of solidity.
If you’re looking for a piece of American culture that you can drive daily or across the country and repair with hand tools in your garage, this is it. Replacement parts and body panels are widely available and knowledge and expertise are plentiful. Performance upgrades are limited only to your budget.
Its the end of an era for Cadillac. The DTS, a front-wheel drive full size luxury sedan that traces its roots back to the 1990s, is still one of Cadillac’s top sellers. Released in 2006, the DTS followed the popular Deville, a hit with wealthy baby boomers. The DTS winds down production this summer at GM’s Hamtramck plant, also home of the Chevy Volt, with the final DTS going to Italian designer and American car collector Nicola Bulgari.
Cadillac fans may recall his name from the Bulgari gauges found in the Cadillac XLR convertible:
GM’s press release (below) mentions that the DTS is the top-selling car in its class, beating the Mercedes S-class, Lexus LS, and BMW 7-series in sales volume. Of course, the DTS has a lower transaction price, bolstered by rental fleet, livery, and government sales. It also lacks the technological sophistication of its rivals, perhaps a good thing as the DTS serves as an example of tasteful comfort and style, a common sight in the driveways of many upper middle class professionals.
The DTS corrects most of the Seville and Deville’s reliability issues while retaining the refinement and sophistication necessary to call it a Cadillac. As a future replacement for my 2001 Seville, its a strong contender.
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From General Motors:
Italian luxury goods executive buys last DTS from Detroit-Hamtramck
DETROIT — Nicola Bulgari, an avid car collector and vice chairman of the Bulgari luxury goods firm, prefers not to dwell on the sheer number of automobiles in his car collection.
“Is it important?” Bulgari asked. “Is it the number or the quality that matters? It’s the quality.”
Bulgari buys each car for a reason, not just to expand his collection. So when he heard Cadillac was ending production of the DTS luxury sedan, Bulgari knew he wanted the last one off the line.
Introduced for the 2006 model year, the DTS is a significant automobile, primarily because of the Northstar V-8 engine under its hood, Bulgari said. The last DTS, made this week at General Motors’ Detroit-Hamtramck Assembly Plant, is now headed for Bulgari’s collection.
“I like the DTS because it’s a great sedan,” Bulgari said. “It’s the last of an era. I thought it would be wonderful to own the last Northstar in a DTS. It’s one of the best engines ever designed – reliable and a performer.”
For decades, the DTS and its predecessor, the DeVille, have anchored Cadillac’s spot in the large luxury car market. Last year, the DTS outsold all other large luxury cars in the United States, topping the Mercedes-Benz S-Class, BMW 7-Series, Lexus LS430 and Lincoln Town Car. A version of the DTS also served as the U.S. president’s limousine until 2009, when it was replaced by a new Cadillac presidential limousine.
The last DTS will join an illustrious line of automobiles in Bulgari’s collection, which he houses at facilities in Rome and Allentown, Pa. The grandson of a silversmith who opened a jewelry shop in Rome in 1884, Nicola Bulgari has helped the company grow into a global network of 293 stores selling high-end jewelry, watches, leather goods, perfumes and fashion accessories.
Bulgari developed his passion for automobiles, particularly American automobiles, as a child growing up in post-World War II Italy. He remembers seeing U.S. soldiers and dignitaries driving all makes and models of American automobiles through the streets of Rome. His collection includes every GM model made in 1941, the year he was born.
“It’s something that goes back a long time,” Bulgari said. “It started when I was 5 or 6 years old. It cultivated an incredible passion that has grown and gotten more sophisticated as I’ve come to understand the history better.”
When he was 25, Bulgari bought his first Cadillac – a 1938 Cadillac V-16 Town Car. With its smooth, powerful engine, the Cadillac V-16 is considered by most experts as one of the finest automobiles of all time. Bulgari has sold his V-16 but said he would add another to his collection if he found the right one.
“It was quite an experience to drive that car because the quality was second to none,” Bulgari said. “The suspension design, the power, the engine… Everything was built with extraordinary quality.”
Bulgari’s collection includes plenty of other Cadillacs and LaSalles, a companion brand for Cadillac from 1927 to 1940. His collection of classic cars includes:
1932 Cadillac 355B V-12 Fleetwood Limousine
1934 Cadillac Model 355B Series 20 Sedan
1934 LaSalle Coupe
1940 LaSalle Convertible Coupe
1940 Cadillac Series 62 Convertible Sedan
1941 Cadillac Series 61 Sedanette
1947 Cadillac Model 7533 Limousine
1949 Cadillac Model 7533 Limousine
1949 Cadillac Convertible Coupe
1954 Cadillac Series 54-62 Fleetwood Sedan
1970 Cadillac Coupe DeVille
The 1947 and 1949 limousines were used by the Vatican as part of the Pope’s motorcade. In addition to the classic cars, Bulgari is a fan of contemporary Cadillacs. He owns a 2007 Cadillac BLS Sedan and 2009 Cadillac BLS Wagon, both part of a short-lived nameplate for the European market.
Bulgari also owns a 2009 XLR-V Coupe equipped with a special Bulgari speedometer, a 2010 CTS Wagon and 2009 CTS-V Sedan.
“Of the three, the Sedan, Coupe and Wagon, the Wagon stands out in front of all the competition,” Bulgari said. “It makes the competition look ludicrous.”
The CTS-V Sedan is among the best cars in the world for providing both function and performance, Bulgari said. Italian sports cars are nice, he said, but they aren’t practical The CTS-V Sedan, Wagon and Coupe all feature a 556-horsepower supercharged V-8 and a Magnetic Ride Control suspension system that can read and react to the road 1,000 times a second. They also have back seats.
“I have news for you with a V,” Bulgari said. “I want to see some Ferrari or Lamborghini on the road and I will give him a lesson. They’ll never expect it.”
Bulgari said he looks forward to driving the DTS. He likes to drive his cars, not just put them away as museum pieces. He’s also looking forward to future automobiles from Cadillac. A long-time buyer of GM vehicles and friend of Ed Welburn, GM’s vice president of Global Design, Bulgari closely follows the company’s products.
Although timing has not been determined, Cadillac plans to add a car larger than the CTS. Cadillac showed an XTS Platinum Concept car at the 2010 North American International Auto Show, providing an indication of the brand’s direction.
“I’ve seen the XTS Concept,” Bulgari said. “I know it’s superior. The DTS was a great sedan for its time, but it’s a different world, a new period. It’s time for something different.”
