How many of us sketched cars in the margins of our grade school notebooks? For a small minority, that’s the beginning of their life’s work. Those with the gift go on to enroll in design colleges to pursue a career in Transportation Design. Once there, the budding designers’ personal expressions are run through the meat grinder of de-constructive criticism. While the process is daunting, it is nothing compared to the “real world” of car design.

Germany’s IGM is the world’s largest labor union. What’s more, German law dictates that half of any German corporation’s supervisory board (minus one) must be “reserved” for its members. In Volkswagen’s case, even elected board members are subject to union influence; the politically malleable state government of Lower Saxony controls VW’s elected seats. As previously described, union control over “The People’s Car” has inflicted grievous harm on VW’s brand positioning. Yet in the last year, there have been signs of change.

My first car was a 1989 Passat station wagon. The Passat fully embodied the literal translation of the company’s name: the people’s car. It was reasonably priced, cheap to maintain and mechanically robust. The interior was roomy and practical. Compare it to today’s expensive, unreliable and over-plush Passat and you’ll know why the German automaker is in trouble. Volkswagen has lost their natural place in the market, a spot originally staked-out by Adolph Hitler.

When GM suddenly decided it needed a convincing small car for the US market, Car Czar Bob Lutz scanned his European operations and fixed his once-steely gaze on the next gen Opel Astra. Unfortunately, GM’s bean counters confirmed what common sense suggested: labor costs, transportation costs, unfavorable exchange rates and competitive pricing preclude the possibility of profit. Maximum Bob was undeterred, claiming GM will build the “Saturn Astra” in the US if it succeeds (i.e. loses them lots of money). All of which raises an important question: does the Astra have what it takes to sell stateside?

As far as I’m concerned, Jaguar died the day the suits killed the F-Type. Jag’s prototype Boxster beater had it all: sexy looks, the promise of phenomenal performance and a decent chance of hitting the right price point. But oh no, the American owned company decided to spend its time and money building… diesels. And a badge engineered Ford Mondeo called the X-Type. And estates— sorry, “sportwagons.” So, seven years later, I found myself behind the wheel of Jaguar’s perfect storm: a diesel X-Type Sportwagon. Or, as the Brits say, the dog’s breakfast.

Last Monday, an English racing mogul, a car-collecting Texas tycoon and a gaggle of Kuwaitis bought Aston Martin. While Ford’s retained a stake in the luxury automaker, The Blue Oval Boyz no longer have a say in Aston’s future. The press spun the deal as a sad but inevitable move: a sign of FoMoCo’s willingness to face financial facts. Well, here’s a bit of Inside Automaking: Ford didn’t put Aston Martin up for sale. Aston Martin jumped ship. 

This wasn’t the first time I’d opted for European delivery. In fact, after counting all the license plates I’d collected from these international adventures, I discovered I was on my eighth visit. Normally, when my wife learns I want to go to Stuttgart or Munich, she digs in her proverbial heels. So I had to package my automotive connection with a week in Paris. I made the arrangements to pick up a BMW 335 at the Munich factory. Here’s how the deal went down…

After five years living in the quiet, sheltered and nurturing environment of Iowa City, Iowa, my family moved to Baltimore, Maryland. I was twelve– that pinnacle year of childhood. I was blissfully ignorant of the long dark tunnel of adolescence just ahead. And in those very last days of innocence in the heartland, I was graced with a peak automotive experience.

It was during my final summer spent with the Mennonites. The preacher and I were working at their neighbor’s farm, helping with an old-fashioned barn-raising. For two hot days, I nailed down endless floor boards, while the men prepared the rafters for the final assembly. Towards the end of that second day, putting away nails in a shed, I had a genuine “barn find”: the chore scooter.

My parents' first new car was a 1970 Montego coupe. They liked it so much they added a Montego sedan to the ranks– just in time to transport this nascent pistonhead home from the hospital. They no longer own a Montego. And soon, no one else will either. At least not a new one. Ford is about to rebadge the current Montego (a gussied-up Ford Five Hundred) a Sable; just as they’re about to rebadge the Five Hundred (the Taurus’ replacement) a Taurus. Which leaves everyone exactly where they started. I think. Let’s take a look.

Is it any wonder GM announced another deadbeat deal and cash incentives the day after they reported their long-delayed fourth quarter and year end financial results? Whatever else you can say about GM, you can’t fault their news management skills. If the automaker had revealed the package before the accounts were released, the discounting would have [rightly] be seen as a sign of desperation. Coming hard on the heels of a fourth quarter profit and a reduced year-on-year financial loss, the sale seems part of a successful turnaround strategy. Only it isn’t.

Mention the word “hybrid” on an automotive internet site and commentators clump into two camps. It’s either “I save the planet while getting 97.467 mpg driving my Prius up Pikes Peak” or “I search and destroy hippy trust-fund Prius drivers with my jacked-up diesel F-350”. Despite this ongoing socio-political clash over mixed propulsion, hybrid sales have brought the technology into the mainstream. Which puts us in a better place to answer the obvious question: what’s the future beyond the hype?

After a bleak January, February offered Detroit automakers a whiff of spring. The Chevrolet Impala had a 60’s sales flashback. Thousands more customers went fission for Fusions. And Chrysler Wrangled plenty of loot from new Jeep owners (boosting their bottom line to help Daimler get the Hell out of Dodge). While The Big 2.5’s supporters may conclude that the numbers presage Motown’s long-awaited recovery, starting a Deathwatch Deathwatch may be a bit premature.

Opportunity doesn’t always knock; sometimes it breaks down the door with a crash. When my daily driver became the caboose in a rush hour conga line gone bad, I found myself in that placeless place where car reviewers go when the press fleet is permanently out to sea. To the chagrin of Saturnistas everywhere, I passed on the Ion proffered by the perky rental car desk jockey. At the appropriate moment, I gratefully grabbed the keys to a 2006 Mazda3 sedan. The four-door filly had been ridden hard and put up wet, bearing 16k miles. Another TTAC road test had officially begun.

Does anyone other than a masochist enjoy buying a car? Any survey of loathsome experiences would rank car buying just below root canal surgery, slightly above cleaning hair out of the shower drain. I have yet to hear an adult say “I need a new car,” without dread and trepidation in their voice. So they turn to me, their local automotive alpha, for advice on makes, models, prices and features. Until recently, all my knowledge couldn’t protect them from the dreaded car dealer. Here’s what they faced… 

People in business for a quick buck give everyone else in their field a bad name. They fully deserve the reputations they receive. More than a few CEO’s and their boards have ruined— are ruining– their companies by combining short term thinking and personal greed. To expedite their demise, more people should vote with their feet, and avoid mindless profiteers. That said, take it from the manager of an average sized Honda store: not all car dealers are crooks.