Peter DeLorenzo latest rant tore US automakers a new orifice. The Autoextremist accused US manufacturers of putting all their eggs in an SUV shaped basket– despite clear warnings that rising gas prices and political correctness would eventually destroy the genre's over-arching popularity. Although Mr. DeLorenzo's essay is a cogent and scathing indictment of the automakers' short-term thinking, he's sure to face some stiff rhetorical competition from the environmental groups who've been railing against SUV's since the first Suburban burbled its way into the American housewife's heart. Guess what? I'm not joining the chorus.

While I'm happy to condemn GM et al for responding to US market trends with all the alacrity of a three-toed sloth, I reject Mr. DeLorenzo's argument that Detroit artificially induced America's "need" for lumbering leviathans. Did Colgate create the "need" for whitening toothpaste? No; they identified a desire, created a product to satisfy it and marketed the Hell out of it. As a capitalistic enterprise, automakers are obligated to follow the same process. Taking automakers to task for making XXXX SUV's handle like cars– instead of simply abandoning the entire genre as "woefully inappropriate"– makes Mr. DeLorenzo more of an Autoelitist than a player of extreme games.

The truth is that no one forced Americans to buy SUV's. By the same token, no one can force US consumers to abandon their "wasteful mastodons" (providing we accept the idea that gas hikes are the result of limited supply rather than conspiratorial collusion). Of course, the combination of high running costs and political incorrectness HAS created an SUV exodus of appropriately epic proportions. But the fact that the Big Three made hay while the sun shined, and used their influence to promote an SUV-friendly legislative environment, is nothing more than good business.

If the party's over, it's over. There's no use blaming Detroit for providing the revelers with jumbo-sized kegs. Everyone involved was, after all, an adult. You can, however, wonder why the Hell GM killed a rear-wheel-drive car platform in order to freshen-up its SUV's at the exact moment when the genre was, no-doubt-about-it, headed for the dumpster. Or what Ford was thinking when it deep-sixed its entire minivan business. Or when DCX will get around to producing a hybrid anything. According to DeLorenzo, these failures are a result of Detroit's lack of "vision, creativity and conviction". In other words, whilst gorging on truck-based profits, the automakers forgot to plan for the inevitable SUV sales crash.

Again, I'm not buying it. Yes, the knuckleheads at GM were dramatically trumped by Toyota in their car-based R&D investments, but you can hardly accuse of them being asleep at the wheel. They've unleashed plenty of new cars over the last five years, and there are more to come. Ford proclaimed last year "The Year of the Car". Their Focus, Fusion and Mustang are an admirable attempt to live up to their own admonition. DCX has also kicked some major car-based butt, what with the 300 and the Town and Country taking their segments by storm. Clearly, the Big Three do have a Plan B. It's just that they also have a Plan C, D, E, F, G and H.

The problem with Detroit is not that they made too many gas-guzzling SUV's; it's that they make too much everything. I've already ranted at length about the patent idiocy of GM running an eight-brand US portfolio, complete with multi-brand product overlap and blatant re-badging. Lest we forget, Ford also sells eight marques stateside, and many of their products compete with each other for the same customer. Is it any wonder that tri-branded DCX is doing better than its domestic brethren? I think not. They have to do more with less.

All three automakers have products appropriate to a marketplace geared towards mileage rather than, um, machismo. It's just that they're not good enough. And that's because no company can do everything well– especially if they're trying to do it eight different ways. If GM, Ford or DCX wants to knock the Accord or Camry from their perches, they should create a single competitive product and keep hammering away until they succeed. Meanwhile, until and unless The Big Three downsize their entire organizations–product, administration and production– they will win some battles, but lose the war.

The Big Three's success in the jumbo-sized SUV market should be a source of inspiration, rather than vilification. After all, the secret to their domination of the genre was their limited portfolios and single-minded product development. In fact, if Detroit uses the death of the large SUV as a cue to pare itself down and concentrate its resources, the gas-pumped shaped comet that's wiping out the large SUV market could be a blessing in disguise.

http://www.autoextremist.com/page2.shtml#Rant

Joint ventures are nothing new in the car business. Toyota makes cars for GM in California, Ford makes trucks and SUVs for Mazda, Subaru and Mitsubishi used to share an assembly plant and Mercedes sends over the underpinnings for the new Chrysler 300. So how about Lincoln and Acura? Despite Ford's recent problems, their legendary luxury division has a lot to offer Honda's underperforming luxury brand. By the same token, Acura has a few tricks up its sleeve that could help Lincoln regain much of its lost luster.

First and foremost, Lincoln has a V8. While Honda's free-revving six-cylinder engines have earned them justifiable respect and popular success in the American market, the lack of a suitable eight has hamstrung its luxury division since it invaded US shores in March of '86. Despite Acuras' undeniable quality, refinement and relative value-for-money, there's simply no getting around the fact that US consumers view a V8 engine as a luxury car basic. The latest RL is a perfect example: a superb vehicle with a 300hp, 3.6-liter V6 that's two cylinders short of a full order book.

With the steady decline in sales of the Lincoln LS, and the death of the Thunderbird, Ford has sufficient manufacturing capacity to supply Acura with their superb 3.9-liter, DOHC, 280hp V8. Lincoln's torquey powerplant has all the features a modern luxury car engine requires: variable valve timing, multiple valves and aluminum construction. If Acura felt a need for more power, Ford's expertise with supercharging would certainly come in handy.

By the same token, Lincoln could help Acura design and implement a suitable rear-wheel-drive platform– another "must" for American luxury car buyers. Lincoln is also a world leader in air suspension technology. From the 1984 Mark VII to today's self-leveling Navigator, Lincoln drivers have been gliding on air, without any of the reliability issues that have dogged other manufacturers' systems. With Ford's computer-controlled air suspension, Acura would leapfrog their Japanese luxury car competition and pull level with Mercedes, Audi and Jaguar.

Anyone who's examined an Acura in detail knows that the brand's craftsmanship is as good as the best Europeans'. Anyone who's poked around a Lincoln knows that the company's products need to raise their game. Recent reports suggest that Lincoln's Wixom plant is about to become empty. It's the ideal venue for a joint production project that would give Lincoln a much-needed lesson in how to build world-class quality products– on time and under budget.

It's sad but true: Lincoln has lost the ability to deliver a competitive product in a timely fashion. By turning to Acura to produce a new car, Ford would bypass their dysfunctional and paralyzed product development process. Acura could develop a car without the strangling effects of the Ford culture. At the same time, Honda, which pioneered the Japanese move to America to make cars, remains the most westernized of any Japanese carmaker. Honda's management would mesh more easily with Ford's culture than representatives of any other transplanted automaker.

A new Lincoln/Acura would also allow Lincoln to market a car that doesn't owe its parentage to other, cheaper Fords. The most likely incarnation of this cooperative effort would be a Lincoln LS replacement and a new, upscale Acura. Imagine an LS-sized car with a V8, rear-wheel-drive and an air suspension with active controls tied into an advanced stability system. Trim it out to Acura standards, build it with Honda quality and sell it for the price of a 3-Series BMW. Follow it with coupe and convertible versions, and Lincoln and Acura would both be able to compete head-on with BMW, Mercedes, et al. The Lincoln coupe and convertible versions could reclaim the Mark name from pickup truck hell, and restore the Mark to its rightful place in the automotive hierarchy.

An Acura-designed and built Lincoln may sound crazy, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Lincoln dealers are consistently rated among the highest for customer satisfaction; they have tremendous experience selling to luxury car owners and providing them with an appropriate level of after-sales service. But they're dying for lack of competitive product. While some might recoil at the idea of an ostensibly Japanese car sitting in a Lincoln showroom, the new model would be cozying-up to a Mexican built version of a Japanese Mazda (the Zephyr) and a new Towncar built on Swedish underpinnings.

Who knows where all this could lead. What about a Civic-based Focus? Is it possible to stretch the imagination enough to see a Honda pickup truck with a Ford V8? Acura could well be the answer to Ford's challenges, and vica versa.

Just a few model cycles ago, savvy auto-shoppers could indulge in the fine art of speccing-up. Consumers coveting European motoring on the cheap flocked to Volkswagen's second-generation Jetta. Shoppers could specify a lightweight, no-frills special: crank-it-your-damned-self steering and windows, no a/c and a basic radio. (Even steel wheel trim rings were optional.) The converse was also true– intenders could option-up a high-end GLI with most every feature then extant.

Fast forward to the new Jetta. Even a cooking version of VW's fifth-generation Jetta comes with air-con, remote keyless entry, power windows and a 10-speaker MP3-compatible CD stereo. And that's just the creature comforts; safety-wise, figure six airbags, ABS and traction control. Which goes some way towards explaining the car's 3,200-pound curb weight. (For comparison's sake, the average 1986 Jetta weighed around 2,500-pounds.)

But that's not all. Today's omnipresent 'convenience packages' and 'value bundles' foist unneeded or unwanted items on consumers; adding weight, complexity and cost. Of course, automakers are happy to ditch the once proud "mass customization" trend. Limiting possible build combinations curtails manufacturing and delivery complexity. Forcing consumers into unwanted features to obtain fittings they deem essential is an inherently profitable business.

Taken to its meridian, enforced 'feature creep' results in duo-spec vehicles like Scion's tC. Scion's sportiest comes with just two factory options: a slushbox and side airbags/window curtains. A great deal of attention has been lavished on the fact that Scion sells a huge range of dealer-installed options, from lighted cupholders to strut bars. Yet few question the fact that every tC comes larded with power everything (windows, locks, mirrors, and signature dual-element sunroof), 17" alloys, six-speaker CD, keyless entry, etc.

Given tC's admittedly reasonable price point (circa $16.5k), enthusiasts seemingly have little to carp about. But hang on– Scion's "sports" coupe weighs more than 3,000lbs. Admittedly, the gobs of sound deadening jacketing the interior account for some of its ballast. But much of tC's scale-tipping largesse arrives courtesy the electrical gubbins. And it doesn't take Colin Chapman to realize that weight is to dynamics what Jessica Simpson is to music.

Looking for a low-spec Hummer H3 with a price approaching the basic msrp? Hankering for a sports car without a hole cut in the roof? Then forget your local dealer's lot. They've been quick to cash in on the high-content, high profit racket by purposefully stocking a preponderance of highly-spec'd models. Twenty years ago, state-of-the-art in dealer grafting consisted of hundred-dollar pinstripes and paint sealant. Today's automotive brokers are infinitely savvier, baking-in more revenue streams. What's true in Congress is true among car dealers: pork = profits.

This axiom also works on back end; many of today's most popular electronic butlers (juiced windows, automatic climate control, etc.) account for the most frequent out-of-warranty repairs. With drivelines capable of lengthy distances between scheduled maintenance (and even longer between tune-ups), service bays would lay barren if it weren't for electrical gremlins. Just ask your local Volkswagen franchisee.

Perhaps the most confounding issue facing enthusiasts today is a lack of available manual transmissions. Aficionados checking manufacturers' websites might note that Honda still offers a DIY Accord, or that the latest car rag just tested a Mazda6 with a stick-shift. Attempting to find and purchase an equivalent example is about as easy as nailing Jell-O to a tree. Buying a manual often necessitates placing an order or shipping from another state– at which point shoppers can kiss most applicable financing incentives goodbye.

The problem doesn't just affect enthusiasts. Safety-minded motorists are also afflicted by option glomming. Nissan Maxima buyers must plump for an automatic transmission, moonroof, leather and high-end stereo to secure Vehicle Dynamic Control. Want a Chevrolet Cobalt with anti-slip? No problem, just sign-on for power windows and locks. This sort of options-sheet wrangling isn't just counterintuitive– it's manipulative. Bundling a certain suspension package with an aero kit is understandable, but forcing consumers to shell-out for unrelated, unwanted 'features' just to gain an extra margin of safety is downright despicable.

And the problem is getting worse. Thanks to the sucess of semi-mandatory feature bundles, sticker prices are increasing, and increasingly confusing. Curb weights are continuing to rise. It's time for carmakers to re-think the bundling strategy, to return to mass customization. A more flexible spec sheet may generate less immediate profit, but it creates long-term loyalty and a better shot at capturing a wider audience. If short-term greed continues to dominate, niches will shrink even as the risk of failure increases. The old new way was better.

Who killed the full-sized SUV? There they were, lumbering along, transporting America's families in comfort and style, when BANG! Dead genre driving. The biggest of the big– mighty Yukon XL's, epic Sequoias, humongous Hummers– now sit on dealer lots in long, neat rows, covered in ten-foot pole marks. JD Power reports that sales of full-size SUV's have dropped 22% so far this year. Sales of Ford's Explorer are off by 25% in the same period. Formerly truckeriffic GM is teetering on the abyss. Who dunnit?

Suspect number one: gas prices. The media coverage connecting rising gas prices with shrinking SUV sales has been relentless. Story after story showcase a working-class Dad or multi-tasking Mom whose love affair with their SUV rolled over and died (so to speak) when its petrochemical needs became financially overwhelming. Or, as printer Bob Fisher of Medford put in a recent NY Newsday article, "my Durango is killing me in gas."

Financial analysts are not so sure. According to the Economic Policy Institute, even Americans with incomes in the bottom fifth nationwide currently spend just 7% of their after-tax income on gas. Historically, the recent rises are no great sheik. In 1981, hard on the heels of the Iranian revolution, world crude oil prices rose to $72.24 a barrel. The hike pushed US gas prices to $2.77 a gallon (adjusted for inflation). The real cost of gasoline today is still 98 cents a gallon lower than it was back then. And compared to the rest of the world, well, a gallon of gas still costs four to five times more in The Land of Hope and Glory than it does in The Land of the Free.

Suspect number two: a guilty conscience. Maybe American consumers HAVE "woken up" to the SUV's negative political/environmental impact. God knows there's plenty of anti-SUV propaganda swirling around the cultural ether– from eco-terrorist attacks on SUV dealers to Hollywood stars leaving the 'Sclade at home for a ride to the Oscars in a [graciously-loaned] Toyota hybrid. As anyone who owns a Hummer H2 will tell you, there's an army of PC crusaders out there happy to 'discourage' SUV ownership through public vilification.

Talk to Greenpeace or the Sierra Club and there's no doubt in their mind (or newsletters) that environmental campaigning is driving nails into the SUV's coffin. Ron DeFore of the SUV Owners of America is equally adamant that political concerns play a miniscule role in the full-size SUV's recent decline. "People were SUV-bashing eight years ago; sales never slowed for a second." Perhaps, but have constant attacks on the genre's alleged pollution, cataclysmic impact on smaller vehicles, waste of world resources, etc. finally pushed consumers to some kind of tipping point?

Naa. Americans are blessed with a strong sense of morality, a keen appreciation of political reality and a large dose common sense. Even without haranguing, they tend to use all three in concert. That said, the connection between US foreign policy and fuel consumption lingers– somewhere– in the SUV buyer's mind. How that actually plays out on the forecourt is hard to measure, and neither side would trust unfavorable survey findings anyway. So let's call social concerns an accomplice to the crime and move on to suspect number three: crossovers.

Crossovers offer most of the advantages of an SUV– towing capacity, raised driving position, seating for six or more, safety, four-wheel-drive– with less damage to the Shell card/environment/political landscape/world oil supplies. While the new genre is still experimenting with design and packaging, the vehicles are gaining consumer acceptance. Factor in the recent termination of the tax credit for the biggest SUV's, the increasing popularity of smaller, more frugal SUV's (a.k.a. "cute utes") and the introduction of larger cars and minivans with four-wheel-drive, and you've got an entire mob ready to steal sales from full-size SUV's. The stats confirm the trend; sales of crossovers, cute utes, minivans and large sedans are all benefiting from SUV downsizing.

Which could be caused by rising gas prices. Yes, this is one of those Agatha Christie-type deals where all the suspects are guilty: gas prices, political consciousness and the entry of attractive alternatives into the marketplace. It's also a twist ending thing, because the SUV isn't really dead. It's just resting.

Last year, Americans bought over 700k full-size SUV's. This year they'll buy less, but still a lot more than you could fit into your average Wal Mart parking lot. When automakers find a way to extract better mileage out of the full-size SUV, there'll be plenty of drivers ready to go back, have their cake and drive it too. Meanwhile, the smart money is on companies who know that the gas-chugging full-size SUV must adapt or die. For real.

Car czars say the craziest things! In 2002, GM CEO Rick Wagoner said hybrids were only applicable to Japan, where gas cost $4 a gallon. About the same time, Flyboy Bob Lutz ridiculed edgy-looking, proto-300C concept cars as 'angry appliances'. And now Mercedes chief Eckhard Cordes says MB may no longer strive to top JD Power's survey of initial quality (IQ). For a brand whose reputation once rested on the bedrock of bullet-proof build quality, Mercedes' potential capitulation to the forces of mediocrity is startling– in the worst possible, most memorable way. If Jeopardy had a category 'Things Auto Execs Shouldn't Have Said', Cordes remark would only be a $100 answer.

From a PR perspective, Cordes' remarks are an unmitigated disaster. If there's one thing Americans hate more than a $80k German sedan with dodgy electrics– I mean, a loser, it's a sore loser. In J.D. Power's 2004 Initial Quality survey, Mercedes-Benz clocked-in at number ten, with 106 problems per 100 vehicles. (Lexus was first, with 87 problems per 100 vehicles.) When the tenth ranked company suggests it no longer aspires to the top slot in the most widely recognized measure of who builds the best damn car on the planet, it's the very definition of sour grapes, in a seven-year-old kinda way. Who cares about YOUR stupid quality survey ANYWAY? I'm going to do my OWN survey. So THERE.

From a more emotionally detached and rational perspective (i.e. from the POV of a German head of a German company), the man's got a point. After dropping the bombshell on his own foot, Cordes went on to say 'In order to become [number] one in J.D. Power, it is not only about hardware quality. It also has to do with the American taste, how they want cars.' In other words, if ain't broke, but Americans don't like the way it looks, feels or works; it still counts against you. Cordes noted that JD will mark down a car's initial quality if the steering wheel has too many buttons on it.

It's not the best possible example; it's hard to imagine a Merc owner bitching about the complexity of his steering wheel controls when the nearby dash has more buttons than the flight deck of an AWACS aircraft. And careful readers will note Herr Cordes' use of the phrase 'hardware quality'; the majority of Mercedes' current reliability issues are software-related. But, in the main, he's right. And if quality includes design, multi-national Mercedes could be screwed even before the driver's door kick panel falls off. Americans might view a paddle shift transmission as an unwelcome complication, whereas Italian drivers would consider it engineering genuis. As Cordes put it, 'One has to carefully analyse whether with a global car it is really advisable to strive for being J.D. Power number one.'

Obsessive pistonheads will recall that MINI also ran afoul of JD's methodology, when the runabout's German masters forgot to direct its English designers to include cupholders for the American market. And the Porsche Cayenne stumbled at the starting line, when Stuttgart's engineers figured it was OK for one key fob press to open the driver's door and two clicks to open all the doors– as long as they were performed at PRECISELY TIMED INTERVALS. As someone who regularly fails to open the back doors of his Cayenne while holding a terrible two-year-old, I can certainly agree that bad design is a bitch. But the popular definition of 'quality' has more to do with bits not falling off than not being able to corner with a Venti bold between your legs.

Unlike Mr. Cordes, I've raised questions about the integrity of JD Power's results before. If nothing else, I find it worrying that Mr. Powers' minions sell customer survey services to the very same manufacturers and dealers that it rates on behalf of consumers. It's also important to keep in mind that JD Power dominates the automotive ratings game like AC Nielsen once dominated TV ratings. Does absolute JD Power corrupt absolutely? Who guards the guardian? Maybe Consumer Reports, a non-profit consumer advocacy group (albeit with extremely well-paid executives), should release a survey of survey companies. Would JD consider it fair if Consumer Reports rated the design of JD's questions as well as the quality of their results?

In any case, my sympathy for Mercedes only goes so far. Their defense– we can't please all of the people all of the time– is misleading; JD's respondents judge multi-market Lexus products by the same criteria as they rate Mercedes'. Although his remarks are entirely justifiable, Cordes will eventually wish he'd kept his mouth shut and built better cars.

At Microsoft's recent "Global Automotive Summit", someone asked Bill Gates if he thought the auto industry should aim for cars that "wouldn't let themselves crash". To which Mr. Gates replied "absolutely". Bill was, of course, sandbagged. The media love to paint the world's wealthiest man as the world's most powerful control freak– which, of course, he is. But the subtext is always there: Bill Gates is a fascist. In this case, the press got him to "admit" he wants his company to take control of your car.

Again, the insinuation contains an element of truth. For some time now, the automobile industry has been moving towards augmenting/replacing human decision-making with computerized control. Mercedes' Distronic adaptive cruise control is only the most impressive example. The system integrates forward-facing radar with their car's "drive by wire" throttle and brakes, automatically maintaining a safe distance from the vehicle ahead. Rumor has it that the new S-Class will add an emergency braking algorithm, raising electronic intervention to the next level.

Mercedes' braking system will eventually appear in Chrysler vehicles and other mass market products. At the same time, Volvo is unveiling its lane departure warning system. Using sideways-looking radar, the device will guard against driver fatigue and help prevent collisions with vehicles in a driver's "blind spot". From there, it's a slippery slope (without traction control) to computer-controlled steering intervention to automated steering, braking and acceleration. Yes, that's right: a car that drives itself.

It may seem like one of those Popular Mechanics cover stories that never quite pans out, but robots can already negotiate highly challenging physical environments. It's also no secret that the Pentagon is busy developing combat vehicles that can negotiate harsh terrain without any human intervention or oversight, at speed. Within the next twenty years, our relatively safe and featureless highways will accommodate fully automated automobiles. The "set it and forget it" car will follow.

Of course, that's not exactly what Bill endorsed at his press conference. Mr. Gates only agreed that we need cars that wouldn't "let themselves crash". Anyone who's seen a fatal traffic accident up close and personal, or watched a moron drive, would surely agree that effective computerized safety intervention is a laudable goal. I mean, who WOULDN'T want a car that would stop you from crashing?

Enthusiasts. This special interest group can think of nothing worse than a car, truck or SUV that denies them driving's constant, ever-changing challenges– even if the human controlled vehicle is inherently less safe than its robotized equivalent. Wait; there IS a worse nightmare: a self-driving car powered by Microsoft software.

When Mr. Gates unfavorably compared the pace of the auto and computer industry's progress at a COMDEX convention, car enthusiasts launched a withering counter-attack. Their reaction revealed the extent of their antipathy to MSBill. Ironically enough, most of the sarcasm centered on safety issues. For example, "If GM had developed technology like Microsoft, your car would crash twice a day for no reason whatsoever. For some reason you would simply accept this."

It's funny stuff, but irrelevant. The truth is that the majority of people on our roads are not enthusiasts. They do not enjoy driving– at least not in the same sense that pistonheads do. (Hence the large numbers of motorists talking on their cell while driving and the huge take-up rate for satellite radio.) When the Chicago Tribune recently asked readers what features they would like on their car, real or fanciful, nearly 25 percent of the more than 100 respondents named autopilot as the top desire. Most people would gladly sacrifice a large measure of driving pleasure– and autonomy– for extra covenience and safety.

Why wouldn't they? Why shouldn't they? In emergency situations, over 50% of drivers take no evasive action whatsoever. Enthusiasts have been arguing for years for an active, human factors approach to automotive safety: better training, higher driving standards, regular re-testing, selective enforcement, etc. But there is an economic imperative at work. If you raised the standards high enough to prevent serious accidents, you'd probably remove 25% of all drivers from our roads.

The fully computerized car is the ideal way to reconcile driver stupidity with the need to keep our population mobile. And make no mistake: society is up for it. Computerized control has been the de facto standard for the airline industry for many years. Modern planes will not "let themselves crash". They can take-off and land automatically. (In fact they do, all the time.) We accept this development in safety's name, yet commercial airplanes are thousands of times safer than automobiles.

In the US at least, the self-driving car will never be federally mandated. So it's not an either or situation. Enthusiasts should encourage Mr. Gates' in his [unstated] desire to make a self-driving car. It will let them enjoy 'active' driving in a much safer world.

Once upon a time there was a luxury car manufacturer in America. The company virtually owned the luxury car business, both at home and abroad. Their cars were the gold standard for expensive cars, and rich and powerful people the world over bought and used them. They easily sold more luxury cars in America than most of their competitors combined. Their reputation for engineering innovation and excellence was unsurpassed. All of the best custom body builders clamored to make special show cars for them, in hopes that they could make it into the sales catalogue this company published every December.

Then came hard times. The stock market bubble popped. Thousands of people lost their jobs. And, the market for luxury cars started to dwindle. To make matters worse, the company's major competitor in America started to build bigger and more luxurious cars, and developed a reputation as a true engineering innovator in their own right.

Top managers, many of whom had been with the company for decades, agonized about what they should do. To do nothing was to ensure that the company would spend all of their savings and go out of business in a few years. The answer, they decided, was to build a car that would sell for substantially less than their traditional luxury models. Thus was born the Packard 120, in 1936.

The 120 was, by all accounts, a pretty nice car. It was powered by a smooth straight 8 engine, and it carried the traditional Packard grill and radiator ornament proudly. But it was no custom built luxury car, just a mass-produced, medium priced vehicle, a Packard one could buy for the price of an Oldsmobile or a Buick. The sales success of the 120 saved the day for Packard, and the company managed to stay in business for another couple of decades. The underpinnings of the 120 provided the basis for many Packard models, like the Clipper and the infamous bathtub Packards of the early 50s.

But the day that ordinary people could afford a Packard marked the end of the company as a viable luxury car manufacturer. Packard's demise as America's luxury car was guaranteed when the town's richest banker glanced out the window of his chauffeur-driven Packard as he left the estate, only to see his gardener arriving in a Packard. In just a few years, Cadillac overtook Packard in luxury car sales, and wrested the crown of American luxury away from Packard for good.

Fast-forward 60 years, to the 2005 North American International Auto Show, in Detroit. Lincoln, reeling from a 50% drop in sales over the last 5 years, announced the new Lincoln Zephyr. Priced to compete with the Nissan Maxima and the Toyota Avalon, the Zephyr is the lowest priced Lincoln (inflation adjusted) ever offered. While the Zephyr appears to be a very nice medium priced car (it is, after all, made from a Mazda 6) it faces some pretty tough competition. The Zephyr, like the Packard 120, will allow thousands of new owners to sail down the road behind a Lincoln grill and hood ornament. If it sells well, Lincoln will make some money, but at what cost to the Lincoln brand? Will the average hip-hop artist still want a Lincoln Navigator when he sees the bartender at his favorite club drive up in a Lincoln Zephyr?

Lincoln's Town Car is already suffering under the onslaught of a revitalized Cadillac and a host of other tough luxury car competitors. Once the car of choice for stretch limo converters, it is rapidly being displaced by the new Cadillac DTS. The Lincoln LS, aimed at the BMW 3 series, is failing, despite offering a V8 to the 3 series 6. The Navigator is in a fierce sales duel with SUVs from Porsche (Porsche!), BMW, Lexus, Land Rover, Cadillac and others, and the Aviator appears never to have lifted off the runway. Moving the Lincoln brand downscale threatens the viability of these products even more.

It is rare that a luxury carmaker recovers from flirting with downscale products. Packard never recovered, and Cadillac, after the unfortunate Cimarron and Catera, discovered that it takes many years and many billions of dollars in new products, to begin to turn around a cheapened image. Jaguar is in the process of discovering this, in the wake of the X-type debacle. Even Infiniti found that cheapening the brand caused it to lose all value in the US.

Ironically, the first Zephyr, in 1936, was Lincoln's answer to the Packard 120 and the LaSalle. It didn't carry the Lincoln name, just as LaSalle didn't carry the Cadillac name. The value of the Lincoln name wasn't squandered on a medium priced car, and lived on in the first Lincoln Continental, and a host of other fine cars.

Detroit execs have been too quick to sell the idea that consumers' clocks have struck midnight and turned the hardcore small SUV and pickup party into a pumpkin. Ask any domestic automaker, and today's smart truck money is almost exclusively on the crossover market. And while it's true that all-wheel-drive softroaders are hot, the notion that Americans won't pony up for a charismatic, purposeful body-on-frame compact is utter nonsense. The segment's erosion has far more to do with a dearth of compelling product than it does with the rise of alternative classes.

Need proof? Look no further than Jeep's evergreen Wrangler. Despite underpinnings hewn from Woolly Mammoth tusks and a convertible top that only a masochist could love, it continues to sell smartly year after year, decade after decade. In fact, its sales have actually been trending UPWARD as of late– no doubt thanks in part to the overdue addition of Jeep's Unlimited model (and the brand's ever-present cult of personality).

Of course, not every vehicle possesses Jeep's iconic style and enviable lineage. But that hasn't stopped Nissan from doing a decent trade in its Xterra. Based on a then-aging Frontier pickup, the first generation model quickly capitalized on the unrealized demand for an authentic 'purist's' SUV, almost in spite of itself. Overlooking more cheap plastic rattles than a Tic-Tac factory, those much-coveted 'extreme-sports' types lined up, smitten with the Xterra's beefcake visuals (jungle-gym roof rack, first-aid kit tailgate blister, etc.). Freshly bulked up, the second-generation Xterra remedies its predecessor's deplorable on-road manners and exiguous power allotment, all while fortifying its off-road credibility.

Sadly, the best a domestic compact truck intender can hope for these days is Ford's moth-eaten Ranger and General Motors' instantly-dated Colorado/Canyon twins. Loyalists looking to trade-in their old examples have been understandably reluctant to shell out for what amounts to dent-free versions of what they already own. It comes as little surprise, given Ranger's oatmeal-like constitution and appearance. GM's duo manages better, but suffers from a poorly conceived engine range and interiors exuding more plastic flashing than Anna Nicole.

Worryingly, there's little relief in sight. Bill's boffins continually push afield a Ranger replacement, and GM's ColCan is still too light on calendar pages to receive a meaningful upgrade. Worse still, neither appears to be anywhere close to introducing a hardcore demi-ute. Of course, flag-wavers still have Dodge's Dakota and Durango, but their available V8s are thirsty and less powerful than competitor's V6s, and neither remotely says 'compact.'

Which brings us to the Japanese. Once-dormant Nissan has moved closer to fine with its confident new Frontier. Formerly a knock-kneed, oddly styled also-ran, Nissan wisely plugged its Titan full-sizer into a Xerox machine set on 'Mini-Me,' resulting in a powerful and competitive midsize offering.

And while Toyota's long been guilty of misunderstanding the needs of the American truck buyer (the too-small T-100 begetting the too-small Tundra, etc.), that's no longer true. The Tacoma now impresses with its configurability and segment-defining power and refinement. What's more, the forthcoming FJ Cruiser signifies Toyota's intention to transcend its reputation for trafficking solely in the safe, sanitized, and reliable. If its throwback off-roader arrives cheaply enough, expect a colossal hit.

It didn't have to be this way. Ford's delectable derv-burning Bronco concept went down a storm at the 2004 NAIAS, and should've been fast-tracked for production immediately. However (and somewhat predictably), Dearborn lacks suitable drawers in its hamper for the SUV, and the Bronco remains mired in feasibility studies. At last word, Ford's Brazilian-built EcoSport platform is under consideration, but such rumblings lack promise. An old school off-roader masquerading atop a car-derived monocoque? Umm, no.

Lest we forget, in 2002, Dodge's M80 concept promised to put the 'body' back in 'body-on-frame.' Retro-steeped yet forward thinking, John Opfer's design was enthusiastically received by press and consumer alike, but the much-discussed 'shrinking small pickup market' shriveled Dodge's cojones in the end. Pity, as it would've made for a nifty little SUV, too.

It's tragic. The Big Three desperately need solid-selling small trucks to boost their CAFE figures and improve their lot among younger buyers. As it stands, the Ranger and Colorado lose ground minute by minute, their numbers propped to competitiveness largely via incentives and fleet sales. Dodge is the closest domestic to righting its ship, but remains well adrift.

Look: just a few years ago, most execs completely wrote off rear-wheel-drive family sedans, station wagons and hatchbacks. DCX's wildly successful 300 and Magnum, along with BMW's MINI illustrate that the right products write their own demand curves, statistics be damned. It's a shame Detroit remains oblivious to the latent sales potential in the small 'true' pickup/SUV segments, because their competitors aren't likely to make the same mistake.

Our main man Daniel Howes of the Detroit News recently asked 'what the Hell happened to mass customization"? Mass customization means building a product to a customer's exact specifications, then delivering it before they get pissed off. As the choice of three trim levels seems to satisfy most sheep– I mean people, I don't thing the Big Three's lack of a Dell-style manufacturing system is a major problem. But the wider point is well taken. When will the auto industry wake up and realize that it's the 21st century?

The continued existence of The North American International Auto Show is the best example of carmakers' inability to accept and accommodate the enormous technological changes that have swept society. Let's face it: it's a dead show walking. Why would anyone other than industry-types on expense accounts fight the crowds, eat horrendous food and PAY to look at a parked car when they can see the same machine driving on their desktop? Besides, by the time Detroit's Cobo Center opens its doors to the frozen throngs, more than 75% of the new cars on display have already debuted in electronic/photographic form.

As well they should. With over 60 new models appearing each year, unveiling dozens of new cars in a single three-day window makes no sense whatsoever. It's like Ben & Jerry's, Hagen Daz, and Baskin & Robbins all announcing their new flavors on the fourth of July weekend. In the multi-media millennium, an actual physical auto show is an expensive, inefficient anachronism. Enthusiasts are sated; civilians are jaded.

The car industry's inability to utilize the web effectively as a sales tool is another example of their lack of contemporary thinking. All the carmakers' websites present a staggering array of product and let the customer have at it. Surfers can research a potential purchase, but the information is devoid of context, warmth or individualization. There's no interactive element recognizing the customer's particular needs and guiding them through the options. No wonder the majority of surfer-buyers peel off to edmunds.com for a better idea of a car's suitability and actual price.

Electronic after-sales contact is just as old fashioned– in the sense that there isn't any. Study after study shows that car buyers want MORE dealer contact, not less. Yet there's no email follow-up to see if drivers know how to operate their car's toys, or to advise them when retrofitted options become available. There's no customer-specific information timed to coincide with usage patterns: winter driving tips, summer vacation planning assistance, trade-in time depreciation updates, etc. There's only… silence.

Computers can keep track of a huge number of buying preferences and behaviors. There's an ever-increasing number of ways to interact with customers: telephone, websites, email, direct mail, text messaging, CD-ROMs and more. But carmakers can't seem to put all these elements together to increase customer satisfaction and loyalty. They act as if the new media is the old media, and put on lingerie competitions at sporting events.

Service departments have also neglected the possibilities inherent in the new technology. With the advent of GPS and on-board telemetries, it's amazing that the dealers' most profitable division still waits for their customers' cars to break down, or for their patrons to remember when it's time for service. Even discounting remote interrogation, surely there's an algorithm that can predict what will go wrong with a customer's car before it occurs, taking into account the customer's probable (or actual) driving habits and nationwide, model-specific service patterns.

And finally, the cars themselves show an inexplicable reluctance to evolve towards modern sensibilities. Computer interfaces like BMW's iDrive and Audi's MMI controllers seem to reflect a cutting edge hi-tech ethos. In fact, these awkward devices betray a stunning ignorance of simple ergonomics, requiring unacceptable physical, visual and mental diversion from the mission critical task of driving. What happened to the kind of thinking that led to the gentle red light glowing over a BMW's dash or GM's heads-up display? We don't need more technology, we need BETTER technology.

The obvious way to conclude this rant is to talk about supertanker turning circles, dinosaur brains and the possibility of smaller, faster car companies taking over from the large, unwieldy ones. But I won't go there. Instead, I refer you to America's gigantic after-market tuning industry. These guys build to suit, party with their customers and innovate on a daily basis. If Danny wants to know where to find mass customization, he could do worse than to watch Pimp My Ride.

By all accounts, the Ford GT is a fantastic car. This website has joined the chorus of car magazines and enthusiasts singing the praises of the 500hp, mid-engined monster. Despite the Ford badge, reviews place the 'working man's supercar' in the same league as the Lamborghini Gallardo, Ferrari F430 and Porsche Turbo. It's a complete success.

Well, not quite. As a business and marketing proposition, The Ford GT has more in common with the ill-fated Studebaker Avanti than latter day Italian and German exotica. Although the GT and the Avanti bear few mechanical or visual similarities, their marketing mission– to draw people into showrooms and entice them into buying the more plebian products of the parent corporation– is identical. And that's not the half of it. The resemblance between the two supercars runs far deeper…

In 1961, Studebaker's product line had grown old and tired. Larks, Cruisers and Hawks were clogging dealerships. The company's century-old reputation for build quality, mechanical excellence and attractive design was quickly fading into the mists of time. Sales were declining rapidly, as buyers switched their allegiance to Ford Falcons, Plymouth Valiants and Chevrolet Corvairs. To spruce up Studebaker's increasingly geriatric image, the company decided to build a radical range-topper to cast a warm glow over the rest of their automotive products.

Studebaker's designers completed the Avanti in just eight months. To give their halo car a sporting image, Studebaker adapted many performance parts from their existing model line: supercharger, disc brakes, a roll bar and more. To keep development and tooling costs low, the automaker built the Avanti with a fiberglass body. Unfortunately, the company had no experience with the material. Unforeseen production problems created major cost overruns and seemingly endless delays.

In 1963, the Avanti arrived late, but loved. The buff books raved. As the hype gradually faded, well-heeled owners became less enamored. The $4500 Avanti's fiberglass body and mechanicals were not nearly as reliable or robust as the company's more prosaic products. The company was forced to issue a steady stream of dealer fixes, most notably changes to the body's construction to keep the large rear window from popping out of the car at speed. The Avanti's dealer visits did Studebaker's reputation no favors amongst an extremely influential market segment.

More importantly, as a marketing tool for less affluent buyers, the Avanti was a bust. People lined up at Studebaker dealers to see the car, but the company's sales and market share continued their precipitous decline. In the final analysis, sales fell more sharply in 1962 and 63, after the introduction of the Avanti, then they had in the previous few years.

Now, compare this sad history with Ford's new halo car, the GT. The parallels are frightening.

In 2002, Ford's product line had grown old and tired. The Taurus, Focus and Crown Victoria were clogging dealerships. The company's century-old reputation for build quality, mechanical excellence and attractive design was quickly fading into the mists of time. Sales were declining rapidly as buyers switched their allegiance to Honda Accords, Toyota Corollas and Nissan Altimas. To spruce up Ford's increasingly geriatric image, the company decided to build a radical new range-topper to cast a warm glow over the rest of their automotive products.

Ford's designers completed the GT in a remarkable 18 months. To give their halo car a sporting image, Ford raided the corporate parts bin for its high performance parts. Most notably, the GT's 5.4-liter DOHC powerplant is a supercharged version of an existing Ford V8. To keep development and tooling costs low, Ford built the GT with aluminum and carbon fiber. Unfortunately, the company had no experience with these materials. Unforeseen production problems created major cost overruns, and seemingly endless delays.

In 2004, the Ford GT arrived late, but loved. The buff books raved. As the hype gradually fades, owners may soon be less enamored. The $139,990 GT's aluminum body and mechanicals are not nearly as reliable or robust as the company's more prosaic products. For example, on December 22nd, the company recalled the GT to fix faulty suspension components on the 205mph supercar. Could this signal the start of a steady stream of recalls and dealers fixes? If so, the GT's dealer visits will do Ford's reputation no favors amongst an extremely influential market segment.

More importantly, as a marketing tool for less affluent buyers, the GT could well be a bust. People have lined-up at auto shows and dealerships to ogle the car, but there's no sign that Ford is reversing the 45% loss of passenger car market share that they've experienced during the last five years.

In fact, if the GT fails to ignite sales, it will have to be counted a failure, just as the Avanti was a failure for Studebaker 40 years ago.

Before you read this editorial, you must first agree not to show it to anyone until next Tuesday. Yeah, right. And yet carmakers routinely provide new product news and photographs to the press subject to a mutually agreed release date. The industry calls the practice a "news embargo". It's the dirty little secret that lies at the heart of the relationship between automakers and the press.

It's easy to understand why automakers love a good embargo: a carefully-timed news blackout is the key to coordinating a vehicle's public debut– from tease to reveal to nationwide campaign. If the general public hears about a new car too early, the thrill of the new strangles the sales of the old. If an upcoming product's particulars arrive too late, valuable marketing momentum is lost. The news embargo significantly decreases the automakers' risk of blowing their big bucks product launches.

By their very nature, the news embargo also limits negative buzz. Think of it this way: if loose lips sink ships, an embargo can help keep a leaky ship afloat. Equally important, the blackout extends to "third parties", so the press can't reveal new model information to outside experts. When the embargo ends and the story breaks, the public receives only the manufacturer's details/photographs (along with a bit of editorially neutral background). Later, well, who cares? The damage has not been done.

Compare the early coverage given the new Dodge Charger with later, less widespread reports chronicling muscle car aficionados' outrage at the new Charger's four-door design. By sitting on Dodge's concept sketches as instructed, the automotive press helped guarantee a positive result for DCX, and a negative one for Charger purists.

Members of the motoring media perpetuate the embargo system because they figure if they don't play ball, they'll be locked out of the ballpark. This justification was brought into sharp focus last December. When embargoed pictures of the new Corvette Z06 suddenly appeared on-line, GM dispatched two Securitas goons to threaten an offending webmaster. Autoweek reported on the intimidation, ran the 'Vette pic, and clarified their position on news embargos: "We won't be the first to break an embargo, but neither will we be the last".

Of course, Autoweek and their ilk realize that the web threatens the status quo– even if dozens of websites responded to GM's threats by pulling the Z06 pictures off-line. While the mainstream automotive press is not about to tell carmakers to stick their news embargos up their figurative tail pipes, they're more than happy to let the newbies chip away at the system. Rest assured: if the new electronic media can get away with embargo running, the old guard will be right behind them; ready, willing and able to capitalize on their competitors' bravery.

Fortunately, the news embargo is under attack from other quarters. These days, scoop hunters like Brenda Priddy and John Johnson prowl the Las Vegas desert and German Nürburgring, capturing photos of future models. The publication of these spy shots, and the increasing use of Photoshop to generate computer models based the images, are positive signs that the automotive PR guys no longer call all the shots. But the corporate communicators are nothing if not resilient. They've responded to the sneak attacks with an advanced embargo technique called the "private press preview".

For example, a few months ago Saturn presented its upcoming models to selected automotive writers. Journalists emerged from the hush-hush happening suitably enthused about the company's new design and engineering direction. But an embargo left the hacks unable to talk about Saturn's future products in any detail– aside from the "happy days are here again" party line.

Although Saturn PR sold the embargoed event as background, it was clearly designed to stem the flood of criticism directed at GM's faltering division. And it worked; the debate about Saturn's tired product range has gone quiet. This despite the fact that there's no guarantee that the previewed cars will make it into production, or that they'll be any good if they do.

Of course, the news embargo only persists because it's a win – win situation for the players involved. The manufacturers get to manipulate the news, while the press knows they'll never be out of the loop. Equally important, by keeping more aggressive journalists away from the master's table, embargos perpetuate and maintain the power of the buff book boys' club.

The only real loser is the general public. News embargos restrict the free flow of timely, unbiased information. They also muddy the journalistic waters, denying interested enthusiasts a vigorously independent automotive press. To rectify the situation, all automotive publications should refuse to agree to any news embargo, no matter how tempting such 'scoop insurance' may be. It's our policy, and it should be theirs.

Once again, it's time for the yearly pseudo-slugfest known as The Car of the Year. Across this great country of ours, every car-related newspaper, magazine, radio station, TV outlet and website (excluding this one) are busy awarding their favorite manufacturers an automotive attaboy. Once again, both the choices and selection process fall perilously close to farce.

Far be it for me to claim that the various juries are inherently biased. Like the majority of the panelists charged with sorting the wheat from the Ford 500's, I'm also a middle-aged white man. While I don't share my colleagues' sanctimonious regard for cars whose novel propulsion systems and dubious mileage figures are their best– if not only– distinguishing characteristic, I grew up with the same infatuation for speed and style. So none of their non-PC nominees come as any great surprise.

Well, actually, what the Hell is a Chevrolet Impala SS doing in Car and Driver's list of potential 10Besters? While the 240hp version of the whitebread sedan may be a great car– a matter of not much debate amongst pistonheads– what makes it better than Subaru's new Legacy? A lubed-for-life chassis? Of course, I can't second-guess this seemingly odd choice, as I've never driven the souped-up Impala. On the other hand, by its own admission, neither has C&D. Along with four other nominees (Mercedes CLS500 and SLK55 AMG, Mercury Montego, Chevrolet Cobalt and Porsche Boxster), the SS was "not available for evaluation".

That strikes me as more than a little strange. Don't get me wrong: I respect any organization that can find a bunch of car guys willing to complete a test drive on a Suzuki Reno (another surprise contender). But why did Car and Driver include theoretical cars in a subjective competition? Surely it's hard enough trying to rate "how each car performed its intended function, as we perceived it." With that caveat safely on board, nothing's out of bounds. Hell, you could give GMC's Vortec-powered Sierra Hybrid pickup truck the highest honor for 'fulfilling its intended function as the world's fastest electric generator'.

Actually, C&D offers no less than ten honors, including "Best Muscle Car". Cynics amongst you might wonder if this new category was concocted for the sole purpose of giving the Ford Motor Company a nod, but I couldn't possibly comment– other than to point out that the current muscle car market consists of exactly two vehicles (the Ford Mustang and Pontiac GTO). And while we're at it, what's the precise difference between Best Sports Coupe, Best Performance Car and Best Sports Car? My mind's a little muddled on that point– especially as C&D's editors laud the Coupe-winning RX8 as a "practical sports car".

Fortunately, Motor Trend's Car of the Year award avoids this sort of Miss Congeniality-style comprehensiveness. The 300C is it and that's that– unless you want to know why the 300C is more worthy of their ultimate honor than say, the Kia Amonti . MT's explanation of their selection process is remarkably detailed, stocking enough adjectives to fill up three books of Mad Libs. With fine print like that, the magazine could have given their beloved golden calipers to the new John Deere 5525 tractor.

AutoRox, a Spike TV show hoping to become the automotive Oscars, added a little democracy to the mix; the producers gave viewers a chance to vote on some of the aspirants for their as-yet-unnamed hood ornament. Of course, the nominees were all chosen by a distinguished panel (i.e. The Usual Suspects). While Spike's televisual hipsters added a bit of spizzarkle to the tried-and-true categories– "Most Jammin' Truck, The Mid-Life Crisis Car, Tastiest Tuner" etc.– it's hard not to conclude that the network is presenting the same old fish in an MTV rapper.

I'm sure I'm not the only pistonhead who finds all these awards a highly dubious enterprise. But then, the awards aren't designed for our consumption. A die-hard car enthusiast is hardly likely to regard an accolade from C&D or Spike TV or any other representative of the mainline automotive press as the final word on a vehicle's desirability. No, these awards are targeted at the non-enthusiasts, consumers who know next to nothing about cars. Manufacturers use the titles to convince automotive atheists that a given product has received the experts' blessings. In short, the awards are a kind of Christmas kickback from the motoring press to their prime benefactors.

The awards process may be tainted, but everyone in the biz knows it's all in the name of fun. There's only one fair way to identify the "best" car in any given segment. Look for the one at the top of the sales chart.

How do you sell a car? You'd think that all the major carmakers would have an established sales methodology by now. After all, every McDonald's sells its products in the exact same way, and they don't do too badly. Shouldn't companies selling automobiles have a prescribed system for sales interaction, from the moment a customer enters the fishbowl to the moment the saleman seals the deal? Wouldn't that make sense?

Oh wait. The manufacturers do have systems– it's just that no one uses them. Despite their ceaseless attempts to introduce a measure of science and civility to the automotive sales process, car salesmen still make it up as they go along. Sure, the guys and gals working the showroom floor feed the corporate maw the requisite paperwork, pretending to adhere to company policy. In reality, they pay no more attention to their erstwhile sales structure than they do to GQ's Fall Fashion issue.

Quite simply, car salesmen don't like being told how to sell a car. It's not just a question of dominance: "we who grapple with rejection on a daily basis know more about car sales than you who make your living by getting us to role-play our dumb-as-toast customers". Nor is it a matter of willful ignorance: dumb-as-toast salesmen refusing to wrestle with difficult psychological concepts. It's a simple issue of efficacy. Their sales training doesn't work.

It's true. Theoretically, there's nothing wrong with the dozens of variations on the venerable "Qualify, Present, Close"– even when they come wrapped up in the latest psycho-babble. But when salesmen try to put the new techniques into practice, they invariably deliver the same, seemingly random percentage of ITABs (I'll Take a Brochure). Understandably, the sales force loses faith with the system, and goes straight back to their old, "intuitive" non-methodologies.

The fault for this lamentable state of affairs does NOT lie with the brave men and women on the front lines, or the captains of commerce who send them into battle. No, the blame lies with the sales psychologists who devise the sales systems in the first place. Ask one of these stat-friendly intellectuals why a customer buys a car. They'll claim there's no one answer; there are dozens of customer types, all with their own set of evolving motivations. In other words, they don't know.

Well I do. That's right, I'll give it to you straight. Customers buy a new/used car for one simple reason: their old car sucks. They hit the dealer floor when they finally decide that their current whip is too old, too slow, too unreliable, too small, too low class, too something to hang onto.

It may seem like a piercing glimpse into the obvious, but this analysis highlights a fundamental gap between the customer's psychology and the salesman's. Again, the vast majority of customers buy a new car because they no longer want the one they have. By contrast, people in the car biz buy a new car/house/boat/wife because they want the BBD (Bigger, Better Deal). It's maintenance vs. aspiration. Security vs. status. Risk vs. ambition.

A customer whose wants to change vehicles without losing what he already has meets a salesman who's convinced that everyone wants, no NEEDS, a better car. Instead of talking about reassuring similarities, the salesman bangs on about radical differences. The customer becomes frightened and confused. They try to block out the salesman's blather and reassure themselves that the new car will be at least as good as the old one. In fact, most people end up buy a new car despite the salesman, not because of him.

Psychologists and their armies of sales trainers have singularly failed to appreciate this rift. Their elaborate sales systems and training programs don't accommodate, reflect or exploit the automotive customers' underlying, over-riding fear of loss. Salesmen realize that they're on a different planet than their customers, but no one has told them how to come down to earth with their buyers. No one has told them how to sell a car.

So this is how you do it: Reaffirm the customer's suspicion/conclusion that his or her current car is crap, find out what they originally liked about it, show him or her how the new car is just as good as the old one once was, and then ask for the sale. It sounds simple, maybe even simplistic, but then so did the idea of selling a hamburger every ten seconds.

Despite the capable stewardship of GM Grand Pooh-bah Bob Lutz, Saturn is quickly falling out of orbit. That's the unavoidable conclusion after learning that General Motors plans on pushing its resident flower child upstairs, to an office from whose door a janitor is hurriedly scraping the "Oldsmobile" appliqué. Oh, how the flighty have fallen…

Remember when Saturn was 'A Different Kind of Car Company'? From Day One, the brand was a utopian marketing and social experiment in need of decent product-– a calamity that grew more acute over time. Apparently, the powers that be finally realized the Bohemian goodwill of its dealers and a no-dicker sticker weren't grounds enough to sustain a brand. As a result, over the past few years, GM has been steadily reeling in its wayward progeny, with an increasing percentage of its operations falling under the corporate umbrella.

Ergo its revised marching orders: abandon ye dent-resistant plastic body paneling, broom the 'Minnesota Nice' act, and fall into lockstep with the Brave New General. At the cost of a few lousy billion dollars, the General's Saturn mission will soon consist of a mildly differentiated Relay minivan (a homely offering bungeed to an unremarkable chassis that could take charm lessons from a Ford Freestar), a rear-wheel-drive roadster whose crest is an anathema to enthusiasts, and yet another mid-size front-driver to capitalize on all the warm-fuzzies garnered from those legions of L-Series devotees. Yippee.

And from what stylistic and dynamic wellspring is GM seeking to gloss Saturn's rings? Opel. There's nothing intrinsically wrong with that; the EuroGeneral's recent automotive efforts have possessed of a surety of design and constitution not seen out of the company's overseas outposts in quite some time. However, given the EuroGeneral's less cluttered stable of divisions, Opel enjoys a comparatively open playing field for its products. Back in America, things are more complex.

Stateside, Lutz's grand blueprint sends Buick Lexus-hunting, Cadillac dicing with BMW for the 'sporting executive' dollar, Pontiac reasserting its affordable performance heritage and Chevrolet underpinning the GM constellation as the 'everyday' line. Given this overstuffed cornucopia of brands, there exists precious little soil from which Saturn can (re)cultivate an identity. Hence GM's decision to aim Saturn at Oldsmobile's old market segment.

So, the General is proudly crowing about relocating what was once its most promising division into the digs of one of its most spectacular failings, Oldsmobile. Doesn't this strike anyone as disingenuous, or at least odd? Despite blustery talk of better product and expanded dealer networks, no statement has yet been made of anything remotely approaching a brand strategy or market placement. Apparently, a little Mercury has found its way into Saturn's watercooler. Poisonous logic, indeed.

To his credit, car czar Lutz has repeatedly rammed home the virtue of "Product Uber Alles". It's a message clearly ignored by Saturn execs, who thought they could make bank by foisting the disastrous Ion and L-Series appliances on an ignorant public. Said Lutz: "The idea behind the product was that it would be used as a tool… that's totally wrong. It's all about the car." True dat. So why the Relay, a rolling half-measure but a badge-swap away from being a Chevy Uplander or Pontiac Montana SV6? What audience will a Saturn roadster reach that a performance-branded, platform-sharing Pontiac Solstice won't?

If the consequences weren't so dire, the whole thing would be comical. General Motors is cribbing product-planning strategy from Lincoln's bastard stepchild. Take a basic platform, spackle on some fresh insignias, forge some new alloys, and voila! Wait a second. Didn't a pre-Lutz GM already try this with Oldsmobile? Hell, didn't all of Detroit try this throughout the entire '80's? Amazingly, GM execs have apparently blotted from their collective cortexes the 'badge engineering' slur that's played such a pivotal role in defining the Big Three's current malaise. In fact, most of Detroit has yet to digest this fundamental automotive truth: "trim and tape" operates uncomfortably close to "tar and feather."

Okay, so things have changed. With its noble Saturn mission, GM has learned the hard way that there's little money to be made in small cars. That means Saturn is no longer going to be GM's Cheap and Cheerful Automobile Factory, or the car buyer's moral refuge. However, all of this does little to temper the reality that the gaps in Saturn's revitalization plan threatens to dehisce like the panel fitments on an SC2 in winter. Just what will Spring Hill offer consumers that another GM brand doesn't already do with greater conviction? Who, exactly, is the brand's prototypical buyer?

It boils down to this: Whatever latent goodwill engendered among early buyers of the 'Brand with a Heart of Gold' is slowly being quashed as consumers cotton on to the reality that Saturn is gradually devolving into another GM 'me-too'. What a pity.

It's common knowledge that today's auto execs are obsessed with "clinics", those allegedly scientific investigations into the public's views about a new or planned model. As in Hollywood, this fixation has sucked much of the vibrancy and innovation from the car business. For evidence of its crippling grip on the industry's creativity, look no further than the alphanumeric soup that is our new car marketplace: RX7, X3, XK8, S500, A4, SC430, F150, FX45, ad nauseam.

This pseudo-military mania stems from the widespread tenet that established vehicle names succeed at the expense of the parent company's visibility. Predictably, hired image and brand consultants wrongly view popular model monikers as a serious threat to the overall corporate gestalt.

Land Rover's decision to ditch the name 'Discovery' in favor of 'LR3' is but the most recent and glaringly wrongheaded example of this trend. 'LR3' might as well refer to Nokia's latest handheld or the Kenmore watercooler around which such a designation was surely conceived. Like virtually all alphanumerics, 'LR3' is wholly devoid of presence and says nothing about the vehicle or the company from which it originates.

'Discovery' is a far more emotive and appropriate title, especially given that Rover's Disco trades almost exclusively on its Kalahari-taming reputation– even if buyers only plan on visiting such climes while daydreaming during rush-hour. Have carmakers become so enthralled by focus groups that they've completely forgotten that vehicles are deeply emotional purchases?

Manufacturers defend this trend with an approvingly nod at the alphanumeric systems utilized by BMW and Mercedes-Benz. However, it bears noting that these companies forged their reputations convincing buyers of their unique approach to automobile building. BMW's dogged adherence to their "Ultimate Driving Machine" maxim is what made the brand famous and successful. Ditto Mercedes' "Engineered Like No Other Car In The World."

Critically, the naming schemes employed by the Teutonic Twins succeeded largely because both employ a simple underlying methodology. Even acute motorphobes understand that the 3-Series orbits below the 5-Series. They also grasp that a 760li costs more than a 735i; as the numbers increase, so too do the dollars commanded. The same logic pervades at Mercedes-Benz, where cost scales have historically increased alphabetically.

Of course, as model lineups expand, such schemes inevitably gain in complexity. Hence, BMW no longer enjoys the simplicity of managing just the 3, 5, and 7-Series. They've gone and dusted off the 6-Series, with the 1, 2, and 4-Series waiting in the wings. Add to these a growing stable of "X"-based softroaders and "Z" sportscars (along with their M-badged iterations), and the whole mess quickly devolves into a puzzling bit of mathematics. Mercedes is likewise afflicted, what with its exponentially expanding model lineup and AMG-branded variants.

Even so, BMW and Mercedes are in fine fettle compared to the branding entropy on exhibit in Cadillac showrooms. By introducing its current naming regime, The General has tacitly acknowledged that Cadillac lost the plot decades ago. Bob Lutz and friends correctly surmised that once-celebrated names like "Seville" and "Eldorado" have long since gone threadbare. Having found the onramp to brand redemption only recently, Cadillac elected to drop actual names from their trunklids in favor of a Scrabble tilebag full of three-letter combinations.

Unfortunately, there's no discernable rationale to their array. Not only do Cadillac's acronyms fail to stand for anything obvious, there's no hierarchy apparent among them. SRX? STS? CTS-V? Even the most fastidious pistonhead can be forgiven for failing to remember which is which, let alone successfully decipher their pecking order.

It's certainly true that many automotive aficionados' heart rates blip upon mention of such alphanumeric greats as Jaguar's XK-120 and Citroen's DS19. But the average consumer hasn't idea one as to what constitutes something as common as an MX-5, yet one need only utter the word 'Miata' to engender a spark of recognition and warmth.

Obviously, ill-chosen model designations can play a significant role in a company's demise. Remember Ford's Merkur gaffe? Dearborn's obtusely dubbed XR4Ti was inherently cursed, despite being a fairly dynamic proposition for its time. While the coupe's avant-garde aerodynamic addenda and grilleless countenance were surely to blame for most lost sales, the poor thing was also damned with a name that would give fits to even the most anagrammatically gifted enthusiast.

It's been said that car buffs treat their vehicles like family– even going so far as assigning them genders ("She purrs like a kitten"). Most would never consent to calling a pet goldfish 'GS400', let alone their own child. Why do automakers insist upon giving their own prodigy sexless, character-free names?

It's time to leave the alphanumeric cryptology to the Sunday Times crossword set. Great names do not usurp corporate recognition, they serve to define it. A rose by any other name may still smell so sweet, but who'd prefer to pick a RX-330?