Back in '89, the Chevrolet Lumina arrived to take on America's sweetheart: the Ford Taurus. The swoopy-shaped FoMoCo four-door kicked the Lumina's butt seven ways to Sunday. The Taurus continued to crush The Official Car of Disney World– until Dearborn's astrological automobile hit the skids, knocked off its perch by Toyota's handiwork. The Taurus slid into fleet-only sales, replaced by the lackluster Five Hundred. Meanwhile, Chevy replaced the Lumina with the Impala and walked away from the full-sized Ford. And now Ford's back with the resuscitated Ford Taurus. Gentlemen, Ford or Chevy? Place your bets!

Introducing, in the Bow Tie corner, a genuine best seller! For real!. At the turn of the last century, Chevy took the dubya-bodied Lumina, haphazardly re-skinned it and slapped the famous Impala logo on the grille. Seven years later, after a few tweaks and a cleaner profile, the Impala has become GM's best selling passenger car (fleet sales notwithstanding). Year-to-date to June, The General's sold some 144,451 Impalas.

Though it never grabbed headlines like the so fresh, so clean Chrysler 300, the wrong-wheel drive Impala quietly raked in the greenbacks for a cash-deprived General Motors. And if you (conveniently) overlook the acres of American-made Camcords, the Lumina-cum-Impala is still the best selling domestic car on the market. It's even had a bit of a bounce of late, as Chevy-loyal SUV refugees succumb to the Impala's frugal and capacious charms.

Once you jettison the "parking lots filled with refrigerator-white fleet bodies" slam to the base unit and drop the "torque steer monster" insults to the SS variant, the Chevrolet Impala emerges as one of the most popular full-size sedans. And why not? Forget the dull styling, lousy road manners and crude materials, and you'll find a comfy ride with several trim levels sporting mad value-added skills. Like, awesome.

And now, presenting, in the blue corner, the fairly competent but totally uncool Ford Five Hundred! Bred from a meticulously cost-engineered, well-aged Volvo platform, wearing the most generic lines this side of a Levittown township, sporting a boring name and cursed with an overburdened powertrain and a silly-ass transmission, the five bills Ford designed to restore luster to The Blue Oval didn't.

The Five Hundred has rarely sold over 10k units a month. Considering the startup costs of a new platform and a thoroughly modernized Chi-town facility, that's gotta hurt. Months after launch, production was lowered to meet demand. Sales in 2006 barely crested 84k, some 70 percent below the Impala's sales for the same period.  

So while Ford struggles, GM's laughing all the way to the bank; their sedan from the Tone Lōc school of thought is a money-making sleeper. Yes but– the Impala ain't no beancounted wild thang. The W-body is primed to get knocked off its high horse. Cue the Rocky training sequence, as the Five Hundred pumps iron to become… the fifth generation Taurus!

The pride of FoMoCo's Chicago plant is ready with a dollop of new sheetmetal, a Volvo-bashing marketing strategy (America's safest car!), a larger and more refined Duratec six-banger and one unforgettable name. All of the Five Hundred's shortcomings are addressed (if not entirely cured) in the mildly updated, mildly appealing 2008 Ford Taurus.

Ford's bullish about the model's brand heritage, but there are plenty who hate the Taurus. Memories of exploding head gaskets and grenaded transaxles fade slowly. Some go the other way: SHO-ing the sedan some love for the design revelation that saved Ford's bacon. Odds are most Americans recognize the name and will listen to Dearborn's elevator-pitch before making up their minds.

Truth to tell, there's not much chance that the Five Hundred redux will take the market by storm. Still, The Glass House Gang deserves some credit for finally realizing that constant evolution is the way Fordward- even if the move was motivated more by financial constraints than strategic sagacity.

Anyway, how could the Taurus not improve Ford's sales disparity with the Impala? Put another way, Ford has a two out three shot of making a bigger score with the Five Hundred's replacement just by name alone. Look out Impala: the Ford vs. Chevy battle is about to begin, again.

Unfortunately, this match is not likely to be as well-attended as the epic battles of days gone by. Years of customer indifference to half-assed redesigns and the smell of fleet sales spirit (not to mention the constant action over at Toyota, Honda, Hyundai, Kia and Nissan) have emptied the stands.   

Both Ford and Chevrolet will have to work a lot harder to recapture the public imagination. How about a title bout between a full-fledged rear-wheel motivated Impala and a sharp-looking, smooth-riding, Mustang-based Ford Galaxie?

For now, both combatants are losers, desperately clawing for respect among those who currently start (and finish) their sedan search at their local transplant dealer. Ford vs. Chevy. Someone will win, but does anyone really care?

Yesterday’s Wall Street Journal reported that Toyota executives have put the brakes on their American manufacturing plans. This rapid retrenchment comes against a backdrop of seemingly relentless growth in Toyota's U.S. market share. Sales of the Kentucky-built Camry are so high that Toyota is paying Subaru to build the model in Indiana. Thanks to generous incentives, the Texas-built Toyota Tundra pickup truck is keeping pace with the company’s ambitious targets. And just a few days ago, Toyota passed Chevy to become America’s top-selling automotive brand. So what’s up with the slow down? 

First up: union troubles. Earlier this year, employees at the aforementioned Kentucky production plant unearthed a ToMoCo memo outlining plans to reduce wages and benefits in accordance with local compensation. The United Auto Workers (UAW) smelled blood. The union held “town hall” meetings and set up a “worker’s rights board” to “hear personal stories of Toyota workers and recommend appropriate remedies when necessary.”

In theory, the numbers favor the UAW. At Toyota’s Tundra plant in San Antonio, unskilled workers earn about $15 per hour, increasing to about $21 per hour after three years. Workers at Toyota’s new Tupelo, Mississippi plant will start at around $12 per hour, increasing to some $20 per hour after three years. If you include benefits (not an apples to apples comparison but there you go), the average Big 2.8 worker earns roughly $73 per hour.   

In practice, Toyota pays bonuses to achieve parity with industry norms. And yet, as the leaked memo revealed, the wages they are a changin’. Toyota will now cap new hires’ salaries at 50 percent above the average local wage. That may seem generous, but Toyota understands the seductive power of union-inspired greed aspirations. And they know that a UAW stronghold in Georgetown would put them on a slippery slope to widespread unionization. 

Toyota is also extremely concerned about its declining product quality. The company’s rep rests on the bedrock of reliability, which has been shaken by massive product recalls. The world’s largest automaker has more faith in its Japanese factories’ abilities to right that wrong than its American equivalents’.

This belief is NOT an ethnocentric condemnation of America’s autoworkers. It reflects the importance of experience and geography.

For largely political reasons, ToMoCo has spread its production facilities right across the North American landscape: Alabama, California, Indiana, Kentucky, Ontario, Mississippi, Missouri, Texas, Tijuana, Victoria and West Virginia. Back in Japan, the automaker clusters its factories in and around Toyota City (twinned with Detroit ‘natch).

While Toyota Motor North American Inc. has done a bang-up job mastering its long supply lines, it’s an expensive business prone to “complications” and “misunderstandings.” In contrast, Toyota’s Japanese centralization and the company’s longstanding relationships with its key domestic suppliers give the manufacturing mothership a distinct edge in quality and flexibility. At the risk of stoking xenophobic flames, an American-made Lexus flagship or Prius still seems… unlikely.   

And then there’s the yen. Currency manipulation or no, the yen’s recent weakening against the U.S. dollar has made the economics of importation that much sweeter for the Japanese automaker.

Union agitation, quality woes and a yen for profit– it’s no wonder Toyota’s pumped-up the volume on its North American imports, from 762k vehicles in ’04, to 1.27m in ’06. Nor should it be any major surprise that Toyota has already started scaling back American production capacity.

Toyota’s Highlander-producing factory was scheduled to open in Tupelo in ‘09 with an annual production capacity of 200K units. The new plan: throw the switch in ‘10 with a 150K annual capacity. By the same token, southern states can put down their tax abatements; Toyota won’t be building any more new plants in the U.S. for the foreseeable future.

What if U.S. demand for Toyota vehicles outstrips their American production capacity? In the short term, ToMoCo could add additional shifts or assembly lines to existing plants, staffed by temporary workers. Or they could farm-out the work to friendly transplants or, gulp, domestic manufacturers. Or just call home for reinforcements.

In the longer term, Toyota has plenty of plants in countries with much lower production costs than the U.S. It wouldn’t be hard for them to import Chinese- or Indian-built Camrys for less than it costs to build America’s most popular car in America. Even with the 25 percent tariff on imported trucks (a.k.a. the “chicken tax”), building Tundras or Tacomas in Thailand, China or India would still be a price competitive proposition. 

In the broader sense, Toyota’s American plants have already served their purpose. They’ve ingratiated the Japanese automaker to the American car buyer and insulated the company from a political backlash, should The Big 2.8 go Tango Uniform. And if these same domestics move the lion’s share of their automotive production overseas, what’s to stop Toyota from following suit?

In “The Blue-Eyed Salaryman,” American author Niall Murtagh charts his fourteen year career inside Mitsubishi Japan. When Murtagh gets transferred to Osaka, he concludes that the Tokyo part of the company focuses on large visionary research projects, while Osaka demands practical applications. And there you have it: the dichotomy that accounts for Mitsubishi’s progress in the automotive arena. You have visionary products like the Evo with very little practical purpose, and dull products like the Outlander with very little vision. So where does the new Lancer fit?  

Now that Ford has put the remainder of its Premier Automotive Group (PAG) on eBay, it's time to evaluate the soon-to-jettisoned divisions' prospects. As "going concerns," Land Rover and Jaguar are like a cartoon character who just ran off a cliff; the only thing that keeps them from plunging into oblivion is [momentary] ignorance that they're about to plunge into oblivion. Business wise, Volvo is the Daffy Duck of the group: a major star that somehow graduated to the role of successful sidekick. As brands, well, that's a different matter. Or, as it turns out, not.    

From a branding perspective, Land Rover is an unmitigated disaster. No surprise there; the brands' products have earned their manufacturer a worldwide reputation for bad engineering and poor reliability. A brand can only get so far playing the snob card. An off-roader that's destined to leave you stranded in the middle of nowhere (or the Neiman Marcus parking lot) is a less coherent brand proposition than a $250 McDonald's Happy Meal.

Sad but true: Land Rover's imperious off-roaders are only marginally more reliable than a love-struck teenager. In 2005, Land Rover was third to last in JD Powers' Initial Quality Survey. In the following year, Land Rover fell to last place– and then stayed there for '07. Engine power problems, exploding gearboxes, inaccurate fuel gauges, electronic gremlins– Landies live at the bottom of every automotive reliability survey conducted in the last six years.

The implications are clear. Given the depth and severity of these self-inflicted wounds, Land Rover's resurrection would require at least a decade of flawless [re]engineering and manufacture, and an epic warranty.

Why bother? SUV's are a dead genre guzzling. Land Rover's barely double digit mpg mules are both dead AND damned. And the competition's kicking Land Rover's arse in mud plugging (Jeep, FJ), price and reliability (from Hyundai to Toyota), fuel efficiency (you name it), and on-road performance (Porsche, BMW, Infiniti). There is nowhere for this go-anywhere brand to go– save the dumpster.

Jaguar. As The Bonzo Dog Doh-Dah Band would say, dear dear dear oh dear dear dear oh dear dear oh dear no. While Ford gets maximum props for banishing most of the most egregious mechanical gremlins bedeviling Jaguar, Dearborn's darlings have all-but-destroyed the British automaker's mission critical cachet.

It's bizarre. Sir William Lyons left clear instructions for his brand: pace and grace. Under Ford's stewardship, Jaguar has fashioned a lineup of vehicles that can only watch their German equivalents disappear into the horizon, whose sheetmetal displays less grace than a meth-crazed mosh pit dancer. A Ford Taurus nose on an XK? Puh-lease.

Much has been made of Jag's ruinous move down-market. But the success of BMW's, Audi's and Mercedes' entry level machines proves that Jag screwed-up in X-ecution, not concept. The X-Type was an under-engineered mini-me version of the XJ sedan, which was an aluminum-skinned clone of the previous XJ, which was an "homage" to the XJ that preceded the model it replaced. You can't make this shit up.

Ostensibly, Jaguar could return to Sir Billy's formula. Unfortunately, Jag's non-Teutonic competitors have filled the pace and grace mindspace. Maserati and a resurgent Alpha have nailed it. More importantly, Lexus' L-Finesse style has given their products something very much resembling sex appeal. Equally disheartening, Jag's last shot, the new XF, only gets it half right: it's pace without grace. Nope, Jag's day is done.

And so to Volvo, the sensible Swede that sells safety. Despite Ford-sponsored attempts to add speed (racing station wagons?) and sex appeal (convertibles?) to the brand, Volvo remains a fundamentally boring proposition: the automotive equivalent of nurse's shoes. Well, there are a lot of people out there all looking for the world's most comfortable shoes, and plenty of people who'll buy a safe boring car over a less safe boring car.

Volvo's safety shtick has such a powerful hold on the public imagination that the automaker could arrive unfashionably late to America's jam-packed SUV party tendering a woefully underpowered model- and STILL clean house. Seventeen years after Chrysler launched the Town and Country, a properly constructed Volvo minivan would perform the same feat.

As Volvo customers don't expect frequent model updates, a new owner could take their time to improve the marque's models' reliability. And there's no reason why Volvo couldn't or shouldn't move down market, to become a full-line manufacturer of dull, safety-oriented automobiles. Anyway, the fact that Volvo is the only member of PAG banking bucks tells you all we need to know about the brand's strength.

In sum, it's no wonder buyers eyeing-up Jaguar and Land Rover are [allegedly] insisting on some sort of Volvo bundling deal; Volvo is the only PAG brand with any life left in it. In fact, there's so much life left in the brand Ford should consider keeping it and selling off Mercury (as if) or Lincoln instead. 

Once upon a time, a "brand" was something you burned into the hide of your horse. The mark told everyone "this one's mine." It also served as a kind of frontier Lo-Jack against the varmits what done rustled your horses. In those days, brands were just about impossible to change. Now as then, "brand loyalty" was the breeder's best chance of staying in business. Only applied to modern pickup trucks, the concept is fast going the way of the Conestoga wagon.

As recently as a decade ago, America's flatbed fraternity fell into three camps: "I'm a Chevy truck man" or "I'm a Ford truck man" or "I'm a Dodge guy." If I had a nickel for every rear window vinyl graphic I've seen of Calvin peeing on a rival brand's logo, I could play the Atlantic City slots for the rest of my life.  

When foreign trucks first hit our shores, truck guys dismissed them as "Tonka Toys." They were considered cute little rice burners for people who couldn't afford a "real truck." Just in case the base was tempted by the small is beautiful gestalt, Chevy and Ford fired back at their diminutive competition with the S-10 and Ranger, respectively. Initially, they weren't bad trucks t'all. Brand loyalty survived.

The Japanese automakers did what they do: adapt, survive, thrive. Each model year issued forth an evolution– and I don't mean the shape of the front grille. The Japanese rigorously applied the not-so-secret pickup truck formula: reliability, practicality, style. Engines got bigger. Payloads improved. Amenities became more amenable. In the process, they gradually removed most (if not all) of the reasons NOT to buy one of their pickups.

In Marketing-land, "influencers" and "alphas" are the people who determine how the wider populace perceives products and brands. A decade or so ago, a prospective pickup truck buyer turning to an automotive alpha for advice would get a lecture on why Ford, Chevy or Dodge made the best vee-hicle, bar none. Today even the most rabid pickup truck partisan understands that the flatbed buyer's choices are no longer so clear cut, or cut-and-dry.

Sure, you can still find pickup-driving guys hitting the honky tonks wearing tight jeans held up by Blue Oval belt buckles. But Japanese persistence has caused a decided and dramatic shift in the truck landscape; there's been a massive erosion in traditional brand loyalty.

These days, the difference between various brands' pickups is relatively minute. Whereas influencers used to sell their friends on a brand, they now talk about product. F-150, Silverado, Ram, Tundra, Titan, Ridgeline– which is the best pickup? Well, that depends…

Have a look at the streets of Amarillo, Laredo and Dallas. No question: them funny furriner pickups is showin' up in ever greater numbers.  Where every red light once stopped a sea of Rams, F-150s and 1500s, you'll now find a decidedly international mix of Tundras, Titans, and yes, Ridgelines waiting their turn.

Don't get me wrong: The Big 2.8 still make mighty fine pickups. Japanese products haven't "blown them out of the water"– as Japanese cars did to America's compact and mid-size sedans. But Toyota and Nissan's single-mindedness and high profile in other parts of the American automotive landscape, has paid off in a more subtle way. They've turned "Hell no!" into "What's the best truck I can get?"

To entice open-minded buyers and suggestible alphas to look beyond traditional brand loyalty, the Japanese are currently playing the inscrutability and "dare to be different" marketing cards. The Nissan Titan is… the Titan of trucks. Honda dares buyers to "Break the Truck Mold." And Toyota is the "Truck that's changing it all."

In a very real sense, Toyota's right. In today's more malleable market, The Big 2.8 have to distinguish themselves from the competition. And that means examining their pickups' core competencies, choosing one, developing it and refining their marketing focus to suit.   

At the moment, Ford claims its F-150 "Hauls more. Tows more. Built for more." Chevy touts the Silverado's Truck of the Year award and instructs the sheeple to "Follow the leader." Dodge proclaims the Ram the pickup buyer's longest-lasting option.

Although these tag lines suggest Detroit's drawing the battle lines, the domestics have a nasty habit of thinking short term. Their marketing departments tend to chase the trend of the moment, to react to fickle consumer fashions. This ADD limits the Big 2.8's ability to pick one unique selling point and stick with it.

Also, pickup trucks are like Swiss Army knives. Asking a domestic manufacturer to pick a blade and promote the Hell out of it is like asking a cowboy to ride a thoroughbred. Still, when you're in a race for your life, a workhorse isn't your best option– no matter how famous the brand it bears.      

Adoption is a lengthy process. Prospective parents must submit to all kinds of scrutiny to prove themselves suitable child care providers. And for good reason. You can’t give ‘em back, as they say. Not so in the business world. Ford has officially put siblings Jaguar and Land Rover up for sale, with some sources placing Volvo’s custody in question. The move ends nearly a year of speculation, or nearly two decades of speculation, depending on how prophetic you’ve been.

A great many car people groaned when Ford grabbed the cat’s tail back in ‘89. Presciently enough, they worried that the American automaker wouldn’t “understand” and “respect” the Jaguar brand. Ten years later, they groaned again when Ford purchased Britain’s provider of “Chelsea Tractors” (Land Rover). BMW, OK, maybe. But Ford?

Analysts considered both purchases losers. Even if the brands could be brought up to snuff, they’d cost too much money to repair. When Volvo and Aston Martin joined the Premium Automotive Group (PAG), critics were more optimistic about those marques’ chances. In the end, both armchair analysts and the professional soothsayers were proved correct.

Last year, Ford lost $12.7b. The Blue Oval doesn’t break out PAG’s numbers, but insiders suggest the European brands lost $2.32b of that total. Volvo broke even last year and Land Rover climbed into the black. Aston Martin has moved on, leaving the cat holding the bag.

Despite protestations of corporate loyalty, Alan Mulally’s mob instructed Goldman Sachs and Morgan Stanley to launch “Project Swift” (a perfect codename for anyone wondering about Ford’s desperation level). The money men are set to handle the sale of Jaguar and Land Rover– though that may not be the best word to describe the divestiture. 

Land Rover is on track to sell about 195k vehicles this year, bringing in about $9b. After looking at the costs of doing business, Merrill Lynch and Co. told the Wall Street Journal they think the outfit is worth about $2.7b. Ford paid $3b for Landy ten years ago. Factor in inflation and, well, that’s sad. But it’s better than Jaguar's progress (or lack thereof).

Ford bought Jaguar for $2.6b (approximately $4b in today’s dollars). In the last three years, they’ve lost an addition $2.9b. Ford’s in the hole $600m so far this year. That puts Jaguar’s value in the negative numbers. While that’s not unusual in the car business– DaimlerChrysler had to dangle a plenty juicy deal to get Cerberus to bite-– it’s not good either.

Citigroup analysts reckon Jaguar and Land Rover could fetch $8b. As the marques share parts and production facilities, splitting them up could drastically reduce that number. Others don’t put the number that high in the first place.

This is where Volvo comes in. Although Ford has stated the Swedish brand is staying, when inside sources are questioned they tend to whistle and look the other way. Volvo is considered viable. To ensure all three PAG brands find a good home, Ford may have to throw in its Swedish contingent.

And where might that home be? Speculation is, at the moment, a lot less than rampant.

The aforementioned DaimlerChrysler is not in a buying mood, as they are in the process of selling their suffix. General Motors has been brand hungry since formation, but they’re a little shy this week (year, decade). Toyota traditionally favors natural conception. Renault said it isn't interested, as their cash flow has diminished as of late. Fiat has voiced some interest in future acquisitions, but like The General, their reach presently exceeds their grasp.

As recently as January, BMW AG publicly expressed desire to purchase Volvo. The deal never ripened. Considering the complications-– like the weirdness of BMW taking control of Land Rover seven years after selling it to Ford-– further discussions seem implausible. That said, many in Munich feel the BMW brand is stretched to its limits. Adding another brand, as the company did with MINI, may be the best way to grow the biz.

Ford sold Aston Martin to a consortium of investors including Prodrive’s David Richards and a pair of Kuwaiti companies. This financial formula portends the most likely scenario: Land Rover and Jaguar’s buyers will come from outside the current automotive arena.

Jon Moulton, of the private equity firm Alchemy Partners in London, told Businessweek he was interested in Jaguar and Land Rover “on an emotional level.” (He also thought the price would probably be too high.) Though neither company has made much or any money for the owners in the last 20 years or more, he insists the brands are “alluring.”

Private equity firms like Alchemy and Cerberus are not considered solid stewards for wayward automakers. They shun scrutiny, avoiding the kind of open communications one looks for in a happy family. They can, however, put food on the table. That’s about as good as it’s gonna get.

In 2002, I embarked on a week-long trek across the High Uinta Mountains. On our first day out, I aggravated an old knee injury. So we borrowed a six-year-old all wheel-drive 4Runner and resumed our backcountry adventure by wheel. The 4Runner was ideal: rugged, reliable, capable and comfortable. Of course, Toyota didn’t get to be the world’s largest automobile manufacturer by leaving well enough alone…

Chevrolet’s Aveo has the makings of comic gold. It’s the cheapest car sold in America. It’s from GM, ever the stooge to straight men Honda and Toyota. And get this: despite being the first vehicle to feature in Chevy’s ubiquitous “An American Revolution” campaign, the Aveo is built in… wait for it… Bupyong, South Korea. Ba-dum ching!

I have a conflict-avoidant personality. I never lose my temper and I hardly ever engage in verbal jousting (never mind confrontational conversation). That’s why I wander around new car lots on Sundays. The dealership is closed, locked and silent; I can browse in pleasant solitude. Otherwise, conflict is inevitable. I can count on my fingers the number of times in my life that I got so angry my legs started shaking. Half of those instances occurred in car dealerships and that ain’t right.

Of course, this avoidance strategy runs counter to my pistonhead predilections. During GM’s “Hot Button” OnStar promotion/gimmick, I couldn’t help myself: I pulled in to the local Chevy dealer to try my luck at winning a new car. Even before I put my foot to tarmac, a salesman sucker-fished my face (Aliens style). I almost drove away right then and there. But I didn’t.

When I relayed the purpose of my visit, the salesman didn’t even try to hide his disappointment. In fact, I was a dead customer walking. I’m not sure which was worse— the initial attack or the subsequent invisibility. Either way, I enjoyed the experience almost as much as my last visit to the Department of Motor Vehicles. 

You want to talk about hot buttons? Whenever a car salesman approaches me with that stupid happy grin– as if I’m the first human being he’s seen in seven months of solitary confinement– I feel my normal sang froid melt. Of course he’s smiling. I’m chum in his shark tank.

Of course, like most of you, I consider myself to be a lot higher in the food chain. As an enthusiast, I have an excellent grasp of automotive facts and figures: engine options, competitors, warranties, etc. So why do car salesmen try to Lord it over me, even after I demonstrate superior knowledge? It’s who they are. It’s what they do.

And it’s not for me. People like us, people who devour buff books, surf car sites and share a passion for automobiles simply cannot go to a car dealership for the sheer fun of it. The marketing gurus suggest that visiting a dealer should be as enjoyable as hanging out at Borders. I’d rather spend 45 days in the Black Hole of Calcutta than 20 minutes at a Chevy dealer.

There is name for this pain: ultimate transaction price. Walking into a car dealership, no one knows how much it costs to buy any given vehicle. Not the customer and not the salesman, whose job it is to add as much profit as possible to the deal.

So sales pressure is applied, and then applied again. Surreptitious administrative fees get tacked on in dark corners of contracts— well after customers have supposedly negotiated the “final price.” The entire system creates an environment of distrust, dishonesty, and confrontation. 

Me? I don’t discuss numbers. When salesmen demand “make me an offer,” I don’t reply. They plead with me as if in pain. “Make me an offer. Come on.” I can’t. I don’t. Instead, I reply with fierceness that surprises even me. “If you want to sell this car, YOU give ME a price.” They never do. The deal goes nowhere, and we part ways. And I put another year on my tired old beater.

Last year life thunked me on the head: my wife needed a minivan. This had to be done. Salvation arrived in the form of an auto broker. For a few hundred dollars fee, he did all the backbreaking negotiating with the dealership for a new Toyota Sienna minivan. We paid an astounding $2k less than what I was prepared to pay based on my research. And I do a lot of research. Huh, I mused, even Toyota has wiggle room for dealmakers.

Unfortunately, I still had to go to the dealership to sign the papers. It was an utterly simple process that took three excruciating hours filled with sales pitches for additional service agreements. All this after the end of the so-called negotiation process. I was living a scene from the Sopranos. “I’m in the back office of a dealership, man. I’m not agreeing to anything.” They tried to wear me down. But I held steady. No extras.

Of course, some dealerships do promise a more honest approach. CarMax and Saturn, for example, are known for not submitting their customers to the auto-buying equivalent of root canal surgery. But these user-friendly experiences still come at a cost, financial or otherwise. 

Automakers devote huge marketing dollars to reach reliable bill-paying customers like me. Yet they don’t understand that the car ain’t the issue. The car is fine. The car I understand. The dealership is what I abhor. Fix that sorry, broken, demonic institution and I will replace my cars more often. It’s that simple.

So Ford runs an ad campaign pitting an all wheel-drive Fusion against a front wheel-drive Toyota Camry and Honda Accord. An invited group of customers scores the Fusion tops in styling, handling, performance and “fun to drive.” Emboldened by Ford’s “dare to compare” strategy, Saturn decides to launch a “Side-by-Side-by-Side Test Drive.” Dealers are instructed to offer customers some seat time in the Aura, Camry and Accord. It’s gutsy! It’s feisty! It’s ridiculous.

First of all, these comparo campaigns are a major mitzvah for Toyota and Honda. As far as public perception is concerned, if Ford and Saturn are working their butts off to prove that their mid-sized sedans are as good as (i.e. better than) the Camry and Accord, then the Camry and Accord must be pretty damn good. These “hey what about us?” ads seal the transplants’ rep as market leaders.

That’s not good. The vast majority of customers are driven by a desire for safety; to buy the product or service that carries the least risk. In their mind, that’s always going to be the market leader. Ask Apple or any other company that’s tried to dethrone the top product in its field: product excellence loses out to massive market share every time.

In fact, the only way to knock a dominant product off its perch is… to knock the dominant product off its perch. In other words, saying your Fusion or Aura is better than a Camry or Accord ain’t gonna cut it— even if they are better. Your only chance of stealing market share from the top dog is to remove the consumers’ feelings of safety. Not to put too fine a point on it, Ford and Saturn have to convince car buyers the Camcord sucks.

Only it doesn’t. Which means this comparo stuff is the marketing equivalent of pissin' in the wind.

Lest we forget, The Big Three used to own the U.S. auto industry. Toyota, Honda, Nissan, VW, Mercedes and BMW came in with better products. So what? The domestic market was Detroit’s to lose. And lose it they did. A few decades of crap products and even worse service literally handed the American car market to the transplants. If GM, Ford and Chrysler didn’t suck in their own right, the transplants would still be nibbling at the margins.

And speaking of automakers that ripped out their consumers’ hearts (and wallets) and stomped on them until their formerly loyal customers RAN to the competition, what are the chances your average consumer is going to trust a Saturn salesman to provide a valid test of an Aura versus a Camry and Accord?

I know, I know: Saturn are the shiny, happy plastic people (well, they used to be plastic). No haggle. Honest as the day is long. But people HATE car dealers; they trust them about as far as they can teleport them (if only).

So, Saturn dude, you’re going to let me drive an identically equipped Aura, Camry and Accord? Uh, no.

According to Saturn’s website, customers can compare an Aura XE with preferred package, a Camry LE and an Accord Special Edition. The list prices are close enough for rock and roll, but just like Ford’s all wheel-drive versus front wheel-drive comparo, we’re looking at an apples vs. pears test: V6 power and optional 17" wheels (Aura) vs. two four-cylinder powerplants with standard 16" wheels (Camry and Accord).

Hmm. Would a customer looking at a frugal four cylinder Camry (21/30 mpg) or Accord (21/31mpg) really cross-shop a four-speed slushbox-equipped V6 Aura (18/28 mpg)? Conversely, would a customer looking for a smooth running V6 really consider a V6 Aura over a six cylinder Camry or Accord just to save a few thousand at the time of purchase (which depreciation would sort out later)? 

Anyway, who can be bothered? It seems self-evident that only the most anal car shopper has the time or inclination to take three test drives in a row– and these are the sort of people who will probably prefer the Camry and Accord for their superior refinement, fit and finish and resale value. 

Even before the Saturn’s side-by-side-by-side goes seriously sideways, Chevy’s making noises about bringing a Camry into their dealerships this fall for a Malibu vs. Camry shootout. Why not the Accord?  It may have something to do with the fact that they’d rather have the new Malibu face the mid-cycle Camry rather than the brand spanking new Accord. 

Detroit would have you believe that these promotions reflect a new, combative spirit. You can almost hear “We’re not gonna take it” echoing off the empty showroom walls. But if you look closely, it’s all just a bit of down market deviousness. TTAC will deploy its test driving team and report back. Watch this space.

Milan is the fashion capital of Italy. Step off the tourist trail and it’s a combination of industrial parks and urban sprawl with only slightly more charm than Trenton, New Jersey. Still, you have got to give Ford’s beleaguered near-luxury division credit for naming their hecho-en-Mexico Fusion derivative after the home of Alfa Romeo, rather than resorting to the alphanumerics afflicting Lincoln’s take on the same model. But the question remains: is Mercury’s glammed-up Fusion a credible fashionista or an industrial waste?     

The Toyota Prius hybrid has been the high-mileage low-emissions darling of the chattering classes and their Hollywood pals for some time. Now, suddenly, sales have shot up, and it seems that the Prius is about to become a mainstream motor. While the little eco-warrior that could still doesn't account for a significant fraction of Ford F-150 sales, the question remains: is the Prius' recent sales surge a fluke?

In May '06, Toyota's North American operations sold 8103 Prii. That summer, the hybrid sedan's sales spiked in tandem with rising gas prices. In July and August, dealers sold over 11k units per month. In September, sales dropped back down to 10,492.

For the next four months, Prius sales retreated to the eights and nines. In truth, these fluctuations were minor variations on a basic trend: the Toyota Prius had flat-lined.  

In February, Toyota took action. They rolled-out a raft of special deals. New York customers could lease a Prius for as little as $219 a month. In Michigan, Ohio and Kentucky, shoppers could finance the hybrid for 3.9 percent for 36 months.

ToMoCo also gambled that the increased incentives would yield sales. They ramped up production in Japan and eliminated dealer backlog.

The afterburners were lit.

In February, the Prius beat its previous year's high water mark by 1050 units (12,227 vs. 11,177). In March sales took off. Some 19,156 Prii found new owners, up 6929 units from the previous month's total.

In April, Toyota seized the day. They launched their first national ad campaign for the Prius and offered $600 to $2k cash back on specific option packages. The result: 13,056 units. In May, the Prius finally achieved low earth orbit: 24,009 sales.

To put these numbers into context, consider the fate of the Toyota Highlander Hybrid. In both relative and absolute terms, the gas-electric soft-roader has done– and continues to do– nothing. This year's sales have yet to top the results achieved last April and May (3768 and 3755).

By the same token, last July and August, the Toyota Camry hybrid's sales peaked at 5023 (in lockstep with the Prius' fortunes). And then… niente. Although the Camry hybrid also experienced a record-setting surge in May (5144), it was nothing to write home about.

The Ford Escape hybrid peaked last April, at 3039. It's been downhill from there. January was a representative low point, accounting for just 1039 units. In May– just as the Prius hit its attention-getting 24k+ mark– Ford struggled to offload 2680 Escape Hybrids.

The Honda Civic hybrids' sales parallel the Escape hybrid's fate. The gas-electric Civic has yet to beat its April '06 peak of 3087 units. As for the the soon-to-be-discontinued Honda Accord Hybrid, the model never sold more than 783 units per month.

The easy analysis: rising gas prices and lowered sticker prices released a wave of pent-up demand for Toyota's gas-electric model. While there's more than a modicum of truth to that conclusion, it's also clear the Prius' recent success wasn't a case of a rising tide lifting all hybrid-powered boats.

In retrospect, it's obvious that the Prius' achievement is a branding-related success. When gas prices spiked, America's fuel efficiency-challenged drivers didn't want "a" hybrid; they wanted "the" hybrid. On the downside, this may mean that some of the Prius' sales gains were fashion-related. 

Many of May's $20k-ish Prii may also have been purchased as a third car for a two-car family. If it's a large chunk of the total, that could bode badly for the gas-electric automobile's longer term prospects; there are only so many families wealthy enough to park a spare gas guzzler on their driveway. 

That said, it's unlikely that the Prius is about to fall back into its previous sales torpor. For one thing, the model has passed a crucial price/image-related tipping point. For another, Toyota has learned a valuable lesson: even a PC "halo car" isn't immune from the market-driven price calculations affecting its other models.

In other words, anything will sell at the right price. No matter how hot the demand for the new, even more fuel efficient Prius, there's no way Toyota's going to under-produce and over-price Prius v3. Look for the sales surge to continue.

In 1993, Toyota began developing a radical gas-electric hybrid vehicle called the Prius. With gasoline at historic lows, internal company documents gave the concept a five percent chance of commercial success. In May 2007, the Prius was America's sixth best selling passenger car, with 24k units. Toyota also just passed the one-million-hybrids-sold milestone. Toyota deserves a raspberry for the worst internal forecasting ever, and an award for one of the most successful new-car launches in automotive history.

Needless to say, the Prius' success is not without controversy. The Japanese hybrid has a more polarizing influence on pistonhead opinion than any other vehicle made save its philosophic nemesis, the Hummer H2. Compare the gas-swilling in-your-face Hummer's rumored demise with the Prius' rise up the sales charts, and there you have it: a snapshot of American's shifting priorities.  

You also get a glimpse of Toyota's branding expertise. While the Japanese automaker continues its assault on the domestic pickup truck and SUV market (creating much of the animus alluded to above), the Prius is still a perfectly defined product within Toyota's existing brand identity: reliable frugality.

The Prius is such hit that it's now a household name; consumers interchange the word "Prius" with "hybrid" in the same way that they ask for a Kleenex. The last automotive product to pull that off was the Jeep– some fifty years ago.

Toyota's 80 percent share of the total U.S. hybrid market has had the Xerox effect on its competitors. Their hybrids are either flying beneath the radar (Nissan Altima hybrid), eating crumbs off Toyota's table (Ford Escape and Mercury Mariner hybrid) or retreating from the field of battle (Honda Accord hybrid).    

Honda's move comes despite the fact that the company's Insight hybrid was first to market in 1999. While Honda will continue to fight for gas-electric market share with their "mild" hybrid Civic, they're putting their high-efficiency eggs in two new baskets: a new Fit-class hybrid and clean diesel engines for their existing model range.  

Pundits often argue that Toyota stole a march on its competitors by creating a hybrid with unique sheetmetal (as opposed to hybrid-powered versions of existing products). Well, the Prius has had such a dramatic halo effect that consumers now associate the technology with Toyota's entire lineup. Hybrid Camrys are currently outselling hybrid Civics by 50 percent.

Toyota's success with the technology has forced all the other global players to put their nose to the hybrid-powered grindstone. Mercedes and BMW bought into GM's sophisticated (read: expensive) two-mode hybrid drive. Buyer's remorse may be setting in; the Germans are now focusing on developing their own mild-hybrid technology.

The shift reflects a realization that competing with Toyota mano-a-mano with full hybrids is a sucker's bet– especially as the Prius v3 looms. (Toyota is targeting a 20 percent efficiency gain.) The other factor is simple cost-effectiveness. Mild hybrids yield a greater return on investment.

Whereas a full hybrid demands a [ballpark] $2500 production premium, micro and mild hybrids start at $700. When combined with other technologies such as direct injection and full valve control, the mild hybrid seems a far safer proposition. BMW's revised 1-Series– complete with start-stop engine management, valve control and direct injection– shows a 20 percent fuel efficiency improvement over its predecessor.

In short, Toyota's competitors are hedging their bets, looking for less risky across-the-board fuel efficiency solutions.

The market is bi-furcating: "real" hybrids (which the market increasingly interprets as Prius/Toyota) and micro/mild hybrids (traditional models sold on their over-all moderate efficiency gains, rather than "gee whiz" technology).

And where does this shifting market leave Toyota? Dual propulsion, full-speed ahead!

Despite the fact that Highlander Hybrid sales are down 23 percent year-to-date (just over 3k units in May), the company has publicly stated that every one of their models will have optional Hybrid Synergy Drive within a few years. They've also committed the company's vast technological resources and production expertise to reducing the cost of their hybrid system by some 50 percent.

Toyota is playing a powerful hand. If they can achieve their cost-reduction target, they'll be selling more sophisticated (and more efficient) full hybrids at roughly the same price as the rest of the industry's mild hybrids. And if Prius v3 is significantly more efficient than its predecessor, the model will maintain its role as Toyota's hybrid halo-bearer.

In any case, the Prius is now a fully fledged four-wheeled corporate emblem. And Toyota has announced a family of Prii, including a station wagon and a smaller city car. The hybrid pro-con arguments can go on endlessly in their (internet) vacuum. Toyota took a huge gamble with the Prius. It's paid off at the bottom line, and looks set to do so for many years to come.

The “tumblehome” is the narrowing of a car’s profile from its beltline to its roof. This design trick creates a sleek, visually trim appearance without losing interior space. The tumblehome was once a hallmark of American automotive design, gracing evocative machines like the Plymouth Barracuda, Buick Riviera and Ford Thunderbird. In today’s Minivan-esque sedans and family-truckster CUVs, it’s hopelessly out of fashion. Now that Ford’s axing the Lincoln Town Car, it time to ask: should Detroit let this proud, once popular design tradition go quietly into that long good night? 

Born as a separate model in 1981, the big Lincoln earned its crust as a pillow soft luxobarge, complete with a waft-compatible 5.0-liter V8. In 1990, the Town Car lost its angularity and gained [rear] air suspension. In '95, the interior received a much-needed makeover. In '98 and and '03, more cosmetic tweakery attempted to keep the flame alive. In the last four years, it's been flickering.

The last 2007 Lincoln Town Car rolled off the Wixom, Michigan assembly line on June 1. Ford's moving production to its St. Thomas, Ontario, Assembly Plant, where The Blue Oval builds the equally iconic Crown Victoria and it’s (over-priced) sister, the Grand Marquis. Come 2009, the formerly American-built Lincoln-branded keeper of the Yank Tank flame will either meet its Motown maker or get a sorely-needed reskin. 

This do-or-die decision comes as the people in charge of writing Ford’s 104-year history are busy drafting Chapter 11, as The Glass House Gang try to sell a range of cars without a shred of American swagger. MK-what? Life on the Edge? Born again Taurus? Have you driven a Ford lately? Forget about tumblehome. It’s tumble down.

Obviously, I come not to bury the Town Car, but to praise it– even though our own William C. Montgomery calls ye olde Panther chassis “a relic of a bygone era when big clumsy sedans were the cultural SUVs of the highway.” Even though the old fogies at LincolnsOnline have turned against the current, beancounted Town Car.

Fair enough, but the Lincoln Town Car is also the automotive embodiment of what’s been right with American automaking since the Eisenhower administration. It’s a large-and-in-charge machine with endless comfort, stateside style, mechanical reliability and time-tested (and how) durability. 

Not convinced? Plenty of people are. In fact, the Town Car’s been a FoMoCo cash cow for over twenty years. In 1985, Lee Iacocca noted that the model netted Henry's mob over a billion dollars annually. While Ford was in its [first] pre-Taurus dire straits, it was the venerable Lincoln Town Car that kept them afloat.

Ironically, the Town Car’s financial success sealed its fate. Ford siphoned-off the model’s $10k-per-unit revenue to purchase a Jaguar-shaped black hole and an English off-roader company, and then starved the Town Car of development. Is it any coincidence that Ford’s and Lincoln’s sales declined as Toyota’s and Lexus’ rose?

When the rest of the world abandoned the body-on-frame sedan, the big Lincoln soldiered on, still banking profits for the company that spurned it. Its customers have remained faithful, even as Ford pursues an ill-advised agenda of world car synergies.

In short, preserving the Town Car isn’t about a bunch of nostalgic pistonheads embracing the last American land yacht. It’s about Ford’s seizing the chance to invest in a proven nameplate with a proven long-term revenue model. With some creative engineering, a new Town Car could return both the model and marque to major glory.

There are plenty of reasons why a re-engineered Town Car could provide a base from which to revive the entire American big car genre. For one thing, it could embody distinct and distinctive American style.

Pundits said the Chrysler 300C marked the return of the great American sedan. It did (selling well) and it didn’t (no one moved the ball forward). A new Town Car could lift the styling from the 2002 Continental Concept, complete with suicide doors (cough, Ford Flex), and boldly go where gangsta Cs and gussied-up Camcords fear to tread.

For another, Americans love to waft. While it’s hard to defend a 29-year-old automotive platform, it’s not impossible. The Town Car [still] represents the quintessential straight-line style of motoring. Ditch the Panther’s rear solid axle, install the Explorer’s slow-selling 292hp V8, add a six-speed slushbox and the new Town Car could make some serious imperious progress. 

Of course, this is all fantasy. Dearborn's current management team insists that a Volvo-based Ford with the Taurus/Sable/MK-whatever moniker on the trunk will save the company's skin. More absurdly, The Blue Oval Boyz  continue to believe that throwing money at Jaguar’s problems will pay off. Does Ford need a better Volvo-Taurus?  Should they ditch Jag? Sure. But the Lincoln Town Car should be part of the way Fordward.  

Saving the Town Car isn’t a moral obligation; it’s a brand faithful growth strategy in an increasingly competitive market. To think that Americans loyal to the last rolling tribute to the American Sedan will praise the Town Car’s un-American (alphanumeric) replacement is a sad, twisted joke. Following the Lincoln brand’s badge-engineered downward spiral, this joke only brings smiles to your local Lexus dealer.

Even in neglect, nobody does the American sedan better than the Lincoln Town Car. And nobody ever will.

What does ten thousand US dollars buy an automobilist these days? How about ceramic brakes for your Porsche 911 and a bit of pocket change. Or a more-or-less acceptable used car. If you want a new set of wheels, ten large buys you a generic-Asian small car with wooden-feeling controls, a depressing interior, lousy ride, asthmatic engine and poor dynamics. No image, no resale, no fun. You might as well take the bus. Alternatively, if you live in Europe, you could buy a Toyota Aygo. But should you?