I wonder what Billy Durant would have made of Rick Wagoner. GM's founder was a man of great honesty, intelligence and drive. He was also a high school drop out who started the company with a $1000 loan– and ended-up penniless. Twice. Perhaps that's why historians tend to credit General Motors' epic growth to the man appointed president in 1923; about whom an observer wrote, 'The manufacture of correct assessments, not physical products, is what most gratified Alfred Sloan.' Billy was the "car guy." Alfred was the "bean counter." The history of GM is the history of the struggle between these two opposing forces: passion and, um, accounting. Rick Wagoner is, of course, a Harvard MBA.

I suppose Durant would have liked Wagoner well enough, at least at first. Durant's legendary charm was based on a simple but effective strategy: "Assume that the man you are talking to knows more than you. Do not talk too much. Give the customer time to think. In other words, let the customer sell himself." Rabid Rick is pretty good at selling himself these days. With a new PR guy pushing the buttons, Wagoner's making the rounds, defending his chairmanship on CBS' 60 Minutes and Face the Nation, and in the pages of The Wall Street Journal and other carefully-selected publications. So if Rick and Billy were schmoozing about GM, Wagoner would have done the talking.

What would Billy have thought if Rick repeated his recent kvetch to Newsweek? 'It's not so easy to do stuff, particularly if you can't do it yourself, if you've got to do it in cooperation or in conflict with unions, if you do it with Delphi, if you need partners to consider a partial sale of GMAC. What has been done in the last six months borders on unprecedented accomplishments and advances. This stuff didn't happen because somebody decided on Jan. 15, why don't we do stuff? This stuff happens because we're working on it, we're ready to do it, we're talking to people, and then when we have it ready, we announce it.'

Durant would have been alarmed at Wagoner's use of the word "stuff." Billy may have been the yin to Alfred's yang, but he was every inch the detail man. He knew every nut and bolt of every vehicle, every nuance of the production process. Durant would not have been pleased with a GM CEO who spoke with such thinly-veiled buck-passing imprecision. As a risk-taking deal maker extraordinaire, Durant would've also wondered why Wagoner hadn't already united GM's "partners," or taken the bold action necessary to avoid GM's current morass. Equally important, as a man who lost his company to conservative-minded "insiders" (twice), Durant would've also had problems with Wagoner's "company men know best" hubris. To wit:

"These are sophisticated problems with historical tails that run back 80, 90 years. The chance of someone coming in and not understanding our business, making the right calls and doing them in cooperation with key constituencies like dealers and unions, is absolutely microscopic. That would be the biggest risk I've ever heard of." Risk? What does a man who's never worked a day outside Generous Motors (its former CFO no less) know about risk– except how to avoid it at all costs? Even so, Durant would have kept his trap shut. And then, at some point, Billy would want to go for a ride.

Durant believed that great products make great companies, and vice versa. GM began when Durant was so impressed by a horse-drawn buggy's innovative suspension that he bought its manufacturer: the Coldwater Cart Company. One wonders which vehicle Wagoner would choose for Billy's test drive. A Corvette would certainly swell Durant's heart with pride. Anything else and… there would be questions. Why doesn't this Tahoe have a hybrid engine? What makes a Pontiac G6 better than a Toyota Corolla or Honda Civic? Why isn't the Cadillac STS as good as/as expensive as a Mercedes S-Class?

Durant would have listened to Wagoner's responses thoughtfully and concluded that GM's CEO had an answer for every objection, every fault, every danger; and the answer was always the same: we're working on it. Things are getting better. We'll sort out the jobs bank, the quality gap, the Delphi situation, the GMAC finance deal, our car sales, this car, all of it, everything, later, soon, sooner or later. In that sense, Durant might have seen something of himself in Wagoner. Like his father before him, Billy squandered his fortunes on stock market speculation. Gamblers understand denial. They know that some men will always believe– no matter what– that their salvation, their resurrection, is only a deal away.

So, if William C. Durant were Chairman of GM today, would he fire Rick Wagoner? Truth is, Billy never would have appointed Wagoner CEO in the first place.

[For more info., please read 'Billy, Alfred, and General Motors' by William Pelfrey.]

Honda launched the CR-V back in '97, when fossil-huffing Suburbans ruled the Earth. Most vehicles this far into their model cycle would be fading faster than red satin sheets on the heavy-duty whites cycle. But not the CR-V; the mini-SUV continues to earn its place on the showroom floor and in its owners' hearts. That said, the '06 CR-V is the last version of the SUV before Honda gives the model a long-overdue makeover. Is this, the current CR-V's last hurrah, worthy of a half-hearted muted cheer, or does the quintessential "cute ute" still possess enough charm to justify one more round of gushing applause?

When things are going well, when the US economy's humming along and the right models await eager buyers on dealer lots, being the world's largest auto maker in the world's largest automobile market is a license to print money. When the stars are aligned, GM's economies of scale, eight brand range and vast dealer network make it an almost obscenely profitable enterprise. Lest we forget, The General earned tens of billions of dollars in the SUV-mad 80's and 90's. If you're wondering why GM's fortunes have reversed so quickly, dramatically and irrevocably, there's your answer: they're victims of their own success.

GM execs have two ways to stand out: make more sales (by striking out in new directions) or make more money (by doing more of the same). Since it's hard for GM NOT to make money in good times, GM managers invariably opt for the safer option. Sure, every now and then, someone sets a lofty new goal: selling Cadillacs in Europe, building fuel cell cars, reinvigorating a struggling brand, etc. And then the next group of suits comes along and ignores them. After all, THEY didn't come up with the idea. And big ideas take time. How could a highly-paid exec use a long-term project to score career-boosting credit? No wonder every new generation of vehicles has a new set of names; no one wants to share credit with an old project.

Bottom line: GM execs know that hitching their star to a long-term project like hybrid engines is a quick ticket to a dark basement. No, it's far better to glom onto less adventurous, less expensive ideas that show immediate profit: a rebadged minivan for Buick, a rebadged roadster for Saturn, employee discounts for everyone, a range of newish SUV's, etc. Even if an exec succeeded on a more audacious venture– should he still be alive when it came to fruition– which looks better on their resume: 10,000 conquest sales or an extra three hundred million dollar profit?

GM's inherent timidity has lead to a slow erosion of the company's presence in the marketplace. Even when profits were flowing, The General's general lethargy and allergy to innovation kept its products at least a full model cycle behind Toyota, Chrysler, Hyundai, etc. GM held up its bottom line, but it lost precious market share. Round after round of downsizing has cost the company dearly, perhaps fatally. For every active employee, The General pays pension benefits and health care for 2.5 retirees. That's a Hell of a lot of deadweight. And it's about to get worse; GM recently announced its intention to buy out tens of thousands of active UAW members.

Besieged union members like to point out that GM made this bed. They're right. Back when GM had a mountain of money, The General's generals traded a significant proportion of their immense wealth for labor peace– and then backed themselves into a corner. The General's switch to just-in-time inventory and production elevated labor peace from reassuring to essential. Slim inventories are a great thing for a cost-conscious company (and a stick that GM's competition used to beat them with), but the process handed enormous power to GM's unions. [Note: before giving your partner a loaded gun, make sure you both mean the same thing by the word "partner.']

And now GM is cash-strapped. Oh wait, it isn't. If the sale of their GMAC finance unit goes through, it'll dump $12b into the corporate coffers. And if history serves, GM will use the cash to pay off the unions, keep making the same short-sighted decisions that brought it to the brink, and hope the market turns in their favor. Using the cash to hive-off two or three companies would be better for both the corporation and its assets. Cadillac is eminently saleable. Chevy is a respectable budget car company with a good truck arm. Someone's bound to buy Hummer. A foreign brand might buy Saturn just for the dealer network. Alternatively, GM could spin off SAAB and Hummer, kill Pontiac and Buick, and grow Chevrolet and Cadillac.

In whatever guise, a smaller GM would be a wiser GM. Constricted resources would increase accountability and force the company to sort itself out for both the short and long term. Once again, the problem is… too much money. For one thing, the $12b from the GMAC sale will make it virtually impossible to wrest concessions from the UAW. For another, the current downturn may shake-up GM's Board of Bystanders, but the stock price is still too high for a hostile takeover. Sooner or later, bankruptcy looms. Can the world's largest automaker survive bankruptcy intact? Will the pieces still be viable after Chapter 11? Watch this space…

Chasing Robert Berry's Enzo up Equinox Mountain in a Lamborghini Murcielago, I remember thinking there's no way I'm going to keep up with this guy. As the Ferrari's exhaust note ripped through the Murcie's windscreen like a shotgun blast through fiberboard, I set my priorities: no dying, no crashing, no humiliation. The big bull proved equal to the task. Every time I over-cooked it, the Murcie's front tires juddered and… we're back! Every time Berry slowed for a turn, the V12 supercar closed the gap. The experience gave me a profound respect for Lamborghini. And then I drove a Gallardo.

As reported here, the Gallardo is as cohesive as a first grader's art collage. While the four-wheel drive supercar cuts corners like a bankrupt builder, the Gallardo's over-wrought sheetmetal, humdrum cabin, relatively feeble brakes, lack of low-end grunt, questionable high-speed stability and point and clunk paddle shift gearbox wouldn't pass muster in an entry level Porsche or, for that matter, a garden variety Audi. Well exactly. Audi has owned Lamborghini since 1988. The Gallardo (né '03) should have married German precision and Italian passion. Instead, it joined German flair with Italian fastidiousness.

Given the parade of eccentrics who've owned Lamborghini since the Arab oil embargo first forced the former tractor maker into receivership– Georges-Henri Rossetti and René Leimer (Swiss investors), the Mimran brothers (Senegalese-born French food tycoons), The Chrysler Corporation (recovered US bankrupt), 'Tommy' Suharto (son of the former president of Indonesia, now serving 15 years for murder) — Audi deserves credit for saving Lamborghini from oblivion. But at what cost? Lamborghini's build quality may now, finally, match that of an average Ford, but the company's entry level model fails to embody the marque's well-established brand values. It's a sure sign that the venerable nameplate is, once again, heading for disaster.

Let's be clear about this. Automotive identities are not half as mystical as the fees brand consultants charge to divine them. In fact, if you can't sum-up a car company's core values in four words, the chances are it doesn't have any. By the same token, any marque that sells models that don't embody those values is in deep shit– whether they know it or not. Jaguar: sexy looks, smooth ride. BMW: impeccable ergonomics, superb handling. Toyota: faultless build, cheap price. Cadillac: ummmm. Mercury: errrr. Lamborghini: sexy body, monstrous power. Almost every Lambo ever produced conforms to this recipe (even the mid-engined Miura). The Gallardo does not.

Lamborghini's failure to stick to the knitting highlights an insidious force that destroys valued brands: cash. With a few exceptions (e.g. Saturn), automotive manufacturers start as bootstrap operations. The lack of resources forces them to be focused, creative, dynamic and driven. As venture capitalists and dot bombers have discovered, the more money you plough into a small company, the less efficient it becomes. When Lambo's budgets were tight, managers had to sweat every investment, every sale, everything, all the time. When investors like Audi backed the Brinks truck up to the company gate, suddenly, anything was possible. Paint bubbling? Panel gaps visible from outer space? Sorted. Hey, I know! How about we get a Belgian to design a small Lamborghini and give it a torque-deficient V10 engine? Increasing possibilities increases the possibility of mistakes– and doubles the difficulty of rectification.

Just because you CAN do something doesn't mean you SHOULD. Unless management protects a car company's core values, focus is lost. From there, short term gain's siren song seduces the company into building brand-betraying products. There are plenty of examples: Lincoln Zephyr, Buick Terraza, Saab 9-7x, Jaguar X-Type and more. Cash-rich companies fool themselves into thinking they have to do everything– reliability, safety, performance, style, comfort, packaging, fuel efficiency, etc.– and do everything well. Their survival actually depends on creating cars that do one or (at the most) two things better than anyone else.

It's all part of the automotive equivalent of the Big Bang. In the early 1900's, hundreds of tightly-focused car companies exploded onto the scene. The consolidations that gave birth to GM and the rest of today's limited universe of multi-branded automotive conglomerates continued until the century's close. Now, the entire system is collapsing in on itself, leaving a handful of major players. Eventually it will implode, leading to another explosion of small manufacturers (aided by globalization and new technology).

In that sense, the brand-busting Gallardo is a sign of the times. Whether or not Lamborghini ultimately withstands Audi's stewardship is an open question. But energy is never lost. As long as there are wealthy drivers who crave the howl of a big-bore V12 encased inside an in-yer-face Italianate wrapper, Lamborghini has a future. As for all the other emotive car brands currently sheltering under the wing of a multinational conglomerate, well, the road to Hell really is paved with good intentions.

When Chrysler unveiled its PT Cruiser in 2001, it was hailed as a fun, versatile retro-mobile. While sales have remained relatively robust, virtually every automaker in the Cruiserweight class has introduced a new or reworked small wagon: the Toyota Matrix/ Pontiac Vibe twins, Mazda 3 and Chevrolet HHR (a.k.a. 'Me-Too Cruiser') among them. Even the Cruiser's parent company has introduced the genre-bending five-door Caliber. Despite the pig pile on PT, Daimler Chrysler has just given the Cruiser its first-ever refresh for 2006. Is this a case of a mortician doing a little touch-up work before closing the casket, or does the PT have longer legs than the fashion police led consumers to believe?

Few would argue that the PT's retrosexual curves haven't held up well– even if fellow Cruisers have long outgrown the whole light-flashing fraternity thing. But up front, DaimlerChrysler's makeover artists have reworked the lower valance to questionable effect. Whereas the original PT's lower reaches looked like an extension of the shield-shaped grille, the new design is at once more conventional and less harmonious; chrome garnishes, scalloped headlamps and new-look fogs creating change for the sake thereof. In our case, the PT's now legendary two-box profile rides on 'chrome clad' nine-spokers (16' alloys with a mirror-finish cap screwed on) and shiny side moldings. Out back, the song remains the same, with new clear-element taillights and a larger chrome (natch) exhaust. The overall effect remains that of a gangster mobile playfully packing cap guns. In the case of our "go for baroque" Electric Blue Limited, chrome ones. (We'll leave the bling-laden '2CK Quick Order Package' unchecked on the order sheet and pocket the $3,200, thanks)

Inside, DCX has given the PT larger, chrome-ringed gauges, round air vents, an 'Oh Shit' towel-bar of a grab-handle and a revamped center stack capped with an analog clock. Our tester's seats were a bit narrower than we recall, though wrapped in upscale cowhide and 'preferred suede' (the best euphemism for "fake leather" we've ever heard). Evidently looking to abandon its cheap n' cheerful reputation, our PT arrived ladled with a bushel's worth of options: power chairs with bun warmers, satellite radio, trip computer, the lot. Some of the Cruiser's middling interior plastics have been retextured, but it's largely the same well-assembled, functional and characterful interior as before. Even if the PT hasn't gotten a Cribs-style makeover, its den is still a fun, funky place to chill, with peerless room, excellent sightlines and a charming, tongue-in-cheek aesthetic unavailable elsewhere at this price point (barring the MINI franchise).

Under its U-shaped clamshell, our PT proffered a 2.4-liter force-fed four-cylinder, yoked to a 4-speed automatic. The PT's 180-horse light-pressure turbo imbues the retromobile with sufficient mid-range power to bob along all day at 80 mph, secreting a little extra in reserve for passing poke. When given Das Boot, the PT's old-skool four-speed slushbox often comes harder and later than a XXX A-lister. As no manual override or DIY option is available with the Limited's powerplant, drivers are encouraged to learn the tranny's tipping point to ensure smooth, swift progress.

We averaged about 22 mpg, an acceptable if uninspiring result given a hooligan's right foot. Either way, there's little wrong here that an up-to-date gearbox couldn't fix. Well, perhaps we'd take a reworked exhaust. As it is, Cruisin' soundtracks are best left to the discs in the six-puck stereo, because the engine's tune isn't nearly as playful as the vehicle it motivates.

Grab the (too thin) pseudo-banjo-spoke wheel, pitch the PT hard into a bend, and the front-driver's Goodyear Eagles wash out with Woolite-like predictability. Given its humble (and elderly) underpinnings — MacPherson strut (front), twist-beam/Watts link (rear) — the Limited acquits itself very well. But like a too-staid 'steady,' our touring-suspended PT proved a companion merely tolerant of questionable behavior. A more aggressive tread pattern than our tester's milquetoast footwear would go a long way towards improving the PT's fun-to-drive quotient, as might a slightly lowered ride height (the Cruiser's stance is a bit 'high-boy' for our tastes). Admittedly, its brakes haul 'er down with repeatable predictability, though we're at a loss as to why anti-lock supervision remains an option box unchecked on a $23k example.

The PT's dynamic pitfall is its epic turning circle. While hardly an issue when lazing along the interstate, it's a remarkably tough sell in tight parking lots. We suspect it's a packaging hurdle brought about by its pointed retro prow. However, given the its small footprint, it bears repeating: turning the PT round about its axis is a little… round about. Let's face it: the Cruiser has always romanced buyers with the curves of its fenders, not those upon which it travels. Yes, the Little Chrysler That Could remains flawed, but improbably enough, well… the kid stays in the picture.

[Chrysler provided the vehicle reviewed, insurance, taxes and a tank of gas]

Harley-Davidson has been making obsolete, inefficient and technologically deficient motorcycles since the 60's. Despite an unrelenting onslaught of technically superior Japanese product, the Harley-Davidson brand has stayed true to its roots (however inadvertently). They've never stopped building bikes that maintain the charm and character of old-fashioned American motorcycling. Or, put another way, Harley makes its living convincing otherwise responsible adults to pay premium prices for old technology. This transition– from cutting edge to outdated to nostalgic to a way of life– is a perfect model for the American automobile industry.

It's already happening. Consider America's love of big dumb SUV's, or, better yet, its best-selling vehicle, the F-150. Ford's perennial sales leader is a tried-and-true workhorse built around fundamentally simple (if highly evolved) technology. As personal transportation it's incredibly inefficient. Compared to a Japanese or Korean car, it's laughably basic. And yet the F-150– and American pick-up trucks in general– are thriving. They're style icons that remind drivers of a time when American culture was dominant and cast iron V8's ruled the roads. The modern F-150 is as "authentically American" as any '50's hot rod or '60's muscle car.

American automobiles started going wrong in the '80s and '90s, when Japanese imports changed the rules of the game. Yes, there were still cars wearing the Camaro, Firebird and Mustang nameplates, but even these Stone Age carry-overs were loaded-up with "sophisticated" technology. As for the rest… Modern braking and steering systems, turbocharged engines, front-wheel-drive, aerodynamic design, adaptive suspensions– there's a long list of technology that gradually turned proud American iron into something, well, pathetic. These "improvements" robbed American cars of their character without adding anything to their intrinsic appeal.

The Japanese are very good at building Japanese cars (which are enhanced clones of European sedans). American automakers should stop trying to compete. In fact, they can't compete. While the Big Three have engineering and design talent to spare, their sky-high labor costs and stifling bureaucracy make it virtually impossible to build a passenger car with anything like the quality and technology of their rivals'– never mind the price. As FedEx proved, the key to success isn't doing something a little better than the other guy; the trick is to do something DIFFERENT. Like building American cars.

Building big dumb American cars offers US automobile manufacturers a huge economic advantage. American-style muscle cars can be sold for higher margins than price-sensitive mainstream vanilla sedans (whose manufacturers are engaged in a never-ending battle for value-driven customers). The possibilities are endless. GM, Ford and Chrysler could market an entire range of garish, low-tech, high-profit American nostalgiamobiles. No need for state-of-the-art braking systems, no need for fuel-efficiency (captive imports can be used to keep the CAFE under control), no need to keep up with Toyota or Honda or Nissan or Hyundai. Just build something with all-American allure, satisfy NHTSA safety regs and call it good. No, call it great.

This strategy would be in perfect synch with the heartbeat of America: NASCAR. The quintessentially American race series is a showcase for '60's tech. (Yes the race teams are high-tech, but how many modern cars are equipped with carbureted V8's?) In fact, "NASCAR Nation" is nothing more than a public manifestation of American car culture– which never died nor wavered from its belief that there's no replacement for displacement. Before the Daytona 500, Speed Channel interviewed several NASCAR drivers. To a man they said that their first, favorite and current vehicles were pickup trucks. Just like the majority of Americans.

Building and selling charismatic American vehicles with V8 engines and solid rear axles could result in a rebirth of the "win on Sunday, sell on Monday" philosophy. Cruise nights at local drive-ins would no longer be dominated by cars built during the Johnson and Nixon administrations. In fact, you'd see a new flowering of American car culture. And since the automakers wouldn't be spending money on developing, refining and implementing the latest vehicle technology, they could focus their R&D dollars on accessories. As Harley Davidson will tell you, non-mechanical parts are a licence to print money.

Of course it'll never happen. Detroit still thinks this is 1966, not 2006. Too many people in top management believe their automotive divisions will never become Harley-like 'niche players'– even though it's already happening. They think they're only a spiffy new high-tech car (or fifty) from market dominance and massive profitability. They think they can somehow compete against the new guys' non-unionized labor and technological ingenuity– even if they have to build their cars in China and Korea to do it. We can only hope that the Big Three's bankruptcy and resulting reorganization happen as quickly and painlessly as possible. That way, America's automakers can retrench, regroup and start building genuine American cars again. Cars with style, power and profit.

As GM fast approaches the day when it surrenders its world's largest automaker title to Toyota, it's important to remember that we're still talking about a corporate colossus. If you include fleet sales, The General makes one in every four vehicles sold in the United States. Obviously, GM's problem isn't volume. It's profitability. GM's US operations are still designed to cater to a third of the US car market. That's Hell of a lot of fat to trim– especially with a union that hears "efficiency" and thinks "downsizing". Meanwhile, The General has an even bigger problem: it doesn't have a heart.

An automotive brand's "heart" is the car that the average customer associates with a given brand. It's the vehicle whose character most clearly personifies the brand's values. Toyota has the Camry. Honda has Accord. Nissan has the Altima. Ford had the Taurus (and demolished it to push the Explorer). GM has nothing. More importantly, Chevy has nothing. Remember "the heartbeat of America"? It's on the crash-cart, waiting for a transplant.

Ironically, Chevrolet sells The General's halo car: the Corvette. The 'Vette is a world-class sports car whose style, power and handling has met with universal approval. It's a sexy, well-engineered vehicle that should instill pride into the heart of every American enthusiast. And yet the 'Vette is not Chevrolet's heart. How could it be? At $50k plus, it's far too expensive for the average car buyer's pocketbook. Even if were affordable, a two-seater does not speak to the average car buyer's real world aspirations. If it does, the Corvette says one thing: toy. Just like the Pontiac Solstice, the 'Vette is little more than showroom eye candy.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the financial spectrum, the $10k Aveo is an equally unlikely candidate for becoming Chevy's "people's champion." Even without considering its flaws, the Korean car's point of origin rules it out. The new Impala is a sensible, well-built car, but it's the automotive equivalent of a straight-to-video movie: a rental car wannabe from the word go. The Malibu is decently equipped, reasonably frisky, sensibly priced and no rental slut (unlike its predecessor). But it's another slab-sided scoop of low-calorie vanilla with a Motel Six interior: one of the few cars that can make an Accord or Camry look sexy. As for Chevy's trucks, that ship has sailed.

Chevrolet seems to think that selling something that doesn't suck is enough to fill this gap. It's not. Chevy needs one bullet-proof, brand-defining car. The company needs to build one superb machine that buyers can examine inside and out and instantly "get it". An inherently desirable car that tells the world what it means to be a Chevy. The heart car should have a modern engine (a baby Northstar), the best possible cabin materials, plenty of standard equipment (in recognizable trim levels), superb build quality and just enough style that you know who built it.

Profit margins have nothing to do with it. The only way Chevrolet can claw their way back to credibility is to take the financial hit and build something so outstanding in both form and function that it redefines GM's home brand for years to come. Profit can come later– and it will. Good niche vehicles grow off of good roots. (Weak trunks grow into Azteks.) While the heart car's volume grows, it will provide a decent base for more profitable spin-offs. A good heart car could spawn a sport coupe, and some of those vaunted "crossovers", including the original crossover, the minivan.

In fact, Chevy's flagship model could be a minivan. There are over a million of these family haulers sold in the US every year. (Chrysler, Honda and Toyoda own 75% of the market, with the Japanese skimming the cream, and Chrysler doing the volume.) GM's current minivans are warmed-over nose-jobs grafted onto overly-narrow European platforms– more proof that GM doesn't have a clue. A feelgood proletarian minivan with genuine American style and plenty of class could be a profitable volume seller, and an appropriate model to show the world what a "real" Chevy is all about– well, these days.

Why go on the attack now? Because the best defense is a good offense. When GM abandons a market, the competition consolidates and goes for it. Backing only the profitable lines built GM's bottom line– barely– but it kills brands. Even now, Toyota and Nissan are taking aim at the full-size pickup truck market. They've been at this for years; they haven't got it all together yet. But they're going to keep whacking the door with an axe until it opens. (We've seen this movie before.) In both pickups and mass market motors, GM hasn't pushed back. It can't. Not because it lacks guts or talent or money. It simply doesn't have the heart.

Mercedes-Benz makes a lot of cars for customers with serious aspirations. Just out of college, looking for bit of respect? C-Class. Mid-level manager aspiring to the next rung on the corporate ladder? Take an E. Mr. Got it All looking for a set of wheels for the woman who isn't his wife? CLK cabriolet. And a car for the woman who is? The SL. The clear link in all this is badge snobbery. In fact, if class consciousness has a symbol, it's a three-pointed star. So what's one of the brand's current campaigns for their $96k CL500? "Mercedes-Benz: For Everyone." Right.

Post-modern irony aside, it's true. Mercedes-Benz wants to sell a car in every automotive niche. (Not to mention the ones they invent.) Mercedes can get away with it too. If Mercedes produced the equivalent of Europe's proletarian Ford Ka and slapped a MB badge on it, the automotive press would slam it and tens of thousands star struck buyers would go straight out and buy one. Oh wait, they did. Mercifully, US buyers were spared the rolling atrocity known as the A-Class. That said, it may be only a matter of time before the entirely inappropriate B-Class finds its way into trendy loft livers' assigned parking spaces. Badge snobbery über alles.

Consider the Gelaendewagen, or, since Mercedes-Benz of North America started importing them directly, the G500 and G55 AMG. The G-Wagen has been guzzling its way over the world's peaks and valleys since the 1970s. The $81,000 truck– and it is a truck in spite of the price– has passed the previous record holder to become the longest running Mercedes-Benz chassis. The G-Wagen beat-out the iconic R107 body SL convertible. Could you imagine Mercedes-Benz peddling the R129 SL of the 90's today? I can. The company only retired the convertible a little over three years ago.

Back track for a moment. Mercedes-Benz is a fantastically successful car company. Like Porsche, they've consistently beaten their previous year's U.S. sales records for more than a decade. On the face of it, attributing Mercedes-Benz's profits to a simple combination of name and emblem is disingenuous. There's a great deal of substance behind the company's name and its star.

Mercedes-Benz rose from the ashes of WWII to build the best cars in the world, for more than five decades. They weren't always pretty– the 1970s were a particularly troubled time in their design department-– but the company achieved a quality standard that no other manufacturer could touch. Cars like the stalwart 300SD stand the test of time. Literally. Today, that bullet-proof German quality is little more than vehicular folklore. Engineered like no other car in the world? That's fine by Lexus, as Toyota's luxury brand builds far better cars than DaimlerChrysler's Benz. MB vs. BMW or Audi? No contest.

It is difficult to identify the exact moment when Mercedes craftsmanship went south. Then again, you could say the moment arrived in 1993, when Daimler-Benz built a plant in Alabama to manufacture the M-Class SUV. Soccer moms took a second mortgage on the house just to roll-up at practice in a new ML320. When the corporate volk back in Stuttgart realized that US buyers were snapping-up the new M-Class despite failed transmissions and electrical problems, the pressure was off. Why use high-cost components or materials that car buyers can't see and don't care about? Brand extension and "de-contenting" kept MB's hugely profitable juggernaut moving forward.

A decade on and the German marque ranks lowest among the luxury brands in reliability. The latest issue of Consumer Reports highlights this fact. Reliability is listed as "below average," "poor," and "below par," for the C, E, and S-Class, respectively. "Poor reliability" and "Mercedes-Benz" in the same sentence? Where is "vault-like" and "dependable"? It's been more than a decade since any of the automotive press used those terms to describe a Benz and I'm hard pressed to see their return anytime in the near future. The chintzy E350, vault-like? I don't think so. The all new ML500 dependable? I'll believe when I see it. There is nothing about the current Mercedes-Benz lineup – save the SL – that warrants that kind of praise from the media.

Like the rest of western society, Mercedes-Benz is living on credit. It's been paying nothing towards the debt to its own name. There comes a point when the line expires and the loan is called. When that happens, the customers walk away and into the ready arms of the competition that has been making reliable, sound, solid automobiles all the while. It is not just General Motors and Ford that the Japanese are keen on passing. If Mercedes-Benz wants to continue its run, it must stop making cars "for everyone" and manufacture only the best. That is, after all, what everyone wants.

[Gunnar Heinrich runs www.automobilesdeluxe.blogspot.com]

If you were going to invent a way to control an automobile, you wouldn't ask the average driver to develop the skill and coordination of a church organist. Note I said "average." As far as hardcore automotive enthusiasts and skilled pipe organ players are concerned, there's nothing more natural or satisfying than making beautiful music with a sublime dance of hands and feet. Yes, well, the average person would rather drive an automatic and download an iTune. Pistonheads and pipe worshippers may sneer, but if the majority of humans didn't take the path of least resistance our species would still be stuck in the trees. Meanwhile, just as digital sound has invaded God's house and rocked the organist's world, Audi's DSG transmission is here and tripedalists are toast.

The day F1 racing cars switched to paddle shift control, the clutch pedal was doomed. Only the paddle system's violence kept the left pedal from a date with old Sparky. Ferrari's ground-breaking attempts at a passenger paddler were representative rubbish; the clunky F1 system transformed the sublime F355 into a herky-jerky one-track pony. Other early systems were equally obtrusive, equally foul. At the same time, style conscious high-end manufacturers added wheel-mounted button shifts and gate activated "tip shifts." Although the technology simply handed customers slushbox control, computers eventually transformed the systems into a reasonably convincing halfway house between mindless ease and endless excitement.

Aston's Vanquish got closer to the real deal. If drivers tapped its over-sized plus paddle at the exact right rpm, the V12 GT rewarded them with a perfectly timed gear change. If not, not. Other systems followed: Ferrari, Maserati, BMW, Lamborghini, Aston Martin, even Toyota (MR2 Spyder). All of these paddle shifters downshift magnificently– even blipping the throttle on your behalf– but they either slur their upchanges like a drunk handing you a cigarette or smack you in the back of the head like a sadistic schoolteacher. And that's without considering the challenges of around town ambling or, God forbid, reverse (a non-issue for F1, obviously).

And then BorgWarner and Volkswagen AG developed DSG. The direct shift gearbox (DSG) features two wet plate clutches: one engages the odd-numbered gears, the second the even-numbered gears. When the first clutch is putting down the power, a computer readies the second clutch to engage the next gear (pre-selected according to engine revs and speed). When the driver bangs the paddle for another gear or the automatic calls for another cog, the first clutch is released and the second engages. Gear shifts are fast, smooth and accurate; both up and down the ratios. The DSG's computer– complete with 12 sensors– stands guard against "inappropriate" gear selection; an over-twitchy paddle shifter can't stall or blow up the engine.

OK rivet counters: Volksie didn't invent the double clutch. Citroen offered something similar over 70 years ago, and Porsche's formidable 962 racer also gave it a go. But VW and BorgWarner have just about perfected the DSG. (The only drawbacks are a certain sluggishness when gently tipping-in and a slight hesitation when lifting off and paddling down more than one gear, as the DSG shuffles through the intervening ratios.) Even with its quirks, the DSG rules– to the point where the clutch pedal and traditional manual gearbox is a mechanical redundancy, a dead device shifting. In fact, any car manufacturer who doesn't have a DSG or something similar installed in their performance-oriented products will soon be at a tremendous disadvantage.

And here's where the culture wars begin. Two years ago, Bob Elton's editorial "Death to the Stick Shift" suggested that cars equipped with an automatic gearbox were safer, more reliable and more pleasurable than their manual equivalents. Enthusiasts considered the proposition a personal affront. Two years of flame mail leads me to conclude that stickshifters– a self-selecting community of motorists who cherish the skill and pleasure that only a manual transmission can provide– consider autoboxers less competent, safe and passionate. Many of these tripedalists will not take kindly to the DSG; it's a bridge from the know-nothing rabble to the self-proclaimed automotive elite. The barbarians are at the shift gate; The Volkswagen Group has unlocked the door.

It will be some time before this issue plays out, but the stickshifters will lose. Once they get behind the wheel of a DSG-equipped machine like the new Audi A3 or the VW R32, even the hardiest of these manual transmission diehards will understand the system's clear superiority; in terms of speed, safety and, most importantly of all, enjoyment. Eventually, the tide will turn. Automakers will be forced to buy 'dual clutch transmission' technology from BorgWarner or their partner Getrag, or develop something at least as good. Of course, there will still be enthusiasts who stick with the stick, for personal pride and sensual satisfaction. In the meantime, a quick message from Paddle Shifters Anonymous to open-minded automotive enthusiasts: get ready for some serious fun.

There are three basic markets for any car: price, value (price plus quality) and quality (price no object). Automobiles aimed at the top and bottom of the food chain are relatively easy to produce; price-oriented manufacturers can let things slide, quality-oriented carmakers can afford perfection. Value is a bitch. Automakers in this arena have got to do it all, do it right and do it at a price. One false step and competitors on either side of the financial divide reach down or reach up and snatch your bread and butter. In short, the new Hyundai Azera is something of a miracle: a car that hits the value bulls-eye with supernatural precision.

I don't want to be the one to throw cold water on Detroit's billion dollar beauty pageant, but someone's got to do it. The workers' demonstration outside Cobo Center turned out to be a damp squib (probably because the workers in question enjoy a union contract that guarantees them job security, a comfortable salary and comprehensive health care). The mainstream automotive press isn't about to bite the hand that RSS feeds. So I'll step into the breach with a simple statement: the last thing Detroit needs right now is a bunch of new cars.

Once upon a time, the Detroit auto show was The Detroit Auto Show, not some gussied-up international flying circus. Carmakers showed off wild, inherently stupid concept cars that would never, EVER be built and the latest update to their showroom models. And then everyone headed off to open bars and hooker-laden hospitality suites to do what comes natural to middle-aged white men. Now the suits are serious and the web is alive with the sound of clickery, as even industry addicts struggle to keep up with dozens of new models headed for the showrooms. While it's easy to get caught up in the buzz, I'm here to say that all this product overkill will, as the Brits say, end in tears.

Of course, niche marketing mania already has a lot of shareholders crying– should anyone be bothered to notice. GM and Ford have wiped off tens of billions from shareholder value in the last year alone, and yet everyone is happy to believe that spending hundreds of millions of dollars building and showing off a fantastic over-abundance of new products is a sign of corporate health and hope. Even Daimler-Chrysler-Mercedes-Dodge-not-so-SMART, a company that missed a date with the executioner by the skin of the [Hail Mary] 300C, is happy to move with the gluttony-as-God groove. Detroit's submersion under a red ink tsunami ought to tell folks in no uncertain terms that this "car of the minute" shotgun approach is an abject failure, even if Detroit's titanic deck party says otherwise.

While GM unveils the latest Buick van (a vehicle that should have been called "Last Days in the Bunker" instead of "Enclave") and declares a corner turned for a dead brand waiting, Toyota reveals a refreshed sixth gen Camry with a hybrid engine option, and keeps grinding the competition into the dust. The makers of America's best-selling sedan (for the last four year's running) "get it": you sweat blood and spend billions to get customers into a new vehicle, and then you sweat blood and spend billions to bloody well keep them there. Lexus' updated eight-speed LS technobarge will keep their customers away from Mercedes dealers. Infiniti's non-radical G35 concept car and tweaked FX and M models will do the same.

The Big Three are neglecting their core models in favor of entirely new models that look like nothing else in their portfolio (e.g. the Lincoln MKX). While the Japanese are not adverse to growing and selling a bit of strange fruit from time to time, they refine and refine and refine their existing best-sellers, minting money and growing market share. Screw GM's new crossovers, how's the new Impala and big Caddy? Forget about the Ford Edge, how's the new Lincoln LS– I'm sorry, Five Hundred? Crap, really. Nothing but a big soft target for rival automakers coveting their audience. The fact that Ford and GM's "new" SUV's won't offer a world-class hybrid powerplant for another year is nothing less than a disgrace.

A while back, the "ten day car" was the talk of Cobo Township. The idea: build a customized version of a mainstream model and deliver it to the buyer in ten days. At an auto show conference, consultant Michael Robinet declared the concept dead. At the same time, The Vice President of CSM Worldwide acknowledged that dealer profits are increasingly dependent on aftermarket conversions. Hel-lo? As the increasing number and sophistication of Camry options indicates, the ten day car concept is far from dead. And money, like energy, is never lost; it just changes form. The dealer profits are a clear indication that mass customization IS the future– not the explosion of new models. In fact, its realization could help save Detroit's automakers from oblivion, maintaining what little customer loyalty remains.

Think about it. Check the history of the sales charts, where the same models appear again and again. That's because the vast majority customers don't want a NEW car. They want a BETTER car. As you can plainly see at The North American International Clusteryouknowwhat, Detroit seems resolutely determined not to give it to them. So party on guys. A reckoning is on its way.

Thanks in part to Charles Darwin's theory of evolution, mankind believes everything's gradually getting better. It's a pretty strange kind of optimism, what with killer uptopians like Adolph Hitler and Joseph Stalin hanging-out in our collective past. But this faith in the eternal sunshine of the spotless future fits in nicely with the whole New Year's thing. As does The Detroit News (DTN) January 1 feature "The Road Ahead." Given the black cloud of bankruptcy hanging over Detroit, writer Bill Vlassic's desire to spread a little holiday cheer with a bit of automotive boosterism is entirely understandable. But there's a big difference between lightening-up and enlightenment.

Vlassic begins by revealing that some 40 new cars will debut in Detroit. It's a perfect illustration of the current industry belief that the more models, the merrier. Not so. The explosion of new product actually betrays monumental desperation and a terrific lack of focus. From Porsche's expanding portfolio of unsports cars to Pontiac's odd collection of rebadged vehicles, the abundance of new and often unrelated products represents an unnecessary and self-defeating dissolution of a marque's core strengths. Is General Motors any better off because its Detroit auto show display will feature 10 more products than last year (128 vs. 118)? I don't think so.

Vlassic cites the launch of the Toyota Camry hybrid as a corner turned in a "relentlessly competitive industry" (as opposed to what, real estate?). Yes, 'whether it's hybrid power, computerized safety devices or satellite radio, the average American car is tacking on new technologies and features at dizzying speed" (as opposed to what, personal computers?). We're told that the 'headlong race to satisfy ever-more diverse and sophisticated customers will determine the winners and losers in the auto industry in the coming years." Aside from the nouns involved, this love letter to the joys of automotive progress could've been written in the Eisenhower era.

Back in the day, the American automobilist was equally enthralled by the thrill of the new– only gizmology wasn't their first priority. It was more about style, power and, well, snobbery. But that's not the kind of message today's PC automakers want to send to potential customers. They want consumers to see their feature-laden chariots as miracles of modern science teetering on the brink of perfection. The idea that technological progress is fiendishly difficult, infinitely desirable and strategically paramount provides manufacturers with a convenient excuse for lackluster sales AND endless hope that they can reclaim their share of a brighter tomorrow.

In reality, carmakers are not "perfecting the vehicle." For one thing, perfection is impossible. For another, legislation is now the driving force behind automotive design and engineering. As you'd expect from this odd intersection of fiat and free market, the car industry is being pulled in all directions. It's forced to reconcile mileage with safety, cost with complexity, innovation with liability. While technology plays a crucial role in meeting these conflicting goals, Vlassic's "headlong race" towards more technically sophisticated products isn't the be-all and end-all the writer would have us believe.

More specifically, the hybrid Camry may mark a tipping point for wider acceptance of gas – electric powerplants, but it's only a small indication of how far domestic carmakers have fallen behind their competition; the Japanese lead in smooth and reliable gas engines is far more commercially significant. Growing consumer discomfort with mouse-driven controllers and kludgy electronics indicates that many manufacturers are boldly going where consumers wish they didn't. The US car market is not as highly fragmented as Sciontologists suggest; the American sales chart is still plenty top-heavy. And the only real indication of the average consumer's "increasing sophistication" is their newfound ability to establish dealer invoice.

Those of you who follow such things will realize that Vlassic's logic is Ford friendly. Considering The Blue Oval's recent 'Innovation' rebranding, the DTN feature reads like a transcript from a Ford-sponsored press lunch. No surprise, then, that Vlassic takes us for a PR spin 'round Ford's Innovation Acceleration Center. Vlassic describes it as the Motown equivalent of a Silicon Valley software developers' lair, complete with Lego, a video wall and flop couches. The writer lauds Ford's two-year-old blue sky department with predictable, wide-eyed enthusiasm– even though the fruits of their labors are vaguely described as "many advances in Ford's hybrid engine technology" and "new vehicle incentive programs and marketing strategies."

Like Vlassic's article, Ford's innovatorium appears to suffer from an overdose of self-importance and a hobbling of misdirected focus. Obviously, automakers must develop products that incorporate new technology. But in car making as in nature, 'true' innovation almost always spawns mutant babies. Survival depends on a constant stream of incremental improvements to a proven product. Any automaker who bets the company on a constantly changing menu of technologically advanced vehicles faces corporate extinction, as we shall soon see…

Less than a half century ago, every carmaker offered at least one two-door automobile. Entry level coupes were often a young married couple's first car. Sportier coupes were a suburban staple. Coupes like the Ford Galaxy and Chrysler New Yorker offered ordinary Joes a chance to own a car with an extra touch of class and panache. And no luxury marque could thrive without a fabulous Coupe de Ville, or equivalent thereof. The coupe's lack of rear seat room, window leaks, and interior noise were considered a small price to pay for high style. Then things got serious…

The convertible was the first to go. Perhaps the move away from ragtops reflected the uneasy tenor of the times: inflationary belt-tightening, divisive foreign policy, Cold War jitters, the Arab Oil embargo, presidential scandal. Maybe Ralph Nader's seminal work "Unsafe at Any Speed" and blood and guts high school Driver's Ed programs got US car buyers thinking about decapitation. In any case, the topless car was suddenly seen as a needless, dangerous extravagance, rather than a bold and fun statement of personal prosperity. From Corvairs to Cadillacs, convertibles disappeared from American highways. Coupes followed thereafter.

Marketeers explain the four-door's ongoing supremacy by pointing their fingers at baby boomers. Supposedly, the industry's driving force needs four-door sedans to help feather their full nest: teenage/young adult children and aging parents. But most such families have at least two cars, and not all baby boomers face these transportation responsibilities. Besides, studies show that "practicality" plays little or no role in a car purchase. The real reason for the moribund coupe market lies within shifting consumer perceptions of quality, desirability and mission-appropriate genre.

For years, European automobiles sold in the US have been universally (if not entirely accurately) recognized as the epitome of engineering excellence. BMW, Mercedes, Audi and others initially entered the US market with well-engineered, fun-to-drive sedans, in part to differentiate them from the "typical" American two-door hardtop. Since most of these foreign importers didn't offer coupes to US buyers, the public began to associate upmarket motor cars with four-door sedans. When Toyota and Honda entered the luxury car market, their Lexus and Acura brands reflected and capitalized on this assumption with a lineup of four-door sedans. Lexus' success further cemented the commonly held image of a quality car as a four-door sedan.

But what of today? Even with 911 and Iraq, we live in breezier times. Stability control, pop-up roll bars, crumple zones and a plethora of electronic and structural measures have eliminated much of the convertible and coupe's inherent safety risk. The coupe market has expanded– somewhat. Upmarket brands now offer a range of two-door models. Entry level couple like the Cobalt, Civic and Focus appeal to The Fast and Furious crowd. But grown-up, low to middle income car buyers who want to ditch the back doors are sniffing with the hounds.

GM offers the G6 and Monte Carlo. Ford weighs in with the Mustang and Focus. Dodge has the Stratus, while Chrysler flogs its Crossfire and Sebring. Toyota sells the Yaris, Scion the two-door tC. Honda has the Civic and Accord. BMW brings the MINI and the 3-Series. VW builds a two-door Golf and the Beetle. In today's niche-driven marketplace, that's not a particularly impressive selection of reasonably-priced, reasonably commodious coupes. Ah, but there's a twist in the tale. The great American coupe hasn't disappeared from the US automotive scene; it just morphed into a pickup truck.

The Ford F150 is America's best selling two-door. Chevrolet, Dodge and GMC two-door pickups aren't far behind. If a newlywed couple wants a cheap pickup, there are plenty of affordable choices. Suburbia is lousy with bling and bad-ass pickups. Luxury "car buyers" can opt for the Ford F150 Lariat, or upmarket Dodges, Chevy's or GMC's. They all offer the same leather-lined, power-everything wretched excess that US consumers snapped up in 70s coupes.

The current movement away from light trucks, back to cars, will eventually stimulate the rebirth of the coupe genre, and the return of the great American [auto-based] coupe. The luxury marques are leading the way towards this renaissance. They're in full coupe mode– from the new BMW 6-Series to the Bentley GT. The success of upmarket hardtop drop-tops will also help the movement, tendering the tempting prospect of lower-priced versions. With designers like Ralph Gilles (300C) looking for ways to inject excitement into what's become a standardized product, it's only a matter of time before the coupe once again becomes an automotive mainstay. The Detroit debut of the new Camaro and Dodge Charger coupes will signal the coming coupe d'etat. As for the kids and the old folks, they'll have to squeeze in the back, drive their own damn car or… buy a coupe.

When historians analyze GM's collapse, searching for the precise moment when The General jumped the shark, it will be like trying to pinpoint the onset of Alzheimer's. The world's largest automaker has been screwing things up so spectacularly for so long that even a $2b payoff to FIAT for signing the wrong bit of paper seems like a bump on the road to oblivion. What's more, GM's management is still busy making monumental mistakes. The Board of Bystanders' decision not to admit Kirk Kirkorian's proxy into their midst is only the latest and greatest example.

Unfortunately, I don't have any inside info on the failed negotiations between GM's largest private investor and The Powers That Be. I only know that last Tuesday, after GM's Board rebuffed Captain Kirk's nominee Jerry York, the billionaire investor sold 12m GM shares. The move cut his stake from to 9.9 to 7.8 percent and sent GM's stock into freefall (down to an 18-year low). Some financial experts see it a tax dodge. Others look at Kirk's on-again, off-again romance with MGM and predict his return. TTAC's Deep Throat figures this is it: Kirk's outta here. In any event, Kirk has sent both GM's board and the markets a clear message about GM's future, or lack thereof…

When Kirkorian began his buying binge, GM Car Czar Maximum Bob Lutz displayed his usual penchant for mindless optimism: "He smells a turnaround." Meanwhile, the octogenarian investor was, sensibly enough, plotting to wrest control from Lutz and the other corporate officers who'd mishandled GM's mighty engines, limiting the ship's maneuverability, condemning it to a Toyota encounter of the iceberg kind. Equally obvious, a seat on the Board was the only way Captain Kirk could oust Rabid Rick Wagoner from the bridge, and maybe, just maybe, save the ship from a watery grave. (For those of you keeping metaphorical score, the Titanic had an antiquated rudder.)

And why not? You don't have watch all 357 Dallas episodes to know that a company's future depends on the character of the people running it– or that some people will do anything to maintain control. Wagoner's "I'm going to bring Bobby down if I have to destroy Ewing oil to do it" response to Kirkorian's play was predictable enough, but the Board of Bystander's negative reaction was surprisingly [Cliff] Barnesian. Clearly, they excluded Mr. York to protect Wagoner's mob– which is a bit like backing a flyweight boxer and his fawning entourage over a highly decorated lieutenant commanding a heavily armed, battle-scarred SWAT team.

Now how did THAT happen? You'd be forgiven for thinking that the simple fact that GM's stock price has dropped $20 (and counting) since last January would have motivated The General's Board of Bystanders to activate Rabid Rick's bankruptcy-proof retirement package, STAT. Again, we may never get a clear picture of Rabid Rick's anti-York maneuvering (never mind view the incriminating negatives). But at least we can get a little insight into the Board's myopia, thanks to Slate's Daniel Gross.

Gross recently reported that GM's Board has two gold-standard retired CEO's: Sara Lee's John Bryan and Northrop Grumman's Kent Kresa. And then… Philip Laskawy ran scandal-plagued accountants Ernst & Young. George M.C. Fisher, former chairman and CEO of Eastman Kodak, failed to reverse his company's declining market share. Former Compaq CEO Eckhard Pfeiffer did so well during his tenure that company founder Ben Rosen bought a full-page New York Times ad to diss him. And former ABB head Percy Barnevik was recently forced to return 60% of his $88m pension.

GM's board also includes five active execs: Armando Codina (Republican fixer, Board of Directors-aholic, Florida real-estate maven), Erskine Bowles (ex-Clinton Chief of Staff, twice failed senatorial candidate, President of the University of North Carolina), Ellen Kullman (safety minded DuPont Veep), Karen Katen (Pfizer Drug Lord) and Stan O'Neal (Merrill Lynch's cost-cutting 'Mr. Ruthless'). Other than Rabid Rick Wagoner, Stan the Man is the only CEO in the bunch who's run a publicly held company. He's also the only GM Board member to have revived a publicly held company. And, one surmises, he's the only board member with an ounce of common sense.

After all, this is the motley crew who believe it's a good idea to keep Rabid Rick Wagoner in the Gulfstream G5 style to which he's become accustomed. More to the point, these are the same group of misadventuring misfits who can't recognize a good man when they see one. Well, OK, maybe York's not a "good man" in a Grosse Point golf club kinda way. But he's a devastatingly effective corporate leader: a West Point grad that kicked IBM and Chrysler's ass into shape by paring waste, reorganizing resources and asking questions no one else dared ask. Turning down York's guidance to thwart Kirkorian's ambitions and protect Wagoner's ass was a– if not "the"– seminal moment in GM's long, sad saga. One the company will not live to regret.

For those of you who've just joined us from Wall Street, welcome. We've been waiting for you for a while– long enough to wonder if GM's stock price got lost in hyperspace. I guess you guys needed some kind of sign to find your bearings. Something like Toyota's announcement that they're gonna Avis The General in '06, ending GM's 70-year run as the world's largest automaker. Or Rabid Rick Wagoner's post horse departure barn door closing homily: "I'm not conceding anything to anybody." No matter. Now that you're here, let me tell you a story…

I was scanning Wardsauto.com the other day when I came across a "good news" piece: "Crucial GM Fullsize Truck Program Launches Early". Well, OK, it MIGHT be a good news piece, you know, if The General's SUV cavalry racks-up the sales GM needs to die another day. Obviously, it's a bit of a long shot, what with SUV's being a dead genre guzzling. But hey; it is what it was. Anyway, mid-way through Ms. Priddle's puff piece, a thought occurred to me: is it really a good idea to rush the GMT900 vehicles (Tahoe, Yukon, Escalade, Suburban, Silverado, Sierra, etc.) to market? What if they're not ready?

It's not inconceivable. The Pontiac Solstice was due to hit the forecourts in June, promised for November, still isn't widely available and already appears on bulletin boards with a laundry list of complaints. Let's face it: GM has a bit of a history manufacturing, dare I say it, crap. Oh wait; Ward's says the "new" trucks will use 60% of the old trucks' components. And according to Gary White, GM's Fullsize Truck Vehicle Line Executive, the GMT900's are "entering the world with higher quality than the ones they replace." Now THERE'S a reassuring thought.

But let's get to the point. Check the article's last paragraph: "'No one's going to ride a 1-trick pony today,' White says, noting GM could have spent an extra $2 billion for marginal additional improvement to the GMT900 lineup, but recognized the money is better spent elsewhere for a balanced product portfolio." Now ask yourself a question: what the Hell does THAT mean?

The first part of White's quote seems straightforward enough. White's saying his handiwork's got to be safe, reliable, comfortable, attractive and frugalesque. (By implication, yesterday's 'one-trick' SUV's were, um, affordable.) But what's that second bit about the extra $2b GM DIDN'T spend on "marginal additional improvement"? Is White seriously suggesting that a couple of bil only buys you a bit of soft touch plastic here, a nicer steering wheel there? I'm no bean counter, but I would have thought that 2000 million dollars can do a great deal to improve a vehicle.

I emailed Ms. Priddle to see if White had specified these missing marginalities. (GM stopped returning my calls sometime back in April.) No joy there. It then occurred to me that no matter what White's mob left out of the GMT900's, his remarks typify GM's product mentality. The company's lineup is stuffed with ¾ vehicles: cars, trucks, SUV's and minivans that are just about as good as the competition, but not quite. For example, the Pontiac G6 seems a suitable alternative to a Nissan Altima. But if you look closely (as customers do), the G6 isn't up to snuff on almost every level: interior quality, engine refinement, reliability, etc. Even the class-killing Chevrolet Corvette features some of the nastiest plastic known to mankind. In general, The General signs-off its vehicles when they're still a few furlongs from the finish line.

An Audi engineer once told me that the final millimeter of a materials gap eats up a third of the item's production budget. Even though an Audi buyer might not see or feel the resulting precision, the automaker makes the effort and pays the freight. That's just the way they do things. It's already clear from the GMT900's 60% parts carry-over (much of which is due to the SOS timetable) and pre-production shots of the vehicles themselves that White's got it exactly backwards. The huge amount of money GM spent on these vehicles delivered nothing BUT marginal improvements.

White's comments highlighted the trade-off that created the $2b compromise: "marginal improvement" vs. "a balanced product portfolio". In other words, rather than get one vehicle– I mean, a host of similar vehicles– absolutely perfect, GM prefers to build [yet] another product. It's a shotgun approach in a rifle shot world. By manufacturing a complete range of not quite products across eight brands, GM condemns itself to perpetual mediocrity, and guarantees its also-ran status relative to the tightly focused folks at Toyota. The General's generals fail to realize that people don't buy GM's balanced product portfolio. They buy a single GM product. Or, increasingly, not.