Bullish for automotive design

Call me what you will... a Pollyanna, a cockeyed optimist, a fool... but I'm beginning to feel a little hopeful about the future of the auto industry. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to diminish the suffering of laid-0ff auto workers, or the millions of people whose jobs depend on the Big Three directly or indirectly. I live in metro Detroit, I am also unemployed and I can say from personal experience that this is a painful and tragic time in American manufacturing.

But could it also be the beginning of something really wonderful? The sale of Saturn to Roger Penske gives me a glimmer of hope. Bear with me for a moment. Prior to the 1960's, when automakers really started to consolidate, there were dozens of individual companies and design teams around the world working furiously to create the next big seller. Even during the Depression era, there were amazing innovations happening in car design: the Volkswagen Beetle, the Rolls Royce Phantom, the Ford V-8 engine, the MG. Preston Tucker built 37 of his fastback sedans. Packard wasn't just the name of a company; it was a man who designed the Super 8 and weathered the Depression with smart economies and innovative design.

Many of these carmakers, like Studebaker, couldn't survive competitive pressures or fell to poor management practices, labor disputes and a lack of long-range planning. But the multitide of smaller companies was fertal ground for car design. The Studebaker coupe gave us a wrap-around rear window and a flatback trunk. It was ridiculed at the time, but had a major influence on designers in the years to come. The Tucker Torpedo had a host of problems, but it brought us fuel injection and disc brakes.

Automotive design left the spare days of the Depression and moved on into the 1950's. Europeans focused on technology and economy; Americans focused on ornate body styling with tailfins and oodles of sparkling chrome. Those things were curtailed after the publication of Ralph Nader's book, Unsafe at Any Speed. And car companies began merging until just a handful of automakers were left by the 1980's.

But here we are again, in one sense. It's a dire economic situation in the US and around the world, and a few of the larger automakers are shedding brands. Hummer is going to a Chinese company, the Canadian company Magna is getting a majority share of GM's Opel, and Roger Penske has agreed to buy Saturn and all its dealerships. Isn't it just possible that we might get some fresh perspectives on the car business with new sets of eyes looking at the problems? GM and Chrysler are trying to slim down in order to remain competitive; does that mean there's room for smaller automakers in the mix?

As we move into the age of hybrids and hydrogen fuel, the more brilliant engineers working on the problem, the better. And maybe, just maybe, new ideas will be able to rekindle the American passion for a well-designed domestic car.

Rock fans better behaved than classical audiences

For years, there's a particular issue that has rankled me.  It has festered inside my consciousness and its now time to lance it, clean it and let it heal.   Here it is:  many classical music fans are less courteous and more disrepectful than pop music groupies.  I sing opera, and for years I've been performing at the Detroit Opera House and other venues around the country.  Last week, we finished a run of Bizet's "Carmen" that played to full houses every night.  And every night, without fail, when it came time for us to take our bows after singing, dancing and acting for 4 hours, we came on stage to see 25% of the audience walking up the aisles.  Their backs were turned to us, and they were rushing to get to their cars as soon as possible.  

It takes months to rehearse an opera.  Before the vocalists even step into the rehearsal hall, we've spent hours with the score learning the language, practicing difficult vocal lines, and counting rhythms.  There are often 40-60 classically trained singers performing on stage, with dozens of highly skilled instrumentalists in the pit.  We started rehearsals for "Carmen" in February, including stage combat, dance, and music; we opened in May.  The show lasts 4 hours.  And after all of that, we come out on stage to acknowledge applause and see the backs of suit jackets as people hurry out of the theatre.

And yet, I've never seen people turn their backs on Aerosmith and rush to the parking lot.  Harry Connick, Jr. played 4 encores the last time I saw him because the applause was so enthusiastic.  Classical music concerts seem to have the only audience members who think it's ok to walk out early without showing a single iota of appreciation for the effort and skill of the performers.  

I decided to do a little research on concert etiquette and I found a number of helpful articles.  They all talk extensively about dress, about holding applause until the end of an entire piece, turning off pagers and cell phones, and taking fidgeting children outside.  No one wrote, "Applaud for the performers at the end."  The writers probably figured that was totally unnecessary.  Even my 10-year-old knows he has to stay in his seat until the performers have left the stage for the last time.

So, to all the classical music audiences out there, I have a simple request.  Please don't turn your backs on us.  We are living, breating humans putting forth our best effort for you, not ipod selections or CD tracks. The extra ten minutes that you save by scurrying up the aisles without applauding is not worth the disappointment we feel when we come out on stage to take a bow and see only the backs of your heads.

An End to Pontiac

So, Pontiac dies today.  So does Hummer, but I imagine I'm not the only one who's not sad to see those obnoxious behemoths disappear from our highways. A recent study from NHTSA showed that Hummers are more likely to survive collisions with smaller cars, and some experts think the answer is to have everyone drive larger cars.  I think the lesson there is that these bloated hulks are unsafe on our roads and should be banned.  But I digress.

GM is killing its Pontiac line today.  The brand is more than 80 years old and its history is filled with colorful anecdotes.  Did you know that when Pontiac and Ford were getting their models ready for production in 1949, Ford secretly took spy photos of its competitors cars and redesigned its grilles to look exactly like the Pontiacs?  This is the company that fostered John DeLorean before he went on to build a stainless steel car.  Pontiac gave us the GTO, the Grand Prix, the Firebird... and most importantly, the Vibe.

The Vibe, you say?  What's so special about the Vibe?  Well, I'll tell you what's so special about it.... I have  one parked in my driveway.   For a girl that's driven nothing but Fords since I passed my driver's test in southern California, buying a Pontiac was a major step for me.  I was torn... should I really abandon the blue oval and buy into "Pontiac Excitement"?  In the end, I was won over by the sensible styling, the Consumer Reports reviews and the great gas mileage.  I broke off my life-long relationship with Ford and started afresh with its smaller, scrappier rival.

And now my new love is leaving me behind.  Pontiac is disappearing into history and all that I'll have to remember it is my steel grey four-door and a monthly car payment.  On the bright side, since they won't be making Pontiacs anymore... maybe I can hold onto mine until it's a collector's item.  

A Love Letter to Detroit

I am losing my job in March.  I suppose it's a good thing that I have so much notice, but sometimes it feels like I have a beloved relative in the hospital who is dying slowly.  For me, it's not just about losing a job; I may also lose my adopted home city, and it's painful for me.

I am not a native Detroiter: I grew up in Mission Viejo, California, and spent a lot of my formative years visiting my grandparents in Los Angeles.  I was living in Flagstaff, Arizona before I moved to the Motor City and believe me when I say there were a lot of raised eyebrows when I announced that I was moving to the "murder capital" where the city bursts into flames every Halloween.  But Detroit didn't scare me, and my son was too young to be intimidated by the city's bad reputation.  We moved here with open minds and took an apartment in the heart of the inner city.  And I fell in love.

And for those who think this is a terrible place to raise kids, I say you are dead wrong.  This city has the biggest heart of any in the country.  The people have all the sophistication and culture of a major metropolitan area, with the friendliness and sincerity of the rural Midwest.  You'll never ride an elevator here with people who pretend you aren't there.  Sometimes, they'll launch right into a conversation with you about their dentist or their job, as though you've known them for years.  

Detroit is also impossibly rich in history.  This city has been important since the days of the French; it has never been insignificant.  And all of that history is still here: the forts from pre-Revolutionary days, the Indian burial mounds, the remains of cobblestone streets, the wooden homes of Irish immigrants in Corktown, the burnt skeletons of houses that fell during the riots.  You see the opulent mansions of auto executives and the fantastic architecture of the wealthy '20's, right next to a ramshackle apartment house.  There's the gleaming dome of a mosque, near the wall that was built to physically separate a white neighborhood from the nearby black families.  

For a fairly long period of time, Detroit was the wealthiest city in the country and among the wealthiest in the world.  Detroiters surrounded themselves with gorgeous architecture and fabulous landscapes like the sculpture gardens at Cranbrook.  They endowed the art museum so that it now has one of the finest collections on the planet.  Greenfield Village is amazing, but we also have the first Arab-American historical museum and the Lionel train site.  You can skip over to Battle Creek and see how they make Kellogg's cereal (that guy was an interesting character), and then travel north and sled down the sand dunes in Sleeping Bear Park.   Everything here is unique, with lots of residents anxious to wax rhapsodical about it history.  And I haven't even mentioned the music.  Holy moly!  Such music....

"That's all well and good," you say, "But Detroit is in a downward slide right now.   High unemployment, high foreclosure rates, huge deficits and demoralized industry.  Now is a good time to get out." And logic is with you, now is a good time to leave Detroit.  But the desperate days of this economic freefall have brought out the best in my neighbors.  We are all suffering together.  More than a dozen people have asked me if I'm all right this week, and can they help me or my son?  When I hear that someone has lost their job, I am there delivering a cassarole and offering my home, my car, my computer or anything that can help get them through.

This is a city that endures.  And it endures because of the strong-hearted people that live here.  Detroit's motto is "speramus meliora; resurget cineribus:"  we hope for better things; it will rise from the ashes.  Yes, this is a tough time for Detroit.  We've all heard the maxim that when the rest of the country has a cold, Detroit has the flu.  But this city has burnt to the ground more than once.  It has soared to the heights and plummetted to the depths.  But through it all, Detroiters were greeting each other on the street, chatting in elevators, volunteering at churches and investing their all into their love of this city.  

I don't want to leave.  First of all, I don't think I can sell my house.  But I also believe this is an amazing place to live, and to raise a child.  I hope my son sees the strength in adversity around him and someday grows up to proudly say that he is from Detroit, where people endure.

Shivering in Detroit

For the fourth day in a row, I am without power. There are only 20-thousand or so saps left in Michigan shivering in their homes and staring at their blank computer screens, praying the pipes don't freeze. Power outages are kinda fun in the summer, you roam around the house with your flashlights and pretend you're camping. In the winter... no. No hot water, no hot food, and your breath shows when you exhale in your kitchen. Even my beagle with her two layers of fur is shivering on my bed and looking at me with big moist eyes as if to say, "I'm cold. What is the matter with you?"

And at the risk of sounding self-pitying, Detroiters really didn't need this. I mean, talk about kicking a city when it's down. The auto industry is in tatters... unemployment is higher than it was in 1929... the Detroit Lions just became, officially, the worst team in NFL history... and now our power company can't seem to get the heat back on.

Honestly, I understand that there were wind storms last weekend and a lot of lines went down... but FOUR DAYS with no power... REALLY? Yesterday morning I crawled out of my pile of blankets and dialed up DTE to ask them what in hell was going on... and I get this message...

Thank you for calling DTE Energy. We're closed for the national holiday.

First of all New Year's Eve is not a national holiday. And second, since when do you take time off when 20-thousand people have icicles hanging from their noses? My son got a Wii for Christmas that he can't use and he's watching his winter break slip away from him as each day passes. I asked him what he thought of the whole situation.  He said, "Can I use swears?" And he then proceeded to rant for five minutes or more, ending by asking permission to go kick the people at DTE.

Thank God, my son is a Detroiter. He understands resilience. You can't live in or around the Motor City without learning how to snap back. In a few weeks, we'll be amused by it all: how we lit 30 candles to try and raise the temperature a few degrees, and how we didn't have to worry about the food in the fridge because it was warmer in there than it was in the living room. When all else fails, Detroiters have each other, our beloved city, and a strong sense of humor. We're already laughing about the Lions... and once our faces defrost, we'll laugh about this, too.

Blacks Hate Gay Marriage?

Make no mistake, it's not just African-Americans that oppose gay marriage. Even in California, where blacks made up a large portion of voters who approved Proposition 8, there were lots of Latinos and others who marked the box beside "Yes." But I find it particularly odd that so many African-Americans want to deny gays the right to marry.

Granted, the opposition to gay marriage for many blacks is based on religious principles. I have nothing but respect for religious faith. I honor their belief and stand by their right to live, and vote, according to their morals and values. But it hasn't been all that long since it was illegal for a black to marry a white person. My own grandparents had to wed in Tijuana because their union was against the law in California. And many people used the Bible as evidence that miscegenation was an "abomination" and "against God's law." Until 1948, most states in the U.S. enforced "anti-miscegenation" laws, and most of them made it illegal for a white to marry a Native American or an Asian in addition to blacks. But in 1967, the Supreme Court ruled unanimously in Loving v. Virginia that "anti-miscegenation" laws were unconstitutional. Since then, marriage between all races has been constitutionally protected, and society has adapted. None but the most extreme racist groups and indiviuals vehemently oppose interracial marriage.

My question is, had we left the question up to voters in individual states, how many would still prohibit such marriages? 40 years ago, it took a decision from the U.S. Supreme Court to give blacks the right to marry whomever they choose. That constitutionally protected right was not left up to referendum. We did not allow the common citizen to decide whether or not this basic civil right should be accorded to their neighbors, friends and family.

Believe me, I understand how strong the feelings are against gay marriage, and I can even understand some people's discomfort with the idea. I, too, have no desire to kiss a woman in an intimate way and the idea of doing so makes my skin crawl a bit. But no one is asking me to kiss a woman, lie with a woman, or marry a woman. Gays are asking for the right to marry their loved ones so they can enjoy equal protection under the law. Like it or not, the founding fathers granted that protection to all Americans, and they didn't make an exception for homosexuals.

In many states, like California and Connecticut and Massachusetts, the courts have decided that gays have a constitutionally protected right to marry. It's inevitable that passionate advocacy groups will then try to overturn the courts' decisions through the referendum process. I'm sure many people rushed to do the same thing to take rights away from blacks, Asians, and other minorities. For whatever reason, American citizens have never been anxious to give each other rights; instead, they have been more interested in restricting them. But in the eyes of the government, marriage is a legal, contractual relationship. It's a basic civil right, and it shouldn't be granted or abolished by popular vote.

A Little Verklempt

Believe me when I say that reporters are among the most cynical people in the world. I wasn't like this before I became a journalist. I was optimistic, idealistic, and had perfect faith that the majority of people in public service were good, upstanding citizens with our best interests at heart. Now, having spent the past ten years studying these people, hanging out with them, talking with them and watching them, I believe that most of them are self-serving, opportunistic phonies. Maybe they start out following the path of righteousness, but bit by bit, they give up some of their integrity in order to get elected and stay elected. By the time they are career politicians, not much is left of the young city councilman or school board president that they were.

So, the months between July and November in presidential election years are not my favorite. I get tired of the staged events, the cliche applause lines, the waving American flags and the way candidates are carefully dressed, lit and scripted to appeal to whatever audience they're facing. I went to Barack Obama's Labor Day rally in Detroit with a job to do: get the audience response to his speech, file the story and collect my check.

But as I stood there in the heat, sweating into my headphones and praying for rain, I had a totally unexpected reaction. I looked out over the crowd... tens of thousands of people waiting to see Barack Obama. There were white college students in oxford shirts, black fathers with their kids on their shoulders, Arab-American autoworkers with time off for the holiday... dozens of races, occupations, and faiths were represented. And there they stood, waiting to see a black man from Illinois. And I started to cry.

The past welled up on me rather suddenly. I thought about my great-grandmother, whose father was her white owner on a plantation in Mississippi. I thought about my grandfather, who had to drive to Tijuana to get married because his bride was white and their union was illegal in his home country. I thought about the time that he had to drive without stopping from Los Angeles to Ohio because the white hotels wouldn't take him and the black hotels wouldn't take her. And my grandmother was abandoned by family and friends because she dared to marry a man whose skin was brown. I thought about the kid whose eye I blacked in elementary school because he called me a "nigger."

And then I started to think about how my grandparents would feel if they could be standing in that crowd of thousands, waiting to see the first African-American candidate for president. That's when I began to cry. I was overwhelmed, in every sense of that word. I can't begin to describe how it felt when he stepped onto the platform and a deafening cheer rose up around him. Is this how Catholics felt when they watched John F. Kennedy speak? Is this how they felt in the audience watching Marian Anderson sing at the Lincoln Memorial? I don't think this feeling of hope and joy and sheer wonder has a political affiliation; I don't think it would have mattered if the man at the dais was a Republican or Democrat.

In his acceptance speech, Senator Obama said that his detractors don't seem to understand that his campaign is not about him, but about us. And that's something I can agree with. We are not on the edge of doing something historic; we have done it. And Obama's presence on that stage, as a candidate for president, is something that every American can be proud of, both Democrat and Republican.

I don't know if Barack Obama will become president. I know, sadly, that many people who say they support him will change their minds in the privacy of the voting booth. And it is sad, not because Barack Obama should or should not be president. It's tragic because those people will not vote for him because of the color of his skin, and they will feel guilty about it, and they may not understand where their fear springs from. But they will feel fearful and they will feel guilty, and they won't mark that box next to Obama. And if this man loses because his skin tone is brown, it will be a tragic day for all of us, and for our country.