Part I of a trilogy. Part II will be posted tomorrow.

Chaz Chambers had risen through the ranks more quickly than his peers, garnering snide remarks from them, but noteworthy attention from his superiors. He ignored the former and took advantage of the latter, earning a cherished spot on the Cadillac team. His latest assignment was developing a ‘small car entry’ for GM’s top brand, a response to the growing influence of Mercedes.

Like plane crashes, bad news seemed to come in threes. Within a week’s time in ’74 he discovered his girlfriend had been sleeping with someone over at Ford, his small car project at Cadillac had gotten the axe, and his aunt back home in Fort Stockton had passed, requiring a trip back to Texas for the funeral.

The Braniff flight to San Antonio was only tolerable because of the attention showered on the young executive by one of the hot pants-clad stewardesses and several cocktails served in first class. The drive from San Antonio to Fort Stockton in the rented beige AMC Hornet was nothing short of degrading. The clerk at the rental counter said something about a mix-up in their new fangled computer reservations system. A Hornet for god sakes.

He hadn’t seen his cousins in years. They still knew him as ‘Charlie’, just another relative and not a Big Shot in the auto business.  It was good to be back in his hometown, even if it was hot and backwards and offered none of the luxury of Detroit. Based on his latest effort he briefly thought about walking away from the car business, moving back to Fort Stockton and joining his cousin’s bull semen business. There were more similarities between his cousin’s business and the auto industry than most realized.

In the end, however, he remembered the saying, “You can never go back home,” and figured he’d hightail the Hornet back to San Antonio for the flight back to Michigan and make the most of whatever career he had left. The night before his plane was to leave, he stopped in at the Lucky Lady to toss back a Chivas or three before he went back to the hotel to pack.

George ‘Jigger’ Johnson was tending bar, just like he always had been. He was a fixture at the Lucky Lady, known to dispense wisdom and whiskey in equal amounts. Pastor Bob from Second Baptist even came in for marital advice from time to time.

“Has the passing of your aunt got you down? You know she’s in a better place,” Jigger said to Chaz, pouring his fourth shot.

“It was her time. She had a good run,” Chaz told him. “My girlfriend left me and my car project got cancelled.”

“There are other fish in the sea,” Jigger noted. “What happened with your car project?”

“It was supposed to be a small Cadillac. Was going to compete with the Germans,” Chaz explained as he pulled out a few drawings from his sport coat pocket and tossed them down on the sticky bar. “Focus groups killed it. Nobody wanted an entry-level Cadillac. They thought a cheap Cadillac would make them look cheap too. GM brass killed it.”

“Don’t change a thing but the price,” Jigger said. “Make it the most expensive model instead of the ‘starter’ model and it’ll sell like hot cakes.”

“Seriously?” Chaz said.

“That Chivas you’ve been paying top dollar for all night is just the cheapest thing I can buy poured into a Chivas bottle. You think it’s the best because of what I charge and the name on the bottle. Perception is reality,” Jigger noted.

Chaz jotted down some notes on the back of his napkin and headed out to the Hornet.

Twenty four hours later he was in the paneled office of his bosses pitching his idea for the Seville. A year later Cadillac had a hit. They went along with everything Chaz had suggested except changing the name of the car to Chivas.

His former girlfriend unsuccessfully attempted a reunion when she found out her new boyfriend designed the Mustang II. Chaz rode the wave of success right up until he had the idea of putting a diesel under the hood. The Brass went along with it, but he was soon on thin ice.  His old girlfriend even quit calling, having settled down with the guy over at Chrysler that turned the lowly Plymouth Fury into a Chrysler Cordoba and coined the phrase ‘Corinthian Leather’.  That chick had always been into leather.

Not even Jigger could help him out at that point.