The tension in the Executive Conference Room at World Headquarters in Dearborn was thicker than the burled walnut conference table itself. Nobody said a word waiting for The Man to come in. Didn’t have to. They knew what the meeting was about, each one just hoping to survive it.

By the time The Deuce strolled in, stopped at the bar and poured himself a Waterford crystal tumbler full of bourbon, a couple of them had broken out in a visible sweat. As he took his place slowly at the head of the table, he let the silence hang in the room like a Jackson Pollock painting, the younger executives shifting in their leather seats.

“The key to Lincoln’s success,” he said slowly, “is to ‘out-Cadillac’ Cadillac. Isn’t that what you said? Make the Lincoln bigger. Make it gaudier. Make it even more expensive than the competition. That’s what America wants. That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

Several of the suits wished they’d have poured a bourbon themselves at this point, trying to remember who had said what in that meeting several years ago when they were planning the ’58-’60 Lincoln product line and everyone swore they had a winner on their hands. Elwood, down at the other end of the table, thought to himself ‘success has a thousand fathers; failure is an orphan’ as he looked around the table at his fellow executives.

The Deuce grabbed a sheaf of papers he’d been holding under his arm and threw them down the table where they landed like the Hindenburg’s last flight. “Lincoln sales for 1960,” he said, his voice raised. “Lowest since 1948. That’s with eleven different models in two different lines, boys. They’re going to count up the millions we lost on your idea as soon as they total up what we lost on the whole Edsel debacle. I’m going to kill Edsel and Lincoln both. Cut our losses. And then just hope we can sell enough of the damned new Falcons to help recover some of the money we lost on both those harebrained ides!”

There was a gasp around the table.

When Elwood spoke up, his voice strong and clear, the other execs around the table waited for the Deuce to decapitate him in front of the group as an example. “The Lincoln brand still has value. It’s our halo car,” Elwood said. “Chalk the Edsel up to bad timing, over-selling and poor quality. People will forget about it just like they will DeSoto over at Chrysler. But keep Lincoln.” He withdrew some drawings from the alligator valise next to his chair and tossed them on top of the sales reports already on the table.

The Deuce was turning red. But then he glanced down at the drawings. Got up and poured another drink. “Go on.”

Elwood had the stones to get up and walk around the table as he spoke. “We tried to ‘out-Cadillac’ the competition. Didn’t work. We go the opposite direction. Go smaller, simpler. All class, minimal chrome. Less is more. Only offer two models instead of eleven, a sedan and a convertible. Both called ‘Lincoln Continental’ to capitalize on the history and panache of the name.”

“Is that all you got?” The Deuce asked.

“That’s all we need,” Elwood replied. “Less is more. But make it the best made car in the world. Offer the first 24 month warranty in the industry. Make the competition look old and obsolete the minute the new Lincoln Continental arrives.”

“It’s crazy enough it could work,” The Deuce replied. Probably cheaper than buying out all the Lincoln dealerships.”

“Here’s the best part,” Elwood continued, “this Continental could be built on the same line as the new Thunderbird, sharing parts and slashing the development and production costs. We could actually make money on it.”

The Deuce was hooked. “We’re about to have connections with the new Kennedy administration. We get a new young movie star president in the back of a convertible Continental and it’ll make the Continental memorable.”

The table breathed a sigh of relief, except those from the Edsel division who were asked to stay behind. Elwood had confidence in his idea, but was somehow glad the Kennedy tie-in had come from someone higher up.