THE THIRD IN A SERIES OF FOUR STORIES
If they were tickled with the results of 1957 in Dearborn, they were ecstatic in Highland Park. The conference table in the Executive Boardroom was American red oak rather than the exotic imported woods at General Motors or Ford. The liquor served wasn’t the top shelf brands that the Top Two of the Big Three served. But they were celebrating like it was Suddenly 1960, just like the ads proclaimed their cars were. The boys at Plymouth had come a long way from only a handful of years before when they thought Americans just wanted a car that ran well and had enough headroom so men didn’t have to take off their hats when they drove.
As the group of executives filed into the Board Room, Virgil led the way, as he certainly should have.
“Gentlemen, our 1957 model year sales for the Plymouth Division set a record,” The Chairman said.
There were cheers around the table that sounded like the inside of a men’s college locker room after the underdog team from Nowhere, Middle America had just defeated the reigning world champions.
Once the cheers and catcalls died down, the chairman spoke again. “Sex sells, gentlemen. And the 1957 Plymouths were some damn sexy automobiles!” Cheers filled the room again. “Going into the 50s, it was all about men being able to wear their hats. In 1957 it was all about making cars that made women want to drop their skirts!” The executives, normally a staid bunch, were like a bunch of school boys who’d just broken into their dad’s liquor cabinet.
“Thanks to Virgil’s Forward Look, we had the best looking line of cars of any manufacturer, and sent all of them back to the drawing boards to come up with something as good looking for the rest of this decade.” The Chairman had the group in the palm of his hand. “Ex, stand up and tell us just how you did it.”
The grey haired debonaire auto designer stood, pulled out a cigarette from a sterling silver engraved case, lit it with a matching lighter and looked about the room. His mannerisms were just as dramatic as the cars he designed.
“Let me give you some numbers, gentleman,” he started. “First is the number ‘3’. We were three full years ahead of the competition with the 1957 line. “Second is the number ‘118’. That’s the wheelbase we put out cars on, longer than any Plymouth we’ve ever made before. And the most important number? The number ‘762,000’. That’s the number of 1957 Plymouths we sold to a car-buying public that couldn’t get to the dealerships fast enough to buy one!”
Again the room erupted.
“Let me tell you what we learned, gentleman,” he went on. “What we learned about making cars that people want to buy. People see their cars as an extension of themselves. The automobile is no longer an appliance, it is an ego driven purchase that they are willing to spend more on if it makes them feel good about themselves. And the better a car looks, the better they feel about themselves. Our Plymouths had the lowest beltlines and the tallest fins of any of the Big Three cars in our price range. They had anodized gold trim and ornamentation on the deckled that made a spare tire look aspirational rather than necessary.”
All around the table men were nodding their heads and soaking up the inspiration.
“Distinctive, graceful grilles on the front and shark fins on the back made people want to be seen in our cars. And plenty of glass all around them once they were inside made sure that was the case. Torque-Flight Automatics and Torsion Bar suspensions made up for whatever a man was missing in his life, even if he didn’t know it!” The words being spoken by “Ex” were as smooth and linear as the anodized gold sweep spear of the top-of-the-line Fury hardtop model they’d sold 7,438 of for 1957. The car was not only an example of his design philosophy, but of why Plymouth had their best year ever. As the other men stood in an obvious ovation to his talents, an admission that he could do no wrong, Ex returned to his seat.
“Let’s hear a short word from Clarence on what to expect in 1958,” the Chairman said. “Keep it short,” he whispered in Clarence’s ear as he rose.
“The 1958 models will be more of a bridge from ’57 to ’59 than anything revolutionary,” he said. He seemed to be stammering a little. “We’ve encountered some issues with assembly quality and premature rust that we’re working to resolve.”
The Chairman rushed over and put his hand on Clarence’s shoulder, sitting him back down, bringing an end to his remarks. “Enough of all that. We need to focus on the numbers and celebrate the moment.”
In rapid order, reports were heard from the heads of Dodge, Chrysler, and De Soto, all who talked about outstanding sales, space age features, and emphasizing the fact that ‘size matters’. The emphasis on size made a couple of the executives smile and nod. Many looked out the window and seemed to become sadly distracted for the moment, as if ashamed of themselves. The manager of the De Soto Division in particular talked about how bright the future was and how there was nothing but room for growth in the burgeoning upper-medium priced auto market.
When Duke Kingsley was asked to give a brief recap on the performance of the Imperial Division and he announced they had overtaken Lincoln for the Number Two spot for luxury automakers, the room erupted. “Cadillac better watch out!” someone yelled. Even the Chairman had to bust out a full smile.
Once the noise died down and the executives returned to their normal sense of decorum, the Chairman said, “This past year has been incredible. It’s shown just what we are capable of. The public has responded. Our profits are through the roof and our products are the envy of the industry. Not to pull the curtain back too far, the small car we’re working on for 1960 is going to do for the compact market what Imperial did for the Luxury market . . . it might not take the number one spot in sales, but it will shape things for years to come and show the industry how compact cars should be done!”
The room was filled with excitement again, fully recovered from the buzz-kill that Clarence had been.
“And Virgil has got some things on the drawing board for the early sixties that will be unlike anything we’ve ever done before. We may be a solid Number Two, behind only General Motors, in another few years.
As the meeting broke up and the men congratulated each other for their part in making 1957 such a success there was a feeling amongst them that they were glad they’d been part of something that had finally reached its potential, something that was bigger than the sum of all the parts.
In the parking garage, Stan Snowedem, Corporate Head of Engineering Quality got into his company-supplied De Soto Flightsweep Firedome Sports Coupe and put both hands-on the clear acrylic steering wheel with the gold glitter inside. He was trying to decide whether to go home, have a couple drinks with Mrs. Snowden and then dive into a Rice Krispy Treat to celebrate the moment, or go over to Shenanigan’s, a bar where executives liked to meet after hours. He decided his coharts could wait; the little woman hadn’t had her ankles in the air in quite a while.
He was as disappointed as the Little Woman would be when he turned the key and the brand new car wouldn’t start.
5 responses to “THREE MEETINGS: MoPar”
Dad’s 1957 Savoy with 301ci V-8 and PowerFlyte was a runner and a handler. I was able to take an “adjustment on the “Torsion-Aire” torsion bar front suspension for AutoCross duty (Dad never found out since I could also change it back quickly).
Starting my teaching career, I later bought a 2-year-old 1964 Valiant V-200 4-door sedan with stick shift – a generally “nice” car with decent handling, and (possibly in a fit of rage per my Ex) managed to tear out the differential. Thankfully the 5 Year/50,000 warranty covered it. My daily driver was a very-used 1960 Valiant V-200 with TorqueFlyte, which also served well for spirited Rallye competition, abuse in the snow, and got me through until I ordered a brand new 1969 Pontiac Custom”S” (essentially a GTO in Drag) and moved to New Orleans. All three never “Failed to Proceed” (other than the ’64’s differential). Many years later into the 1990s, my now-bride of 55+ years loved her red 1966 Dodge Dart GT convertible which had been special-ordered for a dealer’s wife with a 318ci, TorqueFlyte, bucket seats, duals and later accessorized with Hush-Thrush mufflers. We learned to carry a spare resistor to replace the one on the firewall – a “Fail To Proceed” item.
After a flirtation with a 1980 Fiat Strada and a 1982 Buick Century Limited, our daily drivers have been a series of 1977, 1978, 1986, and 2002 Chevrolet Suburbans – the “Louisiana Cadillac”. Yes, Size Matters – especially in traffic. With her very first Suburban more than forty years ago, my Bayou Lady once noted how easy and reassuring it was to be able to “Drive Through Intimidation”.
Back in the late ‘70s, I managed a small parts house that was part of a 12-store independent chain. One of the problems the chain had was that all the inventories were maintained at company headquarters. When I accepted the job, one of the things I insisted on was that the inventory table for my store be moved to my office. There was some grumbling, but I got my request. One of the many changes I made was that the inventory level for Chrysler Corporation ballast resistors changed from 1 to 10. (There was only one part number that fit all their models…) Even though the resistors were relatively inexpensive, headquarters immediately questioned my logic. What they didn’t realize was that on any rainy day you could sell one to almost any poor Mopar owner who raised his/her hood while the resistor was ‘hot’. When they saw the almost unbelievable rise in sales of that item at my store, I never heard another peep out of them!
‘ 68 Stingray? Really?
OK, my curiosity is piqued. “Really?” what??
Hate it When That Happens!! Reminds me of the time the same thing happened to me.
The Mopar Club was gonna meet up and watch ‘American Graffiti’ (again)
My ’57 Chrysler 300C wouldn’t start for nothing!
So, I got in the ’68 Sting Ray and the 427 cranked right up…
That’s what I drove, but had to tell the story about a hundred times.