Llewellyn

King

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April 2, 2009

For GM and Chrysler, a Near-Death Experience in the White House

I have been to a funeral service with a twist: The corpse is not yet cold. Nonetheless I have been to a funeral service where a very well-spoken official talked of life after death, as they do at these functions. The service was not at grave site, but in the Grand Foyer of the White House, and the officiating officer was Barack Obama, who doubles as president of the United States.

There were no tears and there was plenty of sales talk of the life to come, euphemistically referred to as “restructuring.” Yet the pall of death was everywhere – the deaths of the once-mighty General Motors and its lesser sibling, Chrysler.

The president was flanked by his “team” – 10 men and two women. The team (they looked like professional mourners) seemed uncomfortable, and as Obama never introduced them individually, their role was hard to define. They all looked as though they would be much happier somewhere else. Anywhere else.

There is an order, even a protocol, for how presidents use the facilities of the White House. The East Room is for holding full-blown press conferences and signing major bills; the Grand Foyer is for major photographic opportunities, ditto the Rose Garden when the weather is pleasant; and the Oval Office is for quick niceties with foreign leaders.

A small “pool” of reporters is allowed in the Oval Office, and a few questions can be attempted. In the Grand Foyer, reporters often stand behind photographers on aluminum ladders. It is mostly a question-free zone.

Certainly in the Grand Foyer on Monday, Obama was in no mood for questions. His team filed in and stood on either side of a podium. Then the president came in briskly and the faced the cameras. Reporters and photographers were kept from surging forward by a rope line.

In front of the president was the teleprompter. It was the one he used at the recent East Room press conference; one that looks like a small jumbotron, not the glass ones that gave him trouble during the visit of Irish Prime Minister Brian Cowen.

If I had not seen the teleprompter, I would not have known that Obama was using it. He was using a lot of hand gestures and looking around the room without losing his place. His message was clear: Chrysler had better wed Fiat in 30 days and General Motors had better shed brands, plants and overhead in 90 days or it would end up in bankruptcy court, without further help from a generous federal government.

But the president was also selling. American cars were good, very good, as good as Asian cars. No one should hesitate to buy one of these cream puffs because the full faith and credit of the U.S. government was behind them. If the maker failed, Uncle Sam would stand behind their warranties and after-sales service. He stopped just short of promising service bays at the White House. Drive away, no worries.

The president spoke for nearly 20 minutes. He eulogized GM's past triumphs and the specialness of cars in American life, and talked of a brave new technology-driven future.

This contrasted with the 12 members of his team, who looked more uncomfortable as it became clear that, if GM is to rise from its deathbed and Chrysler is to be married off, they are expected to be deeply involved. The team, which included Tim Geithner, Christina Romer, Larry Summers, Ray LaHood and Gary Locke, looked like men and women whose knowledge of cars did not extend much beyond the back seat of a taxi. They would, I thought, be happier embalming the two auto manufacturers than giving them a hand out of the grave.

The question that trembled on many lips was: “What if nobody buys your new, improved, green autos designed by the U.S. Treasury and your team, Mr. President?” Or “Who do I see in the bureaucracy to get my warranty work done?” Or “Will the government stock spare parts for a Chevy built in Detroit on an Opal chassis with Canadian doors?”

Hamlet said: “O death, where is thy sting?” Could it be in the Grand Foyer of the White House?

© 2009 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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