“Uh-huh, I hear what you’re saying, and I can relate. I had a few issues along those lines when I was your age. It’s one of the occasional disadvantages of looking good. The girls like you right away, the guys not so much, generally ‘cause they perceive you as a threat—well, except for Greg, anyway. As a general rule, though, looks are mostly an advantage rather than otherwise. Whether people like you or not, looking good tends to get you their respect. Grudging respect sometimes, but, anyway, it’s respect, and there’s nothing even the least bit negative about respect.”
“I don’t know about the respect part, Ben; you don’t get much of that as a student, even in grad school. But look at you, man: You still look great, and you’re in your fifties, right? I bet you still get lots of women coming onto you.”
“Women? I suppose so. The problem with that is, when you’ve got a lot of money, people will try to get in your good graces no matter what you look like, men and women both. When you’re successful financially—and I have no doubt you will be one day—you’ll see what I mean.”
“So you’re saying that wealth isn’t always a good thing? You really mean that?”
“It’s a good thing if you’ve got enough to buy new tires when the treads are bare, or if you can pay the rent at the end of the month without having to eat beans for supper the week before it’s due. Money helps eliminate some of the inconveniences of life; that’s what I’m saying essentially; but beyond that, honestly, Tommy my boy, it’s not that big a deal.”
“But you enjoy your money, Ben, don’t you? I mean, the jets and the full-time pilot to take you anywhere you want to go, and the limos, and … and this house—I mean, this is some fabulous house, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yeah, well, the house I built for Carole—who deserves it, by the way; she’s put up with a lot over the years. And the jets we use for business mainly. I don’t travel for leisure all that much. But enough about me; what about you, Tom? Do you think you’d like to be rich some day? I mean, with a house like this and a private plane and all the other stuff?”
“I don’t know. I really never thought about it a lot. But now that you’re asking and putting me on the spot, I guess that really being super-rich wouldn’t be that much of a kick for me. What I mean is, I don’t think my life-style would change that much.”
“So if not money, then what? What do you see yourself doing once you graduate?”
“Oh that. Well, a couple of my professors have some connections with the automakers, and they’ve kind of intimated that they’d write some letters and make some calls. You know; that kind of thing.”
“Well, you’ve got a business now, are you forgetting?”
“The auto parts thing, you mean? Yeah, but I said I’d rescue the company for you—get it going, kind of, is what I had in mind. I don’t see myself running it long-term.”
“So what then? The calls your professors are going to make? A job with a car company? What—like in engineering or design?”
“Maybe. I don’t really know what kind of possibilities might be open to me when my schooling’s done. But with a PhD, probably something in management eventually, although my preference would be to keep my efforts on the cars themselves. I don’t know, though. Whatever it is, it’ll be rewarding, I’m sure. It’s just that I love doing stuff with cars, Ben. I always have. Honestly, I wouldn’t have minded busting knuckles as a mechanic all my life, like my dad. Even without much schooling, he did pretty well.”
“So why bother going for the PhD?”
“Why? I don’t really know, to be perfectly honest with you. I guess I was pretty good in school, and the professors—this is undergrad I’m talking about—they kept encouraging me to get a higher degree. And then I got this full-ride scholarship. It was nuts, you know? I didn’t even apply for it. One of my instructors put in my name and called some guy he knew at Cal-Davis, and … well, everybody told me it was the best place in the country and I’d be crazy to turn it down. They actually pay you extra to go to grad school; it’s ridiculous. I have no idea where the money comes from.”
“Don’t you? You’re looking at it.”
“From you, Ben? You donate to scholarship funds?”
“I donate to everything, Tommy—everything. I haven’t the slightest idea where the money goes or what the guys who come and ask me for it do with it.”
“Well, thanks, then, if you’re the guy who’s funding my degree.”
“Hey. I’d do more than that if you’d let me. At least I got you agreeing to the car-parts thing. You know if you give it half a chance, maybe you’ll make your fortune doing that.”
“Whatever I make, I’m not keeping for myself. I told you that, Ben.”
“So what are you going to do with it, then? Donate it to a scholarship fund?”
Tommy shrugged. “I don’t know. No point in talking about a profit when we don’t even know if the company will survive.”
“Well, let’s say it does. Let’s say it takes off and makes a lot of money—I mean a LOT of money. Millions, let’s say. If you had a ton of money coming in, what would you do with it? If you had unlimited cash to play with, what would you like to spend it on?”
“I don’t know? Not much, I guess. I’ve got pretty simple tastes, Ben. But if I had a fair amount of money, I’d get a nice house for my mom, and pay for Rachel’s college—I think she wants to be a nurse or a dental hygienist—I’m not sure which; she changes her mind every other week. Oh, and for myself—since you’re asking that—you know what I’d really like?”
“That’s what I’m asking you, kid. That’s exactly what I’d like to know.”
“You know the first year Corvettes? The ‘53’s with the V-6 truck engine and the catcher’s mask grille over the headlights?”
“You’re going to tell me that your highest aspiration in life’s a ’53 Corvette?”
“That wasn’t what you asked me, was it, Ben? You asked me what I’d buy if I had a lot of money to spend. You didn’t ask me about my life’s highest aspiration, so I didn’t tell you that.”
“So tell me. I’m asking you now. What is your highest aspiration in life? If you had the power to change the world, let’s say, how would you change it?”
“I don’t know. You’re really putting me on the spot here, aren’t you?”
“I am. Intentionally.”
Tommy looked up suspiciously with narrow eyes. “Why do you want to know?”
“Just curiosity. No nefarious intent, I promise. Just plain old curiosity, that’s all.”
“Well, what about you? What’s been your highest aspiration, Ben? Was it the money? The success in business you’ve had?”
“Hey, I asked you first, remember?”
“OK, you did, and I’ll tell you if you really want to know, but you’ve got to promise me you’ll answer my question after I answer yours—Deal?”
“Sure, it’s a deal.”
“You promised, remember?”
“I did, and I’ll keep my promise, cross my heart and hope to die.”
“OK, fair enough. I’ll hold you to it; remember. So anyway, to answer what you asked me—Let’s see, my highest aspiration…. So what you’re asking is what? What I’d wish for if I ruled the world? That kind of thing?”
“Yeah, if you had the resources to do anything you liked, what would you do?”
“Well—since you asked me that way—what I guess I’d do…. You know I love cars by now, right? So you know it would have to be something relating to cars.”
“OK, so—what? Give me a specific.”
“Alright; hold on. And you also know that when we talked about the car part factory, I insisted that we locate it in Arizona—remember?”
“Right. So you could have it close enough to oversee when you were home from school.”
“That’s what I said at the time, but it wasn’t the only reason. Let’s say it was a proximate reason, but not the ultimate reason. There was another factor involved.”
“OK? And what would that ultimate reason be? You’ve got me really curious now.”
And Ben really was curious. So exorbitantly curious that he was sitting literally at the edge of his seat, any farther forward on which, he would have toppled right over at Tommy’s feet onto the exquisite Persian rug covering the oak-and-walnut parquet floor.
Tommy nodded slowly, thoughtfully, then began:
“My granddad—He was a character, my granddad—He came over from Ireland, probably in the thirties when he was just a kid. First he came to New York, and after a year or two—I’m not sure exactly why—he came out and settled in Phoenix when it was a little cow-town still. There wasn’t much in Phoenix at that time.”
“OK, that’s a fascinating family history, Tommy, but it wasn’t exactly what I asked.”
“No, I’m getting there, just give me a minute, Ben, OK? So, anyway—My grandad was a character, like I said, but what I was getting to…. Coming from Ireland, he was pretty darn happy to leave the place he came from and settle in the States, as you maybe can imagine.”
“Sure I can imagine it. Probably everybody who ever came here felt that way—or should have. We’re all pretty damned lucky to be living here, all of us are.”
“Well, that’s the point I’m trying to make, Ben. It’s a wonderful country, and we used to make the best cars in the world here—the best everything in the world here—Do you remember those days?”
“Yeah, I do. Cars from the eighties were awful, I realize; but before that, sure, the cars that my parents drove when I was a kid, back in the sixties and even the seventies—they were really good—and really beautiful too. Those were the days, eh kid? Those really were the days.”
“I guess they were. I don’t know about the days, Ben, but I sure do know about the cars they built back then. State of the art, elegant and beautiful—So what you asked me: One thing my granddad used to say: Tommy, he said, you should wake up every morning, get down on your knees, and thank God you were born in the USA. And I do, Ben; I really do. And my dad—he always said that too, same as my granddad did. So what I’m getting at is this: If I could do anything, anything at all, no expense spared, any darned benevolent, omnipotent sort of thing I wanted to, what I’d do is this: I’d bring back the days when American cars were the best in the world, when US cars were exported overseas to the few lucky people who could get them, but foreign cars couldn’t compete in the US market because our cars were prettier and better and cheaper too. That’s what I’d do if I could do anything—build the best cars in the world here in America. It’s just too bad that dreams like that never really come true.”
“You’re right, Tom, they don’t. We live in a different age now. Everything is global. Even the cars that are American in name have parts that come from everywhere in the world.”
“Sure. Like the companies you’re looking to buy, right?”
“Right. That’s a good example.”
“But at least one of them is going to be American now, right? One hundred percent?”
“It is, sure, but that’s just a single company out of a thousand. No matter how you stretch it, an inch is never going to come out to be a mile”
“So what if I agreed to take on some more of the other companies on your loser list? We laughed about them, remember? The hubcap factory in China that had the chrome peeling off—Or that bankrupt leather processor in Italy using damaged hides; or the firm in Viet Nam that bought their lousy leather and made it into lousy seats? What if you were to purchase those failing companies and put them in Arizona too, and I could figure out a way to make them profitable?—What would that do?”
“That would make your one inch into two or three or four. A long, long way from a mile yet, Tommy—You understand the principle involved?”
“Yeah, I get your point alright. But you see where I’m going with this, don’t you, Ben? And anyway, it’s only hypothetical, right? You asked me a hypothetical question and I’m giving you a hypothetical answer. You asked me what I’d do if I could do anything; but I can’t do anything, so the question and the answer are moot.”
“Yes, but you bring up some interesting points, Tommy; you really do. And since we’re on hypotheticals, let’s hypothesize this: Let’s say you had a fully financed company making cars—an all-American company, for argument’s sake—and you needed to have some revolutionary breakthrough that would change the game enough to make your American cars the best and most desirable in the world again, what kind of cars would you build?”
“Simple: That’s what I’ve been working on as a project for my PhD.”
“Really! And what is that exactly? If it’s not some closely guarded national secret under the protection of the CIA.”
“No secret, Ben. It’s really simple, actually. I’ve been working on a modular car.”
“OK? And what exactly is a modular car?”
“It’s a car with components that are easily removable and changed. So let’s say your window lift goes bad—like the garbage units from that company before we fix the problem. All you do is pop off the door panel—which pulls off by loosening a few snaps—plug in the new part, snap the panel back, and your car is fixed. Same with all the other pieces of the car: door locks, computers, audio system, alternator, fuel pump—everything but the engine and tranny, which you need to go to a mechanic to fix—But all the rest: the seats pull out easily if you get a rip or just want different type upholstery; the fenders unbolt with four quick connectors. So if you get a dent, all you do is call the parts supplier, order your new fender in the right color, unbolt the dented one and bolt the new one on—ten minutes labor max. I’m designing it so anybody with an IQ over eighty can fix ninety-five percent of all the problems that might arise with the car during the first fifteen years of use. The engines and trannies shouldn’t ever go bad. And if they did go bad, those would be relatively modular too, so if you wanted to change from petroleum to diesel or to hybrid or full-electric, the mechanic at the shop would just pull the old motor out and plug the new one in, then change the fuel tank and the wiring: Two hours shop time maximum. Service charge less than five hundred bucks, whether in dollars or Euros or yen.”
“Jesus, Tommy! Damn! That’s a great idea! It’s fabulous! You think there’d be a market for a car like that?”
“Sure, there’d be a market—a huge market. Everybody in the world would love to have a car that never needed to be taken to a garage for repairs. You’d sell five million of them right away. And the more cars you sold, the more replacement parts suppliers you could have—If you sold enough, you could have parts suppliers everywhere, every little town, every single country on the planet—Asia, Africa, everywhere. If you made them here in the States, you could be exporting them all over the world; the cars, the parts—everything. And with the profits, you could build your extra special cars, your super-luxury cars—built here in America too—Not cars for the masses like the modulars, but cars for people who want beauty, elegance—the same kind of beautiful cars we built here in the thirties and fifties, though updated, of course—But genuine artworks like the classic Packards and Cadillacs and Duesenbergs and Auburns that were the finest and most elegant vehicles in the world.”
“And you think the spin-off from your modular cars would finance that so you could manufacture the super-luxury models profitably?”
“Sure, Ben. Once you start building cars in volume, even the most expensive cars, the cost goes down for each unit you produce, doesn’t it? The more you sell, the cheaper you can sell them for, and the harder it is for any other maker to compete.”
“The economy of scale, you’re talking. Did you have enough economics that you understand the economy of scale?”
“I guess I understand it well enough. If it has anything to do with cars, I’ve done my best to understand it. I’ve read a lot of tangentially related things.”
“I’ll say you have. But this idea of yours: This modular car—Do you think you could actually build one?
I mean physically—a working model that people could see and drive?”
“Already have.”
“Have what? Already have what?”
“Built the modular car, Ben. It’s pretty well complete. It’s sitting in a shop at school—at UC-Davis. I’ve just got a couple more parts to fabricate, and it’s done.”
“I…. You know, what you’re telling me, kid, the way you’re describing it—the damn thing just might be feasible—The project may be viable, I mean.”
“You really think so? But who could you get to finance a start-up as expensive as that? I know you’re really rich and all, and I know you’ve got a lot of contacts who are really rich as well; but we’re not just talking ten or twenty billion for a major company that’s going to be building cars, you realize. We’re talking way more cash than that—Like a hundred billion or more, figuring the dealerships and parts suppliers you’ve got to set up all over the world. Where could you ever get a huge amount of capital like that?”
“I trust your intellect, Tommy, and I trust your judgment too, I really do. So tell me this: How positive are you that a car company like the one you’re describing would be a success and show a profit right away?”
“It’s hard to estimate, Ben. I’m not sure I can give you as exact a number as you’d like.”
“Can you give me a rough number, then? Your best estimate, like a ball-park figure?”
“Yeah, that I can do, I suppose. I’d say … well, I’d probably say I’m ninety percent positive the company would be successful right away, but it’s probably a little higher than that. Probably closer to ninety-five or ninety-six. Not quite a hundred, but pretty close.”
“Man-oh-man! That opens a ton of possibilities, kid—a goddamn ton! And as far as financing goes, I’ve got a great idea—a terrific idea, in fact! If you can take another day off work and head back Monday instead of Sunday, what I’m going to do is this: I’m going to fly out with you Monday morning, and we’re going to stop in Columbus, Ohio on the way back to Arizona. I’ve got two potential investors I’m positively dying for you to meet.”
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