Denise McCluggage writes for
Autoweek.
This article, titled
Love and Recalls appeared in the March 23, 2010 issue of that publication and appears here until their lawyers call and threaten me.
Love and Recalls
Denise McCluggage
The coincidence of Toyota-gate and Alfa Romeo's revival of the Giulietta name has reminded me how much more important it is for a company to make cars that are loved than to build ones that are respected. Not that Toyota hasn't yearned to be loved--it's just that it never quite got the knack. I've said before, if a Toyota or a Lexus were a suitor, I'd tell it, "You're really terrific, but can't we just be friends?"
When a car is loved, forgiveness is plentiful; when a car's reliability is its strong point and that is now doubted, the absence of a net is sorely evident.
My history of car ownership is dotted, or maybe oil-splattered, with several British marques. Two MG TCs and a Jaguar XK140. Almost an Austin-Healey. I even craved a Jensen Interceptor with Ferguson Formula. (Don't ask.)
Forgiveness was further extended to four (!) Fiats. But my Alfa Giulietta Sprint Veloce circa 1958 is the subject here.
The Giulietta had a quirk that spurred the starter motor to spiral into action, even when the car was at speed. Like when I was on the Nürburgring with Phil Hill showing me his preferred line as I clung fiercely to the passenger's seat. (No seatbelts.) We didn't hear the ominous whirring until we were stopped in the pits. Took every tooth off the ring gear. Push starts or small hills were then in order for several weeks.
But Giuliettas almost universally shared two other quirks (quirks are what you call flaws that love lets you forgive).
Always when one Giulietta owner met another, the question inevitably arose: "Carburetor or battery?"
My answer: "Battery," meaning that my Alfa was one in which the trunk-mounted battery liked to tip over, spreading hungry acid on anything left nearby.
For other owners: "Carburetor," which meant that it chose to burst into flame at varied intervals. I never met any Giulietta owner who had both quirks to forgive.
We would compare quirks and shake our heads with fond smiles, almost prideful. Look what I have forgiven. How much more could anyone love thee?
In those days, "recall" was what you did when you redialed--and I do mean dialed--a busy phone number. Caveat emptor ruled the market. (Remember, a Ford Pinto and a Chevrolet Vega had been loosed on the world.)
Not until the fledgling Japanese manufacturers strengthened their wings and began to soar in the United States did their strong point--reliability--become what most buyers simply expected.
"Bulletproof" was a common description of things Toyota, and that powered the company's remarkable growth.
Sometimes the spark of love might glint a moment in an enthusiast's eye--the MR2, maybe the Celica--but that uniqueness would be hammered down.
Fun was banished. Back to trustworthiness and reliability.
Now those very traits, admirable but unexciting, are under question. Late-night comics strike with relish. Toyota is damaged by real tragedy and its inexperienced, tone-deaf responses. Sad.
My belief: All of Toyota's problems will be tracked down and made right. But the healing balm of love will be missed.
© AutoWeek
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