Bob Lutz. Mr Bob Lutz. Mr Bob Lutz the Messiah, the chosen one. The most powerful man in the auto world. The man who had worked his way up through the ranks of BMW, General Motors and other insignificant little companies until mighty Ford had knocked on his door. Join us, they no doubt said and we will shower you with unimaginable opportunities and riches. And so it came to pass in the late 70’s and early 80’s that Mr Bob Lutz, the Messiah, came to Europe as Head of Ford Great Britain but to that, the distinguished title of “Head of European Operations” was added. Mr Bob Lutz was ensconced on the top floor of Fords offices at Warley near Brentwood and from there he surveyed and ran his empire.
In 1985 after his successful spell in charge of Ford of Britain and Europe Mr Bob Lutz the Messiah got the call from on high to return to the home of the worlds auto business, the good ol’ US of A, where no doubt more promotion, fabulous riches, penthouse suites and millions of dollars awaited him. “Well, just got to pack my bags and I’ll be home with you gents shortly” he would have replied. But of course packing your bags didn’t just mean filling suitcases with all those greenbacks you had accumulated over the years. As an auto man it meant shipping home your car, or in Mr Bob Lutz case, his four cars. Cars that were destined to join his already large and prestigious collection. Cars that must not be scratched, damaged or even breathed upon.
Now, not even I can believe that he said to one of his suits, his underlings, his yes men, “get me that super efficient, world famous, careful and well equipped company Promotor to transport my cars to the export packers somewhere west of London”. No. He no doubt ordered transport to arrange the job and left it to them. And so it was left to some disgruntled manager in transport, someone who had not been invited to the Promotor Christmas bash, someone who had a chip on his shoulder to call in Promotor to do the job in the hope we screwed up big time.
On this fateful day Trevor Thayre and I were sitting around drinking coffee in the office when word came down from above to hook up to two of our supercube trailers, kit them out with ramps and ties and get ourselves over to Warley asap. “Whats so urgent” we replied. Four cars to be delivered to the west of London was the reply followed by “Bob Lutz own personal collection being shipped back over the pond”. It took a few seconds for this to sink in and then I felt the legs turning to jelly, I sat down immediately. We were going to collect Bob Lutz personal collection of cars in a couple of our old canvas sided tilts, where, if you drove over an empty ■■■ packet the boards all jumped out. “You cannot be serious” I shouted. Visions of boards through windscreens and dented bonnets came to mind. We have to have box trailers properly kitted out with proper ramps, properly fitted, not bits of 2 x 2 angle iron welded to the rear of the trailer and as for the ramps themselves, well I could walk up them but as for Trevor who was a bit overweight, I didn’t fancy his chances, not one little bit. Stop worrying was the reply from above. All our box trailers are on other jobs so just be careful and try not to drive over any ■■■ packets.
I then got to thinking, why me? Where were our experts. Those drivers who loved working with cars. People like Tony Grainger our road foreman. Someone who would have given his high teeth to do this job. There were others on the company, so why me. I had pulled some wrecks back from Germany, delivered some cars to Madrid and done a few Ford Clinics but that was enough for me. I wasn’t a car man. “Will you two get going” Dave Stagg shouted as only Dave Stagg could. Trevor and I looked at one another then left the office knowing this could be our swan-song. If this job went “■■■■ up” nobody would want to employ us ever again.
To be continued.