Driving the first Jeep Grand Cherokee up the steps of Detroit’s Cobo Hall and through an enormous plate-glass window to enter the 1992 North American International Auto Show has to be one of the most memorable vehicle-introduction stunts in history. As president of Chrysler at the time, I was behind the wheel, with Detroit’s “mayor for life” Coleman Young in the passenger seat. The image of the new SUV smashing its way into Cobo in a shower of glass appeared in all major media. The feat created major awareness for the new vehicle for a fraction of the cost of a conventional advertising launch.



This story originally appeared in the November 2019 issue of Road & Track.

But the stunt was not as reckless as it appeared. We had to obtain permission from the managers of Cobo Hall, who had justifiable concerns about safety. The mayor’s office had to approve his participation in a seemingly perilous act for the benefit of a corporation. Luckily, “Hizzoner” was not averse to a bit of favorable publicity. And so I wound up driving him down the potholed Jefferson Avenue, his security detail 50 yards aft, and into our launch position at the bottom of the steps. The window we were soon to shatter was, in itself, the object of detailed planning and construction. To minimize the risk of huge shards of glass penetrating the windshield and injuring the mayor or me, workers had removed the heavy plate window a few days before and replaced it with an identical-looking pane of tempered glass, guaranteed to shatter into thousands of popcorn-sized particles. And we stacked the deck in our favor, placing tiny explosive charges around the window frame to guarantee simultaneous dispersion of fragments and make the moment as spectacular as possible.

Courtesy Bob Lutz

Mayor Young and I lurched our way up the steps in four-wheel drive, low range, first gear. The view through the windshield showed nothing but sky, Hizzoner exclaiming “holy shee-eee-it!” as we climbed. We inched across the terrace, nearing our entry point, which was nowhere near a door, as a huge crowd of automotive media watched from inside.

We had an “inside man” buried in the crowd who carefully watched our front bumper and, via a small remote, triggered the explosive charges at the crucial moment. The effect was magnificent, the Grand Cherokee charging into the building amid a spectacular gleaming swarm of glass particles. I stopped the Jeep, and the mayor and I emerged to a seemingly endless round of photo flashes and TV cameras. Both of us were covered in glass crumbs, which had rolled off the roof of the vehicle when we opened our doors.



Courtesy Bob Lutz

The whole event was the fruit of the fertile mind of the late Tom Kowaleski, head of product communications at Chrysler and later vice president of corporate communications at General Motors. He and his small team devised the outrageous vehicle-introduction shows that became a Chrysler hallmark in that era, often imitated by competitors who never quite achieved Chrysler’s level of spontaneous-seeming, irreverent fun.

Kowaleski was behind the 1993 unveiling of the revolutionary new Dodge Ram pickup, the truck that changed the U.S. market from a Chevrolet-Ford duopoly into a three-way contest. The setting looked completely standard: a darkened, black-curtained stage, upon which rested, in familiar auto-show fashion, the hulking shape of a pickup under a drape, to be unwrapped by lovely maidens at the speaker’s signal.

Yawn.

But when the presenter said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the all-new Dodge Ram,” a gleaming red and silver Ram pickup dropped from the ceiling, smashing the draped object flat. Once again, our debut was on every news channel.

(Originally, I was slated to ride in the pickup truck for the drop, but someone vetoed the idea, presumably after talking to the insurance company.)

Tom’s task was made easier by the culture at Chrysler. We often described ourselves as a band of misfits, cast off from larger, more serious companies and driven by the underdog’s desire to show our worth. When Lee Iacocca assumed leadership of Chrysler in 1978, he had recently been terminated by Henry Ford II after more than three decades at Ford. Hal Sperlich, a genius product planner and the unquestioned creator of the minivan, had suffered a similar fate at Ford and had joined Chrysler before Iacocca. My own departure from Ford to join Chrysler at Iacocca’s urging was not as a result of dismissal. Rather, it stemmed from a powerful feeling of not being appreciated at Ford. I delivered results, but not in “the Ford way.” Asked about my move to Chrysler during a golf outing, then-CEO of Ford Don Petersen carefully placed his ball on a tee, stood up, and said, “I prefer to think of Bob’s move to Chrysler as Ford being rid of the last of the misfits.” Bingo! I had found the proper home.

In a company where almost everyone in a senior position came from somewhere else, there was no rigidity to the culture. No talk of “the way we’ve always done it is the correct way.” Everything, and every method, was in a constant state of flux, subject to many heated discussions, often involving raised voices, profanity—but also laughter. In short, it was a corporate environment that provided fertile ground for innovation, experimentation, and creativity.

Then-Chrysler chairman Bob Eaton (left) and Lutz (right) debut the Prowler in 1997. Sunglasses? Mandatory. Courtesy Bob Lutz

The “Band of Misfits” launched a string of unquestionable hits in this era. It started with the outrageous Dodge Viper and continued with the Jeep Grand Cherokee, the Ram, the Dakota, the Durango SUV, the LH sedan trio, the Neon compact, the “cloud cars” (Chrysler Cirrus and Dodge Stratus), and of course, the Plymouth Prowler. It was an era of cutting-edge design, highlighted by joyfully unconventional auto-show debuts. Competitors called us lucky.

But it wasn’t luck. It was unbridled creativity and a willingness to take risks. Even if it meant driving a mayor through the glass window of Cobo Hall.

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