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The Cold Look. In his own Ford Division, Iacocca makes a studied effort to be boss all the time. A tough-talking and demanding executive, he is aloof with his own underlings, usually remains secluded in his office with his door firmly shut, his ever-present cigar clamped tightly in his mouth. He draws a strict line between office hours and after-hours mingling. "He can look you straight in the eye with that cold look the morning after we've spent an evening together," says an associate, "and you'd never know that we were personal friends."
Iacocca also frequently needles his men with such digs as "How's that scheme going? Remember, you told me it was great." He has been known to plant secret microphones near Ford dealer salesmen to see how aggressively they close a deal; yet dealers admire him because they have learned that doing things the Iacocca way almost inevitably means higher sales. With any subordinate that he considers inadequate, Iacocca can be ruthless; yet with outsiders and customers, he can be as warm and friendly as Italian sunshine.
Iacocca tries to leave work each day by 6:30 p.m. for the drive to his 15room, colonial-style home in Bloomfield Hills, which is headquarters for his wife Mary, whom he met when she was a receptionist at Ford's Chester plant, his daughter Kathy, 4, and a black Schnauzer named Mr. BoBo. A hypochondriac who gulps pills as if they were peanuts, Iacocca also has an appetite for his own cooking, frequently goes to an Italian food store in Detroit to pick up the makings of a feast of pasta, sauce and salami for his family or guests. He keeps the weekends free of business to spend with his family, but by Sunday evening, after Mass at St. Hugo's Church and a restful afternoon, his mind begins churning once more with the problems of the vast Ford Division. Then he retires to his study to do his homework for the next week.
Chrome Rococo. In each grueling week things move faster and change more often than ever before in the auto industry. Only a few years ago, it took three years to develop a new car from the first clay mockup to the production line; now it can be done with a crash program in 17 months, a fact that already gives the auto companies vastly greater latitude in styling changes. Development time promises to get even shorter; Detroit already is using computers that can solve complex engineering problems quickly, test the durability of new cars mathematically, and even help to machine the new dies that must be made for each new model.
This is basically important, for the U.S. car buyer likes frequent model changes. Styles will certainly change again, perhaps the next time toward more streamlining and softer styling, with the roof lines flowing more smoothly into the body. But styling, for all its glamour, is only half of Detroit's job. "Styling sells cars," says Lee Iacocca, "but it is quality that keeps them sold." While Detroit's autos cost roughly the same as they did five years ago, their performance has been vastly increased by dozens of improvements, Iacocca considers the Mustang to be the most fault-free car ever introduced by Ford.