Until he invested more than $2,000,000 in ailing American Motors Corp. to become its No. 1 stockholder, Robert Beverley Evans of Grosse Pointe, Mich., cut a bigger figure as a socialite and sportsman than as an industrialist. Though he owns a dozen companies with combined sales of $20 million a year, Evans has left their affairs mostly to underlings, concentrated on such hobbies as golf, quail hunting, and designing and racing a 300 m.p.h. jet-powered hydroplane. Trim, Florida-tanned and handsome, Evans not only looks like a TV idol of 50—ten years younger than his age—but is groomed for the part, from manicured fingernails to the tasseled bows on his moccasins.
Scowls at Style. Last week, to the surprise of unflamboyant automen, American Motors' board elected Evans as chairman. He succeeded Richard E. Cross, who became chairman of the executive committee in order to devote more time to his Detroit law practice. A.M.C.'s crusty Roy Abernethy remained as president and chief executive, but Evans quickly made it obvious that he intends to be the new giver of gospel. While Abernethy scowled at a press conference and puffed a six-inch cigar down to the stub, Evans committed the automaking heresy of knocking the styling of his company's cars. For this he blamed—however illogically—former A.M.C. Boss George Romney, who left a full four years ago to make his successful bid to become Governor of Michigan. As a result of Romney's legacy of compact economy and "boxy" styling, claimed Evans, American Motors' cars "didn't have something to excite the public."
The 1967 models, he and Abernethy promised, will change that. While competitors will cautiously emphasize safety, A.M.C. will promote speed—"from zero to 60 m.p.h. in nine seconds." Later on, said Evans, "we're going after the youth market. That means a different styling. Our job is to get the confidence of the public back"—a clear if exaggerated implication that would-be buyers have lost confidence in the company. A.M.C.'s car sales have dropped 20% so far this year, and the firm reported a fiscal six-month loss of $4,200,000 on sales of $479 million.
Millions from a Wedge. Why should Evans, whose only auto experience was a summer job as a teen-ager in a Chevrolet axle plant, want to move into such a thicket of trouble? Part of the answer lies in family history. Evans' father, a Virginia lumber dealer, made millions by inventing and manufacturing a wooden wedge to secure the wheels of autos shipped by train. He founded Evans Products Co., broadened it into one of the country's big suppliers of plywood and railroad loading equipment. Six years ago, the family lost control to West Coast Industrialist Norton Simon, who specializes in moving into and reorganizing limping corporations.
Rich but jobless, Bob Evans borrowed Simon's technique, picked up companies with sound products but sagging profits, swiftly turned them into solid moneymakers. Among them: firms that make small gasoline engines, industrial fixtures, furniture (Widdecomb) and machines that paint white lines down the middle of roads. Having sold two firms last year "to get some money to play with," Evans decided to buy into A.M.C. because its stock was selling for only 60% of the company's net worth.