Not quite there yet

Damien Cave has an article in The New York Times about the changing world of car sales:

Ralph W. Sifford wears a gold Rolex and keeps his tie tight, and his seven General Motors dealerships in New York and Florida carry a distinctly American name: Grand Prize. “Everyone’s a winner,” Mr. Sifford said, smiling with pride. “That’s our slogan.” These days, however, buyers are harder to find. Survival might be, too. All around Mr. Sifford car dealerships are closing. Five have disappeared or gone up for sale within a ten-minute drive of his showroom here; nationwide, more than 1,000 shut down in 2008.
And in the midst of such churn, Mr. Sifford and his staff have become the American car industry in miniature: on any given day, both the upbeat predictions that kept Detroit from changing and the brand loyalty that gives dealers hope are on full display.
Mr. Sifford, who gives his age (seventy) only after people guess, admits that something has changed from when he started out full of “excitement and vinegar.” On his desk sits a scale model of his first car: a 1958 powder blue Chevy Impala convertible. Back then, Chevy was as cool as James Dean, he said, and its dealerships were as beloved as mom and apple pie. “We’re not that any longer,” he said. “And now to bring the American image back it’s going to be a lot of work.”
Already, the changes are dizzying. Mr. Sifford has laid off twenty people here out of staff of 120. Memos now reach his desk almost hourly from Detroit explaining not just new rebates, but also new demands from a new corporate power center: the White House.
Mr. Sifford said he appreciated Washington’s help so far. He predicted that the Obama administration’s decision to insure G.M. warranties in the case of bankruptcy would restore confidence to both buyers and dealers. Recently, he said, he even started to think the politicians had national security in mind. “In World War Two, the Big Three, the automobile industry, built the tanks, and vehicles to get us through,” he said. “If they don’t have the Big Three, or General Motors, the biggest of the Big Three, there is nobody that the United States could turn to in a new war.” Patriotism, here at least, is what G.M. has left in the tank. Mr. Sifford claims to be the first dealer in Miami to hang an American flag from a pole eighty feet high; red, white and blue color his company like a poster of Uncle Sam.
For some shoppers, it works. Three families that bought cars from Grand Prize on a recent weekday cited nationalism as a strong motivating factor. “We already lost Budweiser to Germany or Belgium,” said Jose Colón, 37, a corrections officer who arrived with several children and a newborn in tow. A strong G.M., Mr. Colón said, is “the way it’s supposed to be.”
Even Cindy Slade, who said she was shopping because the transmission on her 1995 Chevy just conked out, was back for another. “I’m a Chevy girl,” Ms. Slade said, “and I’m going to stay a Chevy girl.”
Mr. Sifford chuckles when he hears this sort of thing with a grin ready-made for a television commercial. He, too, has never bothered with imports; a single Ford dealership next door is as far as he has moved from his beloved Chevy. And although he sold one G.M. franchise last year, he said he planned to open another soon in Nanuet, New York. On the phone with General Motors to discuss final details, he tapped the desk with excitement. “We’ll have every G.M. franchise other than Hummer and Saab,” he said after hanging up. “We’ll be the superstore.”
His staff, too, like the title character in Graham Greene’s novel “The Quiet American,” managed to see only the upside. “I don’t think it’s really as bad as everyone thinks,” said Mark Levenson, a raspy-voiced salesman who used to sell Harley-Davidson motorcycles. It was the last day of March. Mr. Levenson shouted to another salesman, “Right now we’ve got what, 78 vehicles out?” “Almost 80,” the other salesman said. “And last month we did 50,” Mr. Levenson said, “so that’s a big improvement.”
March actually ended with 99 vehicles sold. It was success only in the narrowest sense: A few years ago Grand Prize Chevrolet sold 180 to 190 each month, Mr. Sifford said. Most were new; last month, the majority were used. Mr. Sifford, in his office overlooking the showroom, said that maybe everyone, winners still, needed to get used to smaller prizes. “Once you’ve had steak, how do you go back to hamburger?” he said. “It’s really difficult— and that’s what we have to do.”

Rico says he gave away the answer earlier; all they have to do is do it.