Why we love Maximum Bob: A column by Dutch Mandel

In announcing that he will leave General Motors at the end of this year, product czar Bob Lutz bows out gracefully and elegantly and does it in the style that forged his legend. It's also a move made none too soon and if not hastened by Beltway functionaries, then punctuated by it.

But make no mistake: Bob Lutz is not running from the fight engulfing Detroit and the rest of the automaking world. Lutz would as soon scrap with the Southern gentlemen from the great states of Tennessee and Alabama as invite them over for a robusto and a drink. He does not shy from the challenge to pull alternative power technology forward to today's fleets. He does not cower from meeting head-on the world's environmentalists, lawyers, bankers or Indian chiefs (as in Tata).

Bob Lutz is the car industry's No. 1 pugilist, and he will be sorely missed.

More important, Lutz has the arsenal to do his job singularly well. He is bright, talented, charming and forceful. He fills a room with his presence. Men want to be him, and women want to be with him.

Thanks for the memories, Bob. And thanks for the cars.

It takes willpower to make this column not sound like a man-crush diary entry. Lutz is, after all, that swarthy and statuesque, erudite, learned and worldly leader who exemplifies all that is good in the car business.

He is dashing. At something like 241 years old, he still pilots his own Czech fighter jet. He is known to buzz the General Motors design studio in his helo. He wears impeccable suits, smokes only the finest cigars (my brand as well, sigh) and drinks vodka on the rocks with a twist.

He can charm women born in any of the last eight decades. His car collection is unparalleled. He is a former Marine who carries the take-no-guff manner and sensibilities with him like the Code itself.

And the No. 1 reason for car guys to hoist Mr. Lutz onto a gold-plated litter and carry him around as the personification of the Car Guy: While negotiating the labyrinth of the car industry, he combines a salesman's attitude with an engineer's mind for details, a philosopher's insight with an accountant's eye for minutia. He can look at the sweep of a coming model and articulate why its swage line is a centimeter too low and the tumblehome needs to be adjusted just right. Of course, he will be correct.

Bob sees the world in black and white. He champions cars as causes. He single-handedly directed GM into building some of its all-time-best cars. He eliminated bureaucracies. The car and truck interiors on today's GM products are world-class, and you can thank him.

Of course, history will accuse him of not acting fast enough to keep GM at the top of the product food chain, and that's an unfair criticism. He is just one man.

Maybe I like Bob because he speaks his mind. On more than one occasion, I have received a letter from him taking the magazine to task for something we've written; more often than not, I understand his point of view. On more than one occasion, too, I've gotten handwritten notes praising our efforts. He's a good leader because he's willing to share both the good and the bad.

Because of AutoWeek's history of writing what is on our minds, because of its breadth of information and the speed with which information is delivered, because AW covers new cars alongside vintage cars and because our classified section is so full of automotive nuggets, Lutz paid us high praise: "It's the no-bullshit car magazine."

We couldn't have said it better. And it is why he was quick with his notes of praise as well as the darts.

At a dinner in advance of the Paris auto show one year, I asked Bob whether he sought other pursuits, such as golf. "Dutch," he said without pause, "why on earth would I want to spend five hours chasing a white ball around when I could spend that time driving one of my cars?"

Why, indeed. And that's why we love Bob.

By Dutch Mandel