| The American dream turns to rust |
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We’re living through the death throes of the American ‘big three’ car makers, with an outcome still unclear. Governmental and public support for an immediate cash bailout should, on paper, be quite extraordinary, given the history of the U.S. and its aversion to socialist principles. Chrysler and General Motors (and to a lesser extent, Ford) are failing, yet rather than let the market take its course are being steered towards an artificial coma-like state. Even if they were competitive tomorrow, it would surely be years before they can pay back the billions, much less be profitable? Yet they will not allowed to fade away either. In some respects this is perfectly understandable. No president wants the collapse of an industry on his watch. And there are pressing economic reasons to keep the cars coming of course - an awful lot of American jobs are at stake. But could there be something else going on here? America didn’t invent the horseless carriage, but over the last century embraced and developed it like no other country has. Its arrival coincided with the nation itself: parts of North America were unfounded when Daimler patented his combustion engine in 1885. Take the city of Tulsa in Oklahoma, which had little over 200 citizens at the time, and only 1,100 by the turn of the century. It would later grow rich on local oil discoveries. In 1957 during America’s economic boom time, the Tulsan authorities decided to mark the half-century of their city by burying a time capsule in the square. What better way to represent themselves and their lives than a car? So a brand new Plymouth Belvedere - tailfins and all - was lowered into a vault where it lay buried for fifty years, almost forgotten, in front of the courthouse. Eighteen months ago, preparations were well underway to extricate the Plymouth – a marque that has ceased to be in the intervening years. As the earth was removed and sunlight bathed the tomb for the first time in half a century, tension was palpable. “It’s our King Tut’s tomb, it’s like a fairy tale,” remarked one onlooker. “I can’t wait to see her lifted out and that engine cranked over!” remarked another. Only there was a problem: the car was under water. The vault had leaked, probably within a year or two of being shut. And to make matters worse, Chrysler cars of the 1950s had subsequently shown a terrible propensity for rust. There was little left of the Belvedere, save rivers of brown water and a rotten interior. Today, the car that was buried during America’s optimistic heyday seems an all-too painful parable for its car industry. “There’s nothing that isn’t restorable,” said a crestfallen visitor. Perhaps the lesson should be that nothing lasts forever.
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