A Spunky Tycoon Turned Superstar

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"He's real," says Attorney Joseph Califano, formerly a member of the Carter Administration Cabinet and now of Chrysler's board. "And he cares--I think that comes through. He takes on fights he doesn't have to. He's like the hero of Raiders of the Lost Ark: he's been down, on the edge, picked himself up, came to the top again." And, like Raiders, Iacocca's nip-and-tuck struggle to save Chrysler was something of a pop spectacle: the stakes were so high, and the auto company's decline and fall so conspicuous, that from 1979 to 1982 the cliff-hanger drama of corporate survival unfolded in the press almost like a weekly serial. First the huge losses and painful layoffs, then full-court- press lobbying to win the federal loan guarantees that permitted the company to hang on. Still more layoffs, shutting plants, more billions of dollars lost.

Throughout the crisis, this big, not quite familiar guy named Iacocca was attracting bursts of public notice, standing his ground before congressional committees and giving snappy, sometimes scathing, answers at press conferences. He seemed sincere. More important, he seemed absolutely resolute and tough. During the dithery decline of the Carter Administration, Iacocca's own steadfastness and true grit were especially appealing to Americans. Malaise? Did somebody say malaise? "He tapped into America's frustrations," says Ron DeLuca, the Kenyon & Eckhardt advertising agency executive in charge of Chrysler's ads. "He said, 'It doesn't have to be this way. You can create your own destiny.' " Says Leo Arthur Kelmenson, president of Kenyon & Eckhardt: "The country was starved for leadership and charisma. Lee talked directly to the American people."

He did indeed. Chrysler launched an expansive media campaign. From the beginning, Iacocca was the pitchman. Soon, however, he and his eye-to-eye pugnacity became the message as well, and the chairman became a celebrity. "We wanted his personality to cut through," says DeLuca. "In the copy, we tried to reflect the cadence of his thought." The first wave of TV commercials was broadcast in the winter of 1980. Iacocca came across as up- front, reasonable. "I don't want you to buy a car on faith," he told viewers, "I want you to compare." Then came the quintessential Iacocca tag line, the slightly belligerent ad that turned the promise of automotive quality into a dare. "If you can find a better car," he barked, "buy it."

The ads conveyed a credible, hard-headed corporate self-confidence. . Eventually they sold K-cars. But the subtext--extolling the virtues of workmanship, assertiveness and pride--sold Iacocca to the public too. Explains Kelmenson: "Iacocca isn't hustling cars. He's selling trust."