When the heads of the Detroit Three auto companies returned to Washington this week to testify before Congress about their restructuring plans, they didn't travel in their corporate jets. Not after the story broke on Nov. 19 that they had flown their "luxurious" aircraft to Washington to beg for $25 billion in loans to keep their companies afloat. Official Washington was outraged at the extravagance. Columnists and comics were ever so grateful for the gift. "I mean, couldn't you all have downgraded to first class or jet-pooled or something to get here?''
This from a legislative body that has raised money-wasting to an art form. It wasn't too long ago that members of Congress often mistook corporate aircraft for the Congressional Airline. "Hitching" a ride on corporate jets was such a regular event, and so abused a privilege, that eventually the solons had to stop themselves. There was nothing to stop Senator John McCain from using his wife's jet to make dozens of campaign stops this year, contravening but not breaking election laws because he, or at least Mrs. McC, "owned" the aircraft through a family company.
It was pointed out that the three could have flown commercial that morning for something like $212 each. But let's do the math. Three CEOs being paid millions a year each are going to Washington on a business trip to try to save $300 billion worth of sales and 3 million jobs — and they are supposed to risk all of that on Northwest or US Air, a.k.a. Northworst and Useless Air, formerly Allegheny a.k.a. Agony Air? I see the connection: you fly to D.C. on a previously bankrupt airline as you contemplate the bankruptcy of your own company. The experience should be enough to scare you into devising a scheme to save your own company from such a fate. But wouldn't this be a case of America's worst-run manufacturing companies relying on America's worst-run service companies? There'd be a 50% to 75% chance of the CEOs showing up on time. What are you supposed to do, call Congress and tell them you're on a gate hold?
But the issue here is that most of the Fortune 500 boards require the boss to fly in the corporate jet. And why not? What's the point of achieving the big corner office, knifing all those people on your way to the top, if you don't have the ultimate travel ticket? You might as well stop at divisional vice president. That should be no less true for the Detroit Three. Ford boss Alan Mullaly left an aircraft company, Boeing, to take the top job at the auto company — the man is used to big jets.
What really ticks us off is not that the Detroit Three flew private on a begging mission. It's that we have to fly commercial, and they don't. Anyone who has spent time seething at an airport hub, squished into a middle seat of a 737, or paid $2 for a bottle of water and some attitude has nothing but venom for those who can avoid it. The corporate fleet has mushroomed over the years as commercial service has deteriorated. Going from Grand Rapids, Mich. to Jackson, Miss.? That will only involve an entire day shoehorned into "regional" jets apparently made in a region where all the people are 4 ft. 6. It was the reduced service to secondary markets that prompted some corporations to take action. Toilet-paper and Kleenex maker Kimberly-Clark, for instance, created an airline, Midwest Express, in 1984 partly to compensate for the lack of service in Neenah, Wis. (its headquarters at the time) and to optimize the use of its owned or chartered planes. Midwest Express quickly became known for top-rated service, unsurprising coming from a company that knew a little bit about taking care of customers' tushes.
The best thing about flying corporate isn't the comfy seats or the jumbo shrimp, or even the ego massage. The best thing about a corporate jet is that it's not a commercial-airline jet. The best thing is avoiding long airport-security lines and having to simultaneously untie your shoes, take off your coat, get a laptop out of a carefully packed bag and walk at the same time; it's avoiding the crummy, overpriced airport food, the packed planes, the overstuffed overhead bins and the frazzled, overworked crews. And being No. 175 for takeoff. When you fly corporate, you are driven up to the plane, you get in, and when everyone is ready, they tell the pilot to go. And then you do. That is real, unadulterated luxury.
As for the Detroit Three, they didn'y have a choice this week. The weenies at Ford announced they were selling two jets (meaning, of course, that lower-ranking execs will be flying Northwest to the plant in Valencia) and driving a Ford Escape hybrid to Washington. GM has caved completely and shut down its air force, throwing 50 people out of work. (Thanks, Congressman Ackerman!) Maybe the President should send his helicopter for the GM honchos. He doesn't really have use for it now. And when some truly desperate Americans need a dramatic rescue, sending in Marine One isn't a bad idea at all.
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