."Skutler" Motorsports,
peddling speed, style, and lateral Gs
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Pit stop - a brief rest or break during a race or journey.
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It was while on extended hiatus in Southern California I realized that, just because one has a particular skill, in my case digging graves, running from animals, and peddling air, it doesn’t necessarily mean one has to make a living using it. Circumstances permitting, it's OK to search for one's calling. Sometimes you have to try a few different things before you figure everything out. ...That’s how it all started; another episode.
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Continued...
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It was also a result of being in Los Angeles, historic hot bed of all things loud and fast, that I decided to enter the aftermarket automotive performance business. I’d been inspired one afternoon while thumbing through one of my car magazines.
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It was a gamble because I'd passed up a rare opportunity in automotive publishing to do it. As far as goals, I figured I couldn't go wrong doing something I already had a passion for. Long ago, my mother informed me that my very first spoken word as a child was "car" so I figured I'd try the aftermarket automotive performance business.
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Moving forward, there'd be no more stuffy suits for me. I wanted to be directly involved with the fire breathing, five miles per gallon getting, hot rods and the folks who couldn't live without them. So, I made some calls; then, six months after leaving Atlanta, I went back.
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After driving eastward for two days the Atlanta skyline appeared in the distance. The very next day I headed straight to "Skutler" Motorsports, a local performance tire company looking to grow, and promote, its new aftermarket automotive performance division. I sat down with one of the owners and promised him the moon and, judging from his empty showroom, he would have settled for some customers.
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Oxtail, Georgia
Fifteen minutes from everywhere
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The City of Oxtail
Founded in 1855 by five dyslexic gold miners who couldn't read a map.
They'd set out from Saint Joseph, Missouri for San Francisco but, somehow, wound up in North Georgia; never left.
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Our meeting was held at Skutler Motorsport's "Oxtail" location. The City of Oxtail is the modern rendition of an old, Southern, town with bail bondsmen, strip malls, and churches lining it's leafy thoroughfares; the main drag through town features at least one of every fast food chain known to mankind. .
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| Disco cement mixer An odd dichotomy of big truck meets chrome was happening in the Oxtail showroom |
At the conclusion of the meeting, as I exited the building, I noticed a late model Mercedes parked conspicuously in front of the showroom; it was highly customized and had a Skutler Motorsports decal running across the top of the windshield.
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The Mercedes was a stunning example of tasteful customization; it was apparent, the owner put lots of thought into it and had spared no expense. I noted the Mercedes athletic stance could have only been achieved by extensive suspension modifications and the twenty inch P Zeros on which it sat had an average life expectancy of six months under the best conditions and the cost of each tire exceeded that of the average local mortgage payment. The aftermarket European wheels had been matched to the metallic silver paint scheme and the Mercedes emblems shaved for a streamlining effect. The eye-catching sedan sparkled brightly in the midday sun.
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I noted the dreary Skutler showroom lacked the very attention to detail that had been bestowed on the Mercedes. I later discovered the Mercedes belonged to the owner of the shop.
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The Mercedes was a stunning example of tasteful customization; it was apparent, the owner put lots of thought into it and had spared no expense. I noted the Mercedes athletic stance could have only been achieved by extensive suspension modifications and the twenty inch P Zeros on which it sat had an average life expectancy of six months under the best conditions and the cost of each tire exceeded that of the average local mortgage payment. The aftermarket European wheels had been matched to the metallic silver paint scheme and the Mercedes emblems shaved for a streamlining effect. The eye-catching sedan sparkled brightly in the midday sun.
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I noted the dreary Skutler showroom lacked the very attention to detail that had been bestowed on the Mercedes. I later discovered the Mercedes belonged to the owner of the shop.
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City of Oxtail
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The pride of North Georgia
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Motto: "We pull together"
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| . Williamson Brother's Barbecue - Marietta, Georgia |
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I arrived one hour early my first day at work; Mark W., the young "Yankee General," pulls into the parking lot shortly afterwards. Since arriving, I'd been sitting in my car reading Think and grow rich for the umpteenth
time. For me, arriving at work at the crack of dawn is par; nobody ever beats
me to the office. Alas, my legendary reliability has a downside; due to the routine aspects of
being such an early riser I'm prone to overlook the occasional schedule variation. On more than one occasion, I've found myself sitting alone in a company parking lot wondering
where everybody else was only to discover it was a national holiday.
The first day I observed as my veteran co-workers went about their daily routines. Bob B. and Ron M., the senior most gentlemen, tread a well-worn path; they have a grace about them as they pivot from one petty task to another. Mark, the capricious Yankee General strutting about with a cigarette dangling from his lips, is a transfer; he's been transferred in in an effort to change the downward trajectory of the business.
With the air compressors up and running the shop staff gather around the coffee machine in the break area for a smoke. With coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other the staff banter happily; one or two of them appear to be hung-over. Then, out of nowhere, the Yankee General appears; then he fires off a verbal barb and everyone chugs their coffee and heads to their respective stations. .
It's a slow morning and the overall demeanor of the shop is one of waiting. A customer enters the lobby and is gone within a minute. Skutler's spacious lobby is more a museum than a showroom because most of what's inside it is either old or discontinued. Since I'm making a fuss about how everything needs rearranging the task falls to me; that's what I'm good at, I organize things. Actually, sorting and organizing everything isn't so bad because everything I find tells a story. For starters, I pull a dusty KFC box from behind some catalogs. Inside the box are petrified chicken bones; which, tells me, long ago, the shop, suddenly, got busy and somebody forgot to finish their lunch.
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Mark was a straight shooter if there ever was one and could smell a coin in your shoe if you had one; he seemed made for his role. Somehow, he reminded me of General George Custer. We all know what happened to Custer at Little Bighorn.
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Learning a new industry was a humbling experience. I recall spending an entire afternoon in a closet sorting lug nuts. I'd gone from pitching quarter million dollar radio advertising campaigns to sorting lug nuts.
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.My own project
Supercharged, custom ignition, racing exhaust, and a modified suspension, all done myself.
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.Many long hours
went into locating and customizing the rare 4-AGZE engine. At that time, there were only a dozen or so cars of this type in the world that had done the conversion from naturally aspirated to supercharged.
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A pit stop during a club event in North Georgia
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.Changing the clutch on my other hot rod
Just as I remembered as a kid, legs protruding from under a car.
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The double agent...
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I remember one particular morning when there were no customers in the fully staffed shop; as the Yankee General would say, our business was "hemorrhaging money.” Whenever the phone rang five guys raced to field the call. I’d seen enough; I decided to go out and, as good ol Mr J (Hampton Institute’s Admissions officer) declared, "go get the money". To me, it made more sense to be out somewhere talking to people who needed our products than to wait around in an empty showroom.
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I started by driving down the road to the local car dealerships. Once there, I strolled their car lots and showrooms, intermittently, pressing the flesh and taking notes; I recorded every little tidbit of information about what I saw. I also talked to the dealership's sales staff and put together dossiers on their bosses and their business practices.
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I started by driving down the road to the local car dealerships. Once there, I strolled their car lots and showrooms, intermittently, pressing the flesh and taking notes; I recorded every little tidbit of information about what I saw. I also talked to the dealership's sales staff and put together dossiers on their bosses and their business practices.
My goal was to try to find ways to assist the car dealers with their mission of wedging their customers into overpriced cars. Upon identifying a particular need I felt I could assist them with, I'd point it out to them and put a price tag on it. Subsequently, I’d present my "numbers" to the Sales Weasel who'd start chewing on them; if the Weasel swallowed we'd have a deal. Afterwards, he'd give his John Hancock on the cars he wanted me to take care of. I always had extra drivers (idle Skutler staff) on standby ready to whisk the selected cars away to our shop at a moment's notice; once the cars had been whisked Skutler's till would start to fill.
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Aside from selling high performance tires our specialty was the customization and performance oriented modification of high end sports cars; the wholesale aspect of this was my own pet project. I'd set up displays and advise the dealers about how they could improve their sales by partnering with us and utilizing our services; to promote this aspect of our business the Skutler staff would drive the latest in modified eye candy. We'd pull up to the dealerships in customized sports cars and exotics which would, expectantly, cause jaws to drop and wallets to open; that’s how we fed the monster that was Skutler Motorsports.
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Over time, I discovered the car dealerships I was dealing with had internal conflicts. I remember one situation where a Used Car Sales Weasel disdained going to his own accounting department for approval of expenditures. In turn, the nice ladies in the dealership's accounting department expressed a distaste for the Sales Weasel's liberal use of cologne. Sensing opportunity, I stepped in and obliged.
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Organizational inefficiencies are often difficult to recognize from the inside. Sometimes, a peek behind the curtain with fresh eyes is all it takes; navigating these waters is part of the sales game. The key is to make everything turnkey for everyone in spite of themselves, even if it means wading into waters with sharks.
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Over the long haul, I discovered the internal strife at the car dealerships often led to additional, unforeseen, business. Consequently, I made sure to handle all paper work on behalf of all parties myself. Ultimately, all I ever needed from a car dealership was a wish and a signature.
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Aside from selling high performance tires our specialty was the customization and performance oriented modification of high end sports cars; the wholesale aspect of this was my own pet project. I'd set up displays and advise the dealers about how they could improve their sales by partnering with us and utilizing our services; to promote this aspect of our business the Skutler staff would drive the latest in modified eye candy. We'd pull up to the dealerships in customized sports cars and exotics which would, expectantly, cause jaws to drop and wallets to open; that’s how we fed the monster that was Skutler Motorsports.
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| The empty showroom "hemorrhaging money" |
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| Me working the CEC booth . . . |
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The folks at R-Speed were good customers |
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.Over time, I discovered the car dealerships I was dealing with had internal conflicts. I remember one situation where a Used Car Sales Weasel disdained going to his own accounting department for approval of expenditures. In turn, the nice ladies in the dealership's accounting department expressed a distaste for the Sales Weasel's liberal use of cologne. Sensing opportunity, I stepped in and obliged.
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Organizational inefficiencies are often difficult to recognize from the inside. Sometimes, a peek behind the curtain with fresh eyes is all it takes; navigating these waters is part of the sales game. The key is to make everything turnkey for everyone in spite of themselves, even if it means wading into waters with sharks.
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Over the long haul, I discovered the internal strife at the car dealerships often led to additional, unforeseen, business. Consequently, I made sure to handle all paper work on behalf of all parties myself. Ultimately, all I ever needed from a car dealership was a wish and a signature.
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Sharks & horse traders...
In the world of business to business sales nothing compares to negotiating directly with a Sales Weasel (Car Sales Manager). I can testify that the myths of snake oil salesmanship and third world business practices they abide by are mostly true. You'd better hide your watch before shaking hands with these folks. Having dealt with multiple regimes of Sales Weasels over the years I've come to realize that if a Sales Weasel's lips are moving they're probably lying.
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There isn't much to distinguish a New Car Sales Weasel from a Used Car Sales Weasel other than the tools they have at their disposal; both earn their living by "shoe horning" people into cars in an effort to maximize profit. My dilemma was, after having dealt with the general public so much, Sales Weasels tend to look at transactions as games without rules and their goal is to "win" each and every time. Like Great White Sharks, Sales Weasels have purity in purpose.
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In the world of a Sales Weasel "trivial" informalities such as signatures, contracts, paid labor, and costs incurred are often dismissed as figments of the imagination. I've experienced the Sales Weasel's mysterious math, blackmail, and back tracking first hand, and each of the aforementioned tactics was deployed in a natural and smiling manor which suggests that all Sales Weasels are predisposed to this high form of art. There is no amount of formalized training that can adequately prepare one for this experience.
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Long before automobiles were invented they traded horses and, of course, back in those days, the horse trading game was probably the same. Perhaps, the saying back then was "if a horse trader's mustache is moving he's, probably, lying."
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There isn't much to distinguish a New Car Sales Weasel from a Used Car Sales Weasel other than the tools they have at their disposal; both earn their living by "shoe horning" people into cars in an effort to maximize profit. My dilemma was, after having dealt with the general public so much, Sales Weasels tend to look at transactions as games without rules and their goal is to "win" each and every time. Like Great White Sharks, Sales Weasels have purity in purpose.
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In the world of a Sales Weasel "trivial" informalities such as signatures, contracts, paid labor, and costs incurred are often dismissed as figments of the imagination. I've experienced the Sales Weasel's mysterious math, blackmail, and back tracking first hand, and each of the aforementioned tactics was deployed in a natural and smiling manor which suggests that all Sales Weasels are predisposed to this high form of art. There is no amount of formalized training that can adequately prepare one for this experience.
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Long before automobiles were invented they traded horses and, of course, back in those days, the horse trading game was probably the same. Perhaps, the saying back then was "if a horse trader's mustache is moving he's, probably, lying."
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Making rain...
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The elevated pace of business at Skutler's Oxtail location hummed along for a little over a year or so and had become the new norm. It got to where our car dealership business required more inventory than we typically kept on hand; which, is a good situation to be in if you sell for a living. To top it off, the dealership business added new revenue to Skutler's existing service business; it wasn't unusual for our shop to have an empty retail lobby (with no customers), and yet, have all twelve service bays, with accompanying service staff, busy with paid car dealership work throughout the day.
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Things were going so well at the "Oxtail" shop that one of the younger guys on the Skutler staff purchased a new Corvette convertible. Naturally, upon learning of this development, good ol Kickstand quipped: "I hope his Corvette came equipped with a shower and a galley because he's gonna need to live in it."
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Things were going so well at the "Oxtail" shop that one of the younger guys on the Skutler staff purchased a new Corvette convertible. Naturally, upon learning of this development, good ol Kickstand quipped: "I hope his Corvette came equipped with a shower and a galley because he's gonna need to live in it."
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The rain stopper...
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Eventually, the lines between loyalty, professionalism, and wanton greed became blurred. Preexisting agreements be damned,
the folks holding the purse strings (the owners) simply wanted more. Something had to give; one
can't promote the Utopian concept of a little something (profit) for everyone alone. Ultimately, the
gold standard of equitable profit for all was bulldozed aside. In a business situation with competing interests this is typically where the proverbial wheels fall off the wagon. And the moral of this story? Excessive greed will undo most any business endeavor.
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Oxtail characters...
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At the Oxtail shop the characters were numerous. Mark W., the "30ish" Yankee General (from upstate New York), was usually the second to arrive at the shop in the mornings. He'd begin his day as if astride a horse in front of troops; he'd slowly ride his invisible steed around the shop barking orders; though, mostly a pleasant chap, on occasion he'd exhibit symptoms of the Napoleon complex. Once, I stuffed him into a garbage can to bring him down a few notches.
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A proven solution
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Nothing brings a fellow down to earth faster than putting him head first into a large garbage container
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Nothing brings a fellow down to earth faster than putting him head first into a large garbage container
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| . For added effect the "insertion" should be done in front of the violator's peers |
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Mark was a straight shooter if there ever was one and could smell a coin in your shoe if you had one; he seemed made for his role. Somehow, he reminded me of General George Custer. We all know what happened to Custer at Little Bighorn.
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| General George Custer . |
The troops were loyal to this man, the "60ish" Bob B., who somehow reminded me of Civil War General Robert E. Lee. Bob’s roots run deep in nearby Hiram County (GA). Bob was the consummate Southern gentleman and added the much needed voice of reason to our staff. He was the Kentucky bourbon to the rest of the staff’s Budweiser & Jack Daniels. Bob made his rounds in a beat up old pick-up truck; somehow, I think he would have preferred a horse.
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General Robert E. Lee
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Ron M., aka “Kickstand,” was the unofficial Chairman of the shop and another man of distinction. A late "50ish" veteran of the trucking industry, Kickstand was an encyclopedic source of all things Southern and automotive. He was known for his humorous way with words and knack for getting straight to the bottom line at crucial moments. Kickstand is a name he'd acquired as a result of his "less than busy" posture of lounging against the counter.
Kickstand was also known for mysteriously vanishing whenever things got busy in the building. It's rumored he had a hidden subterranean lounge where he’d hole up to partake in a smoke and avoid customers. We often talked football, hot rods, and local eateries. He made no bones about his automotive heritage; his chariot of choice was the classic Monte Carlo SS.
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| Monte Carlo SS |
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| (Behind the counter) Bob B., myself, Ron "Kickstand" M. (1998) Fun times. I miss those guys. |
Matt A., the "piece of work" New York native, would arrive at the shop each morning with his own theme music pounding through the tinted windows of his perpetually shiny car. A bit young and on the narcissistic side, Matt often entered the lobby to give the ladies a little extra attention. He was good at his job if you could find him.
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Lane G. was the master wrench turner at the Oxtail shop. A guru of all things high performance, he worked alone on the more complicated projects. Every morning he'd rumble into the parking area in his heavily modified pick-up truck. Lane didn't talk much because he was always busy turning wrenches. At the end of each workday he'd leave in true Southern hero fashion; with a smokey, full throttle, burnout down Oxtail Road.
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A live performance...
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On Saturday morning's, Skutler's spacious lobby serves as a pulpit for conversationalists and gear heads alike. Though busy, Saturdays are by far the most entertaining day of the week. Local car enthusiasts and regulars always arrive early and engage each other in pleasantries over coffee; typically fastidious, rarely is there ever an automotive emergency with them.
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There's nothing like the velvet touch with which Bob B. takes care of a regular customer; his demeanor is that of a favorite bartender. As always, the young "Yankee General" is walking around obsessing over the bottom line; he glides back and forth between the service area and the lobby like a large catfish searching for stray bits of revenue and, of course, if it's busy, good ol "Kickstand" is nowhere to be seen.
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There's nothing like the velvet touch with which Bob B. takes care of a regular customer; his demeanor is that of a favorite bartender. As always, the young "Yankee General" is walking around obsessing over the bottom line; he glides back and forth between the service area and the lobby like a large catfish searching for stray bits of revenue and, of course, if it's busy, good ol "Kickstand" is nowhere to be seen.
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In the automotive "bling" business it's not uncommon for a customer to bring in a $100,000 car, fresh out of the showroom, and personalize it to the tune of $20,000. People, young men in particular, make hasty impassioned decisions when it comes to augmenting their transportation. A college student wants to know if we can gut the catalytic converter on his custom turbo Honda Civic for him. A business executive wants to know what effect a TechArt exhaust system would have on his Porsche 911 turbo's acceleration; two identical dilemmas approached from opposite ends of the socioeconomic spectrum.
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| .We saw a little bit of everything on Saturdays |
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| There were certain customers who insisted on paying in cash in the back room |
Local history...
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| Kennesaw Mountain - Marietta, GA |
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| Union Major General William Tecumseh Sherman Led Union forces in crushing campaigns through the South, marching through Georgia and the Carolinas (1864–65) |
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| Artillery on Confederate held Cheatham Hill |
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| The view from Cheatham Hill - Marietta, GA |
...Life in the pits.