Jason Vines - What Did Jesus Drive: Crisis PR in Cars, Computers and Christianity

What Did Jesus Drive?

Crisis PR in Cars, Computers and Christianity

Jason H. Vines

Published by Waldorf Publishing

2140 Hall Johnson Road

#102-345

Grapevine, Texas 76051

www.WaldorfPublishing.com

What Did Jesus Drive: Crisis PR in Cars, Computers and Christianity

ISBN: 9781942748113

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014948136

Copyright 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please refer all pertinent questions to the publisher. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine or newspaper without permission in writing from the publisher.

Printed in the United States of America

Introduction

Relax, this is not a book about Jesus. However, He does appear in two chapters: first as a Hispanic grandfather from Waterford, Michigan, and later as the real Prince of Peace. No, this is a book primarily about my life in the public relations blast furnace in the automotive industry, along with a quickly-derailed attempt to help a friend rebuild Detroits tattered image and, finally, trying to avoid another crisis with the number-one selling book of all time. No, not Harry Potter; the Bible.

I share lessons learned and mistakes made on some of the biggest PR stages in the world. If I can impart anything in this book, it would be the numerous guiding principles I believe useful for any organization or individual to avoid, mitigate or survive the inevitable crisis. If you think you are immune, youve already failed an overarching guiding principle.

I start this book with a simple question: why is it so difficult to tell the truth? Sadly, spoiler alert, I end it with the same question.

But first, let me share with you how I got into this crazy business. As a child I should have known that someday I would make a career out of public relations and be front and center in the biggest crises ever to hit two industries automobiles and Christian publishing and one major American city: Detroit.

I grew up in the metropolis of Pella, Iowa: home of the famous windows and surrounded by farms. It was founded in the mid-1800s by very religious Dutch folks escaping persecution in their native land. Almost everybody was Dutch; enough Vans and Vanders and DeKocks to plug a dike. We were Irish mutts with roots in Arkansas; my dad born in Oil Trough (no shit) and my mom from a small town just a few miles from a little town called Hope. Yep, Bubba Clintons home.

To celebrate its roots, Pellas 6,000 residents held a three-day event every May called Tulip Time. There were parades, a Tulip queen (my first love at age five, was a Tulip queen), Dutch dancing, Dutch food and millions of tulips all imported from the Netherlands. The friendly people of Pella had forgiven their ancestors persecutors for past transgressions and demanded only the best bulbs from the motherland. Besides, The Netherlands had moved on from killing certain Christians and had embraced prostitution and heroin as modern and legal businesses.

In the parades were marching bands from public junior and senior high schools where I attended. The private Christian school was also represented. We referred to the Pella Christian kids as the offies. It was Dutch for the others. To be honest, it was akin to calling an Italian a dago or black kid by the N-word; not racial in this case, but offensive nonetheless. Along with bands were the classes of every grade marching through the downtown in hideous Dutch costumes and the worlds second worst product idea: wooden shoes that I am certain caused crippling diseases later in life. (The worst product idea? Ron Popiels Pocket Fisherman.)

In 1968, eight-year-old Jason Vines was given a rare opportunity: I could skip the march in those hideous shoes, replace them with sneakers, and help my classmates grandpa in parade maintenance. I jumped at the opportunity and made sure it was OK with my folks who seemed genuinely thrilled.

Day one of the festival I was joined by my friend Arlen DeHere and his grandpa. His name was Slick Boffman. That should have given away what was to come, but hell, I was only eight. Slick, who I am sure hadnt been laid since the 1920s, actually smelled like he hadnt bathed since that roaring time. He was colorful but I think it was four decades of grime. Ol Slick handed a shovel to each of us and proceeded to grab his wheel barrel, urging us to fall in line. Stationed immediately behind several details of mounted police and other parade riders we traversed the entire parade route, cleaning up after the elephants, er, horses in the parade. As I passed my parents, I saw my mom in utter horror and my dad laughing his ass off. He took as many shots as humanly possible with his Argus C3 camera.

From that moment forward I was destined to clean up other peoples shit for a living. The good news; it ended paying a lot better than the $20 ol Slick gave each of us for three days work staring at a horses ass. Thankfully, only a few of the crises I would clean up later in life were indeed looking at the ass end of a horse.

Chapter One: A Thermal Event

I entered the public relations profession by accident. Sure, I had an undergraduate degree in communications, another in economics, and a masters degree in Labor and Industrial Relations. My plan was to work for a few years and then go to law school. When Chryslers HR department was put in charge of Employee Communications, they asked me to work there for several weeks until the required plant assignment came along. The assignment they offered was in Personnel at a local Detroit facility. Immediately, an image of Clint Eastwood came to mind. In one of his Dirty Harry movies, Clint gets busted for some infraction and is demoted to Personnel. His response: Personnel? Thats for assholes!

No thanks, Ill stay where I am.

I somehow caught the eye of Joe Cappy, the last CEO of American Motors before Lee Iacocca scooped it up in order to get his hands on the Jeep brand. Cappy was put in charge of the new Jeep-Eagle division. The Jeeps would soon turn into a gold mine; the Eagle division was an unmitigated disaster. I was soon writing speeches for Cappy and he wanted me to join his marketing organization. On the Friday before I was to start, Joe called and asked a favor: would I go into PR instead? The Eagle PR chief had just been shit-canned and he needed that spot filled. Marketing? PR? Whats the difference?

I would soon learn.

Within a couple years I was out of Eagle and promoted to PR for the safety, regulatory and high tech issues Chrysler faced. My first week, one of Chryslers lawyers came to my office and said we were going to issue a recall on our Dodge Dakota pickup for a wiring harness issue.

I havent done a press release for a recall yet, I admitted.

Not to worry, we normally write the first draft, he arrogantly expressed - as only an attorney can - while handing over a copy.

The press release stated that a failure to fix the vehicle could lead to a thermal event.

I was young, but not stupid.

I asked him, What the hell is a thermal event?