Why the Edsel?

Written by Peter C. Aldrich

The Edsel is in our office because we're crazy enough to put it there. But there’s more to the story, and here it is:

My very good friend Dick Cavanagh (President of the Conference Board) had for years been bragging about his Edsel, and attempting to entice Tom Eastman and me into some form of Edsel collecting mania.  (When Dick came up to live in Cambridge to be the Executive Dean of the J.F. Kennedy School of Government at “The Harvard,” he did finally get us to fund the restoration of his brown and salmon pink Edsel Ranger in exchange for two-thirds ownership. It was, and still is, so ugly as to be a splendid specimen of the highest form of “camp pop art.” Why he didn't force us to take 100% is beyond me, but the madness of the hobbiest knows no bounds.)

One day (years before that syndication), I was up at Freeman Cycles in Beverly, MA. There, way up upon the workshop wall, I espied the chromey front end of an Edsel. When I expressed great admiration for the car’s distinctive grill and the artfully and carefully sliced display, the proprietor, Skip Bick, bragged that the headlights worked and then asked me if I’d like to buy it.

Before impetuously agreeing (as is my nature), I at least had the wit to inquire of the price ($2,500), but not the discipline to negotiate. From my vantage point, and from Dicky Cavanagh's experience, I knew that this was the money end of the car, and that all the metal and material that came after it was not worth anything; indeed it all was worse than worthless, for it was a liability. A complete car would either “sort of run” (at great and constant expense), or demand at great expense to be put into shape to run (in a very unsatisfactory way at great and constant expense). An Edsel that was guaranteed never to run or to demand to be restored to run, but rather would just stand there in all its 1950’s rock-and-roll beauty, was indeed a splendid work of art to be admired and desired.

So I bought it. But then I told Widgie [my wife] about it, and being the boss, she told me what to do with it. Well, like most of my other toys that did not comport with Widgie's decorating ideas or my anatomy, it found its way to my playroom, which was also known as my office. (I never was able to tell the difference between work and play. In fact, I still miss my Fenway Park carpet, as I'm certain do a number of good marble-shooting clients, including Jack Meyer of “The Harvard,” who was the champion.)  But with the BMW motorcycle still in the office, the Edsel would not fit.

So I put it in the lobby to serve several purposes. Firstly, I thought it was a great way to announce to visitors that they would be wise not to stereotype the AEW organization or the people within it.  Not everything would be obvious in the place they had just entered. Secondly, I had always believed that the Edsel, one of America’s greatest business failures by a heretofore winning organization, was a wonderful reminder of the dangers of organizational hubris. (Remove yourself from your clients, who just don't understand because they’re not as smart as you or they don’t know as well as you what they need or what’s good for them, and you are certain to fail spectacularly.) And finally, I thought it was handsome and fun, and we all need more fun in our lives. And I think it did all of that.

So there you have the story of the Edsel.