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GM’s move to Woodward is the right one — for the company and for Detroit

Back in 2018, Chevy invited me to attend the Detroit Auto Show on the company dime to get an early preview of the then-newly redesigned Silverado. The trip involved a stay at the Renaissance Center — just a quick People Mover ride from the show. IÂ’d been visiting Detroit in January for nearly a decade, and not once had I set foot inside General MotorsÂ’ glass-sided headquarters. I was intrigued, to say the least. Thinking back on my time in the buildings that GM will leave behind when it departs for the new Hudson's site on Woodward Avenue, two things struck me. For one, its hotel rooms are cold in January. Sure, itÂ’s glass towers designed in the 1960s and '70s; I calibrated my expectations accordingly. But when I could only barely see out of the place for all the ice forming on the inside of the glass, it drove home just how flawed this iconic structure is.  My second and more pertinent observation was that the RenCen doesnÂ’t really feel like itÂ’s in a city at all, much less one as populous as Detroit. The complex is effectively severed from its surroundings by swirling ribbons of both river and asphalt. To the west sits the Windsor tunnel entrance; to the east, parking lots for nearly as far as the eye can see. To its north is the massive Jefferson Avenue and to its south, the Detroit River. You get the sense that if Henry Ford II and his team of investors had gotten their way, the whole thing would have been built offshore with the swirling channel doubling as a moat. This isnÂ’t a building the draws the city in; itÂ’s one designed to keep it out. Frost on the inside of the RenCen hotel glass. Contrasted with the new Hudson's project GM intends to move into, a mixed-use anchor with residential, office, retail and entertainment offerings smack-dab in Detroit's most vibrant district, the RenCen is a symbol of an era when each office in DetroitÂ’s downtown was an island in a rising sea of dilapidation. Back then, those who fortified against the rapid erosion of DetroitÂ’s urban bedrock stood the best chance of surviving. This was the era that brought us ugly skyways and eventually the People Mover — anything to help suburban commuters keep their metaphorical feet dry. The RenCen offered — and still offers — virtually any necessity and plenty of nice-to-haves, all accessible without ever venturing outside, especially in the winter, but those enticements are geared to those who trek in from suburbia to toil in its hallways.

If Cadillac’s smart, the CT5 will be a CTS without baggage

Cadillac is, mercifully, about to rationalize its lineup, something that's been a long time coming. The CTS is one of those cars that gets admiration from reviewers, like us, for a concerted effort from GM to engineer an underlying platform that matches the Germans in terms of raw dynamics. From buyers, it gets not even a shrug as they, oblivious to its existence, walk right into BMW and Mercedes dealerships. The reasons for this have a lot to do with the sheer brand recognition, and the image, of the German competitors. You can't really lay that all at GM's feet, but what you can do is critique the uninspired drivetrain selection. The 3.6-liter V6 is a crude implement, making its 335 horsepower roughly. The BMW's equivalent inline six makes its power smoothly, with modern forced induction. There's no directly comparable E-Class sedan until you get into the V-Sport versus E43 situation, but the turbo four is smooth. And the interior? No question. The Mercedes is jaw-slacking. The story for the CTS's turbo four is largely the same. Some blame also has to be leveled at the first- and second-generation CTS sedans, which adopted an odd strategy: sell a slightly larger sedan to folks looking at 3-Series, A4, and C-Class, but at about the same price. Folks weren't interested in a larger car for the same money. Despite the third-gen CTS's growth into the 5-Series size class, the CTS still seems like an odd in-betweener in the sport luxury segment – psychologically, if not physically. CTS sales are in the toilet in 2017, and GM is smart to shake things up. So with the announcement that Cadillac head honcho Johan de Nysschen has finally been allowed to kill off underperforming models, the CTS is toast. (As is the ATS, and much more importantly, the XTS – a shambling dinosaur of a sedan.) What's next is the CT5, and that's what we're interested in now. Cadillac has until 2019 to figure out what the CT5 actually is. That isn't a lot of time, so our money is on it being a repositioned, rationalized CTS. The platform's not bad; it's heavier than the larger CT6, but it's fairly modern. Sadly, it's unlikely that any of the standard powertrain options will get a revamp, but maybe some additional sound deadening or an active engine mount system to reduce NVH will quell the V6's bad habits. View 32 Photos More importantly, Cadillac will get a chance to work on the interior look, almost certainly aligning it more closely with the much improved CT6. That'll help a lot.

Junkyard Gem: 1998 Cadillac Catera

Every so often, during the last few decades of the 20th century, the suits running each of the big Detroit automakers would eye their European subsidiaries and decide that some car from the other side of the Atlantic could be making dollars over here in addition to pounds or francs or Deutschmarks over there. Chrysler didn't do so well with Simca 1204s or Plymouth-badged Hillman Avengers in the American marketplace (though the Simca-based Omnirizon did very well). Ford USA moved quite a few Capris and Fiestas during the 1970s, then bombed with the Merkur Scorpio and XR4Ti. General Motors tried, over and over, to get Americans to buy Opels (some sold by Buick dealers, others actually badged as Buicks), and I still see the occasional Kadett, GT, or Manta in junkyards to this day. For the 1997 model year, still stinging from the not-so-great sales of the Turin-Hamtramck-built Cadillac Allante, GM took the Omel Omega B and applied Cadillac badges. The result was the Catera, and I found this silver '98 in a Denver self-service yard recently. The Catera had a lot going for it, with a rear-wheel-drive layout and a modern V6 engine that made more power than the BMW 528i's straight-six that year. It should have been able to compete with European luxury sedans in North America because it was a European luxury sedan. Unfortunately, you couldn't get a manual transmission in the Catera, "traditional" Cadillac shoppers thought the Catera lacked a sufficiently massive presence, and younger Cadillac buyers flocked straight to the Escalade starting in 1999. After 2001, the Catera was no more. I still find Cateras in junkyards, nearly 20 years after the last ones were sold, so they appear to have held together pretty well. This one was in nice shape until the end, with all the original manuals still in the glovebox. Even the Catera ballpoint pen remained with the car for its whole life. As we can see in the owner's manual, Cadillac marketed the Catera as "The Caddy That Zigs." The idea was that younger car shoppers would become as Cadillac-obsessed as their grandparents had been. Inspired by the ducks in the Cadillac logo, the Catera marketing team created Ziggy the Duck to pitch this car. Things didn't go so well. The Catera listed at $29,995 in 1998, about $47,600 in 2020 dollars. That made it an affordable alternative to the BMW 5-Series or Acura 3.2 TL, but total Catera sales came to fewer than 95,000 cars over five model years.