The Celebrity Auto Exec Behind Doc Brown's Time Machine

Once upon a time, I stole the name John Zachary DeLorean. Needing a pseudonym for offering conservative takes in a social media world canceling “problematic” opinions, I pondered iconic Detroit motifs and quickly fell into the memory of a car I once saw driving through Livonia in the mid-1980s.

A car I’ll never forget.

The DMC DeLorean was a rare sight in the 1980s. Unlike anything else on the road at that time, it pulled eyes like a magnet. Its sleek stainless-steel body panels, low profile, gull-wing doors, and strange confluence of European and American design motifs made it both odd and deceptively cool.

Only a couple years after its production controversially ended, the DeLorean was immortalized forever within the iconic film “Back to the Future” when Christopher Lloyd’s Doc Brown converted the sports car into a time travel vehicle.

The film will live on forever, and so will the DeLorean.

Fading from memory is the man behind the car. Detroit native and possibly the first celebrity corporate executive in America, John DeLorean. Before Elon, before Jobs, and even before Trump, there was DeLorean.

Controversial and belligerent, DeLorean’s ego and unbridled ambition powered his meteoric rise from the mean streets of Detroit to the height of the automotive industry, but his greed, fast-paced lifestyle, and proto-douchebaggery led to his historic crash out.

Born to Eastern European immigrants, DeLorean grew up poor on Detroit’s east side. Graduating from Cass Tech High School, DeLorean obtained a Bachelor of Science from Lawrence Tech and his master’s from the University of Michigan. He served his country in the army during World War II before going to work for the Packard Motor Company in Detroit.

Joining General Motors in 1956, DeLorean ignited a scorching career path that saw him become the youngest division head in GM history, and by age 40 he was the shot-caller for the Pontiac brand. Incorporating his various designs, he was responsible for turning Pontiac into GM’s performance brand with the Pontiac GTO in 1964.

With DeLorean on an all-time generational run through the late 1960s and early 1970s, he followed the GTO with the Pontiac Firebird and the Grand Prix.

The dude was cooking with gas, kicking ass, and taking names at the top of Michigan’s automotive industry, but his ego, brashness, and penchant for partying and non-conformity started to become a problem. Behind the scenes, his colleagues were getting bent out of shape with his behavior at work, and more importantly, away from work.

In an era when America’s executives were operating in a more conservative, dignified, and restrained manner, DeLorean was jet-setting with hot women, actors, the Rat Pack, and late-night talk-show hosts. He was also embracing the counter-culture motifs heavily frowned upon by normies of that time.

By 1973, DeLorean was out at General Motors. Did he resign or was he fired? That question remains unanswered, and although he claimed the former, the rumor that he was pushed out has persisted. What is certain is that DeLorean had become quite critical of the direction General Motors was on during the post-World War II period.

DeLorean thought the designs and products at GM had become boring, stale, and lacking in style. He wanted to embrace the luxury market share of the pre-war era, and felt constrained by what he deemed unoriginality in the American automotive industry.

In a maverick move reminiscent of Michigan native Preston Tucker a generation before him, DeLorean set out alone and founded the DeLorean Motor Company. Headquartered in Detroit, DeLorean received a bizarre agreement and seed money from the British government to build his production plant in suburban Belfast.

DeLorean’s ego may have obscured the obvious problems with this endeavor—building an automotive plant in a war zone during The Troubles—and he appears to have been a useful idiot in a ploy by the British Government to end the conflict by providing jobs to the Catholic labor underclass of Northern Ireland.

The idea was to manufacture and produce the DMC DeLorean, officially designated as DMC-12 with the prototype named the DSV-12. DeLorean hoped to sell the vehicle to middle-class Americans for $12,000.

An estimated 9,000 DeLoreans were produced before the company and DeLorean himself hit the wall at 85 mph.

This is where the narrative and historical record gets murky and a confluence of factors appear to have halted DeLorean’s trek into the future. The American economy took a downturn in the late 1970s and early 1980s. The auto industry followed.

The DeLorean car was reviewed unfavorably compared to the established Chevrolet Corvette and Ford Mustang. Buyer demand for the DeLorean was tepid. The futuristic style and $25,000 price tag were turnoffs to American buyers. Rumors of design problems also plagued the DeLorean and scared off potential investors.

DeLorean Motor Company also endured severe financial trouble, cost overruns, and questions about the car’s viability. The disappearance of money into an off-shore account meant for Lotus Group kicked off several federal investigations. In October 1982, DeLorean was caught smuggling $24 million worth of cocaine in a Los Angeles FBI sting only months after he defaulted on loans. The British government closed the factory, and the DeLorean Motor Company was dead.

DeLorean walked on all the federal charges, including the drug indictments, and disappeared into retirement. End of story. But the story around the car itself was just beginning.

As the DeLorean saga was playing out, a virtually unknown filmmaker was beginning his career and conceiving a plan. In 1980, Robert Zemeckis developed a pitch for a film about a high school time traveler and his scientist best friend.

Two years after DeLorean Motor Company closed its doors forever, “Back to the Future” was green-lit by Universal with Zemeckis writing and directing, and needed a car that acted as a Time Machine. He settled on the DeLorean because it was futuristic, looked like a UFO, and was, in his mind, a really cool car.

The studio fought him on this point, and Ford Motor Company was willing to help fund the production if a Ford Mustang was chosen. Zemeckis’ co-writer was reportedly outraged, yelling “Doc Brown doesn’t drive a fucking Mustang!”

A rogue scientist wouldn’t drive a car parked in the driveway of a normie suburban wife guy. He’d drive something edgy and cool. A DeLorean. The rest is film history.

John DeLorean re-emerged in the late 1980s and attempted to ride the new fame for his car. He spoke with some level of humility about his prior life, his foibles, and flaws. Claiming to be a born-again Christian looking for penance, he set the stage for other prominent Americans who fell hard only to find the Lord in their second act.

But DeLorean did make one interesting claim. In rare interviews late in his life, he theorized his company would have been a success, but the British Government closed him down because it believed his workers were using their wages to fund the Irish Republican Army, and that IRA operatives were embedded within his factory.

DeLorean passed in 2005. The Troubles are now over. But the car has defied time. It has become a Time Machine. A lens into yesterday, and optimism for tomorrow, and the wonderment of whether we will ever see a car powered by a flux capacitor.