David Slays Goliath in a ‘Lemon’ Lawsuit
Marian and Michael Grant were not unusual as motorists go--all they wanted was four wheels that could get them around and help out with their small business.
But something changed the Northridge couple when the Chevy van they bought in June, 1989, developed serious braking problems. They fast became crusaders in what was for them a titanic struggle with General Motors.
It looked as if the dispute had ended earlier this year, when the couple entered an obscure GM business office behind a local shopping mall, the final step of their “Lemon Law” suit. With their burgundy van loaded onto a flatbed truck, they were handed a refund check by GM men in white shirts and ties.
Marian Grant had been changed. She went on to write a book, “Our War With General Motors.” Actually a self-published pamphlet, it takes readers on an odyssey into the bizarre world of lemon lawsuits, in which car owners sue for refunds because their cars are junk.
It is difficult to estimate how many consumers feel cheated after buying new cars. The Center for Auto Safety receives more than 30,000 consumer complaints every year. Nationwide, 15,000 cars were repurchased by dealers and manufacturers as a result of arbitration and lawsuits, according to the “Lemon Book” by Ralph Nader.
A GM spokesman in Detroit said he had never heard of the Grants’ book, but noted that GM isn’t in the business of alienating its customers. “Turning off customers would be business suicide,” he said.
Over the past five years, the company has improved both quality and customer satisfaction, according to J. D. Power and Associates, a market research firm.
But even the best manufacturers sometimes turn out lemons, then don’t meet their responsibilities. Lemon suits are messy affairs all the way around, but they can be the remedy of last resort.
The Grants’ case became a giant burden to them. They wrote letters to the company, asking, without success, that a factory representative inspect their van’s brakes. The couple claimed the vehicle swerved sharply when the brakes were applied. After three trips to dealerships, the problem allegedly remained unsolved.
“The only thing we ever got from GM was a standard survey form, asking if we were satisfied with our car. And we said, ‘No, it’s a lemon.’ But nothing ever happened. It just went into a computer someplace,” Marian Grant said.
The ugly battles included a shouting session with a dealership manager who claimed that nothing was wrong with their Chevy. As a final hope, the couple drove to the offices of the Better Business Bureau in October, 1989, which proposed a settlement. If the Grants would pay an additional $1,000, GM agreed to take the van back.
That wasn’t quite the deal the couple imagined. Shortly after, they contacted an attorney specializing in lemon suits and sued GM. Louis Nanos, a private investigator who looked into their case, asserted in a report that the brakes were defective, despite GM’s assertion that they were just fine.
Soon enough, they had spent seven hours in depositions with GM lawyers, who asked such questions as whether the malfunctions in their van caused “any particular problems.”
“If you want to commit suicide, it’s the best way,” Michael Grant told the attorney.
To bolster their case, the Grants parked in front of a GM dealership with giant signs on their van proclaiming it a lemon. When GM officials finally took possession of the van last March, their first act was to rip the lemon sign off the window.
The Grants settled for a full refund of their $4,775 down payment, $850 for their attorney’s retainer and an undisclosed amount for their trouble.
