Jane Boone in 1985. In 1985, as a high school student, Boone was selected by Frank Stronach to be sponsored by GMI (now Kettering University) in Flint, Michigan.Offering
The arrest of Frank Stronach on suspicion of sexual assault from the 1980s through last year brought back memories of his time working for Magna International in the 1980s.
In 1985, I was one of several high school students interviewed by Stronach and selected to be sponsored at GMI (now Kettering University) in Flint, Michigan. The university is often referred to as the “West Point” of the auto industry; GM CEO Mary Barra is an alumna. Stronach, a mold maker, was attracted to the university’s approach to engineering education, which mimicked an apprenticeship structure. We students commuted back and forth between Magna and the school every three months, participating in a program that developed engineers who were intimately familiar with the company and its business practices.
When I attended Lisgar College in Ottawa, I was a talented but introverted nerd whose hobbies were planes and math contests. But I came from a General Motors family, and my dad restored antique cars. So the prospect of going to college in Michigan and working in the automotive industry at 17 was more appealing to me than the offers from Waterloo or the Royal Military Academy.
As the only woman among the dozen or so Canadian students Magna supported at GMI over the years, I stood out at the program’s end-of-term meeting, which usually also included a meeting with the CEO. Mr. Stronach would often single me out for a pep talk. The attention was thrilling, especially since men didn’t get the same treatment. One time, Mr. Stronach spotted me during a visit to the company’s headquarters. I was surprised when he invited me into his office. For 30 minutes, we discussed my ambitions, during which he spoke passionately about how they fit into Magna’s plans.
One of the great perks enjoyed by a small number of students was an invitation to Magna’s annual shareholders’ meeting. In 1986, I arrived at Roy Thomson Hall wearing a purple knit dress I’d bought for the occasion. I met Mr. Stronach at the entrance, surrounded by reporters and the usual company of assistants. Mr. Stronach waved and invited me to an after-party at his Toronto restaurant, Loonie’s.
Curious to party, I arrived alone, but none of my male classmates were there. I lingered awkwardly at the bar, unsure whether I’d be able to order anything, since I’d only reached drinking age a few months earlier. I ordered a glass of wine, tried to look as sophisticated as possible, whatever that meant, and enjoyed the spectacle.
When Stronach arrived, the atmosphere of the restaurant changed with the flashes of cameras. People crowded around him to share his business success. In the mid-80s, at age 54, he was a charming man, a cross between Lee Iacocca and Donald Trump. As he walked through the room, looking like a future politician, he spotted me and invited me to dinner. Of course, I accepted. Magna director Bill Davis and other VIPs joined us. I sat next to him, casually and in silence, as Stronach introduced me to the other guests.
Midway through dinner, something strange happened. Mr. Stronach asked one of his assistants if the corporate guesthouse was available that evening. He said he was worried about the long drive I was about to make (that semester I was writing software for Canada Clutch, the Guelph branch). She said the guesthouse was available and told me how nice the place was. I told her I didn’t need the offer. When he offered again, I declined again.
I sat at the owner’s table, the food and service were impeccable, and my wine glass was never less than half full. I was very nervous and it was my first time drinking, so I probably drank more than I should have. At the end of the day, as we were sitting alone, Mr. Stronach’s driver came to our table and asked what his plans were. At this point, Mr. Stronach told the driver that I had had too much to drink. He then said that I was in no condition to return to Guelph, so he would take me to the guesthouse. The driver came to collect my car. Mr. Stronach told the driver to hand over the keys. I obediently opened and removed my handbag, handed it to the driver, and told him roughly where my little red hatchback was. Despite my naivety, I realized that as Mr. Stronach walked me to my car, he was probably planning on having sex with me. I had mixed feelings. This big-time CEO and business darling wanted me, but it was terrifying.
I spent the roughly 20-minute drive to Magna’s Markham guesthouse trying to think of a way to escape, but nothing came to mind. Of course, I had correctly guessed Mr. Stronach’s intentions. His concerns about my driving ability didn’t extend to the bedroom. It was an unsettling, unusual occurrence.
I told a few people about it at the time, and have told the story of Stronach’s invitation many times since, mostly for laughs. It was absurd that I was even sitting at that table. To tell the story, I will omit the part where I actually ended up sleeping with a CEO nearly three times my age.
What I didn’t see then, but what’s clear now, is that Stronach’s surrounding infrastructure fed his appetite. The fact that a teenage Co-op student spent the night next to him didn’t seem to bother him. His assistant invited me to spend the night in the guesthouse; my glass was always full, just like everyone else’s. The driver who showed up at the end of the night, ready to track down my car and drive me because I’d had too much to drink, was another clever ploy. At 19, I was outmatched.
We saw a similar scenario with the employees surrounding predators like Harvey Weinstein and Charlie Rose: They found a way to satisfy their desires, then tweaked the workplace to optimize the results. As an engineer, I have to acknowledge how well these systems worked, and they were robust and effective for many years. But times change, and knowledge grows. What was once acceptable becomes abhorrent.
Nearly 40 years later, I’m now feeling the ripple effects of that awkward, awful night. It soured me at Magna. I didn’t seek out the job that would have offered me the best chance of a career there. I avoided Mr. Stronach. (I emailed him last week, through his criminal lawyer, offering him the opportunity to comment on this essay; I didn’t hear back.) I come from a family of car enthusiasts, and though I once shared their passion, I left the automotive industry for graduate school at Massachusetts Institute of Technology. And I quit my job as an engineer as soon as I could. Is it really any surprise that I now write fiction with central themes of trust, power, and consent?
That night was ambiguous and unfair, and I thought it was consensual at the time, but even if it wasn’t rape, it was definitely wrong.
Dr. Jane Boone is a writer living in New York.
