Heart of a Lion

BMW's 2002 was the essence of "form follows function." It was simple and spartan, and probably what the caveman who invented the wheel had planned in the back of his mind - if only he'd had more time (and technology). It was a humble-looking little box, but it had a twinkle in its eye and a broad beaming smile on its face. Its shape was deceiving, and there was nothing even remotely humble about the way it functioned - in performance or handling. It had the heart of a lion and would tear into a curve and eat it alive, with glee in that smile.

It was punched out of the factory in "cookie-cutter" fashion. And, like stacks of blue jeans on the department-store shelf, one indistinguishable from another, once brought home and worn, the 2002 became your own and unlike anyone else's. It was a product of the '60s, and like so many other things produced in those times, it ran counter to the norm - even transcended it.

There has never been a closer bond between man and machine than the attachment of a 2002 and its owner. Gone are the days when, instinctively and invariably, 2002s passing on the road flashed their "highs" at each other. I always took this mutual acknowledgement as a "wink of complicity." I think this flashing of the high beams was meant to signal, "I know what you know about this humble little box, and none of these other cars and drivers on the road have a clue about our discovery."

The '69 somewhere off the beaten trail. it is sporting a late-model nose, sans kidney grille, and late style seats w/ headrests. Hey look, the front bumper is fairly straight.

My first one was a 1969. It was used, and I guess it was almost ten years old (that's about twenty-five in 2002 years) when I bought it. It was a mongrel: White with a blue interior - a terrible combination in my mind, except on a roundel. I later replaced the complete interior with the black interior from a later model - seats, carpet, panels and all.

That was the best thing about the 2002 - interchangeability of parts. (This '69 also ended up with a late model nose-panel.)

I also remember that it had a bad rust problem inside the right front wheel-well, and every time I drove through a puddle the passenger floor took in half the puddle. Over the several years that I drove it, I got in the habit of steering around puddles to avoid taking in water. After parting with the car it was a couple of years before I got another.

But when I did, I'll never forget the first time I approached a puddle, I surprised myself by unconsciously swerving to avoid it with the right front wheel. I'd totally forgotten I once had that instinct, but I was right back in 2002 mode - that first one had touched me more deeply than I had realized. Which is another great thing about the 2002 - it touches your soul.

The '74 blue 2002 helping out around the house. It was the workhorse. The unsung hero. Always ready, willing, and able. If I could have figured out how to mow the lawn with it, I would have!

My second 2002 was a blue 1974 model, which also left its mark on me, particularly one early summer evening. It happened in the mid-'80s when my son was about four years old (he's now past twenty and drives a 1988 535 with 375,000 miles - he calls it "beast"). It was in the days when he'd be anticipating my coming home from work, and he'd be waiting for me on the front steps. I would pull into the driveway and there he'd be.

He'd come running up to the car and crawl right in through the passenger window (this had become his habit, he explained it had something to do with what he called the "Dooks O'Hazzid" - I'm just glad the Dook didn't have a sunroof). I took his sudden presence as another chance to impart on him my wealth of knowledge that all fathers save for their offspring.

So I decided to give him a simple demonstration of a mechanical/electrical system. I said, "Hey, watch this!" (How many of lifes little tragedies, begin with these simple words?). I pulled up on the e-brake handle, and then, low in the instrument cluster appeared the most satisfying round, dull red light - round as the taillights on the '69 2002. "Now see," I said, as I released the handle...ahhh, the light went out!

Then I explained that the little red light represents the position of the handle. The handle raised keeps the 2002 from rolling away - and the red light confirms that. Handle down, light out, and away you go. "Now you try it." Well this was fun and he really seemed to enjoy it.

Handle up, light on; handle down, light out. This went on for quiet some time as we were enjoying each other's company while experimenting with cause and effect.

And then we got out of the car, walked up the rest of the driveway, and around the house to the back yard. I don't recall what we had planned to do there because we never got around to whatever it was. We were suddenly stopped in our tracks by the sickening skreech of brakes followed by the final crunch of car on car out in the street.

We ran back to the front yard. What I saw there looked sort of like this: There was a 528e (believe it or not) pulled over on the side of the road below my driveway, and my '74 2002 - which had proceeded out the driveway and across the street - was ambling through the neighbors yard.

Thankfully, it plowed into a substantial elm tree - which abruptly halted its get-away. I must assume that the little red light low on the instrument cluster was not "on" when we exited - which, of course meant that the handle was down and the 2002 was free to roam.

My son at the wheel of the '69 during its interior remodel. The boy grew up to be 21 and the car grew up to be an '88 535i. I still have that wooden wheel somewhere.

But this story from the perspective of the driver of the 528 was even more interesting. He'd come over the rise and was coasting down the slope of the road above my driveway and saw the blue 2002 backing down the driveway. He was sure the driver would see him coming and stop before exiting the driveway. So, he kept coming - and so did the '74 2002. It became a game of "chicken."

He was certain that the operator of the 2002 would have the common sense to pull-up at the end of the driveway before entering the street. He was very close to being right. His only mistake was in assuming that there was an operator. And he almost did get by, but the 2002 smacked him pretty good in his rear quarter. Thankfully this impact also had the effect of putting the 2002 in line with that elm tree (otherwise this story would be longer and end with my 2002 crashing through the neighbors garage door and parking itself there).

Anyway, when I tell the story, I like to say "It was my first accident... and I missed it!" But it worked out okay because the next day I was able to demonstrate to my son how the collapsed impact absorbers on the rear bumper of a 2002 can be readily restored by chaining the running car to a tree and letting the clutch out.

Another 2002 parking brake story I have is the tale of an eccentric old gentleman who had the most beat-up, orneriest looking 2002 I ever saw. Evidently they'd grown old together. He would no sooner parted with it than with his own name. There was so much rot in the car that its rear cross member was tearing away from the body on the right side.

I'll never forget his animated description of how he'd been driving along, when all of a sudden he hit a bump that caused the rear cross-member to jerk back and yank on the e-brake cables. Which in turn caused the e-brake handle to rise and the little red light to come on. This of course, lead to a sudden flurry of activity within the confines of the little box as all his limbs would become involved in working the gas, brake, clutch, shifter, directional, steering wheel - and parking brake handle.

He described how he'd been trying to steer with one hand while struggling to release the e-brake handle with the other. I guess he'd just learned to accept this as one of those inconveniences that come with age (his, or the car's, I don't know). He must have really loved that car.

The '69 with driver (me) and dog (white) on hood. No headrests, original directionals. The front bumper frowning that day. Looks like the three of us weren't talking.

And, let's not forget the adaptability and versatility of the humble box. I remember one guy for whom it was a sporty runabout when he was single. When he married, the same car took on an air of sedate and sedan-like dignity. Then, when they were expecting their first child, they removed the passenger seat and created a spacious nursery suite. And, I swear the big broad smile plastered across the face of that 2002 revealed a hint of pride when the four of them took to the roadways.

I myself, in my '74, might hold the record for distance under duress. I took several trips over hill and dale with a small room's worth of 2x4s and sheet-rock strapped to the roof. And one time, in the '69, drove to Canada with what we called a "war" canoe precariously strapped upside down to the top. This battleship was longer - but just narrower - than the 2002. I had the fear that it might slip from its moorings and engulf the car from above and obscure my vision. And I also half-envisioned running off the road and rolling over - with the hopes that we'd land in water, the 2002 "shiny-side down" in the canoe.

I'll just add one more 2002 remembrance, one that stays with me because I think there must be a lesson in it, but I can never figure out what that lesson is.

There was a guy who had two problems with his 2002. One was that his trunk lid wouldn't stay closed, and the other was that his muffler was hanging down. So, with a length of rope, he solved both problems by tying his trunk lid to his muffler. I suppose it was a bit like killing two birds with one stone... yet, in some way different.

In this current year, which has such a familiar ring to it, when so many of us had hoped to see that beaming happy smile reappear, instead we are left with just a long farewell as the image of the round taillights fades off into the wide curve of time. So, once more, to all you past, current and future 2002 drivers, I give a final, virtual back-tap on that left high-beam stalk.

November/December 2002 Boston Bimmer

My Turn: Not Goodbye, But I'll See You Soon! by Barry Tarr

2002 in 2002: Heart of a Lion by Chris Armitage

Driving Across The Pond by Graf Hilgenhurst

Gift Giving by Michelle Demers

Technical Article: BMW Universal Joints: Why No One Wants to Replace Them by Mike Miller

Undercarriage Tech Session: Clean Bill of Health by Ron Sisco

A First Timer's View of Driving School: Life in the Fast Lane by Marian Smith

2002 Fall Festival at Lime Rock Park: A Fall Assembly by Jim Hayes

2002 Castle Hill Concours: The Grand Allée by Mitchell Brown

2002 Castle Hill Concours: Castle Hill Photo Gallery by Ron Sisco, Dan Mull, and Mitchell Brown

Show N Shine 2002: Creative Vanity by Mitchell Brown

Thank You by Ann Marie Weber

November/December 2002 New Members by Joe Marko