Decades ago, when the slick, glossy magazine we BMW aficionados now know as the Roundel was but a small newsletter itself, a young 2002 owner in Boston by the name of Yale Rachlin wrote a short article for his local chapter's even smaller newsletter. Called "Save The Tiger", it was sort of a call to arms, a reminder that the legendary BMW 2002 was more than just a car. It was a special car, a noble beast with great heritage and breeding and it was in danger of being forgotten and left by the wayside for newer, flashier, lesser cars. The article was so good, so true, so right, that it made it's way into the Roundel.
In the late 1960s, the 2002 was the definitive car in a new class of automobile, the sports sedan. The idea was simple enough; combine two seat sports car performance with sedan sensibility and no-nonsense sixties European styling. Throw in some funky charisma, and you had the BMW 2002.
Sure, the 2002 could haul groceries and kids and the family dog too. And, it would dutifully shuttle to and from work every day. Plus, it would not destroy the family budget, stretched tight as it was, for chasing the American Dream of a house and kids. It was a car even in-laws could approve of. Empty and unloaded, though, it would tempt Joe Average Family Man to daydream and race down whatever twisty roads he could find as if he was a Nuvolari or a Moss at the Nurburgring, tires and tachometer needle spinning wildly. Compared to the other cars of the sixties, which were either small, uncomfortable and unreliable or cumbersome, doddering acceleration machines that required nearly a full stop before they would even think of turning, the 2002 was a revelation. It accelerated well, it braked better, and it handled best. Yes, the 2002 was simple and spartan, but therein lay it's wonderful charm. It was a car designed for drivers with big dreams of famous races who happened to have everyday jobs, families and budgets.
Not only did the 2002 show many a young speed demon that the way of righteousness wasn't always the way of high horsepower; it became a cult car and developed a following of faithful and loyal owners.
The American musclecar crowd seemed to be more concerned with adolescent braggadocio about whose car was faster and who had the most horsepower. The 2002s and their faithful owners would flash their headlights at each other and pull over by the side of the road to look at each others' cars and talk about how much they loved their little "Whispering Bombs", as the 2002s were called in Germany.
The little 2002 affected its owners and their lives in a big way. In 1969 groups of owners around the country formed clubs built around the enjoyment of their 2002s and the other odd BMW that came around every once in a while. They organized events and get-togethers and parties all because of that boxy little car they and many others had come to love. Early pictures show 2002s everywhere at their events around the country. Somewhere along the way in the 1970s, that Yale Rachlin fellow wrote his piece about saving the tigers, the little 2002s that started it all for BMWs here in the United States.
Today, more that thirty years after the first 2002s came to the United States, those boxy little cars are still with us, still popular and loved by those who own them. Those clubs that formed because of their members' love for 2002s have grown and merged a bit over the years and now, in 1999, one big club has almost 50,000 members. BMW, of course, is another great success story, being a household name and the leading European automobile sold in America, with a factory here as well.
But today the tiger's numbers dwindle ever faster. Sure, rust, the ravages of time and daily use have taken their toll on some cars, and other cars sacrifice their lives every year so that other cars may continue to live. But the frighteningly real threat here in California is the Government's misguided bureaucrats and their poorly crafted, ignorant laws that allow people to trade old cars for money in order to crush the old cars under the guise of environmental protection.
Yale Rachlin said it best all those years ago . . . . . . . . . Save the Tiger!
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