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| | Esquire Magazine, October 1998
In
1998, it's 2002 
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numerology was accidental, but, like members of some mystic lodge, they
repeated the four digits not just on their vanity plates but in phone
numbers, PINS, and passwords. And thirty years after the car debuted and
with the eponymous year itself approaching, partisans of the BMW 2002 have
grown more intense. They've also grown more numerous, with those born in
the year of the sporty German coupe's introduction driving the car right
alongside men who've had 'em since day eins. | | | In
1968, when BMWs were rare, the 2002 figured as an anti-muscle car,
trailing big GTOs and 'Cudas in the straights but eating them up in
curves. Today, it appeals as a memory of a time when BMWs didn't come with
law degrees like Happy Meals toys, and the Bavarians were content to
produce just a really good car instead of the ultimate driving machine.
It's also a design touchstone – the ancestor of the 3-series models –
that, by the way, has more than a passing similarity to the old Ford
Falcons and Corvairs. | | | A
model in good condition, with reasonable mileage, that is ready to drive
will set you back eight grand. But on the many internet pages devoted to
the car, lessr models are offered for three or four thousand, a 2002tii,
the peppier, fuel-injected version, goes for half again as much. The 02's
mystique assures that parts are available: some owners have twenty or
thirty cars, and there are even whole garages – like Rob Torres Jr.'s
2002 Haus in San Luis Obispo, California – scattered across the country
like little Masonic temples.
--Phil Patton
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