“Tha-aa-at leads… to your door…” sang my new ‘88 BMW 325iC spiritually with Sir Paul, filling my ears with mutual emotion, whilst I injected my lungs with the inviting refinement of charismatically-aged, yet stunningly clean, 35-year-young bison skin. The date was August 13th, 2023, the time precisely 8:00 PM, and the setting picturesque as the departing Sunday twilight repeatedly glanced longing over its shoulder – just as I’d innumerably done at the classic ride I’d yearned for months to finally take home.
A Rare First Car: The E30 Cabrio
You’ll never again meet anyone who can say that at age 21, their very first car was/is an E30, let alone a soft-top drop-top, much less a Schwarz/Natur specimen equipped with a factory-fitted cow-catcher and eye-catching Cecotto/Ravaglia Edition-like BBS basketweaves. Times like these, for you and me, are truly once in a lifetime.
Fate and fortune chose to meet that previous 9th of January too, when I leaned my Giant Talon mountain bike into a relaxed left down a road just under a mile east of my home in Queens, NYC that I’d somehow never once traveled. Since my impressionable-to-the-facts elementary years, when I’d read all I could find documenting the car’s historic acclaim, and began to fathom the unrivaled magic of the second-gen 3 Series, I dreamt of having one, or something as cool.
I’d also long desired a car that’d be fun to drive, easy to work on, and reliable. Stylish, collectible and quick characteristics would be bonuses. And I was still half-actively in the market to get myself a first car at the time (another reason why I do enjoy biking on a 20-degree January mid-afternoon).
Perhaps it was meant to be when I summited the subtle crest of this previously-unventured street, coasting steadily down the slightly linear gradient, and discovered an unmistakably-familiar quartet of circle headlights appearing in the shrinking distance: one lens emerging after another, and each of our four eyes eventually gazing into each other’s as I approached the street-parked jet-black two-door classic materializing before me.
First Impressions of a Classic Beauty
A cloudy day had never looked so good. And no E30 – or BMW – I’d ever encountered before had been anywhere as alluring. As my port-side approached hers, 30 feet away, I could see the car was a two-door cabrio. Upon her timeless face, time-stopping lips: an air dam of four wide slots, stacked two-by-two, the bottom row flanked by a duo of thinner ones; all underneath the quaintly iconic flip-phone kidney grilles.
Instantaneously approving of the design harkening to the dominant cross on the chin of my uncle’s E28 M5, it dawned on me that I’d never seen an E30 fascia as beautiful as the one gracing this Bimmer, not in person nor online. (My research later revealed these front aprons, affectionately known in my E30 enthusiast community as ‘cow-catchers,’ were only offered on the ‘87 325is.) Gloss-black-spoked 14” Style 5 wheels framed by a polished silver circumference reminiscently hinted at the illusion of thin whitewalls.
Spotting the Details That Captivate
Rolling closer, the Natur leather upholstery glowed into view through the pillarless windows, again reminding me of the aforementioned American-spec sleeper sedan’s color scheme. And failing to brake because I’d forgotten how to, I finally short-stopped my bike adjacent to the car’s twin exhaust pipes, hoping her fire-red-calipered discs were as good as my Giant Talon’s claws.
Ooh, car’s an injected ‘25’, I thought near-aloud, comprehending the 325i trunk badge and knowing the convertible cradled BMW’s silky-sporty 2.5-liter straight-six at heart. Rolling my bike around, and never dismounting in my awe, I sidled up to peer through the driver’s window. Stick-shift, yes! I exclaimed innately, having spotted the enduring manual-gearbox knob grinning back at me.
I walked my bike up to find out the car’s registration year, and sure enough, learned the car was indeed titled as a lucky 1988 – universally fortuitous for those double-8’s, and again channeling my uncle’s sold-new-in-the-U.S.-one-year-only M5. With another fire of newfound knowledge burning brightly in me, I waddled back to view the cabin again. I ran my gaze from the (evidently-fighter-jet-derived) overhead check-light panel, decided the distinctive ‘91 radio was a tasteful upgrade on the otherwise-stock ride, peeked across the pre-airbag three-spoke sport wheel (mounted in the final month of that wheel design’s production), and to the odometer. 153,388 miles.
I’d no clue then if it was accurate or not, but: ‘153’ is my Scout troop’s unit number, and ‘388’ sounded an awesome lot like an abbreviation of “‘88 3 Series” to me. I took all that auspicious numerology as a lucky omen. Whoa… oh boy – I think I’m getting this car.
The Legacy of BMW and Family Connections
The BMW Entwicklung 30 runs 24-hour endurance races in my 30-weight blood. Both my mom’s brothers each have a near-mint-condition ‘91 318is. The eldest’s car is Brillantrot, the youngest’s Alpinweiß II, and both are fitted with Schwarz bison leather. (Hey kids, what’s red, white, and black all over? Read on to find out.) From the first time I saw the wonder on my uncle’s faces and heard the jubilation gush from their smiles when I’d be treated to a cruise in their brightly-sunlit and rather-spacious backseats, a part of me was relentlessly curious to sleuth out just how magical a time they were savoring from behind the wheel of their BMWs.
Thus for ages, I knew my first car would indubitably have kidney grilles, and (with any luck) be either an E46, E28, E39, E37, E31… or E30. I’d continually encountered various examples and body styles of those generations since my adolescence-to-young-adult years of peering along roadways, driveways, and (open) garages, imagining myself getting one of those someday… but that little black drop-top checked all my wishlist’s boxes, and was the first and only car I knew I’d soon call my own. (And the riddle’s answer is: my uncles’ E30 collection; come on people, keep up.)
A Weekly Pilgrimage to Automotive Perfection
From the day I first saw that E30, and because I was exceptionally curious about her, as well as gently seeking a first car, I established a weekly ritual of habitually biking back to visit the car that now captivated every single move, thought, and wish I’d make thereon. Each time, I’d find something I’d not noticed before: a handful of hood/trunk dents from a hailstorm we’d had years back; ruptured stitching that released a few otherwise-intact interior leather sheets from their seams on the optioned-sport(!)-seats; light corrosion around the notoriously-volatile rocker areas.
Ever the optimist I am, I’d also beam at happier details: the starboard-side antenna for an in-car phone(!), the visible signs of an aftermarket Clifford security system(!) with electronic key fob door locks, the absence(!) of cracks on the notoriously-fragile yet otherwise intact dash panel.
The white winter melted into sunnier spring, finally morphing to refreshing heat again. The E30 hadn’t appeared to have moved at all during any of the two-dozen weeks I’d reliably made my Sunday pilgrimage over, but that didn’t perturb me a bit—better that the car doesn’t go anywhere, rather than go out of my sight, I’d thought.
My final undergrad semester came to a close and gave rise to my more flexible Master’s program, freeing time for me to earn more cash via my gig at my local farmer’s market. I’d also study each E30 buyer’s guide, online sale, and period review I could look up to absorb its developmental history, statistics, and features. I’d especially journey to the convertible on a now-daily basis, hoping to happen upon the owner outside their house each time.
I could see the house appeared to be cared for by residents, with garden tools and trash cans apparently moved near-daily around the property’s front, but couldn’t deduce why a pickup truck seemed to visit daily at sunrise and/or sunset, but leave after dusk. Having solely met the car on my trips, I simply continued to memorize every dimension of her geometry.
As June began, I found myself imagining life with the car, whether I was standing in front of it, contemplating about it restlessly in bed, or anytime in between. I’d vividly picture myself having the time of my life on my first test-drive; folding down the convertible top on a sunny morning; chirping the tires as I pick up a crew of friends for a daylong summertime trip around the island. At noon on July 14th, I finally worked up the courageous nerve to knock as politely as possible.
Knocking on Opportunity’s Door
“Hi, how’re you today? My name’s Alex—I hope your afternoon’s been pleasant! I live just west of here, past the parkway, and I’ve noticed your E30 BMW every time I’ve passed by this year. I’m just curious… by any chance, have you ever thought of selling it?”
I’d rehearsed that with myself every minute, from the moment I woke up that day, to the moment I dismounted my bike (for once) in front of the E30. Having inferred that the vehicle’s owner lived in the house which the car had sat in front of for the past half-year, I made my maiden voyage up the hilled driveway to the house, walking backward from the car as I admired the view of her top-right side from a freshly-elevated angle. I sidestepped to the slate path leading up to the front door, scaled the porch steps, and spotting no doorbell, played an embellished percussive rendition of “Shave and a Haircut” on the heavy wood door.
Only a large invisible canine answered the door with its booming demands, and following several increasingly-mellow knocks and bored barks, I deployed my trusty Plan B: my inquiry in the form of a printed letter; and patting it warmly for good luck, slid it deep in the typically-overflowing mailbox.
“I’m also an adult leader in my local Scout troop,” my note resumed, “and if you’re looking to part ways with her, I’ll use the car to teach the youngsters basic automotive care like safety inspections and oil/tire/belt changes for a Scouting merit badge. My little cousins are into cars, and this E30 might be a cool opportunity for them to learn and create amazing memories with. I’d take excellent care of the car, and provide her with a wonderful home.” It concluded with my contact info, and a blue-sharpie fist-sized autograph.
The lone three-hour span I didn’t check my phone all day, it buzzed as I was in a theater enjoying the coda of Dial of Destiny… and despite my expectant belief the E30’s owner was calling, later found it was just a friend. I signed an agreement with the automotive gods and summoned my discipline to abstain from visiting the car for a week in my prayer for a promising reply. And on the evening of July 18th, as I munched a banana on a break amid Jeet Kune Do training… a text.
“You’re inquiring about the 325i sitting in front of my house. Please give me a call at your earliest convenience.”
The joy I’d restrained with half a week of hope nearly erupted into my phone, but I stayed calm, and texted the sender (let’s hereafter call him “C”) back to ask if it’d be convenient for me to call him in the morning. Somehow, I fell asleep amid my restlessly hyperactive midnight daydreams, awoke at 8AM to see a three-hour-old reply in the affirmative, and phoned the early-riser back.
He gladly shared that he was a local construction foreman moonlighting as the mechanic of the E30’s owner. And it was his elderly mother’s house the car was parked at, whereas C resided a little while away, and would visit whenever he could. Everything explained the driveway-parked truck at odd hours, the four-day-later text, and the buttcrack-of-dawn follow-up.
C began by sharing everything he could with me about the E30. He said the car belonged to his friend (“J”, we’ll say), who was a tenured high-ranking firefighter living either ten miles west in Astoria nearly-year-round, or out on Long Island during those summer months. The car was bought new in June 1988 at Park Avenue BMW in New Jersey. J was her second owner, having bought the E30 from another friend in 1989—yes, just a year after the original purchase.
The story goes that J’s friend, who was apparently so tall for the car (and in a drop-top where the sky’s the limit), either had his scalp in the closed roof, or the wind right in his eyes. The E30 stayed semi-garaged in J’s care for the next three-plus decades, during which he made sure to drive the car nearly every week. C’d worked on all of J’s cars for years, and the pair actually intended to commence a full restoration of the E30, so J tossed over the keys in early 2020. Then Covid hit, stalling their plans and strapping their cash.
The convertible was moved to and from J’s mom’s in Staten Island for a while, prior to making her way to C’s mom’s, and just weeks before I happened to do the same. Similar to how I wasn’t full-time searching for a car, they were only mulling the idea of selling the E30—but I asked C if he could set up a meeting with the two of us and his friend so I could get to know them (and the car, of course). Firefighter J, who worked just about every day, gave C his blessing to do the honors and meet me on his behalf.
