The company that is now Bayerische Motoren Werke AG was born in 1913 as Rapp Motoren Werke, headquartered in a suburb of Munich, the capital of the German state of Bavaria. Its initial business was not cars, but airplane engines, most notably a license-built version of Austro-Daimler's V12 aero engine, used in a variety of combat aircraft during the First World War. In 1917, Karl Rapp was forced out of the company he'd helped to found, and it became Bayerische Motorenwerke GmbH -- commonly abbreviated BMW.

With aviation work in short supply after the Armistice, BMW branched out into motorcycles, launching its first bike in 1923. Automobiles followed in 1928, when the company purchased a failing business called Dixi, which manufactured a licensed version of the British Austin Seven. By 1933, BMW was producing cars of its own design. They were modestly sized and fairly expensive, but they had brisk performance and sleek, modern styling by Peter Schimanowski. The pinnacle of the line was the 328 roadster, which dominated European sports car competition until war intervened in 1939.

During World War Two, BMW turned its efforts to military vehicles and aircraft engines, some built by slave labor. As a leading producer of war materiel, the company's factories were seized by the Allies in 1945, and it was not until 1947 that its president, Kurt Donath, obtained permission to return to motorcycle production. Automobile production did not resume until 1951.

The fifties were a difficult decade for BMW, with neither its cars nor its motorcycles selling in sustainable numbers. By the end of the decade, it was in serious danger of bankruptcy. Historian Jan Norbye has speculated that the only reason the company's chief creditor, Deutsche Bank, did not force BMW into liquidation was that many of BMW's other creditors were also Deutsche Bank customers, which would have left the bank with an even bigger net loss.

For a time, it looked like BMW would be bought out by its perennial rival, Daimler-Benz, but in 1960, half-brothers Herbert and Harald Quandt acquired a controlling interest. The Quandts started replacing key management personnel with their own people, and set about rebuilding the company, with the help of a DM 50,000,000 ($12 million) loan from the government of Bavaria. The result was the highly successful Neue Klasse ("New Class") car line, which became the template for most future BMWs.

Let's talk about what it takes to build (or rebuild) a successful brand.

Rule One: Don't Set Your Sights Too High, Too Soon (But It Doesn't Pay to Set Your Sights Too Low, Either)

BMW's 1950s model, the 500-series (nicknamed Barockengel, "Baroque Angels"), were fine cars, with attractive, if faintly dated styling, admirable engineering, and a modern V8 engine, a rarity in European cars of the era. There was also a lovely sports car, the 507, styled by Albrecht Goertz. Unfortunately, the Baroque Angels were far too expensive for their market, even in America, where they cost almost twice as much as a contemporary Cadillac. Consequently, they sold in very small numbers, and the company lost a significant amount of money on each one it built.

Kurt Donath tried to shore up BMW's volume with the Isetta, a curious-looking "bubblecar" based on the Italian ISO and powered by a motorcycle engine. Looking more like the escape pod from some science fiction spacecraft than a car, the Isetta had little relationship to other BMWs in either appearance or performance. It was followed by the more conventional 700, which sold fairly well, but not enough to make up for the significant losses incurred by the 500-series.


Tiny motorcycle-engined minicars like this were BMW's bread and butter in the late fifties; this is a 1959 BMW 600. These "bubblecars" are less cute to older Germans than they are to Americans -- they are an unhappy reminder of difficult economic times.

After the Quandt buyout, new sales boss Paul Hahnemann decided the Neue Klasse sedans should be positioned squarely in the middle-class market, against other upscale European family cars. With a starting price of 9,425 DM (around $2,700) in Germany, the initial 1500 sedan was nearly double the price of BMW's own 700, but only about a third as much as the now-departed Barockengel. BMW decided to let the 700 die after 1965, concentrating their limited production capacity on the more profitable Neue Klasse, which turned out to be a sensible business decision.

Rule Two: You've Gotta Have a Gimmick

Although the Neue Klasse was more attractively priced than the 500-series, it faced an uphill battle against its established mass-market rivals. Product chief Helmut Bönsch told Car and Driver in 1969 that BMW had no hope of competing with Ford, Opel, and Volkswagen on volume or price; they had to offer something unique that would compel buyers to pay more for a BMW.

That something was certainly not going to be style. The Neue Klasse sedans were tall and boxy, which was certainly practical, but hardly fit mid-sixties notions of automotive sex appeal. Nor was it going to be exotic specifications, although BMW's engineering was thoroughly up to date, with unitized construction, overhead-cam engines, front disc brakes, and fully independent suspension. Instead, BMW's managers decided that their calling card should be vigorous performance.

Performance, in this case, demands some qualification. By American standards, no sixties BMW was particularly fast. An early 1500 sedan took 14 seconds to reach 60 mph (97 kph), with a top speed of around 95 mph (153 kph). The sportier 1800-TI could manage 0-60 mph (0-97 kph) about 2.5 seconds quicker, with a top speed closer to 110 mph (175 kph). What the Neue Klasse and its successors lacked in outright performance, however, they made up in well-sorted road manners and accurate, balanced controls. They had limitations, of course, like a tendency to slide the tail if you lifted off the throttle too abruptly in a fast turn (a characteristic of the semi-trailing arm suspensions that BMW used until the nineties), but overall, they handled as well as many contemporary sports cars. Unlike many sports cars, they also retained their composure over rough roads, thanks to ample wheel travel, low unsprung weight, and adequate shock damping.

For less enthusiastic drivers, the Neue Klasse's virtues were not immediately obvious. True, it performed as well as some V8-powered American cars, but $3,500-odd (U.S. POE) was still a lot of money for a stubby little car with an austere interior, a rather stiff ride, and few of the usual power conveniences. Still, the BMW quickly built a small but enthusiastic following, for the simple reason that it had few serious rivals. If you wanted a relatively practical sedan that could still be driven con brio, your principal alternatives were the Alfa Romeo Giulia TI and the Jaguar S-Type, both of which tended to suffer dodgy electrics, haphazard build quality, and demanding maintenance schedules. The BMW wasn't as pretty to look at as its British or Italian opposite numbers, but its engineering and assembly quality were top-drawer, and it was far less fussy to own.


Most BMWs from 1962 through the mid-1990s had MacPherson struts in front, with semi-trailing arms in back, providing a reasonable mix of handling and ride composure. The semi-trailing arms, however, are prone to both camber and toe changes in hard cornering, which makes these cars tail-happy if provoked. BMW adopted several belt-and-braces measures to reduce such antics, and finally adopted the "Z-link" multilink rear suspension that laid most of them to rest. The E9 coupes have the same rear suspension as the earliest Neue Klasse sedans, though, which means that they can bite the unwary.

In short, BMW found a niche in which it had little serious competition, not so much through its own achievements as through the sheer mediocrity of its rivals.

Rule Three: Make Your New Products Logical Extensions of Your Existing Ones

Not long after the Neue Klasse sedans went on sale, Bönsch and Hahnemann started lobbying for the creation of a bigger sedan in the same mold, powered by a new, six-cylinder engine. The new six, designed by new technical director Bernhard Osswald and engineer Alex von Falkenhausen, debuted in 1968 in 2.5 L (152 cu. in.) and 2.8 L (170 cu. in.) versions. Compared to the Neue Klasse, the new sedans (dubbed 2500 and 2800, and known internally as E3) were scaled up in all dimensions, and had a number of mechanical refinements and detail changes. Conceptually, though, they were very similar to their predecessors, and they shared the same enthusiasm for aggressive driving.


Befitting its price, the E9 had attractive wood paneling on the dash, and most had leather seats. They also had many ergonomic oddities, among them a turn signal lever located on the right, rather than the left, and washer and window controls on the console, rather than the dash. Heating and ventilation were not a strong point on these cars, and the optional air conditioning was inadequate. Curiously, although this particular 3.0 CS wears "Automatic" badges, it carries the standard four-speed Getrag manual.

The New Six sedans proved to be almost as popular as the Neue Klasse, in June 1969, Car and Driver's Patrick Bedard declared them more fun to drive than any other sedan in the world. The E3 sedans would sell more than 220,000 units between 1968 and 1977, and eventually spawned BMW's highly successful 5-Series and 7-Series sedans.

In between the Neue Klasse and the New Six, there were the coupes, known to BMW as Model 120. First introduced for the 1965 model year, they were essentially sportier, two-door versions of the Neue Klasse sedan, sharing most of its mechanical components.


Designed by the legendary Giorgetto Giugiaro, who went on to pen the Lamborghini Miura and Countach, as well as the Volkswagen Golf, the BMW 3200 CS is a sleek, attractive car. Powered by BMW's all-alloy V8, it had brisk performance despite its substantial heft (around 3,300 lb (1,500 kg)), but a price tag of 29,580 DM (around $7,400 at contemporary exchange rates) limited sales to a mere 603 in four years of production. (Photo © 2007 Jed; used under a Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike 3.0 license)

The Model 120's styling had a convoluted history. Back in 1961, BMW had launched the pricey 3200 CS, a hardtop coupe riding the old Barockengel chassis, powered by the last of BMW's fifties V8 engines. The 3200 CS was not styled by BMW, but by Giorgetto Giugiaro of Italy's Stilo Bertone, which also built the bodies. Although it was quite attractive, the coupe was very expensive, and only 603 were built between 1961 and 1965.

When BMW's in-house styling chief, Wilhelm Hofmeister, set out to design the Model 120, he apparently started with a big sheet of tracing paper, for the new coupe's lines were very similar to those of its Bertone predecessor. Unfortunately, the styling of the early coupes was compromised by the smaller dimensions of the Neue Klasse sedan (whose inner body structure it shared) and some eccentric detailing, particularly an odd-looking front clip. As a result, it was more bulbous than sleek, a good deal less attractive than its Italian-built forebear.


The odd, glassed-in headlights and the curious (but functional) slots above the bumper do no favors for the looks of this four-cylinder 2000 CS. It looks better from the side or the rear three-quarter view, where its resemblance to its Bertone-built predecessor is clearer. The engine in the four-cylinder cars is the 2.0L (121 cu. in.) version of BMW's SOHC four, which had either 120 gross horsepower (100 hp DIN) or 135 (120 DIN), good for 0-60 mph (0-97 kph) in 10.6 seconds with manual shift. (Photo © 2006 Rudolf Stricker; released to the public domain by the photographer)

BMW did not have the production capacity to build the Model 120 in-house, but even though the new coupe's styling had been derived from Bertone's 3200 CS, BMW opted not to have Bertone build it, instead contracting production to the German coachbuilder Karmann. It was an economical solution, although the Karmann-built cars never matched the assembly quality of cars built at BMW's Dingolfing plant, and they had an alarming lack of rust-prevention measures.

Rule Four: Be Careful Not to Lose the Plot

In its original four-cylinder form, the coupe did not make a strong case for itself. It was a kind of Bavarian Thunderbird, a personal luxury coupe that sacrificed a good deal of the Neue Klasse's no-nonsense practicality for (somewhat dubious) styling flair. Admittedly, it shared many of the virtues of its sedan brethren, including fine road manners, decent fuel economy, and generally excellent build quality. It wasn't a great deal faster than the sedan, though, and it was nearly 50% more expensive, starting at $4,985 POE in the U.S. At that price, it became harder to ignore the fact that the Alfa Romeo Giulia Sprint was around $800 cheaper, arguably better looking, and equipped with features the BMW lacked, like a five-speed gearbox and four-wheel disc brakes.


The six-cylinder coupes rode a 103.3-in (2,624-mm) wheelbase (compared to 100.4 in (2,550 mm) for the four-cylinder cars), and the nose was stretched an additional 3 inches (76 mm) to accommodate the longer engine. Later U.S. models, like this '73, were even longer, thanks to mandatory 5-mph (8-kph) bumpers. The 2800 CS had disc/drum brakes, like the four-cylinder coupes, but later 3.0 CS models like this one have four-wheel ventilated discs. The discs improve fade resistance, although the front-rear balance often left something to be desired.

The simple answer to these shortcomings was to add the E3's six-cylinder engine to the coupe, which BMW did in 1968, earning it a new type number, E9. In the process, the coupe's front end and wheelbase were both stretched, vastly improving its proportions, and an attendant facelift brought a more aggressive, shark-like nose. Although the new 2800 CS was around 300 pounds (136 kg) heavier than the four-cylinder 2000 CS, it was vastly better looking, and it gained nearly 60 horsepower (40 kW) in the process. 0-60 mph (0-97 kph) times dropped to around nine seconds, with a top speed approaching 130 mph (205 kph). Despite the additional muscle, it could still return close to 20 miles to the gallon (12 L/100 km) in more cautious driving.


In 1971, the 2.8 L M30 six was bored out to 2,985 cc (182 cu. in.). Power was largely unchanged (170 net horsepower), thanks to the added burden of emissions controls, but it had more torque than the earlier engine, improving low-speed acceleration. For racing, BMW claimed its actual displacement was 3,003 cc (183 cu. in.), allowing them to stretch it a little further in comptition form. European 3.0 CS models were also offered in 3.0 CSi form, with Bosch D-Jetronic fuel injection, but the injected engine was not available in the U.S.

Unfortunately, the six-cylinder coupe cost even more than before, starting at around $7,500 -- about $1,800 more than an E-Type Jaguar and slightly more than a Porsche 911, both of which were faster and handled just as well. The pricing situation was exacerbated by a revaluation of the deutsche mark in 1969, which pushed the U.S. base price above $8,000. Car and Driver was smitten, but even they had difficulty rationalizing the coupe's alarming price tag. Still, unlike BMW's sedans, the coupe was definitely not in a class by itself, which probably contributed to its very modest sales. Only about 3,500 six-cylinder coupes were built in 1969, 5,242 in 1970. The coupes were desirable in many respects (your author considers the six-cylinder E9 among the best-looking cars of its era), but their price exceeded their tangible virtues by at least 30%, which was the same mistake BMW had made with the Barockengel.


The stretched nose of the six-cylinder coupe was accompanied by a much-needed facelift, with felicitous results. The forward slope of the leading edge of the hood is an attractive touch retained for the later E24 6-Series, but by the 1980s, BMW was forced to grudgingly admit it had negative effects on aerodynamic drag. The M30 six-cylinder engine in these cars is sturdy and reliable, provided it gets regular valve adjustments and oil changes. Its only real weak spot is cooling in slow traffic, a product of mediocre fan capacity (which current owners often upgrade). Overheating is often fatal, leading to warping of the aluminum head, which has a different expansion rate than the iron block.

Rule Five: Be Prepared to Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is

Nothing props up the perceived value of a sporty car like an authentic competition pedigree, so BMW decided to take the E9 coupe racing. The early efforts, run mainly by independent tuner Alpina, were none too successful, but they got a shot in the arm in May 1972 with the advent of the lightweight 3.0 CSL, which used thinner steel, Plexiglas windows, and many aluminum parts to trim more than 300 pounds (140 kg). Once down to fighting weight, the coupe became far more competitive, though still not a world-beater.

That changed in 1973, when BMW and Alpina developed a wild-looking array of wings and spoilers for the CSL, aimed at reducing drag and eliminating the aerodynamic lift that had previously compromised its handling. The aero kit, which soon earned the CSL the nickname "Batmobile," looked outré, but it worked, vastly improving the coupe's high-speed handling.


Chris Amon's 3.0 CSL "Batmobile" at the Nürburgring, July 8, 1973. Note the wing above the rear window, an odd-looking touch. Although BMW had to sell copies of this car to the public for homologation purposes, the wings were actually illegal in Germany, so they were not attached to production cars sold there. (Photo © 1973 Lothar Spurzem; used under a Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike Germany 2.0 license)

With its Batmobile wings and a new 3.5 L (211 cu. in.) version of the big six, the CSL suddenly became a fearsome contender. It won its class at the 24 Hours of Le Mans in 1973, and went on to dominate European racing until 1979, four years after it went out of production. It won a total of five European Touring Car championships, and it was highly successful in various U.S. events, as well, seriously challenging Porsche's previously unassailable IMSA domination.

All this sturm und drang did not make the production coupe a hot seller. Like the contemporary Citroën SM, its sales were hit hard by the OPEC oil embargo of 1973-74. By the time production ended in December 1975, BMW had built a grand total of 30,546 six-cylinder E9s and 13,696 four-cylinder coupes (which had ended production in early 1970). Only 1,096 of those were CSLs, which were offered to the public only to homologate them for racing. If the coupes had been the company's sole product, BMW probably would have ended up in receivership, especially if the expense of the factory's racing efforts were added to the tab.


The E9 coupe is about three inches lower than the Neue Klasse sedans on which it was based, adding to its sleek lines. Alas, it is a good deal heavier, as well -- a federalized 3.0 CS like this weighs around 3,175 lb (1,440 kg). Note the upward kink of leading edge of the C-pillar, a BMW styling cue called the "Hofmeister Kink," after 1960s styling chief Wilhelm Hofmeister. The Hofmeister Kink has been featured on most subsequent BMWs.

Fortunately, the coupes eventually justified themselves with their spectacular racing success, which had a highly salutary effect on the company's sporting image. Admittedly, the relationship between race cars and production models is usually rather remote, but the same connoisseurs who appreciate BMW-type virtues tend to be enamored of the fantasy that their car, with only a few simple modifications, could lap the Nürburgring with the best of them. The CSL's racing exploits certainly added luster to the E9's successor, the E24 6-Series, as well as the later M3 and M5 sedans.

Rule Six: Keep Telling the Same Story

BMW underwent a series of management shifts at the end of the 1960s. Harald Quandt died in a plane crash in 1967, leading to renewed fears that BMW would end up in the hands of Daimler-Benz. (It didn't happen, and the Quandt family retains a controlling interest in BMW.) Powerful sales chief Paul Hahnemann, who had looked like a strong candidate for the new company chairman, was passed over in favor of Quandt Gruppe executive Eberhard von Kuenheim in January 1970, who then forced Hahnemann out. Hahnemann's successor was an American named Bob Lutz, previously of Opel (and now GM's product czar), who was the instigator of many of the factory racing efforts, as well as the originator of the company's Motorsport subsidiary. Lutz didn't stick around for long, but von Kuenheim remained the head of the company until 1993, during which time BMW's worldwide volume quadrupled.

In 1974, BMW's U.S. ad agency coined the familiar "Ultimate Driving Machine" tagline, which the company has used ever since. Even as its cars grew bigger and generally more mainstream, BMW repeated that message relentlessly, to the point where it could be recited (however derisively) even by people who knew nothing about cars. Whether you bought it or not, there was little doubt about what a BMW was supposed to be.

Since the mid-seventies, many automakers, ranging from Pontiac to Mercedes-Benz, have made BMW's cars the design bogeys for their new product development. What those rivals have really been after is not so much BMW's performance, but the coherency of its brand image. Any marketing executive in the world would sell her own grandmother for the kind of branding BMW has achieved in the past 30 years.

There's no particular magic to BMW's success, and if we were so inclined, we could be quite cynical about it. Ordinary sedans handle far better today than they did 40 years ago, and if BMWs have an edge, it is far narrower than it was in 1970. Even if you like BMWs (and here your author must confess a fondness), it's difficult to justify their inflated prices, unless you put a considerable premium on having a little blue-and-white propeller emblem on your hood.

What we must respect about BMW as a company is not its performance, its styling, or its financial success, but its impressive sense of focus. That's not to say it hasn't periodically lost its way, or that all its decisions have been good ones, but the company has stuck to its guns for more than four decades. In a business that tends to water down every good idea and that seems always to chase the lowest common denominator, that's an admirable achievement, even if the results aren't always to taste.

Our account of BMW's history in the sixties is based primarily on Jan P. Norbye and the Auto Editors of Consumer Guide, BMW: Bavaria's Driving Machines (Skokie, IL: Publications International, Ltd., 1984). We also consulted "Car and Driver Road Research Report: BMW 1500" (August 1963); "Road Research Report: BMW 2000 CS," Car and Driver, April 1966; Patrick Bedard, "Viewpoint: Patrick Bedard: BMW 2500," Car and Driver, June 1969; and "Car and Driver Road Test: BMW 2800 CS," Car and Driver, December 1969, all of which are reprinted in R.M. Clarke, ed., Car and Driver on BMW Cars 1957-1977 (Cobham, Surrey: Brooklands Books Ltd., c. 1986); "BMW 2800 CS," Road & Track, February 1970 (Vol. 21, No. 6), pp. 100-107, and "BMW 3.0CS: A glorious blend of Grand Touring qualities," Road & Track, July 1973 (Vol. 24, No. 11), pp. 88-91. Some useful information on the racing coupes came from Jonathan Thompson, "BMW vs Ford," on pp. 81-85 of the latter issue.

Production numbers and some technical details came from the BMW 3.0cs, 3.0csi, 2800cs, and BMW SL e9 models coupe site (date unknown, http://www.e9coupe.com/, accessed 17 November 2008).

Historical exchange rates for the DM to the dollar came from Harold Marcuse, "Historical Dollar-to-Marks Currency Conversion Page" (19 August 2005, UC Santa Barbara, http://www.history.ucsb.edu/faculty/marcuse/projects/currency.htm). Our estimates of the present equivalency of historical amounts are based on the United States Bureau of Labor Statistics Inflation Calculator, http://data.bls.gov/cgi-bin/cpicalc.pl.

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