So, 2017 has left the building. For me, it was a year of substantial personal and professional upheaval. It was the first year since 1981 that I was not someone’s full-time employee. That doesn’t mean I was unemployed or idle; I became, in many ways, busier than I’d ever been. As I have joked, I can’t tell if I’m unemployed or if this is just what it’s like to be a full-time writer.
Only I’ve never been certain it’s a joke.
I kicked off 2017 doing what any rational car-lover would do when faced with such uncertainty: I doubled-down on it. I bought Louie, a 1972 BMW 2002tii that hadn’t run in a decade, sight-unseen in Louisville, Kentucky. Then I began planning to go down to Louisville with a bunch of tools and parts, get the car running, and drive it back. Then I actually did what I planned, and then I wrote a book about it (Ran When Parked).
I use the word “planned,” but none of this was strategic. It all just sort of happened, and made a kind of strange sense.
I began the trip imagining myself as having bulging Bluto-like forearms and a giant Hack Mechanic tattoo across my chest, and thinking that I, the car guy, would beat said forearms on said chest and intimidate the car into bending to my iron will. But as I say in the book, it soon became obvious that the far more important part of the story was about serendipity, the kindness of strangers, and the way doors sometimes open when you need them to.
One of those strangers who opened one of those doors was Randy Greene, BMW CCA member and owner of Campobello Cars in South Carolina. As I edged toward actual embarkation on the hare-brained adventure of getting down to Louisville, resurrecting the car, and driving it back, and wondered on Facebook how Jerry Garcia-resembling me could legally pilot an unregistered car with no title (long story) the thousand miles home without winding up on the wrong side of a My Cousin Vinny-like stay in jail, Randy contacted me; he said he’d been reading my stuff in Roundel for years, and it would be his honor to send me a dealer plate to drive home on, if it would help.
I was astonished that someone I’d never met would make me such an offer. I filed it away, as one often does with things you take at face value but suspect may be too good to be true if you unwrap the package.
When my plans to make the trip fell into place, they did so rapidly, and I re-read Randy’s Facebook message. He’d included a telephone number. I texted him on a Saturday morning, saying that I was leaving for Louisville the next day, and asked him how serious his offer was. I expected him to do Robin Williams doing the genie doing William F. Buckley in Aladdin and say, “Well, there are a few, uh, provisos, a couple of quid pro quos,” and tell me that the plate would cover me if I was stopped by Buford T. Justice, but that if I was actually in an accident, I was on my own for coverage.
Instead, he called me back and said, “The post office in my small town is only open till 10:00 a.m. Tell me the address in Louisville you want the plate sent to, and I’ll run out now and send it out.”
An hour later, Randy sent me a tracking number. Sure enough, by the time I got down to Louisville early the next week, there was a dealer plate and accompanying paperwork waiting for me. I thanked Randy profusely—over the phone, online, and in the book. “Buy me dinner sometime” was his aw-shucks reply.
Then, a few months later, when I turned Louie back around and drove him south to attend the Vintage in Asheville, I had the opportunity to meet Randy. We connected at the “Heroes Of Bavaria” exhibit at the BMW CCA Foundation. We chatted for a good half hour. I brought up that dinner, but he was heading back to Campobello and I was driving back to Asheville. “Another time,” we both said.
As is the case too often in this life, we never had the chance.
A few days ago, I was stunned when Nikki Weed shared a post on Facebook that Randy Greene had passed away just before Christmas. The post, showing Randy with his eleven-year-old son, Brandon, was from Brandon’s aunt; it can be seen on Randy’s Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/randy.greene.73157), and says: “As a memorial to Randy Greene, we are setting up a college fund for Brandon. Donations will be deposited into a 529 account.”
The direct link to the 529 account is here, account number 618106219. If you prefer PayPal, you can donate to paypal.me/TracyMcConathy, an account set up by Brandon’s aunt, who will deposit the money directly into the 529 account. If you have any questions, contact the executor, Randy’s eldest son, Justin Greene, at jgreene72187@gmail.com.
When I checked Randy’s Facebook page and looked at his cover photo, I had a bittersweet smile: It’s a shot of cars on the lawn outside the CCA Foundation that day we met. There are two green 2002s in the background, and three people standing next to them. On close inspection, I realized that one of the cars is Louie, and two of the people are me and Randy. I can’t imagine that, having finally met Randy, I wouldn’t have taken a selfie with him, but I can’t find one in my event photos. It’s possible that he took a photo, not me. I’d give my eyeteeth if someone can produce it.
I’m going to turn the microphone over to Nikki Weed for a moment, as she knew Randy better than I did: “It began when I had to let go of my 635CSi. Although we weren’t attached at the hip since birth, we had a connection. My shark, my baby, my partner in crime, had to go swim in a different aquarium. As I turned the title over to the new owner, there was a kind set of eyes peering at me through the shop window, a set of eyes that knew that pain of letting go.
“That was Randy Greene. I met him on that day I let my shark go, and he saw my pain. He invited me into his shop and said some kind words. Inside, I was surrounded by every issue of Roundel since he was old enough to be a member. A light peppered his tired eyes, and he asked me to sign his copy of the Roundel issue that highlighted my adventure of the cross-country trip in the shark. I lost the car, but I met Randy.
“Now my heart is broken into a million pieces. Randy wasn’t just an amazing guy, he was also a huge Bimmer geek. The CCA community has lost a great member who had a lot of passion and loyalty to the Marque.”
I’m deeply saddened that Randy Greene did not survive 2017, that we only had that one face-to-face encounter, and that I never got to buy him dinner. But everything that is good and generous and trusting and pay-it-forward about this crazy hobby of ours was exemplified by his loaning me that plate, and I won’t forget it.
Guess I owe someone a dinner in 2018. Or maybe someone will owe one to me. After all, it’s a brand-new year—and Louie and I have places to go.—Rob Siegel
Rob’s new book, Ran When Parked: How I Resurrected a Decade-Dead 1972 BMW 2002tii and Road-Tripped it a Thousand Miles Back Home, and How You Can, Too, is now available on Amazon. Or you can order personally inscribed copies through Rob’s website: www.robsiegel.com.
