Mike
The Sign
I grew up in a small town in Northeast Ohio in the mid 1970’s. Sunday mornings consisted of going to church and taking the obligatory “Sunday Morning Drives” with my parents and sister. Now these drives went one of two ways: 1.) Boring house hunting trips in the family sedan or 2.) Dirt road adventures in the rebuilt 1973 Ford F-150 (three on the tree). Sometimes we would ride in the bed; the poor man’s version of a convertible. Other times we could ride in the cab and operate the gear lever while my dad would handle the clutch and gas. It was one of these driving days in the early 1980’s I can first recall seeing “The BMW Sign.”
At the time I knew very little about German automobiles as my knowledge tended to stay closer to the Michigan side of the pond. Granted I was educated on various MGs and Austin Healeys, but the main-land Europe always escaped our family’s garage. So why did this random circle logo sign make such an imprint in my childhood memories? I have no idea, but I had to have it.
The sign was hanging on an abandoned brick warehouse with boarded up windows and trees growing on the roof. There were other signs on this building such as “no trespassing” and “keep out” but as a young boy they really did not mean that much to me. They were meant for other people.
So what does a young boy with nothing but time on his hands do during the Summer? Find a friend and explore this old building and get a better look at the BMW sign of course! Jason and I researched BMW’s, and we discovered BMW made some serious motorcycles which were well out of our lawn-cutting salaries. Needless to say, we both wanted this sign in our basements.
Jason and I rode our bikes four miles to the factory, and we soon realized we may not be prepared to carry out the mission. First, the doors to the factory were covered with metal grating. The boarded windows offered no additional help. To make matters worse, there was no access to the roof where the sign was hanging. So what did we do to let out our anger? We threw rocks at it. Over the years, I would ask my father about the BMW sign and Jason and I would laugh about the juvenile dreams we had in trying to “acquire” the BMW sign. Then one day it was gone.
I inherited what is known as “car disease” in my family. That means I love everything automotive. I bought my first BMW in 2004; the second in 2006 and another in 2009. I was hooked on the engineering and driving pleasure each BMW car I purchased. I would still travel to Ohio for vacations and often during wine-induced pontification sessions with my father and friends, the BMW sign would come up. The problem was no one knew anything about the factory or history of the sign.
Fast forward to 2012: my father started an investigation of his own without my knowledge. He met an individual who knew all about the BMW shop and the previous owner of the sign. Phone numbers and addresses were exchanged; the trail of the BMW sign was no longer cold.
Late 2012 I receive a phone message from my father telling me to check my email. I found three attached photos on the email; they were all of a BMW sign with my mother standing next to it. My first thought was “Why is my mom so short?” followed quickly by “No way!” He had found the BMW sign.
Turns out there was a BMW motorcycle dealer in the building called Lane Cycles from 1971 until 1981 when BMW consolidated their distributorships in Ohio. Lane Cycle started out selling scooters in 1963 and closed shop in 1981. The owner had two BMW signs hanging from the roof; a small one which vandals took shortly after it had closed and the large one which had been in storage since the mid 1980’s. The owner of Lane Cycle, who was now 81, no longer wanted the “old rusty broken up BMW sign” and sold it to my father for a song and a dance. My father gave the BMW sign to me as a Christmas gift that year
Initially, since I was going to be in Ohio for Christmas, I planned on strapping the sign to the roof of my SUV to bring it back to Missouri. Those plans were shattered when I found out the sign and its crate weighed 175lbs. So shortly after driving back to Missouri, we had it shipped in the back of a small pickup truck to my house.
When I unpacked it from its shipping crate, I found a rusty, old, weathered, beaten sign, and it had many visible scars due to some juveniles throwing rocks at it (punks). It wasn’t pretty but it was mine, and it was also a lot larger than recalled as a kid. I immediately began to work on it: sanding off rust, rewiring, and cleaning it up for the first time in 30 years. I plugged it in and it fired right up—I could hardly believe my eyes.
I have the sign hanging in my garage today. I often plug it in after a long day and listen to the humming of the 3 florescence lights, which remind me of where I came from and when times were simpler. The visible scars are like ours—giving us personality and character. I will never sell it. I cannot think of a better gift. Cheers dad!
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