Chapter Officers
President
Rich Warren
528 Butler Ave.
Wyoming, PA 18644
570-693-3629
warbmw@aol.com
Vice President/Editor/Web Master
Jack Eilenberger
570-242-5257
Stroudsburg
jackster3@verizon.net
Secretary
Bryan Zukawski
570-656-1184
Blakeslee
bzuk120@epix.net
Treasurer
William Kelly
570-876-6374
Eynon
william.joseph.kelly@verizon.net
Membership Chairman
Technical Representative
Mike Miller
auspuf2002@aol.com
Northern Tier Representative
Jeff Rolison
570-928-7821
Dushore
Southern Tier Representative
Ken Pletz
610-216-5359
Nazareth
kennethpletz@hotmail.com
North Atlantic Zone Hot-line
518-377-8080
Events, Activities, etc
Die Pocono Brochure
President
Rich Warren
528 Butler Ave.
Wyoming, PA 18644
570-693-3629
warbmw@aol.com
Vice President/Editor/Web Master
Jack Eilenberger
570-242-5257
Stroudsburg
jackster3@verizon.net
Secretary
Bryan Zukawski
570-656-1184
Blakeslee
bzuk120@epix.net
Treasurer
William Kelly
570-876-6374
Eynon
william.joseph.kelly@verizon.net
Membership Chairman
Technical Representative
Mike Miller
auspuf2002@aol.com
Northern Tier Representative
Jeff Rolison
570-928-7821
Dushore
Southern Tier Representative
Ken Pletz
610-216-5359
Nazareth
kennethpletz@hotmail.com
North Atlantic Zone Hot-line
518-377-8080
Events, Activities, etc
Die Pocono Brochure
Disclaimer: The Pocono Mountain Chapter of the BMW Car Club of America Inc. (BMW CCA) is an independent
group of BMW owners and is not associated with the manufacturer, importer, or dealers of BMW automobiles.
Meetings are held as announced in this publication. Die Pocono Brochure is a bi-monthly publication of the Pocono
Mountain Chapter of the BMW CCA and is provided by and for the members of the BMW CCA only. Unless
otherwise stated, maintenance and modification procedures herein are not “Factory Approved” and their use may
void your BMW warranty. Ideas and opinions are those of the writers and no authentication or approval is implied by
the editors or publishers, who assume no liability for the information contained herein. Material appearing in Die
Pocono Brochure may be reprinted without permission if proper credit is given. All ads created by the staff of Die
Pocono Brochure are created exclusively for use in Die Pocono Brochure. These ads may not be reprinted as
designed in other publications without permission.
group of BMW owners and is not associated with the manufacturer, importer, or dealers of BMW automobiles.
Meetings are held as announced in this publication. Die Pocono Brochure is a bi-monthly publication of the Pocono
Mountain Chapter of the BMW CCA and is provided by and for the members of the BMW CCA only. Unless
otherwise stated, maintenance and modification procedures herein are not “Factory Approved” and their use may
void your BMW warranty. Ideas and opinions are those of the writers and no authentication or approval is implied by
the editors or publishers, who assume no liability for the information contained herein. Material appearing in Die
Pocono Brochure may be reprinted without permission if proper credit is given. All ads created by the staff of Die
Pocono Brochure are created exclusively for use in Die Pocono Brochure. These ads may not be reprinted as
designed in other publications without permission.
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The Parking Space
Copyright © 2002, 2011 by Mike Miller
Not many 2002 drivers are interested in driving their little friend in Manhattan. Frankly, I was uneasy about it, too –
a treasured though tired classic car in a massive, hurried, impersonal megalopolis.
But there’s something about the stark incongruity of the situation that somehow appealed to my questionably-
wired psyche. So I didn’t think much about it when my friend Karolyn wanted take me to lunch in the City for my
birthday back in 1994. She had, after all, already made reservations.
I’d have been perfectly happy with a Stromboli from Little Vinny’s Mangia Andiamo over on Broadway. But that’s
not Karolyn’s style. The place she’d chosen, the name of which I will not use here (but there were Russians there,
and the tea was superb), was legendary both for culinary prowess and opulence. We pulled up to the place in my
black 1976 2002, which was immaculately detailed that particular day.
Now, part of the problem with fancy restaurants in big cities is that they have valet parking, which most people
think is great. But they’re normal people, not Bimmerheads. There’s just no way a valet will ever drive my ’02 – that
can never happen. Not at the most famous restaurant in New York, not at the ritziest hotel in Vegas, not at the
freaking White House. If I were elected president, no one would be allowed to drive the bulletproof BMW 2002
presidential stretch limousine but me and that’s all there is to it.
The valet was dressed like a circus monkey. His brass nametag prominently identified him as Andre. Anyone named
Andre can’t be a regular guy, but I didn’t have time to think about it very much. As he opened my door I laid my
Emergency Fifty-Dollar Bill on him, and politely asked if I could leave my ’02 right in front, in an empty spot behind a
new Jaguar.
“Sir, you cannot leave that car here.” sniffed Andre.
I was caught unawares. I didn’t quite know what to say. People just don’t have that kind of attitude in the places
where I have lived. What made the Jag better than my 2002? And it was dirty to boot. I was about to tell this clown
exactly what part of my anatomy he could kiss, when the big door swung open and a what was clearly a Really
Important Person blasted out and bee lined for my ’02. He was the maitre d’.
“My God! This is incredible! Andre, who owns this 2002!” The guy looked like he’d just seen the Hope Diamond.
“This is your car? It’s amazing! I’ve always wanted a black one and I could never find one. This is perfect! Please
leave it right here, okay? I have to call me son. He’s got to see this car!” Of course, as the guy is pumping my
hand, all I can think is, “no, it’s not really perfect, there’s this cover under the driveshaft center bearing that I’ve
been trying to get from BMW for two months, and it really should have flat turn signals, and…”
It’s said that the maitre d’ is the most powerful person in a restaurant – the keeper of the good seats. To me, any
seat where they serve you food is a good one. It’s the parking space that matters.
© Mike Miller 2002, 2011
Copyright © 2002, 2011 by Mike Miller
Not many 2002 drivers are interested in driving their little friend in Manhattan. Frankly, I was uneasy about it, too –
a treasured though tired classic car in a massive, hurried, impersonal megalopolis.
But there’s something about the stark incongruity of the situation that somehow appealed to my questionably-
wired psyche. So I didn’t think much about it when my friend Karolyn wanted take me to lunch in the City for my
birthday back in 1994. She had, after all, already made reservations.
I’d have been perfectly happy with a Stromboli from Little Vinny’s Mangia Andiamo over on Broadway. But that’s
not Karolyn’s style. The place she’d chosen, the name of which I will not use here (but there were Russians there,
and the tea was superb), was legendary both for culinary prowess and opulence. We pulled up to the place in my
black 1976 2002, which was immaculately detailed that particular day.
Now, part of the problem with fancy restaurants in big cities is that they have valet parking, which most people
think is great. But they’re normal people, not Bimmerheads. There’s just no way a valet will ever drive my ’02 – that
can never happen. Not at the most famous restaurant in New York, not at the ritziest hotel in Vegas, not at the
freaking White House. If I were elected president, no one would be allowed to drive the bulletproof BMW 2002
presidential stretch limousine but me and that’s all there is to it.
The valet was dressed like a circus monkey. His brass nametag prominently identified him as Andre. Anyone named
Andre can’t be a regular guy, but I didn’t have time to think about it very much. As he opened my door I laid my
Emergency Fifty-Dollar Bill on him, and politely asked if I could leave my ’02 right in front, in an empty spot behind a
new Jaguar.
“Sir, you cannot leave that car here.” sniffed Andre.
I was caught unawares. I didn’t quite know what to say. People just don’t have that kind of attitude in the places
where I have lived. What made the Jag better than my 2002? And it was dirty to boot. I was about to tell this clown
exactly what part of my anatomy he could kiss, when the big door swung open and a what was clearly a Really
Important Person blasted out and bee lined for my ’02. He was the maitre d’.
“My God! This is incredible! Andre, who owns this 2002!” The guy looked like he’d just seen the Hope Diamond.
“This is your car? It’s amazing! I’ve always wanted a black one and I could never find one. This is perfect! Please
leave it right here, okay? I have to call me son. He’s got to see this car!” Of course, as the guy is pumping my
hand, all I can think is, “no, it’s not really perfect, there’s this cover under the driveshaft center bearing that I’ve
been trying to get from BMW for two months, and it really should have flat turn signals, and…”
It’s said that the maitre d’ is the most powerful person in a restaurant – the keeper of the good seats. To me, any
seat where they serve you food is a good one. It’s the parking space that matters.
© Mike Miller 2002, 2011
