There is no shortage “ugly duckling to swan” stories in the automotive world, but perhaps the greatest one was BMW’s transformation of its exceedingly odd “Neue Klasse” 2000CS coupe into the incredibly beautiful 2800CS/3.0CS coupes, also known as the “E9”. The E9 was perhaps the mid-century era’s prettiest coupe design. In the nearly 60 years since its introduction, BMW has come close (Looking at you, E31 8-Series), but it has never exceeded the beauty, simplicity and sheer good taste of the E9 coupe. After seeing an E9 in the flesh or driving one, it’s an easy car to love and an easy one to want, but there are some important things to keep in mind when shopping.
Around 2006, I bought a 1971 BMW 2800CS, the initial version of the E9. It wasn’t the best example on the planet, but it wasn’t hateful either. Its main failing was the fact that it was a color change—it was born in the crazy ’70s-cool shade of Colorado Orange, but by the time I got it, the car had been resprayed in the more sedate shade of Polaris Silver. It wasn’t a bad job. The engine compartment was silver and someone even bothered to change the paint code decal, but if you looked hard enough, you could still find some traces of the original orange.
None of this mattered when I drove the car down from Portland to Monterey Car Week in August of 2006. In a sea of seven- and eight-figure cars, my E9 (that I paid $15,000 for), was gathering an inordinate amount of attention. Had I cared to, I could have sold it several times for significantly more than I paid for it. If I needed any confirmation that this was a very special car, I had it in no uncertain terms.
The E9 wasn’t born a legend, though. Its origins were in BMW’s early 1960s “Neue Klasse” program, a fresh line of modern unibody cars, with all-new engines that yanked BMW from near-insolvency. The original Neu Klasse coupe, the 2000CS, wasn’t hideous per se. It had some positive things going for it and generally clean proportions … until you got to the front. The car’s gorgeous rear three-quarter view (inspired by the earlier Bertone-designed 3200CS) was sublime, and its pillarless greenhouse—complete with Hoffmeister kink and pretty BMW badges concealing flow-through ventilation outlets in the C-pillar—was fantastic. But the deeply strange nose gave the car a face that only a Mutti could love. Blunt and just flat-out weird, that feature, combined with skinny tires and a narrow track, spoiled the look of the car. Critics and road testers fixated on this, and the fact that with a 2.0-liter four-cylinder engine, the car was a bit underpowered for a luxury coupe.
No matter, by 1968, a fix was on the way. In order to address power concerns, BMW fitted its smooth 2.8-liter M30 straight six. In order to do this, the wheelbase of the car had to be lengthened and the nose extended and chiseled. This simple trick, which also added quad four round headlights and a more traditional BMW grille, worked a profound transformation. The ugly duckling was now a swan. Although styled in-house by the famous Wilhelm Hoffmeister, the bodies were built under contract by Karmann, whose conspicuous lack of rust-proofing expertise sadly led to the demise of a huge number of E9s. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.
The car magazines of the day adored the new BMW, concluding that while you could spend more on a grand tourer, you couldn’t find one that was more practical (the E9 had usable back seats and a huge trunk), or better at devouring hours of interstate miles. Handling was also sharp with McPherson struts in front and independent rear suspension with semi-trailing arms and coil springs located by a subframe that supported the diff housing.
Transmission options were a four-speed all-synchromesh manual and a three-speed automatic (which, strangely, was advertised with a badge on the rear). Only the brakes, which employed front discs and rear drums, came in for any criticism. Journalists praised the car’s newfound low-key good looks, and couldn’t ignore that it was pretty on the inside as well, with either real leather or BMW Skai leatherette seats and lovely wood trim. Other than leather, options were few. The majors were a sunroof (electric or crank) and air conditioning, generally installed at the port, or by the dealer. Very attractive Italianate alloy wheels by FPS, with a chrome hubcap, were standard.
After three model years, BMW updated the E9 platform for 1971 with the 3.0 CS. Aside from badging, not much changed cosmetically. Mechanically, it was a different story. The engine was bored out by 200cc, and horsepower jumped from 160 to 180. Rear disc brakes replaced the old drums. U.S.-bound cars retained finicky Solex carburetors but, inexplicably, the Bosch D-Jetronic fuel-injected 3.0 CSi remained a Europe-only proposition with a full 200 horsepower.
Speaking of Europe, as BMW grew weary of Porsche having its way in touring car racing, the Bavarians decided to do something bold—the 3.0CSL (the “L” stands for leicht, which is German for “light”). Sound deadening was removed, some glass was thinner, and opening body panels were made of alloy. Visual changes to the body included a front spoiler and front fender top splitters, while some CSLs got a massive rear wing that quickly earned them the nickname “Batmobile.” Think of it like BMW’s version of the Porsche 2.7 Carrera RS. Brian Redman, Sam Posey, Hans Stuck and Ronnie Petersen were among the cavalcade of famous drivers who raced CSLs in the 1970s, while liveries done by artists Alexander Calder and Frank Stella were among the most famous ever to adorn a race car. Never available new in North America, CSLs are the rarest and most collectible E9s today, and a decent number of examples have made it to this country as classics.
All great things come to an end, and by 1975, at least in the U.S. the appeal was beginning to fade. Massive “diving-board” bumpers were BMW’s answer to the new U.S. 5-mph bumper regulations, and the final two years of the E9 in America were defaced by these appendages. With some work, however, these later cars can be backdated to the original small bumpers. Well into 1976, a fair number of old E9s remained with dealers even as the all-new Paul Braq-designed E24 630CSi coupes began showing up at dealers. A little over 30,000 E9s of all types were built
It’s not tough to explain where to start here. The biggest concern with the E9 is rust. It’s been joked that Karmann invented the rust process and licensed it to Fiat and Alfa Romeo. The E9’s structure contains a multitude of closed, boxed sections that trap moisture and start the rust process from within every little recess of the car. Literally everywhere is a potential rot spot, including the roof. Window seals on the pillarless design were never great and when they shrink and harden, water starts to enter the car. And while Karmann thought to include large rubber drain plugs in the floors, the floors would literally rust around the plugs themselves. It’s no exaggeration to say that E9s literally began rusting on the showroom floors.
Mechanically, it’s standard 70s BMW, both the good and the bad. Neither the 2800 nor the 3.0 tolerated overheating. Even absent an overheating episode, heads could crack and coolant would mix with oil. Consequently, a large number of E9s have had swaps of later BMW engines, most notably 3.5-liter engines from the E24 635CSi. Visually, the engines are quite similar. Four-speed manual boxes and three-speed ZF automatics aren’t universally loved either, so again, there are tons of E9s running around with later five-speed BMW/Getrag gearboxes. None of this really seems to hurt the value of the cars, though.
Unlike Porsches, color doesn’t seem to make a huge difference in value. Fjord Blue and Polaris Silver are probably the most popular colors, and these along with ivory seem to complement the car’s elegant nature. The bright colors like Golf Yellow, Inka Orange and Colorado Orange are more popular on the CSL than the standard coupe. A/C and a sunroof are desirable options. E9 interiors are truly things of beauty, simple and elegant in a mid-century, almost Scandinavian way. Open-pore wood and a full set of VDO gauges sets off a black, tan, or blue interior. Like a Benz of the era, all of this cracks, fades and wears out. It’s all replaceable, at a price. Mechanical parts are all readily available, but body panels and trim items can be more of a challenge. A full body shell restoration of an E9 coupe can exceed $100,000, so it very much pays to buy the best.
Relative to their fantastic looks and their premium badge, prices for E9s remained temptingly affordable for much of the 2000s and 2010s. The past few years, however, have seen a massive surge, and then a slight correction.
The hierarchy of E9 values is fairly straightforward. The 2800CS is the earliest and most affordable. A condition #3 (“good”) driver is currently worth $55,300 in the Hagerty Price Guide, while a #2 (“excellent”) car stretches just into six figures at $101K. A 3.0CS is worth $69,600 in #3 condition and $122K in #2 condition, though later models with the frumpy bumpers come at a significant. A European market CSi is worth a little more at $78,600 in #3 condition and $146K in #2 condition. The 3.0CSL, meanwhile, has always existed in a different universe when it comes to value. Early ones are worth between $150K-$179K in #3 condition, and $225K-$256K in #2 condition. The
Even today, the E9 remains highly relevant. The car seems to show up frequently in movies and TV with a Polaris Silver car recently appearing in the Daniel Craig film, Knives Out. More so than any car I can think of, it screams, (or rather whispers) subtle good taste, and appreciation for fine design.
My advice is that unless the seller of an E9 can show you the car completely disassembled and all rust remediated, followed by proper modern rust prevention, to consider any E9 a rust bucket. It’s not a matter of if, but when. That said, they are very nice cars to drive.