GETTING THE BUGS BACK INTO
VOLKSWAGEN’S HISTORY
by Thomas H. Lipscomb
Sometimes there is nothing like a nice
escapist puff piece in a lifestyle magazine to occasion a total reality
check. In this case an unassuming article in American Express’s October
Travel and Leisure.
ARTnews editor Carly Berwick was simply
trying to cover the new “Autostadt” themepark in Wolfsburg, Germany, home
of Volkswagen. Owned by VW, the Autostadt is sort of an Epcot Center devoted
to the car and in particular Volkswagen products including Audi and Lamborghini.
Germans who buy VW cars can pick one up at the Autstadt and save the usual
dealer delivery fee, and get a free day ticket to the exhibits.
Like all theme parks, Autostadt is all very slick and all very contemporary.
But as Berwick toured its Zeithaus, or “Time House,” devoted to the history
of Volkswagen, she noticed a conspicuous absence of material devoted to
VW’s contribution to the Nazi war machine. When she asked Autostadt’s CEO,
Otto Wachs, about “the gap” in the Zeithaus it, he replied with one of
those infuriatingly coy statements that send good reporters digging frantically away:
“We do not think there was a real gap. You can have more than detailed
information, if you ask.”
Berwick’s instincts were right but she clearly wasn’t up to the challenge
of finding the geist missing in Wach’s Zeithaus. Leaving the Nazi period
out of Volkswagen’s history makes it impossible to make sense of one of
the most fascinating incidents of national economic policy since the Industrial
Revolution. For understandable reasons VW
far prefers claiming pioneer auto designer Ferdinand Porsche as its founder,
rather than its real founder --- Adolf Hitler.
Hitler is as essential a part of the foundations of today’s VW Corporation
as the Doric columns of the Parthenon are to the impact of its sculpted
friezes. Just after taking power in 1933, Hitler made an announcement at
the Berlin Auto Show that he intended to create a “people’s car” the average
German worker could afford. (Dr. Ferdinand) Porsche had been spending part
of his time for over a decade trying to interest the auto manufacturers
he worked
for in creating an inexpensive auto, including Daimler-Benz, Steyr, and
Mercedes, and he had made little progress. Now he asked for a meeting with
Hitler.
But Hitler was to be no silent partner. Whether or not the early sketch
by Hitler of the car The New York Times was to call the “beetle” in 1938
was Hitler’s design, or Hitler’s rendering of a design by Erwin Komenda,
the specifications
were clearly Hitler’s. They included several requirements that did not
make Porsche’s job any easier— the car had to carry two adults and three
children or three soldiers and a machine gun; it had to be able to operate
at 100 kilometers an hour; the engine had to be air-cooled; fuel consumption
would have to get 10 kilometers for every .8 liters of fuel; and the price
must be less than 1.000 marks, roughly the price of a motorcycle at the
time.
Prototype bugs in front of the Ferdinand Porsche villa
near Stuttgart, Germany.
Porsche and Hitler signed a deal in 1934. Hitler saw the “people’s car”
as a key element in his after-the-fact seduction of the heavily Communist
German labor unions he had forced into marrying his new Nazi German Labor
Front on May Day in 1933. After all, fewer than one out of 30 Germans at
the time owned an automobile. So Hitler assigned its production to the
“Kraft durch Freude” division of his Labor Front.
The “Kraft durch Freude (KdF)” or “Strength through Joy” movement was
a brilliantly successful and highly popular labor innovation. In the depths
of a world depression, it sent ordinary German workers on cruise ship vacations
to the Mediterranean, created public development housing for them, as well
as adult education classes, cultural activities and a massive gymnastics
and sports program. By 1938, 10 million Germans, more than half of them
workers, were participating in KdF vacation trips.
So by 1938, when Hitler and Porsche had progressed through prototypes
and were ready to begin production, the new factory town located on the
Mittelland Canal in Lower Saxony was named “KdF-Stadt” and the “peoples’
car” it was to produce was named the “KdF-wagen”. By now the name “Kraft
durch Freude” and its anagram KdF were golden to German workers.
So not surprisingly, after years of being tantalized by promises of the
coming miracle car designed just for them, over 337,000 of them lined up
to buy 5 mark stamps each month to fill their red Labor Front members’
books until they could turn them in for a nice shiny KdF-wagen—any color
they wanted, as long as it was blue.
And genius that Porsche was, by the time the “beetle” was locked into
its production version it was a far better car than the one he thought
he was designing, with more interior space, more endurance and even better
mileage.
But, of course, by 1939, when the first KdF-wagens were supposed to
be rolling
off the production lines in KdF-Stadt, there was a war underway. With typical
acid working class German humor, the story is still told of the disgusted
KdF factory worker who had turned in his stamps and still hadn’t had his
car delivered. He gave up and tried the Johnny Cash “one piece at a time”
method of building one out of parts he snuck home from the KdF factory.
When he finally assembled them in 1941, he found he was the proud possessor
of a Wehrmacht weapons carrier all his very own. (Photo:
Hitler visits KdF factory.)
The KdF-Stadt facility turned out over a hundred thousand military vehicles
such as the indestructible kubelwagen, which became the jeep of the German
Army during the war and a favorite of GIs who captured them. It also produced
2,000 V-1 “buzzbombs” bound for targets in England. And it used 17,000
slave laborers and prisoners of war to produce them. Their work was finally
acknowledged in 1999 in a “Place of Remembrance” exhibit writer Carly Berwick
finally founded buried in a bunker under one of the original 1938 KdF factory
buildings. (Photo: Dr. Porsche in the "swimmvagen.)
After
the war KdF-Stadt was placed in the British Sector. A remarkable British
major named Ivan Hirst was responsible for trying to find some economic
use for its ruined factory. By the end of 1945 he had managed to build
58 cars. For 1946 he was able to produce more than 10,000 of them. But
in an age of “denazification” he couldn’t very well turn out cars whose
name celebrated one of the most fondly remembered movements of the Nazi
era. So they were now renamed the “Volkswagen.” And that was deliciously
appropriate since ten years earlier in 1936 Hitler had originally been
founded the GeZuVor (Gesellschaft Zur Vorbereitung des Deutschen Volkswagen)
--- to produce the KdF-wagen.
The irony goes on. As long as Major Hirst was renaming things, the British
decided to change the name of KdF-Stadt itself to “Wolfsburg” —after the
nearby castle. What the British failed to consider is that the name “Wolf”
to any Nazi party insider only referred to one person – Adolf Hitler. It
had been his nom de guerre as a revolutionary in the 1920s, he checked
into hotels as “Herr Wolf,” it was the pet name Eva Braun called him as
well, and the Deputy Reichsfuhrer Rudolf Hess named his son Wolf in Hitler’s
honor. And as changes like this went along to create more of Otto Wach’s
“gap” between Volkswagen’s Nazi origins and the brave new world of the
Autostadt, earlier this year Wolfsburg—formerly “Strength through Joy”-ville—now
decided to announce a new city motto: “Joy Through Discovery.”
As a foonote, in 1961 337,000 Germans finally settled their lawsuit
in a German court for the KdF-wagens they had never had delivered. They
were granted their choice of 100 Deutschmarks or a 600 Deutschmark discount
on the purchase of a new Volkswagen. A decade later, Volkswagen decided
to quietly
take advantage of the already expensed designs of its World War II kubelwagen
utility vehicle as the “Thing Car” ---perfect for the beach or as a weekend
runabout. It was disguised with color schemes of chartreuse, raspberry
and fluorescent orange more familiar to an LSD-addicted surfer than any
Wehrmacht veteran.
But the geist goes on. A very distinguished Jewish lawyer in the posh
Hamptons on Long Island wasn’t falling for that. He bought one in basic yellow
and it disappeared into a paint and body shop nearby. A week later his
beach car came out with the camouflage and panzer unit markings of a kubelwagen
of the Afrika Korps, complete with palm tree and swastika. To the chagrin
of his neighbors along the beach at East Hampton, including the former
president of Volkswagen North America, he drove it around for years.
Like a strong stencil wallpaper, the patterns of history keep showing
though no matter how many times one tries to paint over them. There seems
something irrepressible in history that keeps making re-connections as
fast as image makers try to uncouple them. And certainly the world is a
richer place for these constant reminders that whatever we try to do, we
might as well acknowledge the past since we can never truly escape it.
With more than 22 million cars sold to date, perhaps even Volkswagen may
learn this someday.
| Thomas H. Lipscomb, whose columns appear in major
U.S. publications, is Chairman of the Center for the Digital Future
in New York, founder of InfoSafe, a multi-media software firm, former president
of the New York Times book division, Oregon Magazine's Berlin Bureau Chef
and as a boy scout used to distribute programs in Civic Stadium so
he could see Portland Beaver baseball games for free. |
Text © 2002 Thomas Lipscomb Photos link
to their source where known. |