Those Made-in-Germany “Bugs”

As a rule, bugs are quite unloved. People tend to avoid them. However, let me tell you about myself, for I, too, am a “bug,” but I think quite an exception.

Although German by birth, I have become an international figure, equally at home in all parts of the world. I have been the butt of friendly jokes in any number of languages and the subject about which even movies have been made.

But now I’m getting up in years and things are beginning to change. I’m afraid they will never really be quite the same again. May I tell you my story?

My Birth

Actually, I’m not a bug at all, but as you can see from my picture, a car. But my nicknames, “beetle” or “bug,” as is so often the case, are used almost as much as my real name. I was originally christened “der Kraft durch Freude Wagen” (the strength through joy car). This was derived from a popular slogan (“strength through joy”) of the government that was ruling in Germany at the time of my conception. Quite a mouthful for the name of a car! Later, I became better known as the Volkswagen, a registered name, meaning “people’s car.”

Although the idea of building such a car had originated much earlier, it was not until 1934 that the German government ordered Ferdinand Porsche, auto designer and inventor, to produce one. To bring it within the reach of every pocketbook, the government decreed that it was to cost no more than 990 reichsmark, the equivalent of $396 U.S. at that time. It was to be for the people, a “people’s car.” You might say it was a Teutonic version of the American “chicken in every pot” dream of the 1930’s.

Preparations for my birth were both extensive and elaborate. Not only was a new factory to be built, but plans were even drawn up to construct an entirely new city with a population of 90,000 persons! The city’s cornerstone was laid on July 1, 1938, about five weeks after work had begun on the factory buildings where I was to be born. This new city, located strategically in the approximate center of the German Reich, had the rather unimaginative and awkward name “City of the Strength Through Joy Car.” Today named Wolfsburg, it is a modern city of 130,000 persons that you would scarcely suspect is only slightly over 40 years old.

So you see, although I may be nothing more than a “bug,” I dare say few human babies ever had such extensive plans and preparations made for their birth! My future prospects were promising indeed.

Disaster Strikes

Then World War II erupted, bringing an untimely end to many a bright future, including, at least for the time being, mine. Scarcely born, I was abandoned in lieu of more urgent matters. The entire production apparatus prepared for me was now geared to military purposes.

In fact, this turn of events even called into question the legitimacy of my existence. A shadow fell across my path, for I was accused of being part of a giant swindle. William L. Shirer, author of the book The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, explains:

“Since private industry could not turn out an automobile for $396 [990 reichsmark], Hitler ordered the State to build it and placed the Labor Front in charge of the project. . . . The Labor Front advanced fifty million marks in capital. But that was not the main financing. Dr. Ley’s ingenious plan was that the workers themselves should furnish the capital by means of what became known as a ‘pay-before-you-get-it’ installment plan—five marks a week, or, if a worker thought he could afford it, ten or fifteen marks a week. When 750 marks had been paid in, the buyer received an order number entitling him to a car as soon as it could be turned out. Alas for the worker, not a single car was ever turned out for any customer during the Third Reich! Tens of millions of marks were paid in by the German wage earners, not a pfennig of which was ever to be refunded.”

Whether, as some persons claim, the government knowingly did this to raise money for the war effort or not, yet the sad fact of the matter is that an estimated 170,000 persons did lose their money. Although not my fault, this is a chapter in my history of which I am not proud. I was determined to live down my shame, and—permit me to brag just a bit—I think I have succeeded quite nicely in doing so.

A Rebirth

At the end of the war, the Wolfsburg facilities were in shambles, over 50 percent destroyed. None of the occupying powers wanted them as reparation payments. As I later learned, all the Allied Powers auto makers thought me too simple and—I dislike the word—too ugly to be taken seriously.

Nevertheless, the British occupying troops ordered the plant reopened under German management, and production of the long-delayed “people’s car” began. It was at this time that the Americans and the British dubbed me “beetle” or “bug,” a nickname that was destined to stick. And, in all honesty, I must admit that there is a resemblance. But beetles are not really all that ugly, do you think?

My early years were difficult, but they were marked by steady progress. From less than 2,000 cars in 1945, production figures rose by the early 1970’s to well over 2,000,000 cars annually. By 1974 almost 18 million look-alike “bugs” had been produced, all of them sporting the emblem of a wolf and a castle on their steering wheel. Did you ever wonder why? Simply because Wolfsburg, my birth place, means, in German, “wolf’s castle.”

Yes, we “bugs” do look alike. The original concept and my general appearance have not changed over the years, but this has not ruled out technical improvements. In fact, every one of the more than 5,000 individual parts that go into each auto has in one way or another undergone improvements or changes over the intervening years.

It did not take long for me to become a familiar sight throughout Germany. But many foreigners also began taking a liking to me, and by 1947 you could even find me in our neighboring land of Holland. In 1949 I crossed the Atlantic to the United States for the first time. Many an American military man took a “bug” home with him when his tour of duty in Germany was over.

As the trend toward smaller, more compact and more economical cars gathered momentum in such places as the United States, my popularity grew. More and more “beetles” were exported; in fact, at times during the 1960’s and 1970’s as much as two thirds of the entire production was reserved for export. Factories were built in foreign countries to facilitate the work done in Wolfsburg and in the five additional plants that meanwhile had been built in Germany.

Oh, what treasured memories! Like in 1955 when the one millionth “bug” was driven from the production line, or when the 15 millionth was whisked off to a place of honor in the Washington, D.C., Smithsonian Institution. But the climax came on February 17, 1972. I had broken the all-time production record of slightly over 15 million cars set by the famous Ford “Tin Lizzy” back in 1927. I was now the new champ, the most successful car of all time! For a “bug” I had come a long way!

The End of an Era

While in many countries the trend toward smaller cars continued, here in my homeland the trend began to move in the opposite direction. As Germans became more affluent—ironically, I myself had done much to bring this about—they wanted bigger, more powerful and more comfortable cars. I must admit that I am not the most comfortable car in the world, and my small size and light weight can put me at a disadvantage in an accident or when I am being driven under hazardous conditions. But, then, who is perfect?

January 19, 1978: the saddest day of my life, the day that “bug” production in Germany ceased. From now on only more sophisticated models would be turned out in Volkswagen’s six domestic plants. The last “made-in-Germany bug” would never thrill to the excitement of the open road, but was destined to spend the rest of its life tucked away in the safety of a museum. Still, I take pride in the fact that the original “beetle” is still being manufactured in Volkswagen plants in Mexico, Brazil, Nigeria and South Africa.

This turn of events puts the German who is a “beetle” lover in a paradoxical situation: should he want a new “bug”—now almost as much a symbol of Germany as are leather shorts, beer mugs and cuckoo clocks—he will have to import it. Imagine! Why, that’s almost like telling Americans that from now on they will have to obtain their hamburgers, hot dogs and ice cream from abroad!

Excuse me for crying on your shoulder. I guess prominent persons always tend to live in the glories of their past. Maybe I’m just getting old and sentimental. Who wants to be cast off and forgotten? Of course, there are still millions of my kind roaring around the German autobahns and roads and byways of over 140 countries throughout the world. So even though my heyday may have passed, I am still around, alive and kicking, maybe just not as strongly as before. But at least you can be sure of one thing: It’s going to be a long time before anyone forgets us made-in-Germany “bugs”!

[Picture on page 21]

Few human babies ever had such extensive plans and preparations made for their birth!