“‘The Fatherland was already on its knees economically, if not utterly prostrate. Yet France grabbed it by the throat, determined to strangulate it into utter submission. I could try to describe the financial disaster that followed as the government began frantically printing money to compensate for its losses, but a table that was in our newspaper the other day says it better than any words. It shows the number of marks it takes to buy one U.S. dollar.”
Mitch and Edie looked at the financial table.
January 1922 192
July 1922 493
January 1923 17,972
July 1923 353,412
August 1923 4,620,455
September 1923 98,860,000
October 1923 25,260,208,000
“Oh my word.” Mitch breathed. “This is unbelievable. A dollar will now buy twenty-five million marks?”
“No, Mitch,” Edie replied. “You read that wrong. It is not twenty-five million.”
He leaned in and peered more closely, and then his jaw sagged. “Twenty-five billion! That is incomprehensible. Surely that can’t be right.”
She said nothing, so he picked up the letter again.
“‘I am sure that your minds are whirling like a cyclone about now. The figures are so fantastic that they seem like some kind of horrible fairy tale. But I assure you they are real. Around the first of August, I went to the grocer to see what food he had available, and I had to take my wheelbarrow. Not for the food, but to carry my money. Here is a list of what I bought: one loaf of bread (50,000 marks); one head of cabbage (30,000 marks); four tomatoes (10,000 marks each); 1/4 pound of coffee (60,000 marks); four eggs (10,000 marks per egg); five pounds of flour (120,000 marks); two pounds of lard (340,000 marks); one box of soap (100,000 marks).
“‘It used to be that we would go to the store with pockets full of money and come back with wheelbarrows full of food. Now, we go with wheelbarrows (or laundry hampers, or two-wheeled carts, or shoulder bags) full of money and come back with pockets full of food.
“‘Emilee and I were at the Englischer Garten the other day with the girls. We saw two boys flying a large homemade kite. It looked a little strange, so I went over to take a look. They had made it out of one-million mark bank notes, because those were cheaper than kite paper. On that same day we saw street sweepers sweeping up piles of discarded money from the gutters. It is so worthless that people are throwing it away.
“‘But there is a bright side to all of this. A lot of people are hoarding their money now as winter approaches because they can burn it in their stoves. Our money is significantly cheaper than our coal. And speaking of coal, at Emilee’s clinic, the doctors recently posted this notice: “Attention patients: Due to the shortage of coal, each visitor to the clinic is asked to bring one briquette with you with each visit to help us heat our waiting room.”
“‘The government is now printing money so fast that they are only printing it on one side of the paper. People are using it as wallpaper, because the money is cheaper than actual wallpaper.
“‘A lot of parents are giving their children the bricks of currency they receive for their wages. The bricks, which are about the size of regular bricks, make wonderful building blocks and are cheaper than virtually any other toy they can buy.
“‘I saw a couple of your missionaries on the street the other day. Stopped and chatted with them, asked how they’re doing with all the inflation. It wasn’t a surprise, because they have dollars, but they said that their mission president has told them to only exchange enough money to get them through the day. The younger elder complained that he had made the mistake of buying postage stamps one morning and then waiting until the next day to send his mail. The postage was worthless by that time. If you can believe it, the postal service is now printing million-mark postage stamps.
“‘One last example that hits close to home, but kind of says it all. The other day was Emilee’s payday. Since petrol is very expensive and hard to get now, I couldn’t afford to drive our car over to her clinic. So instead, I took a wheelbarrow to receive her weekly pay. I also brought a suitcase, and we had to fit some of the money in there. Then we started back home. It was evening and almost dark. Suddenly, two men stepped out from behind some trees. Both wore masks and one had a pistol. They proceeded to rob us. But to our amazement, as we stepped back and watched, they dumped out the five billion marks and stole our wheelbarrow!
“‘Where will it stop? No one knows. No one can say. And with every passing day, hope dims and stability deteriorates. Right now the anger of the people is focused on France and the Ruhr Valley, but that can and almost certainly will quickly change.
“‘Sorry to have burdened you with such grim realities, but you asked for a report. We are deeply grateful for the efforts you and your church have made in our behalf. Your friendship is a lasting treasure for us. But the problem is so vast and so complex that I fear that even with your remarkable generosity, any help is but a drop in the bucket.
“‘But then, if you happen to be the one with the bucket, even that can be a miracle.’”
Chapter Notes
The statistics of the hyper-inflation that swept Germany at this time are accurate (see Anderson, Mormons and Germany, 100; Trager, People’s Chronology, 751, 757; Shirer, Rise and Fall, 61–62). The examples of how inflation impacted the lives of people all come from documented sources.
Elder Ezra Taft Benson (later President Benson) visited Germany in 1923 and made this statement in conference: “I have seen the ravages of inflation. I shall never forget Germany in the early 1920s. In December 1923 in Cologne, Germany, I paid six billion marks for breakfast. That was just 15 cents in American money” (Ensign, January 1974, 68).
Anderson makes reference to aid the Church was sending to Germany during this inflationary crisis: “In response [to the hyperinflation], the Church again stepped up relief to its membership. Though the extent of it is unknown, Mormons apparently weathered the inflation a bit better because they could rely on help from the Church (Mormons and Germany, 101–2).
November 1, 1923, 6:40 a.m.—Barn, Eckhardt dairy farm
Karl Anhalt looked up in surprise when the front door to Oma and Opa’s house opened and a shaft of light lit up the early morning darkness. He was even more surprised when he saw who it was that appeared in the doorway. He turned and looked at his two brothers-in-law. Rudi gave him a puzzled look and then shrugged and went back to the dairy barn for more wheels of cheese. Klaus came over and moved in close. “Is he going this morning?” he whispered.
Karl shook his head. “Not that I know of. Oma didn’t say anything to me last night.”
“Nor to me.”
But just then, another figure appeared silhouetted in the doorway. A hand came up and waved. “Opa is wondering if he can go into town with you this morning,” Inga called.
“Of course,” Karl called back. “But we’re just loading still. We will be another ten minutes or so.”
“And we still have to eat breakfast,” Klaus called. “It will be about seven-fifteen when we are ready.”
“Ah, ja,” Inga called back. “You shall eat breakfast with us this morning.” She held up a spatula and waved it at them. There was a soft laugh. “The best German pancakes in all of Bavaria.”
Rudi had come out in time to hear that. “All of the world, Oma Inga,” he called. “But Anna will have breakfast for me in a few minutes.”
Inga came out onto the porch. “Nein, Rudi. Look at your cottage. There are no lights. Anna is still sleeping.”
The three men turned and looked up the lane past the dairy barn. There were no lights to be seen anywhere.
“And Ilse too, Karl. And Heidi as well, Klaus. It is Saturday, and the children have no school.”
“But. . . .” Klaus started.
“I called each of your wives last night and told them that Opa Ha
ns wanted to go with you to town today. So I told them that I would make breakfast for you so they could sleep in for once. It’s a good idea, no?”
They exchanged looks and then smiled. “Anna gets to sleep in,” Rudi said, “Opa gets to go to town, and we get German pancakes. That sounds like a good deal to me.”
10:40 a.m.—Leuchtender Stern Restaurant, Oberammergau
Karl pulled the delivery truck over to the curb and pointed out the window. “Is this the restaurant you mean, Opa?”
Hans Sr. lowered his head a little and looked out the window. He read slowly. “The Bright Star Restaurant.” He turned back. “I think so,” he said slowly. “It does look familiar.”
Rudi, who was sitting between his father-in-law and Karl, nodded. “I think it is the one you want, Opa. This is where Hans Otto and Emilee were married. Do you remember that?”
A light seemed to click inside his mind. “Ja, ja. The Bright Star. A wonderful day that was.”
“Ja,” Karl said. “I’m sure this is the one you were thinking of.”
“Gut. This is the one.” Hans Sr. reached down and opened the door. As it opened, Klaus came around from the back of the truck. He touched his father-in-law on the arm. “Do you have enough money for lunch, Opa?”
Hans Sr. gave him a dirty look. “I know that I am getting senile, but I am not stupid yet.” And to prove it, he reached inside his coat and pulled out his billfold. He fumbled for a moment and then withdrew a bill. Holding it up to the light, he squinted at it. Then he gave a low cry of pleased surprise. “Ah! I have a hundred thousand marks. My goodness, I can buy the restaurant for that.” He laughed at his own joke.
The brothers-in-law exchanged glances, and Klaus said, “I’ll take him in and pay in advance.”
“And give them our number in case he needs us,” Karl added. He looked at Hans Sr. “Opa, Klaus will take you inside. He’s going to pay for your lunch in advance so you don’t have to worry about it.”
He snorted. “And what about some beer?”
“He will pay for that too. But only one stein. Remember what Oma says. No more than one stein when you come to town.”
Hans Sr. looked around carefully and then leaned in and looked at Karl. “But Mama isn’t here, is she?” he asked with a sly smile.
The three men laughed, once again amazed at these occasional moments of clarity. “All right,” Klaus said, taking his arm. “Two steins. But no more.”
As they started away, Rudi called after them. “Opa, we’ll come back for you. What time would you like us to come?”
“I’ll walk home.”
They exchanged quick looks. “It is a nice day,” Rudi suggested.
Karl considered that and then nodded and looked at Hans. “It is sunny, Opa, but the air is pretty brisk. Are you sure you want to walk?”
Another dirty look. “Where I grew up,” he muttered, “we raised real men, not hot-house plants. If you’re cold, put on a coat.”
They all hooted. “Okay,” Karl called to Klaus. “Tell them he can have whatever he wants to eat, but only two beers. And be sure you give them our phone number.”
10:46 a.m.
The three men who had been surreptitiously following the delivery truck for the last hour and a half waited for several minutes until they were positive the truck wasn’t coming back and then stepped out of the alley.
“All right,” said the taller one, looking around to make sure they weren’t being observed. “Heinz, you go to the bank. Make sure they’ve still got enough cash on hand to close out our account.”
“Wait. Today’s Saturday. The bank is closed.”
“You Trottel. This one won’t be. Knock on the door twice, then twice more. They’re waiting for you. But make sure no one sees you going in. And stay there until we come get you. Now get!”
The man swore to himself and lumbered away. The tall man swung on his companion. “Where did you find that dope? A bag of beans has more brains than that.”
His companion ignored the outburst. “How long will you be in the restaurant?”
“Only until the old man finishes his lunch. The waitresses in there are too nosy, and they know him too well. After that, we’ll move to that little hole-in-the-wall hotel down on Magdalenagasse. We’ll meet in their bar. At this time of day we shouldn’t be bothered.”
At the sound of voices, he looked around. A young couple was approaching. Both men quickly turned and looked in the window until they passed. When he was sure they were gone, the tall man lowered his voice. “Is everything ready, Reinhold?”
The shorter man reached into his inside suit pocket and withdrew a fat envelope. “The papers are right here.”
“Gut.” He motioned for him to put it away again and looked around. He straightened and took a deep breath. “All right. You come inside about five minutes after me, but find a table as far from us as possible. Got it?”
“I thought you didn’t want to do it in the restaurant.”
“I don’t, Dummkopf!” he snarled. “But that may not be possible. Didn’t you hear what the old man just said? He may be senile, but he’s not stupid. If I can’t get him to go with me to the hotel, then we’ll do it here. But stay out of his line of sight. I’ll signal you if I need you.”
Without waiting for a response, the man turned and sauntered into the restaurant.
November 5, 1923, 5:10 p.m.—Kindl Keller, Wiener Platz, Munich
Adolf was on fire. He could no more have stopped his endless pacing than he could have stopped a British tank from rolling over a foxhole.
Hans looked around. They were in a small room in the cellar of the beer hall. It was on the opposite end of the building from where the grand hall was, where the S.A. storm troopers had proved their mettle and driven their enemies out two years previously. He sighed. A good beer hall brawl sounded downright attractive about now. The executive committee meetings were typically long and boring, and this was no different. They had been here since three, and Adolf had warned them that they might go as late as ten.
Ten minutes ago, they had taken up the next item on the agenda: “How does the National Socialist Party best capitalize on the current political crisis?” Adolf had seemed distracted as the discussion got under way, lost in his own thoughts. Then Anton Drexler, who rarely spoke up in meetings since he had been ousted as president, did just that—spoke up. “Herr Hitler,” he had said, “you make some excellent points, but I believe it is premature to address that question at this early stage of things.”
That instantly got Adolf’s attention, and he started moving into what Hans called his “orator mode.” He was waxing eloquent about the importance of seizing the moment and striking while the iron was hot when, to everyone’s surprise, Heinrich Hoffmann, normally one of Hitler’s loyalists, timidly raised a hand. Hitler glared at him but nodded for him to speak.
“Mein Führer, I completely agree with you as to the course of action we must take. My only question is that of timing. Yes, the hyperinflation has aroused the rage of the people, but. . . .”
“But what?” Adolf barked.
“But when French and Belgian troops invaded the Ruhr Valley earlier this year, displacing one hundred and fifty thousand civilians and virtually enslaving that many more skilled laborers, our people were united together as we had not been since the beginning of the Great War. Then, to everyone’s surprise, the Weimar government took a firm stand against the invaders. And for the first time, the mood of the people toward the government began to change. That’s not to say that the government became popular overnight, but the people began to warm a little. The French now became the common enemy, not the government.”
“So?” Adolf spat it out.
Anton Drexler jumped in. “So, mein Führer,” he said, “even though things have taken a downturn again, there is still a substantial number of the populace who
believe that we must stand behind the government until this crisis is over. So this is not the time to try to incite revolution or stage a coup. I tell you, we will not have the support of enough people to sustain it. Is this really the best time to try to whip the people into an anti-government frenzy?”
“Exactly,” Hoffman said in obvious relief.
Adolf stared balefully at the two of them for a long moment, and then he came back to the table and stood beside Hans. For several seconds the room was totally quiet. Then, with the swiftness of a striking cobra, Hitler’s fist shot out and smacked the table hard enough to rattle the empty beer steins. “You think the people stand behind this government? Are you mad?” He slammed his fist down again. “Have you so soon forgotten? Less than two months ago, that same government that you seem to adore caved in to France and Belgium like a house of straw in the violence of the cyclone. They called off the passive resistance in the Ruhr and told the people there to cooperate with the French occupation forces.” His face was livid now. “Do you hear me?!” he raged. “They told our people to cooperate with the French. They have agreed to resume war reparation payments immediately, which has sent the inflation rate skyrocketing upward.”
His chest rose and fell; his eyes were blazing. “Then, fearing the anger of the very people you say are behind them, they declared a state of emergency. They placed the country under virtual martial law and practically created a dictatorship.”
He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “I cannot believe this. Did you not read about the people rioting in the streets? Did you not read about workers’ strikes? What in the name of the all the gods would lead you to believe that the people are still sympathetic to our government?”
Drexler raised a hand, but when Adolf turned his gaze upon him, he changed his mind and quickly lowered it again.
“And where are we now? Just two days ago, the value of our currency fell to four point two trillion marks per American dollar. Can you even comprehend such a number?” A sudden weariness came over him, and he began to rub at his eyes. “Four point two trillion.” He spat out the words like each one was something vile. “You tell the people that, and then come back and tell me that they are not ready for a change. Did you not feel the rage in the air as you came here today? Did you not see the haggard faces of parents? The bare feet of the children? The swollen bellies of infants whose mothers do not have sufficient milk to nurse them? Their fury is rising like a great tidal wave.”