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My grandfather’s name was Wilhelm Nill and he was born in Ulm, Swabia, in Southern Germany in 1901. His father, Edward, had been an employee of the State Railroad until he fought in the Great War on the Eastern Front. Returning from the war he settled down in Ulm with his son and daughter. I gather that my grandfather’s family was somewhat prosperous because they owned a rather large house, part of which they rented to another family. Edward also had a pension from the railroad. My grandfather had worked in a munitions factory during the war (“That’s where I got my muscles,” he would say with a wink), but he was an artist at heart. His dream was to attend the University of Tübingen to obtain an art degree. However this was not to be. Although he was accepted to the University, Wilhelm’s sister became sick and the family’s finances did not allow Wilhelm to begin classes. In order to help support the family my grandfather became an apprentice painter, that is to say a painter of churches and commercial buildings.
His father, Edward, had found by this time that the buying power of his pension was drastically reduced. There was labor unrest among the railroad workers, and one of their demands was for the total lifetime pension to be paid as a single lump sum. Eventually this was done, and my great-grandfather discovered that his total pension was sufficient for dinner for the three of them at a restaurant. So much for his pension. Early in 1923, the family decided that my grandfather was to emigrate to the United States. In the U.S. he could find work and the money would be worth something. He had a childhood friend in New York State who could meet him when he got off the boat. Somehow the money was found and Wilhelm took the train to Rotterdam to begin his journey to the New World. My grandfather had a large box of money with him on the train. To his surprise, after buying the ticket he actually had money left over! But what should he do with the extra money? My grandfather realized that Reichmarks would be worthless in the U.S., so he decided to pack the money up in another box (“larger than a shoebox,” he said) and mail it home to his father. However at the central Post Office in Rotterdam he was disappointed to be told that the postage on mailing the box of money to Germany was as much as the box of money itself! So with the box of money under his arm, my grandfather stepped out of the Post Office into the city square in Rotterdam. He said it was a bright Spring day and a clock was chiming the hour. Just then the square filled with children as their school day ended. On an impulse my grandfather opened the box and began throwing the money into the air! How my grandfather would laugh and his eyes twinkle as he described the squeals and shouts of the children! How they scrambled for the worthless German money floating in the air! At least for a moment, it was good for something. Moral to the Story. I believe that the story of my grandfather during the Weimar inflation has several morals. One is that inflation punishes economic virtue. My grandfather’s family had income-producing property and a pension, but the income from both was destroyed by the debasement of the Reichsmark. Thrift and financial planning came to nothing. Also the inflation destroyed the value of hard work, as the earning power of my grandfather decreased even as the nominal value of his earnings ballooned. A great inflation will destroy the hopes and dreams of a generation. I believe that this story illustrates that in order to survive such a period requires a strong moral compass and a sense of humor. The destruction of economic wealth shows who you really are. My grandfather usually concluded his story of how he came to America by saying that once he arrived in New York, he met his childhood friend and together they went for a “beer.” After taking one sip he found himself coughing and spitting up the strange liquid. It was ginger ale! Nobody told him that there was Prohibition in America!
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As
an apprentice painter Wilhelm found himself making more and more money
as wages increased during the early 1920’s. Unfortunately those
Reichsmarks would purchase less and less as time went on. My grandfather
told me that at one point he made RM1,000,000 a day, an amount that was
paid daily. One million Marks, it turned out, was enough for his lunch
on the job site, and then to buy food for dinner for himself, his
father, and his sister. Nothing else.
