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December 1997/January 1998
From the Taler to the Euro:
How Much is that in Real Money?
By Robert A. Selig
"Ein Heller und ein Batzen..." begins a popular German folksong. Heller and Batzen, Gulden and Taler, Kreuzer and Dukaten: a bewildering variety of currencies populated the
German numismatic landscape well into the 19th century. In 1873, half a century of economic and political developments converged as the Mark and Pfennig became the currency of the German Empire: taler and
kreuzer had been swept away in a political decision driven, among other reasons, by the demands of a changing economy. If all goes well, or awry, depending on what side of the debate one is on, this process will
be repeated on a European-wide scale when the mark, öre, pound, schilling, lira, franc, peseta, and guilder all suffer the fate of the taler and kreuzer. After January 1, 2002, the song will have to be "Ein
Euro und ein Cent..."
For the fifth time in less than a century, Germans are being asked to adjust to new coins and bills, although this time they are not supposed to lose their life savings in the process.
Many Germans who were alive in 1948 and grew up hearing tales of the 1923 havoc are apprehensive about losing their beloved deutsche mark when the euro is adopted. Their reservations stem not simply from the
inconvenience but much more from their fear that they will have to pay for something they neither want nor need.
A brief look at the economic and monetary history of Germany will provide a better understanding of the reasons behind the euro and the Germans' hostility to it. The folksong above goes
on to explain that the heller was spent on water, the batzen on wine. Thus, it is fair to assume that a batzen was worth more than a heller. But how much more? From where did the monies of old come, and why did
they disappear?
The heller received its name from the royal mint of Hall in Swabia, where it was first minted around A.D. 1200. One heller was worth 1/2 Denar or pfennig, abbreviated well into this
century with the Gothic D. In 1356 Emperor Charles IV decreed that one Rheinischer Gulden should weigh one Pfund Heller or 480 Heller. The smallest coin minted, the heller survived in southern Germany into the
19th century, in Austria-Hungary until the end of the monarchy in 1918.
Originally a gold coin, the gulden (from gülden, or golden) was first minted in Florence in the 13th century, from whence it received its name, florin, and the abbreviation
"fl." After 1325 it was also minted north of the Alps and became the official coin of the four Electors along the Rhine in 1385 as the Rheinischer Gulden. An Imperial ordinance of 1559 set the value of
the gulden, now coined in silver, at 60 kreuzer. The Gulden was minted until 1857, when the Deutsche Münzverein (the German Coin Society—in other words, Austria and the south German states) introduced a Gulden
at 20 Silbergroschen, which circulated in southern Germany until 1871, in Austria-Hungary until 1892. In the Netherlands, the guilder is still the official currency just as in Hungary, where the florin was
introduced in July 1946.
A kreuzer was first minted in the Tyrol around 1270 and was valued at four denar. In 1551 it became an official coin of the Empire but was mostly used in the south. It was abolished in
the German empire in 1871, in Austria-Hungary in 1892. The batzen, at a value of 4 kreuzer, first appeared in southern Germany at the end of the 15th century; batzen and Halb-Batzen (half-batzens), at a value of
2 kreuzer, were minted in some southern German states into the 19th century.
First minted as the Joachimstaler by the counts Schlick in St. Joachimstal in Bohemia in 1515, the taler, or Reichstaler, a silver coin weighing 25.98 grams, was the official currency
of the Empire from 1566 to about 1750. Valued at 72 Kreuzer in 1559, it traded at 90 Kreuzer in the late 17th century, until it was replaced by the Konventionstaler, at 120 kreuzer (or two guldens) after
mid-century, when its silver weight was reduced to 23.38 grams. Bismarck's empire minted the taler until 1908, when it was replaced by the three-mark piece of 15 grams silver. And the taler lent its name to the
dollar, the official currency of the United States since 1792.
Besides the Reichstaler there were other talers as well, just as there were other smaller currencies. But the mark and the pfennig have had the most memorable and recent impact. The
pfennig appeared first in the 8th century and became the only coin in Charlemagne's empire. One pound of silver 327.45 grams, yielded 240 pfennigs or denars; 12 pfennigs made a Schilling, 20 schillings a Pfund,
or pound: in the British Isles the Carolingian system survived until the very recent past.
The Mark, valued at 240 Pfennig, first appeared in the 12th century, but it was not minted as a coin until the 16th century by the Hanseatic cities of Germany and in northern Europe.
After 1871 all public debts could be paid with the new imperial coins based on the system of 1 Mark = 100 pfennigs; in 1873 the mark and the pfennig became the official currency of the empire.
Thus the currency table based on the Rheinische Gulden in the middle of the 18th century look like this:
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1 fl rhein.
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=
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15 Batzen
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=
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60 Kreuzer
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=
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240 Denar
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=
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480 Heller
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1 Albus
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=
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1 1/2 Batzen
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=
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6 Kreuzer
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=
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24 Denar
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=
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48 Heller
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1 Batzen
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=
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4 Kreuzer
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=
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16 Denar
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=
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32 Heller
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1 Groschen
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=
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3 Kreuzer
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=
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12 Denar
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=
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24 Heller
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1 Kreuzer
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=
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4 Denar
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=
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8 Heller
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If, in 1782, Gemeindediener (parish laborer) Ulrich Segnitz of Winterhausen earned 20 fl per year, his monthly pay amounted to 100 Kreuzers, or
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1 Gulden
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=
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60 Kreuzer
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+
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9 Batzen
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=
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36 Kreuzer
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+
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1 Groschen
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=
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3 Kreuzer
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+
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1 Kreuzer
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=
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1 Kreuzer
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100 Kreuzer, or
1 fl 40 Kreuzer |
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Complicated? Not for the vast majority of Bavarians, Saxons, Prussians, or Hessians of pre-industrial and
pre-Napoleonic Germany, employed in a semi-monetary agrarian economy. They hardly ever left their hometowns and rarely had to deal with foreign currencies.
All that changed in the 19th century. The Napoleonic reforms brought personal freedom to millions of serfs,
freedom of trade, occupation, and movement; and the railroads made the transport of people and products over large distances economically feasible. After 1815 only about 100 different coins were minted by the 39
member states of the German Confederation: undoubtedly an improvement over earlier conditions. But there
were still 140 different coins, and dozens of bills, accepted as legal tender in Berlin: far too many for a
business community pushing for German economic unity as a first step toward political unity. On January 1,
1834, the German Customs Union, under Prussian leadership, abolished all customs dues among its 18 member
states. This created what is called a unified currency, introduced in 1838 as the Vereinstaler. Local currencies
remained valid, though their exchange rates were fixed. In 1857 the Viennese Münzverein transferred the
Vereinstaler into the metric system, the basis for the mar and pfennig of 1871/73. The Vereinstaler remained legal tender until 1908, when it was replaced with the three-mark piece.
The parallels between the economic and political developments in Germany in the 19th century and those in
(western) Europe over the last 50 years are striking. Since the founding of the European Community for Coal and Steel in 1951, the 1957 Treaties of Rome establishing the European Economic Community on January 1,
1958, and the European Community (EC) treaties of 1967, western European countries have been moving toward an ever larger integration of their economies. The Zollverein of 1834 finds its equivalent in the
Customs Union of 1968 and the abolition of internal tariffs within the EC on January 1, 1993. The Münzverein
of 1857 provided the model for the European Currency System (ECS) of 1972. The ECU, or European Monetary
Unit, introduced for bookkeeping purposes in the ECS in 1979 but legal tender since the first minting of an
ECU in Belgium in 1987, performs the function of the Vereinstaler of 1838 in the Zollverein. But while national
and geographic boundaries are no obstacles to cars and airplanes cellular phones and the World Wide Web,
the 14 currencies still circulating in the EC are. The introduction of a common European currency seemed, and seems, a logical step in this progression.
In 1988 the EC asked European Commission President Jacques Delors to work out a plan for the creation of a
European Economic and Monetary Union (EMU). In the summer of 1989 the heads of government accepted Delors's plan in its outlines; the first phase toward the EMU began on July 1, 1990, permitting unrestricted
capital transfer between eight of the 15 member states of the EC. On February 7, 1992 the foreign and finance ministers of 12 EC countries signed the Treaty of European Union in Maastricht: the EMU was to become
reality by 1999. On November 1, 1993 the EC became the European Union (EU) as the Maastricht treaties went into effect; two months later, on January 1, 1994, the EMU went into its second phase when the EMI, or
European Monetary Institute, began operation in Frankfurt. The goal during this second phase is to promote the member states' fiscal and monetary convergence. In December 1995 the governments agreed on the name
euro for the common currency and developed a time-table for its introduct on—phase three of the EMU, which is scheduled to begin on January 1, 1999.
Those countries allowed to introduce the Euro in their banking sectors then must fit the following criteria:
high price stability, or a rate of inflation no more than 1.5 percent higher than the average of the three most
stable countries; budgetary discipline, or deficits of no more than 3 percent of the Gross Domestic Product
(GDP); debts no more than 60 percent of the GDP; interest rates for long-term credits no more than 2 percent
above the interest rate of treasury bonds of the three most stable countries, combined with two years of
stable exchange rates within the boundaries set by the ECS. Three years later, on January 1, 2002, euro coins
and bills will become legal tender; national denominations will no longer be legal tender after June 30, 2002.
Multinational corporations are pleased. They have long been clamoring for a common currency. Markets will
become transparent, accounting will be simplified, risks will be reduced, long-range planning will become much easier, more funds will be available for investments: These are some reasons given by the business
community in favor of the euro. They are certainly valid points. Currency exchange fees incurred by German
corporations doing business just within the EC amount to a staggering DM 37 billion ($20 billion) each year. Currency fluctuations add greatly to the cost of doing business: During the first six months of 1995
Daimler-Benz AG budgeted DM 1.2 billion ($670 million) to meet potential losses caused by variations in the exchange rate with the U.S. dollar; tens of millions more were earmarked for trade within the EC.
The average citizen also stands to gain. Every American tourist traveling in Europe has encountered his or her
share of the over 100 different coins circulating in the 15 states of the European Community and lamented the
fees involved in exchanging his dollars; German tourists in turn pay an estimated DM 1.5 billion ($840 million)
each year in banking fees as they hand over their marks to get lira and francs, pounds and schillings. That is real money!
But what is good for Daimler-Benz is not necessarily good for the country. For one, not even Germany meets
the stringent criteria required for admission to the EMU; the country has resorted to creative bookkeeping to
meet the spring 1998 deadline when the decision about who will be allowed to join will be made. It has resorted to the fire sale of some of its most valuable assets, for example, Lufthansa German Airlines, the
Postbank, and its Deutsche Telekom shares, to reduce the current budget deficit. This makes many Germans
feel that the wealth of the nation is being sacrificed to some ephemeral goal, to the balance sheets of a few
multinationals or to the vain ambitions of a handful of politicians. Neither do the Germans necessarily believe
that the money saved from exchanging other currencies into marks will create jobs at home. Instead they are afraid that without this added expense, low-wage countries in southern Europe will become even more
attractive to multinationals bent on imitating the U.S. model of out-sourcing and union-busting.
Fewer still believe governmental promises that the euro will be as strong as the mark: as the 1998 deadline
approaches, it keeps losing in value against the dollar. If that should happen against the ECU, the basis for
the exchange of their marks into the euro in January 1999, they stand to lose billions in buying power, while
the rest of Europe gains. A drop of 10 percent in the exchange rate to the euro would mean a loss of DM 106
billion on the DM 1.067 trillion Germans had stashed away in their savings accounts in 1995. For many that is nothing short of government-sanctioned theft.
Many Germans fear that when wages are transferred into euro, employers will scrupulously observe their
conversion tables down to the last decimal point, though they may be inclined to be much more generous when prices are figured.
Then there is the question of the cost of conversion to the euro. Tens of millions of vending machines, from
Coke to cigarettes and condoms, train tickets and parking meters, will have to be changed over. Tens of
millions of savings accounts, mortgages, and insurance policies will have to be rewritten. Computers will need
new software; cash registers will need new memory chips: The list is endless. Who will pay for all this? Few
believe that business will carry the burden but rather that the cost will be added to prices. This, in turn, will
lead to higher inflation, and every percentage point of inflation already costs Germans some DM 50 billion in buying power.
Last but not least, as long as economic and budgetary policies remain the preserve of individual member
states, as long as wages and prices are set within the individual states, as long as the Stabilitätspakt (stability
pact), intended as a means to enforce budgetary and financial discipline in member states after the admission
to the EMU, contains loopholes to circumvent its provisions, the EMU stands in danger of being abused by individual governments for the benefit of their own states. Bismarck's currency reform of 1873 followed
political unification; this time it will be the other way around. Consequently, many economists argue that the
EMU only makes sense as a step toward a political unit called "Europe." European governments know this as
well and are already preparing for that step, albeit quietly so far. Until then the bill will be footed by those who seemingly can afford it the most: the Germans.
Will the euro become reality? Of course it will. Despite all its economic ramifications, this is not an economic decision but a political decision. And that decision was made years ago.
Contributing editor Robert A. Selig writes from Holland, Michigan.
Atlantic Crossing:
North American Teens Win the Trip of a Lifetime
By Jill Metzler and Michelle Pentz
If you take U.S. Highway 40 westbound toward Topeka, Kansas, it's easy to imagine a quiet life there in the
country, where the sky is a hazy azure and the hills peak softly and lazily, parting now and then to reveal a red barn in a valley, a pond, or a still country cemetery.
It's an area of Kansas that 17-year-old Tammy Noragon has known her whole life, and until this summer,
hadn't thought much of leaving. Then a giant, multinational corporation stepped in and changed everything.
Earlier this year, Tammy was selected, along with 49 other high school sophomores and juniors from around
the United States and Canada, as a winner of this year's annual Daimler-Benz Award of Excellence, a three-week study tour of Germany, compliments of the industrial giant that is the world's leading provider of
transportation products, systems, and services.
The scholarship program was founded in 1991 as a joint project between the Goethe Institute, Germany's
internationally active cultural organization, and Daimler-Benz, which took on the majority of the funding. For
the Goethe Institute, this is by far its biggest promotional project worldwide to facilitate an understanding for and awareness of modern Germany.
The Award of Excellence is no ordinary scholarship, and its dedicated organizers follow a unique procedure
for granting each award. The Goethe Institute New York and Daimler-Benz North America select 50 high schools from the more than 2,500 American and Canadian high schools that participate yearly in the campaign
aimed at introducing students of German, social studies, and history to life in contemporary Germany. (This year's theme was Win Friends, Discover Germany.) Then, teachers and counselors at each chosen high
school—people who know the students personally, beyond grade cards and essays—select their school's winner.
When Tammy applied for this award in March, she had no idea that she might win, nor what might lie in store
for a quiet, eager-to-please and unassuming girl, who had never before traveled so far from home. She's not an
adventurer, not a planner. But something—she couldn't quite identify what it was—led her to take a chance,
to see what was out there, beyond her rural Topeka suburb. And so she boards an airliner, heading first for a two-day orientation in Washington, D.C., and then off across the Atlantic where Germany awaits.
Willkommen in Germany
It's a raucous welcome party in Stuttgart-Möhringen. A band of bearded, pot-bellied middle-agers jams out
classic Rolling Stones with the energy of rockers half their age as suited German executives throw all caution
to the wind, joining a herd of T-shirt and jeans clad teens on the stage to mosh wildly, limbs flying every
which way. Giddy enthusiasm hangs in the air like cigarette smoke. In a darkened corner, flanked by two other
girls, a round-faced, button-nosed sandy blonde leans against the wall, nursing a Coke and quietly observing the spectacle.
For Tammy, the trip across the Atlantic began as a scary leap over unknown waters. For others, the jump was a thrilling adventure. For all, it will be a life-altering experience.
Shaking hands and flashing smiles, his voice hoarse after a 12-hour day of business negotiations, Jürgen E.
Schrempp, Chairman of Daimler- Benz's Board of Management, charms the young audience with his spirited
welcoming speech at the headquarters following a classical music concert in the firm's marble reception hall.
He urges participants to "learn from the other point of view," to use their "American spirit of pioneering," and to "fill their backpacks with memories."
Afterwards, snapping photos with students in the courtyard, Mr. Schrempp voices the project's philosophy:
"There's no substitute for being there and experiencing it all first hand. Students take home a much better
understanding of Germany and its people, its culture, and some of the problems we have here. They go home
as ambassadors. They talk to relatives and friends—and it multiplies." As Cornelia Wobbermin, who has
hosted a number of foreign students already and is Tammy's host mother this year, puts it, "Exchange students are like avalanches."
By the time the students reached Stuttgart, they had been in Germany several days already, having flown into
Frankfurt and driven to Munich for a visit of several days. Each year the program's itinerary is different. This
year, among a plethora of sites and activities, the students toured Stuttgart, Hamburg, Wismar, Schwerin, and Berlin, experienced castles and cruises, Bratwürste (sausages) and Bretzel (pretzels), and met leading
politicians.
Seated at an outdoor table at the opening evening gala barbecue during a welcome break from the summer
drizzle, Uwe Rau, the young German language promotions director at the Goethe Institute headquarters in Munich, knows the students marvel at the humongous spread tonight and constant, seamless organization
which hums like an S-class Mercedes. "For them," he says, motioning to the students milling around the patio
with king-size heapings of sauerkraut and spare ribs, "this is a fabulous luxury prize. It's really for an elite group."
Most of the trip organizers have been exchange students themselves at one time or another. Jürgen
Wittmann, Daimler-Benz spokesman and the beacon of light guiding the group constantly from chaos to order, studied abroad at Tufts University.
Educators all, the six chaperones also come to the program with much exchange experience and between them
speak (and/or teach) up to eight foreign languages: German native Monika Hope teaches German in Delta, British Columbia; Czech native Erika Witt concentrates on German, French, and social studies in Wyncote,
Pennsylvania; Norwegian native Sigrid Simonsen is affiliated with the Goethe Institute in Montreal; Craig
LaPresto teaches mathematics in Pikeville, Kentucky, and John Foster is a teacher and counselor in Duchesne, Utah. The head chaperone, Joseph Mendenhall, teaches German in Victoria, Texas.
Shepherded by these valiant professionals, the students are divided into five color-identified sub-groups. For
example, Tammy's red sub- group is led by Sigrid Simonsen. The award program's tireless coordinators instituted simple but sure-fire organizational methods such as these to provide structure and to help make
sure that each individual student's needs are met.
At Home Abroad
Sitting at a frilly pink table in a retiree cake 'n' coffee shop in the cobblestone, flowerbox, fairytale town of
Marbach on the Neckar River, Tammy admits she wishes she could understand the German conversations
going on around her. "The language barrier cuts out some of the interaction," she notes, lapsing into silence while an Oma (grandma) works on a heaping strawberry pie wedge at an adjacent table. This is the town
nearest to where Tammy has spent the first half of her family-stay week with the Wobbermins.
Over Erdbeerkuchen (strawberry cake) and Coke, Tammy admits she was nervous when she got on the plane
and when she didn't meet any friends in the group right away. She didn't have any expectations about Germany and was surprised by the narrowness of the streets and buildings, dogs in restaurants, the multitude
of Mercedes (even taxis!), the mass of grannies—and everyone—on bikes. Like other teens on the program, it is Tammy's first time experiencing large metropolitan cities, which includes subway riding.
Touring Munich was a highlight because of the " the beautiful, old buildings." Tammy is intrigued with the
small German specialty stores and markets, noting the difference between Americans shopping and convening in malls and Germans at outdoor market places. Having been to school with her host sister, she is
also struck by the fact that the students learn British English as opposed to American. She finds her host
family friendly, interested in America and "not too different" from people back home "except that they are very clean and organized," she says.
Each of the 50 hosts are Daimler-Benz employee-families who voluntarily offer their time, homes, and hearts to
the visiting students. The insight into German family life sparks a deeply felt connection, often in subtle ways.
Tammy says she plans to give her family a gift on her last day, a picture book of Kansas. "They're really
great," she says. "We do a lot of activities together and just hang out. They eat three meals together. That is
something I really don't do at home, even on the weekends." She has sampled some German home cooking (Swabian Spätzle and Maultaschen, or dumplings) prepared by Cornelia Wobbermin, which Tammy is
describing when her host mom pulls up in a white Mercedes to whisk Tammy and the family, dad Michael Wobbermin (a professor and Daimler-Benz employee), sister Caroline, 17, and wire-haired Dachshund, Max,
off to Heidelberg for the day.
Cruising Hamburg's Harbors
Yet another day of non-stop action, this time in Hamburg, includes a popular visit with, Henning Voscherau,
the mayor, at the town hall. The students are impressed with the personable attention this busy politician
gives them and his genuine interest in their views on local and world politics. By evening, the sun is shining
and spirits are high among the crowd gathered at the harbor's pier 5 on the Elbe River. Aboard "The
Hanseatic," as a weathered sailor-type plays oldies on an accordion, teachers sing along and students file on board.
Tammy is shining, too. As the sun dissipates into hues of watermelon and orange and the DJs Stefan and
Milo start spinning tunes, she talks about "taking a big step toward more self-confidence" and "this great
opportunity that not many people get the chance to do." Tammy says it will be hard to be back at home where
her day isn't packed with planned entertainment. She particularly looks forward to seeing the remains of the Berlin Wall. "You know, not everyone can say, I've been in Berlin," she says.
Later, teachers talk and relax at window-side tables, one group of students plays cards, others dance in a
circle, a couple in one corner draws pen "tattoos" on each other's fingers. When chaperones and students
alike recreate a hilarious, hip swiveling rendition of the La Macarena line dance, Tammy comes down from
above deck where she's been chatting with friends. A few songs later, she joins the crowd on the dance floor.
Even Jürgen Wittmann looks different tonight. He has exchanged his requisite suit and tie for an open-necked
Oxford shirt, a gold chain, and jeans. As stately white mansions along the riverside glide by and the city lights
come on, he reminisces about the overseas experience. "You change during a trip," he says. "When a person
is first in a new country, he holds back a bit. There are so many new things to see and experience. After our
students experience the week of daily family life and see that teen life isn't so different here, they get a feeling of security. We notice that when they come back, they are wilder, more self-confident."
A Berlin Farewell
Dressed in a blue rain slicker and drenched from a recent cloud burst the blonde from Kansas jaunts into the
swarming, eardrum-piercing 4th- of-July scene unfolding at Berlin's Hard Rock Cafe and plops down at a table with two new-found buddies. She's the same, but then again, she's not. Tonight Tammy's all dimples and
smiles, laughing easily and gossiping about the day's events—a trip to The Wall and a city- walking-tour in a downpour.
Three weeks and a world of adventures later, it's the first of two good-bye parties (the grand finale being at
the Spandau Citadel a few days later). A general buzz of party fever is catching rapidly at the Hard Rock Cafe
Berlin, intensified by impending farewell emotions. Waiters in skintight leather pants whiz by and 80s classics
blare on the speakers. Red-grouper Kari Forsee, 17, from South Carolina, brims with impressions: "Germany is
sooo rich in history, and there are so many misperceptions in America. I'm going to be a lot more open-
minded and accepting when I get home. You have to adjust and learn to be flexible when you're traveling."
In rapid-fire speech, Andrew Tropp, 15, from New Jersey, lists off the marked contrasts he has observed
between east and west, the powerful effect of experiencing monuments firsthand, the curious mix of modern
and old. Does he want to go home? "No! I'm running away on Sunday morning!" he says grabbing his head and feigning a panic attack.
And Tammy? "I liked all the stuff that had to do with The Wall," she says. "It's so interesting to imagine how
it was when The Wall was there. And you usually don't hear about how many escaped, and what extreme measures they took. After we went to the discussion, that made seeing it much more exciting." Despite the
lure of Berlin, Tammy says overall, the home stay in Stuttgart was by far the best because "you get to see how people here really live."
She's ready to go home, she says. "But then, I don't want to go home 'cause I'm having so much fun!"
Teenage Ambassadors
Back in Topeka, Tammy's parents were able to track her trip over the Internet, on the World Wide Web. Each
day the site published photographs and a narrative of the day before. In fact, student activity on the Internet continues throughout the year—E-mail being a favored means of communication between former award
recipients.
And the students do stay actively in touch with each other, and also with the chaperones. The bonds formed
during the three weeks abroad are strong. The infectious enthusiasm expressed by all involved only grows
over time. Delighted with her son Nicholas's experience, Nancy Ferrario of Michigan claims, "The program is better than what a parent could ever hope for."
The students, of course, have the most to say. Upon returning, they each wrote a final essay reflecting on
their adventures. Almost unanimously the teens relayed how much they learned, that new international interests were awakened, but most of all that the trip was just plain fun. The teachers who nominated the
winners—also asked to submit follow-up questionnaires—see results in terms of an increased interest in
learning German and more inquisitive approaches to history. One year, in fact, a participating school that had
not had German in its curriculum went on to institute it. The Award of Excellence carries a powerful legacy.
Party coordinators and DJs Stefan and Milo perhaps put it best when they say, "In the end all the kids say they want to return to Germany. The exchange always continues."
Jill Metzler writes from Leawood, Kansas, and Michelle Pentz from Hamburg, Germany. Heidi Whitesell contributed from Washington, D.C.
For information on the Award of Excellence program, contact:
Christl Gaiser at Daimler-Benz North America, Tel.: (908) 204–8950/1 or Dr. Michael Nentwich at the Goethe-Institut New York, Tel.: (212) 439–8696.
Also, check out the Web site at http://www.goethe.de/uk/ney/award/97trip.htm
Glassmaking Traditions in Lauscha
By Regine Wosnitza
To 36-year-old art historian Helena Horn there is no doubt about it: "Glass is the prima donna among
materials, not only because of the way it is produced but also because you can work it in more ways than
most other materials," she states enthusiastically. Because Germany has only four museums of glass art (besides Lauscha, there are museums in the western towns of Rheinbach, Immenhausen, and Frauenau) and
the odds were against the young art historian getting full-time work with her favorite hobby, she muses, "I
always expected I would have to do something else professionally, but I would devote myself to glass after retirement."
Fate proved to be more kindhearted.
In 1992 Horn was appointed director of the Museum for Glass Art in the Thuringian town of Lauscha, a first-class address among aficionados of the fragile ware.
Part of an industry that had been active already for centuries, Lauschan glassblowers invented Christmas tree
ornaments in the mid 19th century, born from the idea of presenting friends and family with glass renditions of apples, nuts, fruits, olives, and bulbs that traditionally adorned Christmas trees.
The response was great. By 1860 salesmen Ernst and Carl Dressel, responsible for marketing Lauscha
glassware out of nearby Sonneberg, were advertising 28 Christmas tree balls and various-colored ornaments in their catalogues. Over the next 50 years glassblowers in Lauscha created an estimated 5,000 molds,
including trumpets, bells, Santa Clauses, angels, suns, and stars.
Americans found out about Lauschan glass articles in 1880 when F. W. Woolworth started selling them for
$25 each in his shop in Pennsylvania. By the turn of the century Woolworth was importing 200,000 pieces, and many of the glittering balls decorated ballrooms and festive halls year round.
But Lauscha had more to offer than Christmas tree ornaments. In 1897, for the city's 300-year anniversary,
Lauscha's citizens presented their first art show, which resulted in a museum whose collection has since
expanded considerably. Today the gallery space of the two-story Museum for Glass Art allows for the exhibit of only about 10 percent of its current 10,000-piece collection.
The museum did not have a full-time director until 1953 when authorities of the German Democratic Republic
(GDR) commissioned Rudolf Hoffmann, who remained until 1992. In an English-language brochure still available at the museum shop today, Hoffmann revealed his allegiance to the socialist principles of the East
German regime when he described the museum's two-fold purpose: to present the artistic capabilities of
Lauscha's artists and remember the miserable living conditions they faced in a home industry "controlled by the capitalist sales agent system."
Although Helena Horn, Hoffmann's successor, would likely phrase it differently, she has also been sensitive
to the tension between artistic creativity and the need to make a living. Hailing from West Berlin, Horn, the young newcomer, has had to tread lightly, no matter how small the changes being introduced.
This past summer Horn sponsored a symposium of ten internationally renowned artists involved in studio
glass, a movement which developed independently in both the GDR and the United States in the early 1960s. Although the event was to celebrate the founding of Lauscha by the two glassblowers Hans Greiner and
Christoff Mueller 400 years ago, Horn refrained from emphasizing traditional craftsmanship, a decision which Lauscha citizens in the end accepted.
Today nearly 50 percent of the working population, most of which proudly claims to be directly descended
from either Mueller or Greiner, is related to the glass industry somehow, and an atmosphere of living tradition,
inner determination, and genuine pride permeates the town. The majority of the 4,500-strong community was so deeply rooted in the soil that most remained in their slate-covered homes—the roofs and walls of most
houses in Lauscha are sheathed with slate tiles—in this narrow valley in the Thuringian mountains even after unification triggered considerable lay-offs in the area's glass manufacturies.
The region's industry goes back at least 700 years. In the 12th centuryGlashütten (glass "huts," as the
glassworks are known) were run by nuns and monks because they could read and understand Latin, the language used for the antique and Roman smelting recipes. With the spread of knowledge, other glassmakers
rented wooded grounds from landlords to cut trees for firewood and build their own ovens. After three months, when the oven and the forest's resources in that spot were exploited they would move on.
In the early 15th century their nomadic lifestyle gave way to the establishment of villages in which the
profession was handed down from father to son. Once he had acquired the necessary knowledge the son would relocate, thus quickly spreading settlements throughout the Thuringian forest.
In 1597 Christoff Mueller and Hans Greiner left their parents' village of Langenbach and settled on the
Lauscha River where they had been licensed to live by Johann Casimir, Duke of Saxony-Coburg.
Soon after Greiner and Mueller had built a glassworks, they were joined by other professionals. Each day
glassmakers, blowers, painters, and cutters assembled to produce glass goblets, beakers, and other luxury vessels mainly used by the aristocracy and monks.
By the late 18th century the glassworks' capacity had become too small, and glassblowers increasingly
processed prefabricated glass tubes at their homes. The subsequent introduction of first oil lamps and then gas blowtorches introduced new techniques and allowed the production of far more intricate and creative
designs.
Especially when working without a mold, the glassblower has to envision clearly the final product before he
holds the prefabricated glass tube in the flame. Once the material has turned into a moldable, thick liquid, each
swing of the hand and each blow of the breath is an irretrievable step toward the end and determines the glassblower's individual style.
Originally glassmakers had been privileged professionals, neither subject to serfdom nor dependent on a
landowner, but the home industry, increasing competition, and dependency on sales agents caused such poverty among glassblowers that even young children had to fill in ten-hour shifts to provide for the family.
In addition, work at the torch often resulted in nearsightedness and hearing problems, and the exposure to
chemicals could easily cause serious skin diseases. In part to confront these and similar difficulties, new techniques and products were constantly being developed.
In the 19th century Lauscha glassblowers started creating animals, riders, doll-kitchen utensils, and fruit
plates. Thus the town achieved a central role in glass artistry and especially the making of glass pearls, toys,
figurines, and containers, while production in Ilmenau to the north, for example, concentrated on the production of technical glass.
In 1871 a vocational school for glassblowers opened in Lauscha that offered training in drawing, designing,
the techniques of glassblowing, and art history; the new opportunity spurred an immense development among Lauscha artists. As a result, their delicate and colorful designs of flowers, animals, and vases received
lavish attention at a Berlin Fair in 1896.
But nationwide economic hardship and the ensuing inflation caused demand for glassware to drop so dramatically that in 1932, Lauscha was declared a depressed area.
Thus it was not until the 40 years of the Socialist government of the GDR that Lauscha's artists enjoyed their
longest period of financial safety—at least after they had passed an artist's test of dubious merit and the
Union of Visual Artists had declared them artists. Willi Greiner Mai, one of the artists to have achieved official
recognition, was allowed to experiment with studio glass and exhibit his abstract objects and vessels in the
GDR and abroad. Following German unification, when most of Lauscha's glass artists were left to fend for
themselves, Greiner Mai returned to a six- generation family business that his father abandoned in 1972 rather than join the socialist cooperative being formed.
Greiner Mai and his father managed to retrieve some 500 antique molds for Christmas tree ornaments the
family had stored in attics and cellars. Turning to old family connections in western Germany and abroad,
Greiner Mai's shop "Der Christbaum" (The Christmas Tree) developed into one of the area's largest
companies. In contrast to other shops this artist-turned-business-man chooses to stick to originals and use nothing but antique molds.
"The only person who deserves to be called an artist, a creative person, is the one who had the idea in the
first place, " Greiner Mai persists. "When you blow a Mickey Mouse, you simply imitate and follow a trend."
Greiner Mai is not the only Lauscha citizen who shakes his head in disbelief upon learning that people in
America hang Santa-Claus-in-a- bath-tub, potatoes, inline skates, or frog ornaments on their Christmas trees.
Nevertheless, many producers do integrate new ideas into their collection not only to make a living but also to save Lauscha's traditional glassblowing industry.
After artistry in Lauscha had come to a near standstill during the Third Reich, many glassblowers left Lauscha
in the late 1940s to settle in West Germany after the war. Others successfully reestablished their worldwide
contacts and got back into business. In 1972, however, all private enterprises, including Greiner Mai's, were
subsumed into the cooperative VEB Thüringer Glasschmuck. A third of the 100 million bulbs and ornaments produced each year continued to be exported to the west, which produced a welcome source of hard
currency. The festive products did, sometimes, prove to be too taxing for the state export agents.
"Our foreign clients were not only professionals but always had special requirements," Gerd Ross, former
sales manager at Thüringer Glasschmuck, recalled. "As the export agents were hardly ever able to provide answers, we were among the few in the GDR who dealt directly with our foreign customers."
Today Ross is sales director at Lauscha Glass Creation, the new name given to the cooperative in 1991 when
it was purchased by the Krebs family from the Bavarian town of Rosenheim. In the production halls it's Christmas all year round—but a year in advance. Thus the 1998 collection, which includes larger shapes, more
cartoon characters, a concentration on deep colors, as well as soft pastels, is currently underway. Meantime,
outside on the streets it will remain 1997, and Lauscha will be decorated with nothing but traditional Christmas tree ornaments for the holiday season.
Regine Wosnitza writes from Berlin, Germany.
INFORMATION
Museum für Glaskunst Lauscha
Oberlandstrasse 10
98724 Lauscha, Germany
Tel.: 011.49.36702.20724
Lauscha Tourism
Hüttenplatz 6
98724 Lauscha, Germany
Tel.: 011.49.36702.22944
Christmas by Krebs
3911 South Main
P.O. Box 5730
Roswell, NM 88202
Tel.: (505) 624–2882
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