The People’s Car, 1960

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 In German, the name “Volkswagen” means “people’s car”. These days they were a familiar sight parked on street corners, rolling down the Champs-Élysées or filling up at garages in the countryside. Mechanics were now in the market for parts harvested from older models, as new ones were hard to come by. Enthusiasts collected old Volkswagen models in case production stopped. They loved driving them along country roads, immersed in the feel of a bygone era and remembering those good old days. The Volkswagen’s automated instruments and sleek design made the driver feel like a pilot, even forty years after its initial design and the sale of its first model. Others kept only the chassis and the body shell, so they could remodel the interior to their liking. It was a carmaker’s car. They removed the parts and spent whole afternoons changing the spark plugs, repainting and giving the car a new life.

Ferdinand Porsche, the celebrated designer of high-end vehicles and race cars had tried for years to get an auto manufacturer interested in building a small car suitable for the average family. In 1933 he dreamt up a car that would be called the “Volksauto,” blending his own ideas with popular design choices of the time. He perfected the air-cooled rear engine, torsion bar suspension and the distinctive “beetle” shape. The bonnet was rounded to improve aerodynamics, which was necessary in order to compensate for the smaller engine. Then, in 1934, Adolph Hitler started getting involved in auto manufacturing, and ordered the production of a basic vehicle capable of transporting two adults and two children at 100 km/h. He wanted every German citizen to have access to a car, and Ferdinand Porsche’s design was used to make the famous Volkswagen we all know today. And so the “people’s car” was born, retailing at nine hundred Reichsmarks. With the average German salary sitting at around thirty Reichsmarks at the time, the car was not easily affordable to the middle classes; the car ended up becoming a luxury, and only one in fifty Germans owned one. Still, it was the pride of Germany.

In the remains of this old Volkswagen, three brothers were learning to drive. Hans, Friedrich and Ludwig had only two more hours to kill. Two hours might seem like a long time, but in the body of an old Volkswagen the possibilities for play were endless. But the Volkswagen was no child’s toy. It was a car for adults; a driving machine for real men. Hans tucked his shirt into his shorts and took the wheel. Friedrich grabbed the gear stick and kept a close eye on the road as co-pilot. Ludwig, the youngest, remained seated in the back. They laughed, and were at ease. They loved this Volkswagen, but their mothers would be along soon.

Alan Alfredo Geday