Hans shot his best friend a dirty look, but Friedrich just laughed.
“Herr Rhinehart? Are you seeking an opportunity to stay after class as well?”
“No, Herr Holzer. Sorry, Herr Holzer.” And he shot out the doorway before the schoolmaster could say more.
Ulla Rasbauer, who sat right behind Hans, was gathering her books. As she stood up, she said sotto voce, “Teacher’s pet.”
Hans ignored her. His mind was racing. What could he possibly have done wrong? He was never in trouble with the schoolmaster. In fact, it was just the opposite. It was tempting to blurt out a blanket apology, but Holzer didn’t look angry, so Hans sat attentively, waiting to be spoken to before he spoke. He had learned very early on that the prime rule in Herr Holzer’s classes was never to speak until you are spoken to. Hans had made it a point never to violate that rule.
His teacher waited until the classroom was empty except for the two of them, and then he motioned Hans to come forward and take the chair beside his desk. Just before Hans sat down, Herr Holzer motioned for him to turn it around so it faced him directly. Hans did so and then slowly took his seat.
The older man was watching him steadily. Finally he opened a drawer, brought out a folded newspaper, and laid it on the desk between them. Hans glanced down and saw that it was yesterday’s edition of the Münchner Neueste Nachrichten, or Munich’s Latest News.
“Are you through with it so soon?” he asked, fighting back the urge to snatch it up.
“Ach!” the teacher exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “As you know, the Passion Play begins in a few weeks’ time. We are rehearsing every night, and I am learning my lines every morning.”
“And what part do you have?”
Herr Holzer smiled proudly. “I was hoping to be Peter the Apostle, but that almost always goes to one of the master woodcarvers. But I am James the Apostle, who was also one of the fishermen called by Jesus at the Sea of Galilee.”
“A very important role indeed,” Hans ventured, hoping it truly was.
“Indeed. Anyway, I have no time for newspapers until fall, when the last performance is done. So they are yours. If I forget to bring them to school, please remind me. Once school’s out, I will put them in a pile by my woodshed. Anytime you are in Oberammergau, you may stop by and pick them up.”
“Danke, Herr Holzer. Thank you so very much. I love to read them.”
To his surprise, that won him a strange look. “Do you have work for the summer, Hans Otto?”
“Jawohl. I will be working at my father’s dairy.”
“But with thousands of people coming to our village for the play, there will be many work opportunities. Surely you can make more money by coming into town.”
Frowning, Hans looked away. “With all the people coming for the play, Papa already has many, many orders for our milk and cream and cheese. It will take all of us to fill them.”
The schoolmaster nodded absently, looking troubled, so Hans rushed on. “It will be a lot of work for our family, but it will be a profitable summer too, no?”
“Ja, very profitable. For all of us.”
“Papa hopes to buy one of those new mowing machines for our hay.”
“So perhaps there would be enough to . . .” But he shook it off. He sat back, making a steeple with his fingers and studying Hans over them. Finally, he sat up, as if he had just made up his mind about something. “Hans Otto, do you still keep a notebook of things you have learned from the newspaper?”
Taken aback a little, Hans nevertheless nodded. “Ja, Herr Holzer.”
“Do you have it with you?”
Turning, Hans lifted his rucksack off the floor and reached inside and brought out a worn notebook. “I started out putting clippings in it, but I found they were filling up my notebooks too fast. So now I just make notes.” He held it out. “Would you like to look at it?”
“No, no. I was just wondering. Can you give me some examples of what you have written in there? You don’t have to read them, just tell me in your own words.”
“Can I look at them to remind me?”
“Of course.”
He half closed his eyes as Hans opened the book and flipped to near the back. “In 1908, there were 127,731 automobiles manufactured in America. That was almost double the number from the year before. The number-one car sold that year was Henry Ford’s Model T flivver. It was–”
“And what is a flivver?”
“It is an American word. I could not find out what it meant. I’m sorry.”
“But you tried?”
“Jawohl. I found an English dictionary in the library, but the word wasn’t in there. I think it is a new word in America.”
“Good boy for trying. Go on.”
“The flivver has a wooden body attached to a steel frame. In American dollars, it cost $850.50.”
The schoolmaster was trying hard not to smile. “What do you suppose the fifty cents paid for?”
Hans gave him a mischievous grin. He had asked himself the same question. “Maybe it is the commission paid to the salesmen.” As his teacher chuckled, he went on. “Henry Ford, the president of the company, says that people can have the Model T in any color they want as long as it’s black.”
“Really? Only black?”
“Jawohl. And their sales motto is, ‘The steel frame is stronger than a horse and easier to maintain.’”
“Very catchy. I am tempted to buy one myself.”
Hans smiled briefly and then quickly consulted his notebook again. “Wilbur Wright, who, along with his brother, Orville, designed and flew the first flying machine, has designed a new aeroplane—that’s what they’re calling them now. It is for the United States War Department. The US government gave him a contract to build several machines. Each plane has to be able to carry two men, fly up to forty miles per hour, and stay in the air for at least one full hour.”
“My goodness, forty miles per hour. Did you know that there was a time in the early history of the railroads when people said that if a man went faster than thirty miles per hour, all the air would be sucked out of his lungs and he would die?”
Hans hooted. “At thirty miles an hour? People can be so stupid sometimes.” He started flipping pages quickly, looking for a specific article. When he found it, he held it up for his teacher to see. It was a black-and-white photograph of a man wearing a tight-fitting leather cap and goggles. He was sitting behind the wheel of a sleek-looking automobile with no top. The caption read “Barney Oldfield—Fastest Man on Earth.”
Hans read to himself for a few seconds and then looked up. “What would those people say now if they knew this Barney Oldfield man recently set a new speed record at a track in Florida?” He looked up. “Guess how fast he drove?”
“Um . . . seventy-five—no, eighty miles an hour?”
“No!” Hans was elated that he knew something his teacher didn’t. “He drove his car at an average speed of 131.25 miles an hour. Can you believe that? And guess what else? He was driving a car called the Blitzen Benz.”
One eyebrow raised slightly. “Blitzen is lightning in German. A good name for a car a car that is so fast. But what is Benz?”
“Benz, Herr Holzer. Benz! Have you not heard of the Benz and Cie Motor Company in Mannheim? Have you never seen the Benz Patent-Motorwagen? Many consider it to be the very first automobile.” He was racing in his excitement. “Everyone thinks that the Americans invented the automobile, but the first one was here in Germany.”
“Ah,” Holzer said, impressed. “So this Oldfield was driving a German car?”
“Ja!” He nearly shouted it. “And do you know why?”
Trying not to smile, he shook his head.
“Because we have the best engineers in the world. And someday, I’m going to be one of them.”
He flipped some more pages, but his teacher reached across and shut the notebook. “Danke, Hans Otto. I am glad my old newspapers are good for something other than wrapping fish.”
“No, Herr Holzer, thank you. I have learned so much from them.”
“So let me ask you some questions. Why did you think the story about Herr Wright was important enough to include in your book?”
“Because that means they’re going to start using aeroplanes in war.”
“You really think so?”
“Ja, ja! Think of it. You could take a bomb up in the aeroplane and drop it on someone’s head, and boom! Just like that, he’d be gone.”
The schoolmaster sobered as he leaned forward. “That is a very wise observation, Hans Otto. I agree. I think we shall see the aeroplane change the whole nature of warfare. Profoundly so.”
“If I were an engineer,” Hans said, pleased with the praise, “do you think they would let me fly an aeroplane?”
“Ja, I think they might.” He sat back again, his face thoughtful. Hans was bursting to share more, but he remembered the rule, so he bit his tongue. After a minute or more, without warning, Herr Holzer got to his feet and leaned down to face him. “Hans Otto, always remember this. The man who looks out on his world and sees nothing but what is before his eyes is destined to labor for others all of his life. But the man who looks out on his world and sees what is possible is a man of vision. And men of vision are always in high demand.”
Hans stared at him for a moment and then grabbed his notebook and got a pencil from his knapsack. “Would you say that again, Herr Holzer? I should like to write that down.”
Obviously pleased, the teacher did, speaking slowly and distinctly. He watched as the boy put his pencil away and read the words again. The teacher then asked, “Why do you like that saying, Hans Otto?”
“Because if I am going to be a man of great vision, I must start now.”
“Do you believe you can be?”
Hans seemed surprised by the question. “If I set my mind to it. I can be whatever I set my mind to.”
“Ja!” the schoolmaster cried. “You can, Hans Otto. Never forget that.” Then a slow smile stole across the teacher’s face. “If you are going to be an engineer with vision, you must learn how things work, right?”
“Most certainly,” Hans Otto replied.
“Good. That is why I have called Herr Lehnig, who owns the auto mechanic shop on the north end of town.”
“Herr Lehnig?”
“Ja. More and more people are coming to Oberammergau in private automobiles now. And the roads between here and Munich will cause them many problems. He told me that he is looking for someone who understands how machines work to help him for the summer.”
Hans shot out of his chair. “Really? You think he would consider hiring me?”
“I think a better way to say it is, ‘On my recommendation, he has already hired you.’”
“But . . .” Sitting slowly down again, Hans started to shake his head. “Wunderbar, Herr Holzer. But what about Papa?”
“Don’t worry about your papa. I shall talk to him. I think it is your mother who will be the one we need to convince.”
May 2, 1910—Oberammergau Secondary School
Two weeks later, when class ended, again Herr Holzer singled Hans out and asked him to stay after. Again the students sniggered, but having learned what had happened the last time, this time they reacted as much from envy as from mockery.
“Did you get to visit Herr Lehnig on Saturday?” Holzer asked, not asking Hans to sit down this time.
“Ja. It was wonderful. He showed me all around the shop. He even had a Model T Ford that was shipped over from America to a buyer in Garmisch-Partenkirchen. It was amazing. I start the Monday after school is out. Oh, and he was pleased to learn that I have my own set of tools and wants me to bring them. Thank you so much, Herr Holzer. I am so excited.”
“And how do your parents feel about it now? Your father actually seemed pleased.”
“He was. And secretly, I think Mama is too, but the money is always a worry for her. She told me that she would agree to my working in town if I would agree to use my wages to pay half of the salary of the person they hire to do the milking. She said that was only fair to the family.”
“And did you agree?”
“Ja. That is our agreement.”
“And how much will that be?”
“One mark per week.”
“And how much is Herr Lehnig paying you?”
He grinned. “Three marks a week, which means I can buy more tools if I need them.”
“Das ist gut. And does your mama know that?”
“Ja.”
“Gut,” the teacher said in soft satisfaction. “I knew that woman understood what is at stake here.” He shook his finger at him. “It is important that you not hide anything from your mama, Hans Otto. Never lie to her, ja?”
“I won’t, Herr Holzer. I promise.”
“Very good.” He waved his hand. “Sit down, please.”
As Hans did so, once again the schoolmaster made a steeple with his hands, which seemed to be his habit when he was preparing to say something important. And once again, Hans waited patiently for him to speak.
Finally, his eyes focused on Hans. “I have a cousin in Munich who works with the Bavarian Ministry of Education. I went to Munich a fortnight ago and visited with him.”
“Oh?”
He opened the drawer and pulled out another paper. Only this time it was not a newspaper but what looked like a letter. He dropped it absently on the desk. “I spoke to him at some length about you, Hans Otto.”
“About me?”
“Ja.” The teacher was chewing thoughtfully on his lip. “You see, Hans Otto, our little visit a while back was actually somewhat of a test for you.” A tiny smile played around the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were twinkling. “You might say it was like a final examination. It was after our visit that I decided to go to Munich and speak with my cousin. I took the liberty of giving him a copy of all of your school records and a recommendation from me.”
Dazed, Hans could only nod.
“You are, without question, the most promising student I have ever taught. You have a gift for processing knowledge that is far beyond your age level. Your notebook and your answers to my questions that day made that very clear to me.”
He opened the letter and extracted a single sheet of paper but didn’t unfold it. “I told my cousin that you need much more than a humble schoolmaster in a small country village can offer.”
“But Herr Holzer, I—”
“After seeing your grades and what you have done,” he said, cutting him off, “he agrees with me. And he had a wonderful idea. Have you ever heard of Count Leopold Wilhelm Maximilian von Kruger?”
Hans reluctantly shook his head. Then a thought came and his eyes widened. “You mean like the von Kruger Palace? They say it is a magnificent estate to the north of Munich.”
Herr Holzer smiled broadly, as if this only confirmed his convictions about Hans. “Ja. That is the summer home of the von Kruger family. They also have a winter palace in the south of Italy and a hunting lodge in Scotland. The von Krugers are one of the wealthiest and most influential families in Bavaria. In all of Germany, for that matter. The current Count is the ninth in a line of nobility that dates back more than three hundred years.”
Hans nodded, impressed but growing increasingly puzzled.
“They were strong supporters of von Bismarck in his early political years, so when Bismarck became chancellor, they rose even higher in the circles of power. About forty years ago, Count von Kruger’s father petitioned von Bismarck for permission to start a private school in Munich. His dream was to create a preparatory school for students of promise—regardless of their social class—that would help prepare them for the finest universities of Germany. The von Krugers felt that this was an important way they could influence the Fatherland for good.”
He paused and then smiled at Hans’s expression. “Bismarck, as you know, was very progressive in his thinking. He knew that having an educated population was critical to throwing o
ff the shackles of ignorance that have bound down our people for so many generations.”
“Ja,” Hans said slowly.
“Bismarck was so pleased with the von Krugers’ proposal that he not only gave his permission for the new academy, but he even provided funding to build several of the buildings they would require.”
“Are you saying . . . ?” His mind was racing ahead, making connections, drawing conclusions. But still he didn’t dare to hope.
“The current Count and Countess von Kruger have carried on with that dream, and the Von Kruger Academy is now considered to be one of the top ten private preparatory schools in all of Europe. Some of Germany’s most influential families send their children there.”
Hans was staring at his mentor, his jaw slack now. He saw exactly where his mentor was going, and a sick feeling was sweeping over him.
Holzer’s hands shot up and gripped Hans’s arms. “My cousin agreed that you would be an excellent candidate for the academy. He wrote to Count and Countess von Kruger and told them about you. He also sent them the records I gave to him.”
Nodding numbly, Hans forced a sickly smile and then looked away again.
Triumphantly, Herr Holzer took out his reading glasses, unfolded the letter, and began to read. “This is dated two days ago. ‘My dear Christof. It is with the greatest pleasure that I inform you that I received a response from Countess von Kruger in this morning’s mail concerning your student, Hans Otto Eckhardt. She was very excited to learn about your protégé and was highly impressed with his records. The Von Kruger Academy is committed to doing whatever it takes to ensure that Hans Otto becomes one of their students. And—’”
The disappointment was so intense that Hans couldn’t stand it any longer. “But Herr Holzer.” It was almost a sob. “I am the son of a Milchbauer. Our family has no prestige whatsoever. And we cannot possibly afford such a school as this. And I would have to move to Munich. Where would I live? How would I eat? There is no possible way that—”
Holzer reached out and laid a hand on his student’s arm, cutting off the torrent of words. “Patience, my boy, patience.” He returned to the letter. “‘Many in the academy come from upper-class families from all over Germany, but the von Krugers strongly believe that gifted people are not all born into high station. Therefore, one of the provisions of their original charter is that at least twenty-five percent of the student body must come from families from the lower half of Germany’s socioeconomic classes.’”
Fire and Steel, Volume 1 Page 6
