It is astounding that – less than two months ago – an auto created as a pet project of the monstrous Adolf Hitler that thrived for eight decades at last ended its amazing run as what many call the most enduringly popular car the world ever produced.
On Wednesday, July 10, the last Volkswagen Beetle rolled off the line at a sprawling Volkswagen plant in Puebla, Mexico. It was a world away from its beginning as what was meant to be a “people’s car,” as ordered into existence by Der Fuehrer, one of the most evil men in recorded history.
The longest-running car in automotive history is now, ultimately, destined for the world’s scrap heaps.
Those of us who once loved a Bug – and we are legion – are mourning, remembering a cheap little car that got the younger us where we were going with a minimum of fuss and expense.
And, darn it, the car really was cute! Look straight at it frontally. It looked, well, like a smiling happy face. Who could resist? Not I, and not – after we were married – my husband. We sold his utilitarian but clunky Chevy sedan and kept the zippy little Beetle, with its air-cooled engine stowed neatly in the back of the car and a (relatively) roomy boot, or trunk, in the front. And it was a cheery, spirit-lifting bright red.
After all, we’d each, before we’d met, had Triumphs – completely unreliable but seductively sleek British sports cars that barely made it a block without breaking down, usually with an electrical system malfunction. German engineering was very appealing.
The car served us well for seven years, even taking us on a wonderful if cheap month-long odyssey from northern Ohio to Seattle to San Diego and back to Ohio, while we camped in a two-man nylon mountain tent and two exceedingly cheesy sleeping bags lined, as I recall, with green flannel decorated with drawings of cowboys.
And when the VW floor rusted so badly that the spare tire fell through it onto the local A&P parking lot, my younger brother – then an enterprising college student – welded it back together and sold it to another student who was looking for really cheap transportation. It was just part of the life cycle of a Beetle.
The car’s less than savory historic origins have been more or less lost in history. But they cannot be denied. The odious German dictator actually fancied himself a populist (clearly only for those he considered Aryan people) and he persuaded Austrian automotive engineer Ferdinand Porsche – yes, the guy who later launched his own sports car company – to design an inexpensive and utilitarian auto for the car-less German masses.
The first people’s car – the Volkswagen – was produced in 1938 at a brand-new plant in what came to be called Wolfsburg. Its future was hardly assured. The German strongman had a long to-do list, including conquering his neighbors. Less than a year later Hitler invaded Czechoslovakia.
The new factory detoured from making cars to making tanks and the like, just turning out occasional autos for VIPs. And when the shooting was over, Hitler was (thankfully) dead and much of the plant – like much of Germany – was rubble with the victorious allies in control.
And the car might have stayed dead. We Americans certainly didn’t want the derelict plant, and no one else seemed to either. Then British Army Major Ivan Hirst, who was assigned to help restart German manufacturing, found a few mostly intact Volkswagens in the ruins and decided to put the plant back into operation.
It wasn’t an overnight success, but gradually it produced enough to win over German consumers. In 1949, Volkswagens were exhibited in the United States. Just two sold. But by 1955, the company was selling enough to set up a subsidiary, Volkswagen of America, to handle business here.
The first Volkswagen I ever rode in was owned by a high school friend’s older sister (a Sophisticated Older Woman), and I mostly remember that it was tiny and didn’t have a gas gauge, but it had a small auxiliary tank that could be switched on when the engine began to stutter. We were very impressed, although mostly just because she had her own car.
And by then the little Volkswagen had a name, a somehow endearing one – the Beetle, based on its appearance. It almost seemed to be smiling!
In 1961, it got a gas gauge. And by 1963, Volkswagen was Germany’s largest company. That year it produced over a million cars. And they still looked like Beetles – or Bugs, as people affectionately began referring to them. They had become icons.
The car’s popularity peaked in the mid-’60s, with Volkswagen annually selling 1.3 million worldwide, including over 400,000 Beetles and its companion, the VW Microbus, in the American car market. It really was a people’s car. It was celebrated in song! In film! Who could forget Herbie, the Love Bug, and his six movies?
There was even a Jim Beam Volkswagen Beetle bottle of bourbon. We still have one, a gift from another brother. It, too, is bright red, adorable, and we’ve never broken the seal.
Even before this summer’s production shutdown, the Beetle had long lost its luster, especially when the company came out in 1997 with its so-called New Beetle, which – horrors! – had a conventional front engine and an ordinary trunk in the rear. It had become just another compact car.
But before that, in 1969, the real Beetle was given its own immortality by none other than – ta da! – the musical Beatles. Yes!
The cover of one of the Fab Four’s last albums – Abbey Road – is simply a photo (devoid of printing) of the four musical legends striding, single file, across the road leading to their studio. And the first car parked along the road immediately behind them is a white Volkswagen Beetle.
To this day, no one will say whether the placement was deliberate or coincidental. But for sure it was serendipitous!
Oh, and the late, loved little Beetle? Volkswagen is replacing it with an SUV.
(“Monitor” columnist Katy Burns lives in Bow.)