On the Road With the Beetles in Germany

She said that after carving a peace symbol on the upper part of her chest and a cross on her forehead, the kidnapper was picked up in what Mrs. Wright described as a Volkswagen. (The Ottawa Citizen, ' December 8,1971)

“Hello.”

“Dave, I didn’t get you out of bed did I? Ever been to Europe?”

“No, what’s that noise ...”

“Well, how’d you like to go? Volkswagen’s doing a press tour of Germany and they want a journalism student to go with them.”

“Sure, but what’s that noise?”

“I’m in the tub.”

One week, all expenses paid, according to the Director of Carleton University’s School of Journalism. London to Berlin. Use the return ticket when I want.

But wait. He said Volkswagen is doing this. Why would Volkswagen wine and dine four reporters and a lowly journal* ism student across Europe? General Motors perhaps, but not Volkswagen. I mean, they make a people’s car without the hype and glossy coatings of Detroit bullshit.

Hell, they didn’t even advertise seriously in America until 1959 and when they did, there wasn’t anything sneaky about it. Just cool stuff like “Ugly is Only Skin-deep” and “We Don’t Have Anything To Show You In Our New Models”. An aura of honesty. Yeah, that’s it. You bought a Volkswagen in an aura of honesty. '

And why did Volkswagen want me, a journalism student? Their market is the youth market and maybe, just maybe, they wanted to say thank you to at least one youth.

But could there be another reason? Perhaps. Like most successful ventures, Volkswagen wants to invest in the future, and this journalism student has a Bachelor of Cojhnte.rce and is a Chartered Accountant. According to The Plan, he should write for a business periodical where a few nice words about Volkswagen wouldn’t hurt. Christ, what a cynical bastard.

Anyways what did it matter. A free trip is a free trip.

The group - myself, four reporters from the straight press and a Volkswagen PR man — rendezvoused The Toronto airport.

Herbert Legg’s dog-eared business card revealed he was President and Publisher of The Creston Review Ltd. Creston is a small town in British Columbia and his paper is a weekly. For the student, Herb was like a pencil sharpened with a pocket knife. Grey flannel .suit loosely draped on a tall, slimly stooped carcass; narrow brimmed hat pushed back from a face gouged by deadlines. Mutterings of greatness when he patted the pockets of his jacket —..“Left filing cabinet and right filing cabinet.” At last, The Big Time.

Physically nobody else could follow Herb’s act. Joe Erdelyi was an editorial writer for a daily called the Peterborough Examiner. Magazines were represented by the editor of the Atlantic Advocate, John Braddock.

The star attraction in Volkswagen's eyes was Steve Duncan from The Financial Post. The Post is a national, weekly business newspaper. Loosely it’s the Canadian Wall Street Journal and it had by far the largest circulation of the media on tour. For icing, the Post was going to do a special on the West German economy. And that country’s economy features Volkswagen.

Volkswagen has the highest total sales of any West German enterprise and boasts the world s largest automobile plant. It’s a mile long covering 1,730 acres: Throughout the world Volkswagen manufactures one vehicle every six seconds and claims to employ, directly or indirectly, one million people.

. Volkswagen’s eyes on the tour was their Canadian Public Relations Counsel, Frank Segee. Frank, who had been through it all before, turned out to be our den father. He was a reservoir of jokes, money and hassle clearance - a stage manager.

SATURDAY

Arrive in London. A Volkswagen driver delivers us to the Royal Lancaster Hotel, a semi-central address where a single room is almost $30 per day (but my television doesn’t work).

During the afternoon we’re escorted around the city and dutifully shown Fleet Street where Britain’s newspapers languish like old whores.

In the evening VW takes us to the 1620 A.D. restaurant. Very Elizabethan — staff in period costumes, spinnet music and waitresses who address male patrons as “My Lord”. The whole thing is topped off with King Henry in full regal dress leading dirty songs and food throwing sessions. A girl who neglects to participate is put in stocks and on King Henry’s invitation, the men line up to kiss her. All for the price of your meal.

SUNDAY

Plane to Hamburg where we’re met by VW’s German public relations man, Rudi Maletz. Rudi takes over from Trank as tour leader and we leave for Celle in a Mercedes bus. Herb asks Rudi, “Where do the occupation troops stay?” Rudi swallows hard.

Lunch in Celle and the German bus driver eats by himself. In London, the bus driver ate with us. But perhaps I’m looking tod hard.

Rudi gives us his political theme over coffee. Youth must be disciplined by their parents; the U.S. must use a bigger stick; Russia wantsto conquer the world. Joe agrees and Herb thinks he’s right on. Already I’m lonely.

Rudi continues, “I’m a liberal German. Also don’t be embarrassed about not speaking German. English should be the common language. More people speak it than any other language in the world.”

Frank is embarrassed, “This is what youth is up against.”

Back to the bus and on to Wolfsburg, home of Volkswagen. Guided becomes guilded. We’re settled into the Company’s guest house. No, it’s not a garage for humans attached to the plant but an oasis of luxury nestled in the woods. I step gently. This elegant hotel crushes the violence of sneakers on polished hardwood.

My room is thickly carpeted, cradling the smooth Scandanavian furniture and the mellowness of drawn drapes. I open them. Woods glow and geraniums bloom on the balcony. Inside, the table offers fresh fruit and a soft leather brief case bulging with Volkswagen press releases. Food to shit by.

Christ, a telephone by the toilet. God, how can I concentrate on the press releases. It might ring. But it doesn’t and between wipes I order a drink. When the tray comes, it bears a full bottle and I toast The Big Time.

MONDAY

Today is the big day. Our pilgrimage will reach the shrine — Volkswagen’s mile-long Wolfsburg plant where 61,000 people work.

There we see five Volkswagerts formed a minute and huge machines copulating to the rhythm of production schedules.

It’s fun to look overhead above the myriad of jiggling bits and pieces and see clouds gleaming through the skylights. But only for our eyes, The workers bear down on the next bolt.

Yet the workers love it, almost as much as they love Volkswagen, says Rudi. And maybe they do. The Company gives them such things as discounts on Volkswagens and, in addition to regular vacations, periodic two-week visits with full pay at Company rest centers.

But the workers tell us nothing. We are given no chance to meet them. Yet, maybe they did say something. Somebody painted “Fuck Volkswagen” on a pedestrian overpass in the Italian workers area. What should I believe? Graffiti on an overpass or a Company press release announcing, “Each night, Volkswagen staff bid. a fond farewell to their desks.”? Conflicts of The Big Time.

A Volkswagen official will join us for lunch in the Company’s executive dining room. Nobody knows who it will be. Steve (Financial Post) is looking forward to the President and I picture him with a worker from the assembly line.

Rudi sits us in descending order from the guest’s still empty chair. The Financial Post first and The Student last.

The flags of West Germany, Canada and Volkswagen are positioned on the table. Starched waiters scurry about with wine lists. The mystery executive arrives — he’s responsible for sales to subsidiaries. Steve grits his teeth and I smile at our waiter. Perhaps appropriately, he’s the worker.

In the afternoon we visit the border zone between East and West Germany. Steve asks Frank if Volkswagen still has pedal cars for kids. Frank makes a note to have one delivered to his home.

TUESDAY

The Mercedes bus takes us to VW’s Hanover plant and we watch microbuses being put together and then thrashed about as they’re driven to the parking areas.

On to West Berlin by plane. Hare Krishna hustlers and posters for a Chicago concert.

Dinner is a rich assortment of food and wines in the Hotel Kempinski’s private dining room. Volkswagen has invited some local journalists. They speak English and talk turns to the division of Germany. Things split along generation lines — the young reporters favor formal recognition and acceptance of East Germany; the older ones and Rudi want to hang tight for re-unification.

After dinner Rudi takes us to the New Eden bar. It’s almost empty. Somebody from the West Berlin Chamber of Commerce comes with us and over a piss he tells me that Berliners don’t come here.

Later a horde of tourists on a nightclub tour arrive for the Las Vegas Show. The MC asks for audience participation and Rudi leaps to the stage singing Granada. Surprisingly he gets it on (or something) and everybody cheers. The MC awards him a bottle of champagne and Rudi gives it to the band. Herb raves, “You sure can’t beat fun”, and the nightclub tour leaves. Again we’re alone.

It’s almost time for the Sexy Show and suddenly each of us has a prostitute at his side. I dance with mine and then sit by myself at a separate table. Frank frowns, fun echoes in my drink, and the drummer smiles at me.

Drummer in Berlin,

Our eyes met .

Across a moment’s darkness And our thoughts Danced together,

And the rhythm of lonliness Beat louder,

Drummer in Berlin.

I leave the others and return to the hotel.

WEDNESDAY

In the morning, we tour West Berlin. Our German guide is young and friendly. She. tells me that there is no penalty for personal use of grass (although it’s illegal to sell it); that there is little German rock — it’s mostly American — because the German language is hard to put into rock lyrics; that German women have little sense of being exploited.

We pass a university. There’s a slogan in large letters in the windows. I ask Rudi to translate. It urges support for the people of North Korea. Rudi says the students are “red bastards”.

In the afternoon we visit East Berlin. Joe, who fled Hungary in the fifties, and Rudi, who can’t cross the Wall at Checkpoint Charlie, stay behind.

We’re guided by a Party Official. She tells me there isno dope (or strippers) in the East and that shoulder length hair on males is forbidden.

On the bus heading back towards Checkpoint Charlie the guide takes me aside. John (Atlantic Advocate) has been recording her commentary and answers to our questions. She wants me to tell him to hide his tape. “I would be in extreme difficulty if it was discovered.”

She also tells me that she could have been more frank if John hadn’t been recording. When he asked her about the Wall and Germans killing Germans all she said was, “The situation is very complicated.” But when I was walking alone with her in a park she said it was “terrible and disgusting”.

Today a tension vibration starts between Frank and I. He senses my distaste for New Eden booze and broads and, perhaps VW’s ethics.

Steve (Financial Post) is staying in Europe for a month after the tour to holiday with his wife. Volkswagen is providing a free car.

THURSDAY

Fly to Frankfurt. Lots of kids hitch-hiking from the airport. We whiz by them in black limousines provided by a German bank, Commerzbank.

We have a press conference with Commerzbank officials. A good chance to bring my notes up to date and Rudi gives his neck a workout trying to read them.

Walking from the press conference to the stock exchange, I ask Rudi if Volkswagen does any follow-up. Are the press tours paying off with free plugs in the media? “Of course. Why do you think you’re here?”

Later walking back to Commerzbank for lunch, I ask Frank the same question. “No,, we don’t do any follow-up at all. We’re conducting these tours because we want to be a good corporate citizen of Canada. We make money and this is a way of saying thank you. We show Germany to the press so they can better inform the people about it. That’s all.”

Was our tqur an isolated event? According to Rudi and Frank it’s part of a long established policy. Several groups (including an all woman one) have come from Canada as well as the United States, South America, Ireland and England. In fact, Rudi’s full-time job is dealing with the international press.

We lunch in Commerzbank’s executive dining room and I chat with one of the bank’s young research economists. “I don’t care about maximizing the bank’s profits. I want to see how far I can go here in terms of political activity. I want to find out what makes the place tick. The more we understand it, the easier it is to change it.”

In the afternoon we fly to Bonn. Waiting in, the airport, Frank tells me the good things Volkswagen is doing for Canada. .1 ask him how he feels about PR work. “Public relations is conveying the reality of a company to the public.” But do we see the same reality?

Later that night another luxury meal with German journalists and the Canadian Trade Commissioner. My stomach is starting to resent the huge quantities of food and drink lavished on it by Volkswagen. But I gorge on.

I’m introduced to a German automotive reporter whose first'name is Adolf. He apologizes.

After dinnej Frank invites us to quiz the Trade Commissioner but when Joe asks a question critical of Canada’s trade policy, Frank tells him to hurry it up.

FRIDAY

Off to Dusseldorf by bus. We endlessly skirt the elegant Breidenbacher Hof hotel trying to get on the one-way street leading to the entrance. But it’s worth the wait. This old hotel with crockery in the elevators and a drill corps for staff earns the $35 a day tab. Elegance and refinement challenged only by Volkswagen’s guest house.

Across the street is a New Eden-type bar loudly advertising its sex show. VW has taken the preceding tours there but tonight Rudi has arranged for a friend to guide us through the city’s old section. Maybe bis neck made it to my notes. Maybe not.

The evening is happy. We end up in an Hungarian restaurant where Rudi sings Granada.

SATURDAY

We say our good-byes. The tour has ended but I’m staying in Europe for awhile and I go back to bed.

Epilogue

Here’s what the tour netted Volkswagen:

1. Joe Erdelyi (Peterborough Examiner) — He didn’t answer my letter asking him what he wrote as a result of the tour.

During the trip Joe told me, “The tour is good. Otherwise I couldn’t afford a trip like this.”

2. John Braddock (AtlanticAdvocate) — John wrote two articles. One was a personal-feeling piece about the European Common Market and quoted the VW executive responsible for sales to subsidiaries. The other article concerned our visit to East Berlin and didn’t mention Volkswagen.

3. Steve Duncan (The Financial Post) — The Post did a 12 page special report on the German economy. It mentioned Volkswagen three times in addition to an article titled, “How Volkswagen helps sell more Canadian goods abroad”. It also included a picture of beetles being assembled. During the tour Steve told me, “I wouldn’t leave anything bad about Volkswagen out of a story if I felt it was relevant.”

4. Herb Legg (The Creston Review Ltd.) — Herb wrote and published 17 stories on the trip “which were used by high school students in their social studies, by libraries? travel centers and other interested readers.” Herb couldn’t send me copies since “they are copyrighted.” He concluded “it was a wonderful trip and one of the highlights of my life which I shall never forget, nor the group of men who repre^ sented Canada in a very presentable and defendable manner.”

5. David McKendry (The Student) — He raved about the wine and did a thing for CREEM.

What did it cost Volkswagen? According to Frank Segee, around $9,000. Assuming the company is paying taxes at a 50% rate then the real cost is only $4,500. It would be impossible to get the same coverage at that price through normal advertising — one page of advertising in the Financial Post alone costs approximately $6,600 (or $3,300 after taxes).