How a Color Copier Almost Ruined My Life

Monday mornings were always the same.  That is, unless a Monday morning happened to be a holiday at which point Tuesday morning became Monday morning which ultimately felt the same as Monday morning still being Monday morning. 

Or unless you had a considerably important sales pitch to deliver.  Such was the state of my thought processes at precisely 7:57 on this particular Monday morning.  Maneuvering through the ground floor of my marketing firm’s office building, dodging fellow foot commuters and mail delivery people, I breathed deeply of the recycled, air-conditioned oxygen.  Today, Monday was the all-important day; for this was the Monday I would nail my first international advertising account.

Well, it wouldn’t be my triumph alone.  I had to give props to my diligent co-worker, Charlie, who was the financial nerd-brain on the project.  He had, after all, been the only company representative to meet our potential client face to face.  I, Sarah Marie Morgan, Vice-President of New Accounts, had merely spoken to them via e-mail thanks to an unseasonal bout of swine flu.  Still, despite my willingness to accept that today’s possible success would be a joint success, I was confidently patting myself on the back.  I tried to restrict my excitement to a respectable office minimum as I bubbled forth from the elevator and strode purposefully toward our floor’s color copier.  I had cheerful-yet-informative handouts to print.

It took all of five minutes to discover that my “today” had different plans for me.  After sucking up and spitting out the first few pages of my carefully-designed handouts, the copier flashed one of its famous alerts: replace toner.  “Okay, I’ll replace the toner,” I mumbled to myself.  This accomplished, I restarted my print job.

“Replace toner,” the evil machine repeated.

“I just friggin’ did!” I told it, hands planted firmly on my hips.

“No, you idiot, you replaced the black toner.  Now the cyan, yellow, and magenta cartridges need replacing…ha, HA!”

Unsuccessfully resisting an urge to kick the damned machine, I smacked it good with my new black power heels, pouted momentarily, then proceeded to install the additional toner cartridges.  Refusing to slide in as indicated by the unhelpful graphic stuck to the inside of the open copier cover, I resorted to brute force and shoved the cartridges as hard as I could.  Multi-colored ink erupted all around me in a cloud of fabric-staining glory until it—and I—plopped disconsolately down onto the carpet.  Then I kicked the machine again.

 “I think I broke the copier,” I announced to thin air.  Unbeknownst to me, Charlie had arrived upon the distressing scene.

“I think the copier broke you,” he unhelpfully remarked.

My frustration level having reached maximum handelability, the tears began to leak slowly out the edges of my eyelids.  Waving a reluctant goodbye to my previous enthusiasm, I sat in a powdered pool of black, cyan, magenta, and yellow ink.  “This isn’t happening.” 

Charlie leaned nonchalantly against the copier visited upon us from the fourth or fifth circle of hell and surveyed the sight before him.  I thought he felt sorry for me but couldn’t be sure until he ventured, “So do you need help with anything?”

Exhaling yet another sigh, I solidly placed my hands in the multi-colored mess and pushed myself into a standing position.  I didn’t have to inspect the skirt of my brand new three-piece silk power suit that perfectly matched the black power heels.  I knew it was ruined.  “Yeah, you can.  How familiar are you with selecting women’s professional wear?”

“Huh?”

“I need a new suit or skirt or…at least a matching pair of pants so I can look some semblance of presentable for the meeting in an hour.  There’s no way this mess will give me enough time for emergency shopping.”

The hint of a smirk appeared at the corners of Charlie’s mouth.  “I thought that meeting was tomorrow.”

“What?  You thought…what?”

“I’ve got the financial projections all neatly organized in an Excel file on my home computer.  I thought we’d go over them tonight so you could finalize the Power Point for the presentation tomorrow afternoon.”

Stomach sinking, I pointed at him and gasped, “Your laptop…there!  Why didn’t…I was supposed to do the Power Point?”

All smirking ceased as Charlie’s face broke into a sizeable grin.  “Kidding.  It’s all in here,” he said, patting the padded laptop case hanging from his shoulder. 

“Dear lord above and beyond!  If you ever do that to me again, I’ll strangle you with your own shoulder strap!”

“That’s fair.  Now, size please?”

“Size?  Oh, umm…probably a 4, maybe a 6.  It all depends on the cut of the skirt…or pants, whichever.  If they’re too slim, grab a 6.  If they’re a relaxed fit, get a 4.  Oh, and if you do get pants, make sure they’re longs.”

“And you really trust me to get this right?”

I stared at the state of the floor and myself.  “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really.”  Charlie paused to inspect the rest of me.  Platonically perusing my backside, he asked, “And what about the jacket?  You sort of have a psychedelic, 60s-minded thing going on back here…makes me want a joint.”

I moaned my exasperation, ripped off the jacket as quickly as I could, and absorbed the extent of the damage.  Scattering little wisps of colored ink with each motion, I whimpered, “Just…just do what you can.  On a Murphy’s Law kind of day like today, I doubt I could do much better.”

“Ten-four,” Charlie replied.  He touched me encouragingly on the shoulder and added, “I’ll be back in half an hour.”

“But the mall is half an hour away as it is.”

With a wink, he said, “I know a guy.” 

 

Fifteen minutes later I was in the ladies’ restroom feverishly wiping ink from my skin and wondering what in the bloody freaking world I’d done to deserve such treatment by the Corporate Fates.  Did I trust Charlie to come through?  About as much as I trusted myself right now.  Our presentation for a huge new account was supposed to happen in fifteen—no, make that thirteen—minutes.  I couldn’t even market myself much less this new line of 100% green-friendly, naturally-waste-repelling baby diapers!

I heard a knock.  “Come in?”

Charlie inched the door open and slowly stuck his head inside the forbidden female space.  His eyes were squeezed firmly shut.  “Sarah?  You in there?”

“As far as I know.  Were you able to find anything wearable?”

Still proceeding with caution, Charlie’s body followed his head into the mysterious domain of feminine hygiene.  An expression of semi-wonderment was pasted onto his face.  “Wow.  Your fluorescent tubing doesn’t flicker.”

I grabbed the plastic bag from his hand.  It was awfully light.  “Ten minutes, that’s all we have!”

“I know.  I swung by the conference room first to make sure everything was set up.  Nobody’s in there yet”

“And is it?  Set up, I mean?”

“More or less.”

“And how do the final numbers look?  Can we keep costs within the client’s proposed budget?”

“The numbers look great!  This account is ours, no way we could possibly lose it.”

As I yanked open my shopping bag, I strongly questioned his confident declaration.  My vocal cords shriveled up and tried to hide behind my spinal column as I whispered, “What is this?”

Charlie was visibly proud of his male ingenuity.  “It’s a stretch skirt, one size fits all!  See, that way the size didn’t matter, and look: the bright pinks and yellows match the ink smears on the back of your jacket.”

He was serious.  Bless his well-meaning-but-errant little heart, he was serious!  And I could tell by the fact that he was still grinning—hands dug firmly into his trouser pockets—that he was certain I’d approve.

We now had five minutes ‘til showtime, and my vocal cords were tentatively checking to see if danger had passed.  It hadn’t.  I choked, “I don’t…know what to say,” as I retreated into a bathroom stall and tried not to slam the door behind me.

“Aw, you don’t have to say anything,” Charlie answered.  “And anyway, I had an awesome idea while driving to the mall.  It came to me when I saw this guy on the side of the street with a big cart full of stuff like this for sale.”

Side of the street?  Big cart?

“Once I looked through all the bins a couple of times, I started thinking: this retro hippie kind of thing could go perfectly with the whole theme of our presentation!  That’s exactly the slice of society this new diaper product will appeal to: the return-to-nature, hug-your-hummus slice!”

Sweet edamame, I didn’t know what had happened to the man I’d been working and researching with for six months.  I didn’t want to exit that stall either, but in the interest of professionalism, I thought it best to do so.  ‘Tis far wiser to present a Power Point from behind a conference room table than from behind a toilet seat.  Winston Churchill said that, I think.

 I creaked the door open and crept out from behind it, the clingy knit mini-skirt riding up with each movement.  “So…how do I look?”

A dramatically transformed Charlie—now sporting a crocheted, psychedelically-dyed Rasta hat complete with attached artificial dreadlocks—met my deflated gaze.  “Groovy, mon!” was his enthusiastic reply.  “How do I look?”

There were no words.  Instead of trying to find some, I silently walked up to the restroom’s full-length mirror and stared at the spectacle reflected therein.  This is what a Bachelor’s degree and four years’ worth of entry-level grunt work had gotten me: a copier ink-smeared designer jacket, an iridescent stretch skirt worthy of a streetwalker, and a presentation partner jumping in and out of stalls singing, “I say, eh mon!” 

“If you do the jungle bird call, I quit.”  And out the door I went.

Charlie excitedly followed…as did the jungle bird call.

 

It’s impossible to describe the echoing silence that followed us into the conference room.  The breathy whir of a projection machine and occasional sigh of Charlie’s laptop in a cooling-down cycle were the only audible sounds.  I tried hard not to make eye contact with any of the board members present but ultimately failed when Charlie announced, “No worries, mon, we’re here and ready to begin!”

I wanted to die.  Instead of giving in to such morbid temptations, however, I readjusted my skirt and cautiously took a peek at the faces around the conference table.  Our marketing firm’s CEO, Ms. Melinda Ford, was eyeing me up and down repeatedly, her shocked gaze resting most often on the god-awful skirt.  I admired her recovery skills as she cleared her throat and said, “We just found out that our client is running late, but in the interim, why don’t you give us a brief synopsis of your…creative approach to this account.”

It felt like all of my movements were stunted and robot-like, but good old Charlie had never been more—what was a good description?—“rhythmically flexible.”  He walked about the room to the beat of the reggae in his brain, delineating our marketing scheme for these groundbreaking green diapers. 

Okay, I thought that thought all wrong.

Ms. Ford continued in traditional CEO-like fashion.  “And how do you plan to keep costs down during this campaign’s start-up phase?  The client was very clear that they were limited as far as initial advertising capital is concerned.  Sarah?”

Lulled into a mindless stupor by the combination of Charlie’s beat-box speech delivery and one too many glances at my clothing, it took several seconds before the sound of my name registered on a conscious level.  My body jerked itself back into the land of lucidity as I responded with, “Due to the growing demand for environmentally-friendly waste disposal options, we project that the client will see measurable marketing results for the green diapers within six months.”

The Board grimaced in concert.

“Did I say that out loud?”

Charlie fought against rollicking laughter.

“Yes you did, mon,” Melinda replied.

Charlie lost the fight against rollicking laughter.

            I would’ve crawled underneath the table if I could’ve done it modestly…effing skirt.  At the end of my unraveling rope, I spiraled downwardly into despair.  “Hmm.  Is that an open window I see?  Methinks I shall jump out of it.”

            Still laughing, though momentarily released from the Rasta demon’s thrall, Charlie threw his arms around me in a bear hug.  “No you won’t, Ms. Sarah.  Not until we’ve sealed this deal.”

            Melinda’s typically stoic expression had softened into a half-smile.  “And on that note, I believe the client has arrived.  Charlie, would you please show them in?  And get them whatever refreshments they prefer.”

            Grinning like he knew a secret, Charlie lazily saluted his superior.  “Don’t worry, mon!  Everything is under control.”

            I wished I could believe it, but as Charlie ambled toward the door—fully back to his island self—I began mentally calculating the sizeable credit card debt I’d incurred buying this stupid suit.  How would I pay it off now? 

            As the client and her assistants entered, speechlessness possessed me.  A friendly hand grasped mine, shaking it firmly.  My mouth hung involuntarily open as I gazed into a smiling, chocolate-colored face framed by dreadlocks and crowned with an intricately-arranged, fluorescently-colorful turban.  “You must be Sarah,” a thickly-accented voice said.  “My name is Delores Kenji.  It is wonderful to finally meet you!”

            Every person in the room grinned at me in a most ridiculous and unprofessional fashion.  They all knew.  Every single one of them knew!  My knees weak from the day’s up-and-down sequence of events, I plopped wearily into a rolling chair.  The chair rolled backward and slammed into a dry-erase board.  “So,” I began, “We can assume that the final projections were acceptable?”

            Delores laughed.  “Of course!  We are pleased to place our advertising campaign into your capable hands.”

            Our new Jamaican client walked amiably around the table, shaking hands and chatting a moment with each of the board members.  When it was finally Charlie’s turn to be thus greeted, Delores gave him a knowing wink.  “You were right.  That was fun!”

            I wasn’t quite so sure about that yet.

            “If you conduct business with as much energy and creativity as you’ve conducted these negotiations,” Delores continued, “We can look forward to a long and successful partnership.”

            “Thank you, thank you so much, Ms. Kenji.  Would you and your assistants like anything to drink?  A snack, perhaps?”

            Delores motioned to one of her entourage.  “That will not be necessary.  We have brought refreshments of our own to celebrate this moment.”

            I watched with interest as Delores’s assistant placed a plastic-wrapped plate in front of me.  Removing the decorative ribbon and pulling apart the layers of plastic, I had to join in the laughter too.

            Brownies. 

THE ART OF NAZI PROPAGANDA: TURNING THEIR OWN TIDE

“The world of today, in an upheaval of antagonisms heading toward destructive war, was not inevitable.  Russia need not have fallen to the Bolsheviks; Germany to the Nazis; Italy to the Fascists.  The United States need not have entered the World War.  Two millions of men slain in battle need not have died.  These consequences resulted from a decision of a few men during the World War.” –Author Unknown, 1938 ²

World War II had its roots in World War I.  The Nazi Party, likewise, gained its foothold in Germany due to the social and economic aftermath of World War I.  When the German artillery ceased firing on Nov. 11, 1918, German troops in the field had no real understanding as to why.  “The myth grew among many of these surrendered German soldiers that they had been stabbed in the back: that the front line troops and the 2 million German war dead had been betrayed by German Marxists and Jews who had fomented dissent back home.”⁴   It was during this time that bitterness began to grow within the overall mindset of average Germans.  Starvation and sickness plagued the German people as they attempted to recover their decimated economy as well as establish a new form of government.  Dissention to the point of violence erupted between and among the various German political parties as each fought to establish themselves as the popular governmental frontrunner.⁴

It was during this time that World War I Corporal Adolf Hitler was introduced into the political arena.  His hatred of Marxists and Jews combined with his belief in the “iniquity of the Versailles Peace Treaty signed at the end of World War I” to create a dangerous political mix.  Through this highly significant “peacekeeping” document that officially ended the conflict between the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the Entente Powers, Germany lost much of her pre-war territorial holdings to the aforementioned Triple Entente (England, France, and the United States) and was also forced to pay them exorbitant reparations.  Inflation skyrocketed which helped send the post-war economy into a freefall.  Also as a result of the Treaty, French troops were sent into Germany as a type of occupying police force as well as to ensure reparations payments were being made.⁷   With mounting desperation, Germany began looking for a strong leader to bring them out of this dark age.  “Versailles was a crime, and the Jews were behind it” became one of the primary cries of the newly-formed Nazi Party, a cry that resonated with the German people.  German resident and Nazi Party Member, Jutta  Rudiger, remembers that, “There was a lot of official harassment.  There was widespread hunger, squalor, and poverty, and—what really affected us—there was humiliation.  The French ruled with an iron hand.  Perhaps they simply wanted to take revenge.”⁴

The purpose of the Treaty of Versailles was, ostensibly, to put an end to the first World War and to make Germany pay for what it had done to harm multiple nations.  Its significance within the annals of history is that it helped send the defeated nation downward-spiraling into poverty and desperation.  Had the terms been more lenient, perhaps the perceived need for a leader such as Hitler and his Nazi Party could have been avoided.  The military restrictions put into place made sense at the time, but the economic sanctions inflicted upon the war-torn population could only serve to bring about long-term debilitation.

During the 1920s, the German economy recovered reducing their desperate demand for dramatic political change.  The Nazis took a backseat during this time of measurable prosperity, but once the Great Depression struck the global economy full force and Germany became once again impoverished, Hitler’s promises of national salvation pushed he and his ideology into the spotlight once more.  Here was a powerful speaker whose vehement words resonated with the agonizing German people.  Here was a man who at least seemed to have a firm plan in hand.  Here was a man with the timely answers needed to, once and for all, restore Germany to a place of respect and power on a global scale.⁴

Interestingly but not surprisingly, Germany’s government—as with many governments worldwide—already had an affinity for the widespread use of propaganda for the furthering of national good.  For example, one primary source document entitled “German Schools and the Teaching of War” written in 1922 indicates a shielding of the younger generation from the truth about World War I.  Most of the schools within Germany used different textbooks, each of which stressed different aspects and perceptions of their nation’s history.  Problems began to arise because “there was such a discrepancy between the various books that the explanations of the school officials were highly entertaining.”¹   A Dr. Becker, secretary of the Prussian ministry of education stated that, “There are two things that we are not teaching our children.  One subject that is forbidden is the Kaiser and his dynasty.  The other is the war.”¹   Dr. Becker goes on to admit that this is done on purpose.  “It’s politics.  You see, there are six different parties in Prussia.  Each different party has a different idea about the causes of the war, the events, and the mistakes.  As soon as the ministries of education start to prepare a story of the war for the school children, some leader of a party arises and says that the story is wrong, in some detail.”¹ 

The purpose and meaning of such a document is obvious: to educate the rest of the world on one of the many post-war states of affairs within the defeated Germany.  The significance of this document is overwhelming in that it clearly demonstrates a serious lack of “real” education within the German public school system.  By remaining ignorant of this globe-altering event and the circumstances that caused it, how could the younger generation ever be expected to prevent a second globe-altering event?  Unless one may learn from the mistakes and missteps of the past, one shall indeed repeat said mistakes.  Many of these children were destined to become the Hitler Youth.  Could a more thorough education of their own immediate past have helped prevent at least some of the atrocities to come? 

An American correspondent living in 1919 Europe further underscores the new, post-war German government’s instability and inability to effect long-term change.  In the article “First Political Crisis of the New Germany,” the author observes, “The great fact to the outside world is that a German parliament has actually precipitated a crisis.  It threw out the Scheklemann cabinet.  It presided over the birth of the Bauer one.  It was the German parliament which dictated to the government regarding its composition, instead of meekly obeying the government, as had been the custom.”²   Such a document would reveal to the world an ongoing, rampant disorganization within the supposedly-reorganizing fledgling German government.  Such a revelation could only inspire global distrust of and lack of confidence in a new government desperately attempting to rebuild and restructure.  Any financial assistance in the way of loans and other economic investments would become far less likely at a time when Germany needed such things most.

By now, Hitler had assembled a group of men who either shared his racist beliefs or craved power badly enough to go along with them.  Among this Chosen Few was a man by the name of Josef Goebbels, the mastermind behind Hitler’s vastly successful propaganda machine.  In order to facilitate this propaganda, Goebbels took direct aim at the inherent hatred of the “World Jewry” by the German people.  He reinforced a belief that the Jews were conspiring against the entire nation and attempting to take complete control.  When asked how they—the German people as well as the Nazi Party—could have considered it right to discriminate against and drive a particular group of people (the Jews) from their homes and lives, Bruno Hahnel, a Hitler Youth leader from 1927-1945, replies that, “Well, if it were the case that they were innocent people, then that is correct.  It wasn’t to be done.  But I have to come back to World Jewry.  For us it was World Jewry which wanted to gain power, which wanted to rule the world.  Because of this whole propaganda, the demand to remove them from public life was understandable.”⁴   Because Germany was desperate for any change that would improve their situation, they were willing to accept any leadership that might bring about such a miracle.  Likewise, the Jews were a threat to the survival of Germany and its traditions, and the Nazi Party was just the party to both unify and rescue the fatherland’s Master Race.  Jutta Rutiger further recalls that, “I can only explain this with the desperation and poverty caused by the mass unemployment (during the Depression).  It was really terrible, and in this situation Hitler seemed to be the bringer of salvation.”⁴

These first-hand observations and recollections made by actual Nazi Party members from the time of Hitler’s rise to power help us better understand just how an intelligent group of people could be so beaten down that they would eventually accept the Nazi ideology.  They remind us that any person or group of people, when in dire straits for an extended length of time without hope of relief, will resort to even the most ridiculous of solutions if they truly believe them to be a solution.  Erna Kranz, a resident of Munich during the Nazi era, sums up the situation effectively when she declares, “It definitely was a positive thing.  Why, otherwise, did the masses follow this man?  Why?  There must have been a reason.  That’s the way it was, a lot of things got better.  Everything got a little better.  Certainly concerning our own household, things were improving.”⁴

These primary source responses also demonstrate how easily a government or political party—through the systematic use of carefully-manipulated propaganda—can control the minds of its population by catering to said population’s pre-existing fears and prejudices.  The Nazi Party built upon a latent distrust and hatred of the Jews in particular to foist themselves into power, and the honest admissions of these one-time Nazi supporters describe just how easily it was done.

It was within this national culture and mindset that the Hitler-appointed Josef Goebbels was able to work his ideological magic.  In the article “Goebbels’ Principles of Propaganda,” Leonard Doob references Josef Goebbels own personal journal as he describes the process utilized by the German propaganda officer for formulating his successful campaigns:

1.      Propagandists must have access to intelligence concerning events and public opinion

2.      Propaganda must be planned and executed by only one authority

3.      The propaganda consequences of an action must be considered in planning that action

4.      Propaganda must affect the enemy’s policy and action

5.      Declassified, operational information must be available to implement a propaganda campaign

6.      To be perceived, propaganda must evoke the interest of an audience and must be transmitted through an attention-getting communications medium

7.      Credibility alone must determine whether propaganda output should be true or false

8.      The purpose, content, and effectiveness of enemy propaganda; the strength and effects of an expose; and the nature of current propaganda campaigns determined whether enemy propaganda should be ignored or refuted

9.      Credibility, intelligence, and the possible effects of communicating determine whether propaganda materials should be censored

10.  Material from enemy propaganda may be utilized in operations when it helps diminish that enemy’s prestige or lends support to the propagandist’s own objective

11.  Black rather than white propaganda must be employed when the latter is less credible or produces undesirable effects

12.  Propaganda may be facilitated by leaders with prestige

13.  Propaganda must be carefully timed

14.  Propaganda must label events and people with distinctive phrases or slogans

15.  Propaganda to the home front must prevent the raising of false hopes which can be blasted by future events

16.  Propaganda to the home front must create an optimum anxiety level

17.  Propaganda to the home front must diminish the impact of frustration

18.  Propaganda must facilitate the displacement of aggression by specifying the targets for hatred

19.  Propaganda cannot immediately affect strong counter-tendencies; instead it must offer some form of action or diversion, or both ⁵

We may therefore see the diabolical, methodical application of these very principles to Goebbels’ every public action during his time in power.  He skillfully targets the long-held German opinion that Jews are evil, they are intent upon destroying age-old German traditions, and that they will ultimately take full control of German society thereby destroying their superior way of life forever.  Specifically, Nazi propaganda appealed directly to German feelings of “national unity based upon the principle of volksgemeinschaft, or ‘the community before the individual’.”  This included stressing a “need for racial purity, a hatred of enemies which increasingly centered on Jews and Bolsheviks, and (a need for) charismatic leadership.”³

Additionally, Hitler’s philosophies stressed the need for order to the point that they became obsessed with the subject.  Part of his propagandist efforts went into the lavish productions of pageants and parades intended to glorify the perfect human form: that of a “pure” German.  And it was only those considered to be “racially pure” Germans who were allowed to participate.  Erna Kranz recalls her own inclusion in the extravagant “Night of the Amazons” staged in Munich: “I was a Madame Pompadour with a very low-cut neckline and a hoop skirt.  I felt it was beautiful.  There was a certain arrogance—that Germans were somehow special.  It was said that the German people should be a pure race, that they should stand above others.”⁴   In direct contrast to these displays of Aryan perfection and beauty, elsewhere in Munich at this very same time, property belonging to Jews was being confiscated and their jobs systematically eliminated.  They were even banned from most career paths.  The Gestapo began making its presence known on a more massive scale as they enlisted the help of “ordinary citizens” to denounce potential dissidents.  Anyone with Jewish features was automatically targeted.⁴

This was the state of mind for much of Germany beginning immediately after the conclusion of World War I and leading up to Hitler’s official entrance onto a larger political stage in January of 1933 when he was appointed to the Chancellorship of Germany by then-President Hindenberg.  In general terms, “the themes which link how the Nazis captured power in 1933 with what Nazi Germany did in the years thereafter appear to be the following: war, racism, violence, and order.  Each figure prominently in the history of German society and polity between 1918 and 1933.”⁶   This article goes on the declare that, taking these four specific factors into consideration, the dissolving of the Weimar Republic may be explained as may the rise of Hitler and his Nazi Party.⁶   As we have observed, multiple factors helped bring the German people to the point of accepting the radical Nazi Party under the control of Adolf Hitler as their preferred form of government.  It was a gradual process, a slow redefinition of accepted norms born out of fear, frustration, and extensive deprivation. 

As a further example of just how serious the situation had become within Germany, its economic sector had reached such a point of consternation and anxiety that the former president of the Reichsbank issued a letter to President Hindenberg admonishing German men to join the Nazi Storm Troopers.  This former bank president argued that Hitler gaining the Chancellorship would be best for Germany.  Johannes Zahn, economist and banker in Germany since 1931, states that “You have to consider Germany’s general situation between 1930 and 1933.  An unemployed man either joined the Communists, or he became a Storm Trooper.  And so business believed it was better if these people became Storm Troopers because there was discipline and order, and at the beginning you couldn’t tell whether National Socialism (the Nazis) was something good with a few bad side effects or something evil with a few good side effects.”⁴

One of the happenings that helped bring Germany to such a point was the signing of the Treaty of Versailles in 1919.  As the new German government attempted to organize and pull itself together, dissention among multiple political parties extended so far that it severely hampered the education of its nation’s young people thereby creating a destructive atmosphere of ignorance: an atmosphere that eventually became a habit.  Interviews with and direct quotes from original Nazi Party members in Germany from 1929-1945 explain vividly and succinctly just how a nation forced to its knees would readily accept a relative madman as their leader if only he could make life better for them. 

The Germans that opted for Hitler’s regime were not stupid.  They were victims systematically reduced to severe desperation by multiple factors over time. Under such extreme circumstances, a strong personality promising them salvation in the form of a happy, healthy, productive life for themselves, their families, and their communities likely seemed their best—if not their only—option. 

 

BIBLIOGRAPHY

1. Author Unknown, “German Schools and the Teaching of the War,” Literary Digest, May 6,

            1922, 48, accessed March 10, 2012, http://www.oldmagazinearticles.com/1920s_german
            _schools_teaching_ww1_pdf.

2. Author Unknown, “The Political Crises in Post-War Germany,” Current Opinion, September

            1919, 140, accessed March 10, 2012, http://www.oldmagazinearticles.com/GERMAN_
            REVOLUTION-1919_pdf.

3. David Welch, “Nazi Propaganda and the Volksgemeinschaft: Constructing a People’s

            Community,” Journal of Contemporary History, vol. 39, no. 2 (2004): 213-238,
            accessed March 9, 2012, http://www.jstor.org/stable/3180722.

4. Directed by Laurence Rees, The Nazis: A Warning From  History (BBC Warner, 2005), DVD

            disc 1.

5. Leonard W. Doob, “Goebbels’ Principles of Propaganda,” The Public Opinion Quarterly,

            vol. 14, no. 3 (Autumn, 1950): 419-442, accessed March 11, 2012 ,
             http://www.jstor.org/stable/2745999.

6. Richard Bessel, “The Nazi Capture of Power,” Journal of Contemporary History, vol. 39,

            No. 2 (April, 2004): 169-188, accessed March 11, 2012, http://www.jstor.org/
            stable/3180720.

 7. World War I Document Archive, “The Peace Treaty of Versailles,” June 28, 1919, accessed

            March 11, 2012,  http://net.lib.byu.edu/~rdh7/wwi/versailles.html.

 

 

 

I Fought the Gopher...and I Won!

This is an excerpt from a novel I'm working on (yes, April is aspiring to a novel-length story) in which overlapping time/space is involved.  Why CAN'T some ghostly apparitions actually be images from a time blending momentarily into our own due to electromagnetic fluctuation?  That's my working theory anyway, even though I know nothing about the finer (or chunkier) points of quantum physics.  In this excerpt, Katie and Mick are accidentally transported from 2012 into 1922 and are squatting on the farm of their also-transported counterparts, Eva and Timothy (who are now fighting for survival in 2012 armed with nothing but 1922 knowledge).  Trust me, it's way more original than it sounds :-)

From the copyrighted original work by moi, Ghosts and Physics:

         The dishes were quickly washed, dried, and put away which left me plenty of cool-ish morning to spend in the garden.  I didn’t envy Mick’s indentured servitude in the hot Texas heat all day.  I’d have to see about making a gallon or five of iced tea for when he took breaks.  Tea now brewing on the stovetop, I searched the cabinets for something like a colander.  What I found was an actual colander which was even better. 

            Armed with my colander and a hoe I’d found leaning against the tool shed, I walked purposefully to the garden.  It would be useful for old-fashioned weed whacking as well as snake murdering.  Upon arrival at my wondrous patch of roughage-filled joy, I immediately noticed something amiss.  The weeds were still there, of course, but scattered around the garden in multiple places were little holes where plants used to be.  Potatoes in particular seem to have been targeted by a phantom subterranean veggie stealer.  What potatoes there still were I pulled up quickly, de-dirting them before placing them into the colander.  By the time I got to the carrots, whatever it was beneath the ground was just getting started on them.  Frozen to the spot where I knelt, I watched a carrot top sink inch…by inch…by inch into the ground until it disappeared.  “Friggin’ gopher.  There’s a friggin’ gopher in my garden!” I announced to the uncaring world.

            Incensed at the violation of my vegetation, I brandished my hoe and started hacking it into the ground.  When it came up all red and gooshy, I knew I’d hit my mark.  “Look, dude, I’m really sorry I had to do that, but it’s my garden, you know?  I’m a veggie person.  They make my taste buds dance and my bowels flow freely.  You don’t mess with a girl’s bowels.”  And then I felt guilty for hacking a furry member of the animal kingdom to death.  I soothed my conscience by reminding it that there were probably lots more down there anyway.

 “Yeah, the little babies of the mother gopher you just sliced into pieces!” my conscience replied.

             I was a bad person. 

With a sigh, I laid down the hoe and continued pulling what vegetables were ready to be harvested.  All in all, we still had plenty: summer and zucchini squash, cucumbers, several potatoes despite the depredation, onions, a couple of decent-sized carrots, a head of cabbage, green beans and two tomatoes that technically shouldn’t have been yanked just yet but I couldn’t resist in case the gopher’s ghost decided to haunt…and an actual head of pretty, fluttery, leafy lettuce!  My colander literally overfloweth-ed.

Gopher death fading from my thoughts, I trekked happily away from the garden and back toward the house.  While passing the tool shed, I noticed there were several tall, bushy dill plants dispersing their wonderful scent into my nostrils.  Surely the colander could handle a few sprigs of the herb, so I pulled and crammed as many as I could in between the vegetables.  Hypnotized by the aroma, I failed to notice another memorable aroma creeping in with the dill…until I heard the weird hissing sound.  Nearly dropping my load, I felt fur swish quickly across my leg then looked down just in time to see the retreating backside of a skunk.  “Oh bloody hell!” I yelled and turned to flee from what I knew was coming.

I didn’t make it.  The black and white beastie sprayed me full on, head to toe, veggies and all.  What was it with the animals around here?  How did they find me and why did they wish to destroy me?  Tears of frustration mixed with chemical irritation flooded down my cheeks as I dejectedly retreated to the back porch.  I stank.  Badly.  This dress would have to be tossed, and I very much feared that the veggies would too.  Immediately upon entering, I grabbed the water bucket and filled it over and over with water, dumping each bucket-ful into the bath tub.  I didn’t give a rip if it was heated or not.  It was already mid-morning and nearing 90 degrees.  I didn’t care if a visitor suddenly arrived and witnessed my full-blown nakedness.  Well, that wasn’t likely to happen.  Skunk smell would create an anti-interfering neighbor barrier around the property for hours. 

There was a box of Borax soap under the kitchen sink, so I decided to carefully utilize its ultra-cleaning power.  It would hurt like hades, but this smell had to go.  Mick would be back in a couple of hours for lunch, and now I had no idea if anything was even going to be edible.  Clothing removed, I eased myself into the cold spring water, wincing each inch of the descent.  Once my skin stopped screaming at me to stop, I reached for the soap and scrubbed away with the granular cleanser.  Oh, I was so going to regret this!  After five minutes of rubbing the crustiness into my skin, I sniffed a spot and thought some progress had been made.  Of course, two or three layers of skin had likely been removed along with the stench, but at least Mick wouldn’t pass out if I hugged him.  My hair was going to be more difficult, so I shampooed it several times hoping it would be enough.  For conditioner, I cracked a few eggs and rubbed the contents all over my “clean” hair.  It would have to do for now.

After donning a light cotton robe, I slid into some house shoes I’d found shoved into the back of Eva’s closet space then shuffled into the kitchen.  I’d set the colander full of what used to be a bunch of edible happy thoughts in the sink.  Slowly I leaned over to sniff them.  Oh dear.  This gave an entirely too literal meaning to the term “skunk cabbage.”  Determined to salvage what could be of my lunch plans, I began scrubbing away at each piece.  Maybe if I scrubbed everything thoroughly then peeled off the tainted outer layer, they’d still be okay. 

Two hours later when the big hand, little hand, and the sun were on the “twelve,” I heard the backdoor open then slam shut.  Mick stumbled into the kitchen and slumped down in his chair.  “If ever there was a time for Guinness, it’s now,” he whimpered. 

No matter how trying my morning had been—and it had been trying!—it was nothing compared to the hard work Mick had accomplished.  And he had a full afternoon of still more sweat-inducing travail.  “Want some tea?”

“Only if it’s laced with many ice cubes.”

“Is there any other way to drink it?”  I handed him a big glass of near to overflowing sweet tea which he proceeded to gulp down in seconds.  I refilled it then kissed his ear.

He smiled a tired smile.  “This and death may be the only situations that don’t end with sex.”

I laughed.  “Speaking of death, I killed a gopher in the garden today.  It had eaten nearly all of the potatoes and was just getting started on the carrots.”

“I’ll have to call the ASPCA on you now.”

“It doesn’t exist yet.”

“Oh, well in the case, kill as many as you can find especially if they start in on the potatoes again.”

Thankfully, washing and peeling off a layer of each veggie had removed all remnants of eau de skunk from our lunchables.  As a nod to his masculinity, I fried the potatoes instead of boiling them then made a huge salad with the rest of the produce.  “I hope you like fries with your salad,” I said, handing him the ketchup.

“Always,” was his muffled response.  He was already chomping away with impressive speed.  Poor baby, I hoped he wasn’t overdoing it out there, but what choice did we have?  Money had to be earned.

Mick paused between bites to indulge in a momentary frown of confusion.  “What’s that smell?”

I sighed, sat down, and dragged the entire bowl of remaining salad in front of me.  “A skunk sprayed me.”

“Animals don’t seem to like you much.”

“Tell me about it,” I said, crunching my teeth into the first bite of fresh greens.  All the animal animosity in the world was totally worth it as long as there was produce!  And Mick.  Watching how impressively he was adapting to life here, all hardship aside, made me practically worship the hard-packed dirt ground he now walked on.  I was so elated I could have even hugged the rooster, but he was dead along with the gopher.

Mick pushed his empty plate forward and poured a fourth glass of tea.  “That’s quality tea…not from concentrate.”

“Glad you like it.  I’ll bring another glass out to you in a couple of hours, but for now,” I said, handing him an aluminum lunch pail-type thing full of water, “take this.”

“The 1920s version of a thermos, huh?  Pretty cool!”  Then he kissed me and retreated toward the back door.  “I’m holding you to that iced tea break too!”