there, he exhibited his new Steyr models to a warm reception. He went back to his hotel room that night feeling confident, but as soon as he saw the evening paper, that feeling vanished: A main bank in Austria
was closing its doors. Unfortunately, the bank that was failing was Steyr’s bank, and the bank that was surviving—there were only two at the time—was the bank of Austro-Daimler, the very company Porsche had left with such angry words years before. Porsche knew what this meant: Steyr would soon be bought out by Austro-Daimler. And there was no way Porsche could work for Austro-Daimler again. It seemed there was no company where he truly belonged.
It was not an easy time. Here was a man who had designed some of the best luxury and racing cars in the world, and yet he didn’t own even one of those cars or designs: They all belonged to the companies for which he worked when he made them. None of the cars he’d designed for production carried his own name. He was almost fifty-five years old and weary from trying to work for others. It seemed the only option left to him was the option of striking out on
his own.
During the 1920s, another young man was coming of age in Berlin: slender, blond, blue-eyed, with one of those oddly attractive gaps between his two front teeth, Heinrich Nordhoff was finishing his technical studies and looking for work. He’d set his hopes on finding a job in the United States. It was an unusual decision for a young man in those days, but by going to America, Heinrich felt he’d learn the
most about modern methods of automobile production and design. Like Porsche and Hitler, he too was an admirer of Henry Ford. But unlike them, Heinrich was equally energized by the ideas of the market economy and its role in industrialization. He was taken by Henry Ford’s ideas of service. Ford had motorized a population, but he had also been the first to pay his factory workers a high enough wage so that they too could participate in the marketplace and aspire to buying cars
and owning homes of their own. Hitler would make use of this in terms of propaganda; Nordhoff was interested in the literal possibilities of innovation and growth.
Heinrich came into the world on January 6, 1899, born just one year before the Paris Exhibition where Ferdinand Porsche received accolades for his electric automobile. He was the second son of a banker in a small German town called Hildesheim. Heinrich was eleven when his father’s company failed and the family, suddenly penniless, moved to Berlin to start a new life. It was a difficult time for the young boy, made even harder when, shortly after they’d
settled in Berlin, his mother fell ill and never recovered. Her untimely death left the three boys and their sister to be cared for by their father alone.
Throughout those years of his boyhood and adolescence, Heinrich watched as his father gave every ounce of energy to his work and his family, rising from bankruptcy to become the director of an insurance firm. His commitment left a deep impression on Heinrich, as did his father’s earnest Catholic faith.Heinrich developed a religious sense of order and reverence, parts of him that only deepened with the loss of his mother and his encounter with
the First World War, a war that he would experience firsthand. Just before his sixteenth birthday, Heinrich stopped his studies and became a private in the army, where he was sent into battle and wounded in both knees. Unable to walk, he was sent home to recover, which he later did in full.
Heinrich Nordhoff, a complicated mix of sensitivity and distance.
(photo credit 11.1)
As much as Heinrich respected his father, he’d decided early on that he did not want to follow in his footsteps and become a banker or an insurance man. Heinrich wanted to study mechanical engineering instead. After the war, he enrolled in a technical high school and upon graduating, moved on to the Technical University in Berlin. By then,
was closing its doors. Unfortunately, the bank that was failing was Steyr’s bank, and the bank that was surviving—there were only two at the time—was the bank of Austro-Daimler, the very company Porsche had left with such angry words years before. Porsche knew what this meant: Steyr would soon be bought out by Austro-Daimler. And there was no way Porsche could work for Austro-Daimler again. It seemed there was no company where he truly belonged.
It was not an easy time. Here was a man who had designed some of the best luxury and racing cars in the world, and yet he didn’t own even one of those cars or designs: They all belonged to the companies for which he worked when he made them. None of the cars he’d designed for production carried his own name. He was almost fifty-five years old and weary from trying to work for others. It seemed the only option left to him was the option of striking out on
his own.
During the 1920s, another young man was coming of age in Berlin: slender, blond, blue-eyed, with one of those oddly attractive gaps between his two front teeth, Heinrich Nordhoff was finishing his technical studies and looking for work. He’d set his hopes on finding a job in the United States. It was an unusual decision for a young man in those days, but by going to America, Heinrich felt he’d learn the
most about modern methods of automobile production and design. Like Porsche and Hitler, he too was an admirer of Henry Ford. But unlike them, Heinrich was equally energized by the ideas of the market economy and its role in industrialization. He was taken by Henry Ford’s ideas of service. Ford had motorized a population, but he had also been the first to pay his factory workers a high enough wage so that they too could participate in the marketplace and aspire to buying cars
and owning homes of their own. Hitler would make use of this in terms of propaganda; Nordhoff was interested in the literal possibilities of innovation and growth.
Heinrich came into the world on January 6, 1899, born just one year before the Paris Exhibition where Ferdinand Porsche received accolades for his electric automobile. He was the second son of a banker in a small German town called Hildesheim. Heinrich was eleven when his father’s company failed and the family, suddenly penniless, moved to Berlin to start a new life. It was a difficult time for the young boy, made even harder when, shortly after they’d
settled in Berlin, his mother fell ill and never recovered. Her untimely death left the three boys and their sister to be cared for by their father alone.
Throughout those years of his boyhood and adolescence, Heinrich watched as his father gave every ounce of energy to his work and his family, rising from bankruptcy to become the director of an insurance firm. His commitment left a deep impression on Heinrich, as did his father’s earnest Catholic faith.Heinrich developed a religious sense of order and reverence, parts of him that only deepened with the loss of his mother and his encounter with
the First World War, a war that he would experience firsthand. Just before his sixteenth birthday, Heinrich stopped his studies and became a private in the army, where he was sent into battle and wounded in both knees. Unable to walk, he was sent home to recover, which he later did in full.
Heinrich Nordhoff, a complicated mix of sensitivity and distance.
(photo credit 11.1)
As much as Heinrich respected his father, he’d decided early on that he did not want to follow in his footsteps and become a banker or an insurance man. Heinrich wanted to study mechanical engineering instead. After the war, he enrolled in a technical high school and upon graduating, moved on to the Technical University in Berlin. By then,
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