The Politics of Industrial Collaboration during World War II: Ford France, Vichy and Nazi Germany 1107016363, 9781107016361

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The Politics of Industrial Collaboration during World War II

Did Ford SAF sabotage the German war effort by deliberately manufacturing fewer vehicles than they could have? Ford SAF claimed after the war that they did. Exploring the nature and limits of industrial collaboration in occupied France, Imlay and Horn trace the wartime activities of Ford Motor Company’s French affiliate. The company began making trucks and engine parts for the French military, but from 1940 until Liberation in 1944 was supplying the Wehrmacht. This book offers a fascinating account of how the company negotiated the conflicting demands of the French, German and American authorities to thrive during the war. It sheds important new light on broader issues such as the wartime relationship between private enterprise and state authority, Nazi Germany’s economic policies and the nature of the German occupation of France, collaboration and resistance in Vichy France and the role of American companies in occupied Europe. Talbot Imlay is a Professor at the Department of Historical Sciences at the Université Laval, Québec, Canada Martin Horn is Associate Professor of History at McMaster University, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada

The Politics of Industrial Collaboration during World War II Ford France, Vichy and Nazi Germany Talbot Imlay Université Laval

and

Martin Horn McMaster University

University Printing House, Cambridge CB2 8BS, United Kingdom Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge. It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of education, learning and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107016361 © Talbot Imlay and Martin Horn 2014 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2014 Printed in the United Kingdom by Clays, St Ives plc A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication data Imlay, Talbot C. The politics of industrial collaboration during World War II : Ford France, Vichy and Nazi Germany / Talbot Imlay, Universite Laval and Martin Horn, McMaster University. pages cm ISBN 978-1-107-01636-1 (hardback) 1. Ford SAF – History. 2. World War, 1939–1945 – Economic aspects. 3. Automobile industry and trade – France – History – 20th century. 4. France – History – German occupation, 1940-1945. I. Horn, Martin, 1959– II. Title. HD9710.F72I65 2014 338.70 629222094409044–dc23 2013040524 ISBN 978-1-107-0-1636-1 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Contents

Preface List of abbreviations Introduction

page vii ix 1

1

Ford SAF: 1929–1940

21

2

The initial struggle for control: 1940–1941

50

3

A year of transition: 1942

102

4

A period of decision: the first half of 1943

149

5

The extent and limits of industrial collaboration: 1943–1944

194

From Liberation to disappearance: 1944–1953

246

Conclusion

264

Appendix A: Ford operations in France 1929 – June 1946 Appendix B: Ford SAF’s production during the Occupation Bibliography Index

270 272 274 289

6

v

Preface

This book began as a standard research grant from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada to investigate the experiences of American companies in occupied France during World War II. Preliminary research led us to conclude that the subject was too large: there were simply too many American companies present in too many industries. Accordingly, we decided to focus on one company, Ford SAF – the Ford Motor Company’s French affiliate. The choice was partly serendipitous. While working in the National Archives in Paris, we discovered several files concerning Ford SAF in the records of the postLiberation investigation into the wartime activities of François Lehideux, the head of Vichy’s Comité d’organisation for the automobile industry. The more we read, the more convinced we became that Ford SAF’s wartime story was not only worth recounting in its own right but that it also provided an interesting window into the subject of industrial collaboration in occupied France. The resulting book is divided into six chapters together with an introduction and conclusion. Martin Horn wrote chapter 1 and Talbot Imlay wrote chapters 2 through 6. The research for the book was made possible by generous support from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada as well as from the Université Laval’s Fonds de soutien aux activités académiques. The research was conducted in four countries, and we are grateful to the archivists and staffs of the various libraries and archival centres for their assistance. The Université Laval’s inter-university library loan staff deserve special mention: they patiently and efficiently processed Talbot Imlay’s numerous requests for books and articles. Martin Horn and Talbot Imlay are extremely grateful to Han Otto Frøland and Jonas Scherner for inviting them to present their work at the workshop on ‘Industry in Occupied Europe’, which was held at the Norwegian University of Science and Technology Trondheim in May 2012. On a more personal note, Martin Horn would like to thank Katarina Todic for her assistance with the secondary research. He dedicates the book to Lisa, Madelaine and Miranda with his love and gratitude. Talbot vii

viii

Preface

Imlay would like to thank Andrew Barros, Aline Charles, Donald Fyson, Peter Jackson, Simon Kitson, Didier Méhu, Paul Miller and Martin Thomas, all of whom are colleagues and friends and all of whom have helped him in uncountable ways. He would also like to thank Hervé Joly and Pierre-Yves Saunier for their helpful comments on various chapters, and Jean-Louis Loubet for taking the time to answer several questions. He is profoundly grateful to Alexandra, Alicia Kate and Julian, the three great loves of his life, for everything; and to his parents, Robert and Camille Imlay, for their support and encouragement. Finally, he dedicates the book to the memory of his grandparents, Isabelle Hamel-Rouart and Georges Hamel. Both of them lived through the Occupation years, one in Paris and the other in Germany as a prisoner of war.

Abbreviations

AA ADAP ADY AN AP APP BAL BA-MA BFRC BNF CAEF CCFA CMA CO COA CSCA DIME EAC FMC GBK IB MBA MbF MPI NARA OCRPI OKW PAAA

Auswärtiges Amt Akten zur Deutschen Auswärtigen Politik Archives départmentales d’Yvelines, Saint-Quentinen-Yvelines Archives nationales, Paris Archives Peugeot, Montbéliard Archives de la préfecture de police, Paris Bundesarchiv, Berlin-Lichterfelde Bundesarchiv-Militärarchiv, Freiburg Benson Ford Research Center, Dearborn, MI Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris Centre des archives économiques et financières, Savignyle-Temple Comité des constructeurs français d’automobiles Commission de modernisation de l’automobile Comité d’organisation Comité d’organisation de l’automobile et du cycle Chambre syndicale des constructeurs d’automobiles Direction des Industries Mécaniques et Électriques European automobile committee Ford Motor Company Generalbevollmächtigten für das Kraftfahrwesen Industrie Beauftragter Mercedes-Benz Archiv, Stuttgart Militärbefehlshaber in Frankreich Ministère de la production industrielle National Archives and Records Administration, College Park, MD Office central de répartition des produits industriels Oberkommando der Wehrmacht Politisches Archiv des Auswärtigen Amts, Berlin ix

x

RkBfV RWM SAF SäSC SHGN SHGR TNA ZASt

List of abbreviations

Reichskommissariat für die Behandlung feindlichen Vermögens Reichswirtschaftsministerium Société anonyme française Sächsisches Staatsarchiv, Chemnitz Service historique de la gendarmerie nationale, Vincennes Société d’histoire du groupe Renault, Boulogne-Billancourt The National Archives, Kew Gardens Zentralauftragsstelle

Introduction

In October 1944, two months after the Liberation of Paris, François Lehideux was arrested by the French police and charged with ‘intelligence avec l’ennemi’ – with having collaborated with the Germans during the Occupation. A product of the elite École libre des sciences politiques with considerable experience in finance and industry, Lehideux had been at the centre of the Vichy regime’s economic policies, serving as commissioner for unemployment, delegate-general for national (industrial) equipment, and state secretary for industrial production.1 In each of these positions, he worked closely with the German occupation authorities. But it was Lehideux’s activities as the director of the professional organization for the French automobile industry, the Comité d’organisation de l’automobile et du cycle (COA), created in September 1940, that appeared the most damning. From 1940 to 1944, the automobile industry had worked overwhelmingly for the Germans, delivering some 85 per cent of its production to them. Collectively, French automobile companies had made a major contribution to Germany’s war effort, and as the industry’s political chief, Lehideux was deemed to be directly responsible. Lehideux vigorously – and, ultimately, successfully – defended himself against the charge of collaboration. In 1946, he was released from prison and three years later the case against him was dismissed. As with many of those accused of collaboration, Lehideux pleaded a combination of patriotism and extenuating circumstances: he had defended France’s interests at a difficult time when choices were extremely limited. Lehideux, however, went much further in his defence. Rather than a collaborator, he insisted that he had been an active resister, citing several contacts with wartime resistance organizations. But the heart of Lehideux’s case rested on the claim that, under his guidance, the French automobile industry had systematically sabotaged the German war effort by deliberately underproducing. For evidence, Lehideux pointed not only to the considerable 1

Patrick Fridenson, ‘François Lehideux 1904–1998’ in Jean-Claude Daumas et al., eds., Dictionnaire historique des patrons français (Paris, 2010), 421–3.

1

2

Introduction

gap between pre-war and wartime production levels for the industry as a whole, but also to concrete cases, most notably that of the Ford Motor Company’s French affiliate, Ford Société anonyme française (Ford SAF).2 According to Lehideux, the COA had worked with Ford SAF to ensure that it produced relatively little for the Wehrmacht during 1943–4, a critical period in which the Germans pressured the company to participate in a European-wide truck production programme. Ford SAF, in short, became a centre-piece of Lehideux’s defence against the accusation that he and the French automobile industry had collaborated with the Germans. Lehideux’s defensive strategy draws attention to one subject of this book: Ford SAF and its wartime activities. As a majority-owned American company operating in France, Ford SAF found itself threatened from several sides during the Occupation, and especially after the United States entered the war in December 1941. In addition to the danger of expropriation by the Germans as an enemy-owned company, it had to contend with a Vichy regime engaged in a policy of state collaboration with the occupiers as well as with powerful business rivals, most notably FordWerke (Ford Germany), which appeared bent on taking it over. Yet despite this threatening situation, Ford SAF not only survived but thrived in occupied France. The company’s wartime profits were sizeable, larger indeed than many of its counterparts. More significantly, Ford SAF went from being a relatively minor player in the French automobile industry during the 1930s to a major one in 1945, almost on a par with the Big Three – Citroën, Peugeot and Renault. Reflecting this transformation, the post-Liberation French authorities would assign Ford SAF a prominent role in their plans for reorganizing the automobile industry. That Ford SAF worked for the German occupiers, or even that overall it had a good war, is not particularly revealing. Much the same could be said for any number of companies in occupied France and Europe.3 World War II was a large-scale industrial conflict that, in all belligerent countries, drew a wide variety of businesses into its vortex. Some companies participated more willingly and profitably than others, but almost none could resist the war’s pull. In the case of France, Annie Lacroix-Riz recently castigated the automobile company Renault for producing considerable amounts of war matériel for the Germans, describing Louis Renault in

2 3

AN 3W/221, Lehideux deposition, 10 March 1945; and François Lehideux, De Renault à Pétain. Mémoires (Paris, 2002), 417–24. See Hervé Joly’s comments in ‘The Economy of Occupied Europe and Vichy France: Constraints and Opportunities’ in Joachim Lund, ed., Working for the New Order: European Business under German Domination, 1939–1945 (Copenhagen, 2006), 93–103.

Introduction

3

particular as an enthusiastic collaborator. In response, Laurent Dingli downplayed the company’s contribution to the German war economy while also painting a more sympathetic portrait of its director.4 But for all the attention it attracted, the exchange between Lacroix-Riz and Dingli has generated more heat than light. The question is not whether French companies worked for the occupiers or not, since outright refusal was all but impossible; nor is it whether industrialists were villains or saints, as most were neither. Instead, the more interesting question concerns the conditions under which companies operated: how much room for manoeuvre they possessed; how they understood their interests; and what choices they made.5 It is in these terms that the claim to deliberate under-production is intriguing, suggesting as it does that Ford SAF had options beyond that of simply collaborating with the Germans. One purpose of this book is to explore these possible options. In examining the activities of Ford SAF during the German occupation, this book draws on the burgeoning field of wartime business history. Much of this scholarship focuses on Nazi Germany, with scholars generally agreeing that German companies enjoyed some room for manoeuvre, even if they disagree on precisely how much.6 If companies had little choice but to work for the regime, the extent to which they did so could not simply be dictated. Their participation in the war effort was shaped by a complex and shifting array of incentives, constraints and calculations. As always, companies sought to make money and, more basically, to ensure their short-term and long-term survival and prosperity. At the same time, they faced new and considerable constraints, among them: massive 4

5 6

Annie Lacroix-Riz, ‘Louis Renault et la fabrication de chars pour la Wehrmacht’, personal communication, February 2011. We are grateful to Professor Lacroix-Riz for providing us with a copy of her text. In a forthcoming and revised version of an earlier study, Lacroix-Riz develops her case against Renault and against French industrialists in general in far greater detail. See her Industriels et banquiers sous l’Occupation (Paris, 2014). For critics, see Laurent Dingli, ‘Réponse à l’historienne Annie Lacroix-Riz’, available at www.louisrenault. com/index.php/reponse-a-annie-lacroix-riz. See the comments in Fabian Lemmes, ‘Collaboration in Wartime France’, European Review of History, 15 (2008), 170–3. For Nazi Germany, see Christoph Buchheim, ‘Unternehmen in Deutschland und NS-Regime 1933–1945. Versuch einer Synthese’, Historische Zeitschrift, 282 (2006), 35–90; Christoph Buchheim and Jonas Scherner, ‘The Role of Private Property in the Nazi Economy: The Case of Industry’, Journal of Economic History, 66 (2006), 390–416; Ralf Banken, ‘Kurzfristiger Boom oder langfrisriger Forschungsschwerpunkt? Die neuere deutsche Unternehmensgeschichte und die Zeit des Nationalsozialismus’, Geschichte in Wissenschaft und Unterricht, 56 (2005), 183–96; and Werner Plumpe, ‘Les entreprises sous le nazisme: bilan intermédiare’, Histoire, économie & société, 24 (2005), 453–72. For opposing viewpoints on the question of companies’ room for manœuvre, see Peter Hayes, ‘Corporate Freedom of Action in Nazi Germany’ as well as the response by Christoph Buchheim and Jonas Scherner, in the Bulletin of the German Historical Institute, 45 (2009), 29–50.

4

Introduction

matériel shortages; the danger of intervention by the authorities and rapidly changing and thus highly uncertain domestic and international environments. Companies had to consider all these factors, assessing as best they could their short-term and long-term interests. To be sure, Nazi Germany was not Vichy France. The first was a nation engaged in a colossal war of racial and territorial conquest, the second a defeated country partially and then fully under foreign occupation. For all its desire to remake France, Vichy’s ambitions and scope for action paled beside those of the Nazi regime. Nevertheless, as Marcel Boldorf convincingly argues, the guiding principles of France’s economy under German occupation resembled those of Nazi Germany. In seeking to harness the productive capacity of French companies, the Germans generally favoured the use of incentives rather than coercion.7 Leaving aside the question of whether or not the economy of occupied France (or of Nazi Germany) can be described as capitalist, it is clear that French companies enjoyed some freedom in determining the conditions under which they worked for the Germans. Questions remain, however: how much freedom did companies have and how did they use it? For answers, one needs to turn to concrete cases. In doing so, scholars can benefit from a wave of recent work on wartime France. Indeed, thanks in large part to Hervé Joly’s multi-year research project on ‘French firms during the Occupation’, the subject is now a wellestablished research field.8 Yet this does not mean that there is nothing left to say. Each company has its own story, and that of Ford SAF, as this book will show, contains more than its share of colourful personalities, gripping drama and even intrigue. But there are other reasons for singling out Ford SAF. Unlike other companies in occupied France, it was not French – or at least not completely 7

8

Marcel Boldorf, ‘Die gelenkte Kriegswirtschaft im bestetzten Frankreich (1940–1944)’ in Christoph Buchheim and Marcel Boldorf, eds., Europaïsche Volkswirtschaften unter deutscher Hegemonie, 1938–1945 (Munich, 2012), 109–30. For a similar argument regarding occupied Europe as a whole, see Johannes Bähr and Ralf Banken, ‘Ausbeutung durch Recht? Einleitende Bermerkungen zum Einsatz des Wirtschaftsrechts in der deutschen Besatzungspolitik 1939–1945’ in Johannes Bähr and Ralf Banken, eds., Das Europa des ‘Dritten Reichs’: Recht, Wirtschaft, Besatzung (Frankfurt am Main, 2005), 1–30. The project ran from 2002 to 2009, producing twelve edited books as well as numerous journal articles. See the project’s web-site at: http://gdr2539.ish-lyon.cnrs.fr/index_fr.php. Joly and his collaborators did not invent the business history of wartime France. For important earlier studies, see Olivier Dard, Jean-Claude Daumas and François Marcot, eds., L’Occupation, l’État français et les entreprises (Paris, 2000); Annie Lacroix-Riz, Industriels et banquiers français sous l’Occupation. La collaboration économique avec le Reich et Vichy (Paris, 1999); Danièle Fraboulet, Les entreprises sous l’Occupation. Le monde de la métallurgie à Saint-Denis (Paris, 1998); Renaud de Rochebrune and Jean-Claude Hazéra, Les patrons sous l’Occupation, 2 vols. (Paris, 1995–7); Alain Beltran, Robert Frank and Henri Rousso, eds., La vie des entreprises sous l’Occupation (Paris, 1994); Claire Andrieu, La Banque sous l’Occupation. Paradoxes de l’histoire d’une profession (Paris, 1990); and Emmanuel Chadeau, L’industrie aéronautique en France 1900–1950 (Paris, 1987).

Introduction

5

and not always so. This situation could create complications, most obviously following the American entry into the war. As an American-owned company located in a country (France) occupied by another country (Germany) at war with the United States, Ford SAF faced risks that French companies did not. Yet Ford SAF was also a member of the French automobile industry, and as such could argue that it deserved to be treated as any other French automobile company. Overall, Ford SAF would deftly play on the ambiguity surrounding its identity and status. At times, it presented itself as an American company and at other times as a French company. In the context of wartime occupation, when the political pressures to nationalize economies were arguably at their height, this Janus-faced capability proved to be useful. It helped Ford SAF to exploit the disagreements not only between the French and German authorities but also within each national grouping. And this advantage would greatly aid the company in its search for French as well as German allies. Another distinguishing feature of Ford SAF was its membership in a multinational business empire centred on Ford Dearborn (USA). Although the Americans sought to keep a firm directing hand on the various Ford affiliates, their ability to do so declined during the hypernationalist 1930s before disappearing almost completely during the war. Increasingly cut off from Dearborn, the Ford companies in Europe found themselves in unchartered territory, with no centre to organize relations between them. For Ford SAF, this became a pressing problem in the wake of France’s defeat in 1940, when Ford-Werke set out to place the various Ford companies in continental Europe under its direct control – an effort that ran parallel to Nazi Germany’s more ambitious project of constructing a territorial empire. As the largest Ford company in Europe after FordWerke, Ford SAF was preoccupied to the point of obsession with the expansionist aims of its German counterpart, and it would take the lead in opposing them. But Ford SAF could not do so on its own; to safeguard the company’s independence would require allies. Together, Ford SAF’s American ownership and membership in the Ford empire raised the political stakes involved in its wartime activities. For neither the French nor the German authorities was Ford SAF simply one company among many. Adding to Ford SAF’s distinctive situation was its valuable productive capacity. At the end of the 1930s, the company had begun to build a new factory at Poissy, just west of Paris, which would be equipped with state-of-the art machinery, much of it coming from the United States. By the time of France’s defeat in the summer of 1940 the factory was almost finished. Poissy’s potential, together with the mystique of the Ford brand, which conjured up images of modern assembly-lines pumping out massive quantities of goods, ensured that Ford SAF would

6

Introduction

attract the attention of the Germans from the beginning of the Occupation. The fact that Ford SAF principally produced trucks would further stoke the interest of the occupiers. For as the war lengthened and the Wehrmacht’s need for transport grew desperate, exploiting Ford SAF’s productive capacity became a priority for the German authorities. For all these reasons, then, Ford SAF was a site of considerable interaction between various French, German and (to a lesser extent) American actors during the Occupation. This extensive interaction, in turn, makes the company’s wartime history a valuable instrument for exploring the second and larger subject of this book: the politics of industrial collaboration in occupied France. The chapters on the wartime years devote considerable space to the overall political and industrial situation, discussing in detail German and French policies. At first glance, this might seem excessive, distracting the reader’s attention from Ford SAF. Yet the space allotted is justified for two reasons. One is to provide the larger context for Ford SAF’s activities. The German occupation created a highly charged political environment, which makes it impossible to examine Ford SAF’s choices, calculations and decisions in isolation. The second and more ambitious reason for expanding beyond a focus on Ford SAF is that it allows us to highlight some of the underlying dynamics at work in the industrial realm during 1940–4. Most scholars would probably agree that industrial collaboration was not simply a matter of German dictation but one of Franco-German negotiation, even if the two sides were not equal partners. More concretely, this meant that French companies had some say in working out the precise terms of their collaboration with the Germans. But the wartime history of Ford SAF suggests more than this – that the say of French companies actually increased over time. Helpful to understanding how this worked are what economists call ‘information asymmetries’.9 Despite several attempts, the occupation authorities failed to devise a system of oversight that would enable them to scrutinize the activities of French companies. Thus, from the start the Germans found themselves dependent on French companies, which were far better placed to know what they could or could not do, to make the efforts needed to maintain and even increase production. As the war dragged on and as France’s economic situation deteriorated, this information asymmetry widened, reinforcing the dependence of the Germans while increasing the ability of French companies to determine 9

For more on information asymmetries, see Inés Macho-Stadler and J. David PérezCastrillo, An Introduction to the Economics of Information: Incentives and Contracts (Oxford, 2001); and Adam Przeworski, States and Markets: A Primer in Political Economy (Cambridge, 2008), 69–75.

Collaboration and resistance

7

the extent of their efforts on behalf of the occupiers. During the course of the Occupation, in short, the balance of power between the German authorities and French companies shifted in the latter’s favour. This simple but important dynamic influenced the policies of all the actors concerned. Collaboration and resistance In exploring the politics of industrial collaboration, the book offers new perspectives on several historiographical themes related to wartime France. One theme is that of collaboration and resistance. Generally speaking, historians are far less willing than before to use either term. It is not that collaboration and resistance (or collaborators and resisters) did not exist; rather it is because the terms fail to capture the complexity of life under occupation. For this reason, Philippe Burrin’s concept of ‘accommodation’ has proven attractive. According to Burrin, most French men and women had little choice but to adapt to the German occupation, a reality they could neither change nor completely evade, even if they could sometimes influence the terms of adaptation.10 Significantly, Burrin found it easy to apply his framework to the industrial realm: French industrialists were neither committed resisters nor collaborators but instead worked with (and for) the Germans chiefly for lack of alternatives. Up to 1942 at least, it appeared that Germany had won the war, and commonsense dictated the acceptance of this reality. After all, factories had to be run, profits made and workers paid.11 Burrin’s argument that industrialists accommodated themselves to the Occupation, however, has been challenged. In some ways, this is a predictable result of further research. As case studies multiply, the concept of accommodation becomes vulnerable to the same criticism of catch-all terms such as collaboration and resistance: they lump together a diverse variety of activities and intentions. Accordingly, in an influential article François Marcot proposed a classification for the behaviour of industrialists that went well beyond accommodation to include indifference, reticence and opposition as well as resistance and collaboration.12

10 11 12

Philippe Burrin, La France à l’heure allemande 1940–1944 (Paris, 1995), 9. Ibid., 233–66. François Marcot, ‘La direction de Peugeot sous l’Occupation: pétainisme, réticence, opposition et résistance’, Mouvement social, 189 (1999), 27–46; also see his ‘Qu’est-ce qu’un patron résistant?’ in Dard, Daumas and Marcot, eds., L’Occupation, l’État français et les entreprises, 277–92.

8

Introduction

Marcot explained that these categories were neither exclusive nor fixed but could be overlapping and changing, depending on the circumstances. The classification is certainly useful, and if Marcot had simply stopped here there would be little more to say. But he did not. Instead, examining the case of Peugeot he argued that the automobile company had systematically manifested ‘bad faith’ towards the Germans, doing all it could to hamper cooperation and even engaging in sabotage – or in what he termed a ‘deliberate strategy for the reduction (freinage) of production’. Casting his gaze more widely, Marcot suggested that industrialists should be seen not just as businessmen defending the interests of their firms but also as resisters moved by patriotism to thwart the occupier.13 Marcot’s argument concerning the sabotage of production in the French automobile industry has received growing support from scholars. In his recent study of Peugeot, Jean-Louis Loubet, the leading historian of the French automobile industry, describes various delays in fulfilling German orders, all of which, he maintains, were intentional. Echoing Lehideux’s post-Liberation defence, Loubet also points to the significant drop in output: in the nine months preceding France’s defeat, Peugeot produced almost 24,000 vehicles, but only 27,415 during the following four years of occupation. These figures, he tellingly remarks, ‘speak for themselves’.14 A similar argument has been made for Renault. Gilbert Hatry and Emmanuel Chadeau both contend that the company deliberately under-produced, though Hatry attributes this to Renault’s determination to develop vehicles for post-war markets while Chadeau invokes a general ‘weariness’ and a ‘je m’en foutisme’ that supposedly afflicted workers, cadres and directors alike. In his biography of Louis Renault, Laurent Dingli goes further, insisting that Renault and, indeed, all the major automobile companies embarked on a deliberate and sustained ‘policy of reduction’.15 Meanwhile, the argument of under-production has also

13

14

15

Marcot, ‘La direction de Peugeot sous l’Occupation’, 44–6. For a similar argument for another sector, see Hubert Bonin, ‘Peut-on imaginer des banquiers patriotes et résistants (1940–1944)?’, Guerres mondiales et conflits contemporains, 243 (2011), 45–58. Jean-Louis Loubet, La Maison Peugeot (Paris, 2009), 253. Elsewhere, Loubet argues that the French automobile industry produced 138,350 vehicles during the war, representing 15 per cent of its pre-war potential. See Loubet, ‘Le travail dans quelques entreprises automobiles françaises sous l’Occupation’ in Christian Chevandier and Jean-Claude Daumas, eds., Travailler dans les entreprises sous l’Occupation (Besançon, 2007), 183. Gilbert Hatry, Louis Renault. Patron absolu (Paris, 1990), 392–5; Emmanuel Chadeau, Louis Renault (Paris, 1998), 290; and Laurent Dingli, Louis Renault (Paris, 2000), 468. Monika Riess is admittedly more ambivalent about claims of deliberate under-production for Renault. See Monika Riess, Die deutsche-französische industrielle Kollaboration während des Zweiten Weltkrieges am Beispiel der Renault-Werke (1940–1944) (Frankfurt am Main, 2002), 339–43.

Collaboration and resistance

9

been applied to other sectors of the economy, among them the steel, electrical and aircraft industries.16 Interestingly, for all its popularity, the case for deliberate underproduction has received little critical scrutiny. All too often, scholars appear to accept at face value the declarations of the automobile companies regarding their activities. Yet more scepticism is surely needed. Many of the claims originated in the immediate post-Vichy period, when industrialists as a group stood accused of collaboration. Barely one month after the Liberation of Paris, Renault began to rehearse the argument that it had consistently worked to reduce the quantity and quality of output for the Germans. The self-justificatory impetus of the exercise was obvious.17 Another cause for scepticism is that under-production is extremely difficult to demonstrate. For obvious reasons there is no smoking gun in the form of contemporary and clear-cut instructions. But a more basic problem is that the claim itself is often vague. Who are the principal actors involved: individual workers; groups of strategically placed workers; or the workforce as a whole? When does sabotage occur: before, during and/or after the manufacturing and assembly processes? Equally pertinent, the notable drop in wartime production cannot be attributed to a single factor. Growing shortages of manpower, raw matériels, semi-finished goods, energy and transport during 1940–4 created a new and profoundly different economic situation. Simply to compare production figures before and after 1940 is misleading, since even with the best of intentions no automobile company could have attained anything near its pre-war output during the Occupation.

16

17

Christophe Capuno, ‘Travailler chez Schneider sous l’Occupation. Le cas des usines du Creusot’ in Chevandier and Daumas, eds., Travailler dans les entreprises sous l’Occupation, 187–206; Heinrich Homburg, ‘Wirtschaftliche Dimensionen der deutschen Besatzungsherrschaft in Frankreich 1940–1944: Das Beispiel der elektrotechnischen Industrie’ in Werner Abelshauer et al., eds., Wirtschaftsordnung, Staat und Unternehmen: Neue Forschungen zur Wirtschaftsgeschichte des Nationalsozialismus (Essen, 2003), 196–8; de Rochebrune and Hazéra, Les patrons sous l’Occupation, I, 71–2; Fraboulet, Les entreprises sous l’Occupation, 194–5; Herrick Chapman, State Capitalism and Working-Class Radicalism in the French Aircraft Industry (Berkeley, 1991), 244–5; Richard Vinen, ‘The French Coal Industry during the Occupation’, Historical Journal, 33 (1990), 105–30; and Roger [sic] Frankenstein, ‘Die deutschen Arbeitskräfteaushebungen in Frankreich und die Zusammenarbeit der französischen Unternehmen mit der Besatungsmacht, 1940– 1944’ in Waclaw Długoborski, ed., Zweiter Weltkrieg und sozialer Wandel (Göttingen, 1981), 2–33, and especially 218. SHGR, 30, ‘Note sur l’exécution des commandes allemandes pendant la période d’occupation allemande’, 6 September 1944; and 53, ‘Services techniques’, 11 November 1944. Peugeot also began to prepare this defence in the autumn of 1944. See AN Z/6NL/ 80, ‘Activité de la Société des automobiles Peugeot de Septembre 1939 à Septembre 1944’, 10 October 1944.

10

Introduction

Given the grounds for scepticism, it is tempting to reject entirely the argument of deliberate under-production. Yet this would be a mistake, for there are reasons to take the claim seriously. One of them is the changing nature of the war. If powerful incentives existed in 1940–2 for cooperating with the Germans, this was less so afterwards. As the possibility (and then likelihood) emerged that Germany would lose the war, companies were compelled to reconsider the short-term and long-term benefits of collaboration. Another and related reason concerns the state of France’s wartime economy. Here, some of the scholarship on the Stalinist Soviet Union is suggestive.18 The Soviet economy was in permanent crisis, a situation generated by a combination of urgent pressure to produce, unrealistic targets and shortages of various matériels. To get anything done, companies were forced to go outside official channels to procure what they needed, engaging in endless rounds of negotiation with various authorities and suppliers – a process well-oiled by blat (influence and bribes). A premium, in short, was placed on resourcefulness. Although Vichy France was obviously not the Soviet Union, its economy suffered from mounting and debilitating handicaps, which meant that resourcefulness (or débrouillardise) became an element of increasing importance to economic activity.19 But because débrouillardise is difficult for outsiders to measure, companies in wartime France possessed considerable latitude in determining just how resourceful they would be. Indeed, as the overall economic situation worsened during the Occupation the room for manoeuvre of companies grew larger. In this situation, companies could in theory decide to produce less than they could. But what happened in reality? The wartime history of Ford SAF provides an opportunity to assess the claim that French automobile companies deliberately under-produced. Using a variety of sources, The Politics of Industrial Collaboration weighs the evidence for and against under-production, attempting to distinguish what is plausible from what is not. The task is far from straightforward: much of the evidence is ambiguous and can be interpreted in more ways than one. Nevertheless, the book builds a circumstantial case that Ford SAF did under-produce, particularly in terms of its participation in the European-wide truck production programme during 1943–4. Yet, just as importantly, it

18

19

For example, see Richard Overy, The Dictators: Hitler’s Germany and Stalin’s Russia (London, 2004), 433–4; and David Shearer, Industry, State, and Society in Stalin’s Russia, 1926–1934 (Ithaca, NY, 1996), 34–40, 53–75, 175–82. Kenneth Mouré has characterized Vichy economic policy as ‘trying to manage penury’. See his ‘Economic Choice in Dark Times: The Vichy Economy’, French Politics, Culture & Society, 25 (2007), 110.

Germany’s exploitation of France

11

contends that under-production of this type did not constitute resistance since Ford SAF was not opposed in principle to working for the Germans. Germany’s exploitation of France Much of the existing scholarship gives the impression that the Germans were remarkably successful in exploiting France. In his classic study of the new economic order in France, Alan Milward indicated the multiple ways in which the Germans extracted wealth and resources: through massive occupation costs; a highly distorted exchange rate; the manipulation of clearing arrangements; the widespread pillaging of matériel; the placing of contracts with French companies and the conscription of French men and women for work in Germany.20 Subsequent scholarship has largely confirmed Milward’s portrait of extensive exploitation. A trio of economic historians recently calculated that the transfer of French wealth to Germany amounted to one third of GDP in 1941–2, and continued to increase thereafter – levels they term ‘stunning’.21 In those sectors of the economy that the Germans deemed particularly important to their war effort, the proportion could be even greater, ranging from 45 per cent to 100 per cent of French production. At roughly 85 per cent (as already noted), the automobile industry easily figured among the most thoroughly exploited.22 There is no doubt that France became a major contributor to Nazi Germany’s war effort. At the same time, however, recent scholarship points to the need to nuance the overall picture of a successful exploitation. In his study of the Nazi economy, Adam Tooze concluded that occupied Europe remained an economic ‘basket case’ during the war, utterly incapable of providing Germany with the resources needed to match those of the global coalition of powers 20 21

22

Alan S. Milward, The New Order and the French Economy (Oxford, 1970). Filippo Occhino, Kim Oosterlinck and Eugene N. White, ‘How Much Can a Victor Force the Vanquished to Pay? France under the Nazi Boot’, Journal of Economic History, 68 (2008), 7. Also see Marcel Boldorf and Jonas Scherner, ‘France’s Occupation Costs and the War in the East: The Contribution to the German War Economy, 1940–4’, Journal of Contemporary History, 47 (2012), 291–316; Götz Aly, Hitlers Volksstaat. Raub, Rassenkrieg und nationaler Sozialismus (Frankfurt am Main, 2006), 114–89; Arne Radtke-Delacor, ‘Produire pour le Reich. Les commandes allemandes à l’industrie française (1940– 1944)’, Vingtième Siècle, 70 (2001), 99–115; Peter Liberman, Does Conquest Pay? The Exploitation of Occupied Industrial Societies (Princeton, 1996), 36–68; and Christoph Buchheim, ‘Die Besetzten Länder im Dienste der deutschen Kriegswirtschaft während des Zweiten Weltkrieges. Ein Bericht der Forschungsstelle für Wehrwirtschaft’, Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte, 34 (1986), 128–32. See the chart in Michel Margairaz, L’État, les finances et l’économie. Histoire d’une conversion 1932–1952, 2 vols. (Paris, 1991), I, 599–600.

12

Introduction

arrayed against it. More precisely, Tooze argued that the Germans failed to mobilize the economic potential of Western Europe in particular – a failure underscored by the yawning gap between prewar and wartime production.23 The figures for German exploitation might be striking when considered in isolation; but they are less impressive when set against the fact that the economies of Europe shrunk considerably under the Occupation.24 If Tooze considers occupied Western Europe as a whole, the research of Jonas Scherner suggests that it is worthwhile to examine more closely the situation of individual countries. Using revised statistics on German imports, Scherner re-calculated the yearly value of occupied Europe’s wartime production for the Wehrmacht, revealing in the process intriguing differences.25 Contrary to the widespread belief that France constituted the single largest foreign contributor of industrial production to Germany’s war economy, it appears that it was rivalled and even exceeded in absolute terms by the Protectorate (Bohemia and Moravia), despite the latter’s smaller pre-war industrial capacity. No less significantly, while the value of the contribution of most occupied countries in Western and Northern Europe witnessed considerable increases during the second half of the Occupation, that of France stagnated and even declined beginning in 1942.26 It would seem that Germany’s failure to exploit occupied Europe more fully was greater in France than elsewhere. 23

24

25

26

Adam Tooze, The Wages of Destruction: The Making and Breaking of the Nazi Economy (London, 2006), 411–20. Also see Johannes Houwinck ten Cate, ‘Die rüstungswirtschaftliche Ausnutzung Westeuropas während der ersten Kriegshälfte’ in Gerhard Otto and Johannes Houwinck ten Cate, eds., Das organisierte Chaos. ‘Amsterdarwinismus’ und ‘Gesinnungsethik’: Determinanten nationalsozialistischer Besatzungsherrschaft (Berlin, 1999), 173–98. Hein Klemann recently questioned the extent of this shrinkage, arguing that the GDP figures frequently used do not take account of clandestine production. But even if one accepts Klemann’s ‘educated guesses’ for the latter, France’s GDP markedly declined during the Occupation. See Hein Klemann and Sergei Kudryashov, Occupied Economies: An Economic History of Nazi-Occupied Europe, 1939–1945 (New York, 2012), 324–35. Jonas Scherner, ‘Europas Beitrag zu Hitlers Krieg. Die Verlagerung von Industrieaufträgen der Wehrmacht in die besetzten Gebiete und ihre Bedeutung für die deutsche Rüstung im Zweiten Weltkrieg’ in Buchheim and Boldorf, eds., Europaïsche Volkswirtschaften unter deutscher Hegemonie, 69–92; and ‘Der deutsche Importboom während des Zweiten Weltkriegs. Neue Ergebnisse zur Struktur der Ausbeutung des besetzten Europas auf der Grundlage einer Neuschätzung der deutschen Handelsbilanz’, Historische Zeitschrift, 292 (2012), 79–113. For the Protectorate, see Jaromír Balcar and Jaroslav Kucˇ era, ‘Nationalsozialistische Wirtschaftslenkung und unternehmerische Handlungsspielräume im Protektorat Böhmen und Mähren (1939–1945)’ in Buchheim and Boldorf, eds., Europaïsche Volkswirtschaften unter deutscher Hegemonie, 147–71. They describe the Protectorate as the ‘armoury of the Reich’.

The nature of the German Occupation

13

If so, there is no simple answer to why the exploitation of France posed particular problems. A fully satisfactory answer would require a wide-ranging and multi-level analysis of the evolving political-economic situation in both France and the rest of occupied Europe. While such an analysis is beyond the scope of this study, The Politics of Industrial Collaboration does address one question that is vital to any effort to assess the relative success and failure of Germany’s efforts to exploit France: the ability of the occupiers to compel French industries and companies to work for them. As already noted, Ford SAF’s wartime history suggests that French companies not only enjoyed some say in determining the extent to which they collaborated with the Germans, but also that this say grew larger over time. As the overall military situation worsened, the Germans urgently needed French industry to work wholeheartedly for them; at the same time, having almost no means of verifying whether this was in fact the case, the Germans were forced to rely on the self-interest of French companies. With good cause, however, the occupation authorities suspected that French industrialists and workers were losing interest in industrial collaboration. Companies such as Ford SAF would continue to work for the Germans, but as the Occupation wore on they had more and more reasons to limit their efforts. The interests of French companies increasingly diverged from those of the occupiers, and this divergence can help in understanding why Germany failed to mobilize more fully France’s industrial potential. The nature of the German Occupation Since the appearance in 1972 of Robert Paxton’s ground-breaking study, Vichy France: Old Guard and New Order, 1940–1944, scholars have framed the history of Vichy largely in Franco-French terms.27 Regardless of the type of history (political, economic, social, cultural), the Occupation years are presented as belonging first and foremost to French history. The emphasis is on the continuities and discontinuities of Vichy with both the pre-war and post-war periods. This perspective has proved remarkably fruitful, producing a rich body of scholarship that convincingly demonstrates the French origins of many of Vichy’s policies as well as the regime’s enduring legacy after 1945. Yet for all its benefits, this perspective has fostered a tendency to neglect the Germans, who all too often are cast in the role of secondary actors 27

Robert Paxton, Vichy France: Old Guard and New Order, 1940–1944 (New York, 1972). On Paxton’s influence, see Henry Rousso, Le syndrome de Vichy: de 1944 à nos jours (Paris, 1990), 287–92.

14

Introduction

when not serving as mere stage props.28 The occupiers, it is generally accepted, were too few in number to run occupied France, which forced them to leave much of the administration to the French authorities. At most, the Germans exercised some limited oversight of French activities but little more. In recent years, there has been a renewal of interest in the German occupation, which challenges the view of the occupiers as largely passive and even absent actors. Driven by the question of whether the German military authorities, often grouped under the title Militärbefehlshaber in Frankreich (MbF), waged a Nazi racial-ideological war in France, several scholars have investigated the MbF’s involvement in the crimes of the Nazi regime. Their collective conclusion is that the Germans were far more active than previously thought. During 1941–2, the MbF took the initiative not only in the use of mass reprisals against the French population for attacks on occupation personnel, but also in the introduction of the Final Solution to France.29 In a painstaking study, Gaël Eismann showed that German military and security forces were very engaged at the local level throughout the Occupation, working closely with their French counterparts in tracking down Nazi Germany’s various ‘enemies’. Somewhat similarly, Michael Mayer maintains that the occupation authorities exercised considerable ‘indirect’ influence on Vichy’s antiSemitic policies.30 If this renewal of interest in the German occupation offers a welcome counterpoint to the Franco-French perspective that has dominated Vichy historiography, its focus on the security realm has come at the expense of the economic aspects of the Occupation. This is unfortunate because the 28

29

30

For examples, see Henry Rousso, Le régime de Vichy (Paris, 2007); Richard Vinen, The Unfree French: Life under the Occupation (London, 2006); Julian Jackson, France: The Dark Years, 1940–1944 (Oxford, 2001); and Jean-Pierre Cointet, Histoire de Vichy (Paris, 1996). Ahlrich Meyer, Die deutsche Besatzung in Frankreich 1940–1944: Widerstandsbekämpfung und Judenverfolgung (Darmstadt, 2000); Ahlrich Meyer, Täter im Verhör: Die ‘Endlösung der Judenfrage’ in Frankreich 1940–1944 (Darmstadt, 2005); and Regina M. Delacor, Attentate und Repressionen: Ausgewählte Dokumente zur zyklichschen Eskalation des NSTerrors im besetzten Frankreich 1941/42 (Stuttgart, 2000). Also see Thomas J. Laub, After the Fall: German Policy in Occupied France, 1940–1944 (Oxford, 2010); and Allan Mitchell, Nazi Paris: The History of an Occupation, 1940–1944 (New York, 2008). It is worth noting that Meyer and Delacor in particular were reacting not to Vichy scholarship but to earlier work on the MbF, which they viewed as apologetic. For earlier work, see Hans Umbreit, Der Militärbefehlshaber in Frankreich, 1940–1944 (Boppard am Rhein, 1968); and Eberhard Jäckel, Frankreich in Hitlers Europa. Die deutsche Frankreichpolitik im 2. Weltkrieg (Stuttgart, 1966). Gaël Eismann, Hôtel Majestic: ordre et sécurité en France occupée (1940–1944) (Paris, 2010); and Michael Mayer, Staaten als Täter: Ministerialbürokratie und ‘Judenpolitik’ in NSDeutschland und Vichy-Frankreich: ein Vergleich (Munich, 2010).

The nature of the German Occupation

15

German military authorities viewed security not as an end in itself but as a precondition for their principal task, which they defined as harnessing the French economy to the German war effort. ‘Our primary goal’, asserted a high-ranking German officer in September 1942, is to use ‘all the resources of the French people (der gesamten französischen Volkskraft). . .in favour of an increase of our armaments potential.’31 If anything, this priority increased in importance over time as Germany’s overall military situation deteriorated and its need to mobilize French industrial capacity correspondingly grew more pressing. Reflecting this priority, the Germans built an extensive economic administration in occupied France. If the MbF was initially responsible for this administration, beginning in 1942 the military authorities would be increasingly pushed aside by Albert Speer, Nazi Germany’s armaments tsar, who was eager to expand his economic and industrial empire into France. As is well known, Speer encountered considerable opposition, especially from Fritz Sauckel, Hitler’s plenipotentiary for labour recruitment. Whereas Speer maintained that French workers could be best used in French factories working for the Wehrmacht, Sauckel insisted that French workers were more urgently needed (and would be more productive) working in Germany. In typical fashion, Hitler avoided choosing between his two paladins, allowing each one to pursue his own course. The result of this clash was a good deal of confusion and chaos, which hampered German efforts to exploit France.32 The wartime history of Ford SAF, however, draws attention to a lesswell-known aspect of the German economic administration: its presence at the local and factory levels. The size of the German occupation forces in France was admittedly small, numbering a mere 20,000 military personnel in March 1942; the MbF’s administrative staff fluctuated between 1,200 and 1,600. The German presence was consequently spotty, concentrated in urban centres and in the coastal regions.33 But in the economic and especially industrial realms one did not have to search very long to discover traces of the occupier. In several regions of France, the Germans established Rüstungskommandos (armaments

31

32 33

BA-MA RW 24/38, ‘Niederschrift der Anspruche des Chefs des Deutschen Beschaffungsamtes in Frankreich Generalmajor Thoenissen. . .’, 1 September 1942, emphasis in original. Milward, The New Order and the French Economy, 146–80; and Bernd Zielinski, Staatskollaboration: Vichy und der Arbeitskräfteeinsatz im Dritten Reich (Münster, 1995). Laub, After the Fall, 45; and Peter Lieb, Konventioneller Krieg oder NSWeltanschauungskrieg? Kriegführung und Partisanenbekämpfung in Frankreich 1943/44 (Munich, 2007), 56. Also see Robert Gildea, Marianne in Chains: In Search of the German Occupation in France, 1940–45 (London, 2002), 65–88.

16

Introduction

teams), whose chief purpose was to work with companies producing matériel for the Wehrmacht. Although the teams lacked the resources to monitor every factory, they did offer the occupiers a worm’s eye perspective on companies deemed especially important to the war effort, Ford SAF among them. Equally pertinent, in addition to the armaments teams an array of Germans were active at the local level, including procurement agents from the various military services and from other state organizations as well as representatives of German industries and companies. In many ways, this local presence was a response to a basic problem that bedevilled the occupation authorities: how to ensure the effective oversight of French companies? Ultimately, as The Politics of Industrial Collaboration shows, the Germans never found a satisfactory solution. For now, though, it is the persistence of the problem that is noteworthy, for it highlights the potential value of a bottom-up approach to the history of industrial collaboration. By itself, a focus on high politics – on the Speer–Sauckel clash, for example – can all too easily obscure the local dynamics at work that helped to shape German attempts to exploit French industry. No less significantly, the extensive German economic administration in France suggests the need for a more Franco-German as opposed to simply French or German perspective on the subject of industrial collaboration. As we shall see, the German role in Ford SAF’s wartime history was as prominent and important as that of the French. And what was true for Ford SAF was almost certainly so for the industrial realm in general – and perhaps for other realms as well. Ford SAF, American business and occupied France The active presence of American business abroad during the inter-war years has prompted scholars to revise earlier descriptions of US international policy as isolationist after 1918. Regardless of the sector – banking, insurance, advertising, manufacturing – American companies were operating on six different continents, exporting a wide variety of goods, skills and ideas. In this vein, Victoria de Grazia has spoken of an American ‘market empire’ that fostered mass consumer democracies across Europe.34 One notable element of this expansionist American capitalism was Fordism. As Mary Nolan among others has shown, inter-war Europeans were fascinated by the Ford company not only as a business

34

Victoria de Grazia, Irresistible Empire: America’s Advance through Twentieth-Century Europe (Cambridge, MA, 2005).

Ford SAF, American business and occupied France

17

enterprise but also as a potential model for society.35 Scholars have thus used contemporary understandings of Fordism as a window into European debates about the nature of modernity. During the inter-war period, writes Egbert Klautke, Fordism became a ‘leading concept’ and ‘marker of the times’ in both Germany and France.36 Such a broad concept of Fordism, however, risks losing sight of its more limited application at the industry and factory levels. Although the definition and significance of Fordism were always contested, during the inter-war period the term conjured up images of modernized and rationalized production.37 In France, these images had an especially strong hold on the automobile industry, which was widely viewed as artisanal and even antiquated compared to its American counterpart. Recently returned from a trip to the United States in 1931, which included a visit to Ford Dearborn, Louis Renault warned that the French automobile industry was ‘gravely menaced’ and that ‘everything must change’.38 The belief that the French automobile industry needed to be transformed along Fordist lines persisted beyond the inter-war period and would influence Vichy’s approach to industrial collaboration with the Germans. As head of the automobile industry, Lehideux initially considered collaboration as an opportunity to overhaul the industry. But Fordist images of mass production also had a direct effect on Ford SAF. Fearful of American competition, French automobile companies during much of the 1930s successfully lobbied governments for discriminatory measures that were chiefly aimed at Ford SAF. Ironically, this discrimination eventually persuaded Ford SAF to begin building its Poissy plant, whose modern (American) design and equipment were meant to represent the state-of-the-art in automobile

35

36

37

38

Mary Nolan, Visions of Modernity: American Business and the Modernization of Germany (Oxford, 1994); and Mary Nolan, The Transatlantic Century: Europe and America, 1890– 2010 (Cambridge, 2012), 84–90. Also see the pioneering article by Charles S. Maier, ‘Between Taylorism and Technology: European Ideologies and the Vision of Industrial Productivity in the 1920s’, Journal of Contemporary History, 5 (1970), 27–61. Egbert Klautke, Unbegrenzte Möglichkeiten. ‘Amerikanisierung’ in Deutschland und Frankreich (1900–1933) (Stuttgart, 2003), 237–48. Also see Adelheid von Saldern and Rüdiger Hachtmann, ‘Das fordistische Jahrhundert. Eine Einleitung’, Zeithistorische Forschungen Online, 6 (2009); and Stefan Link, ‘Transnational Fordism: Ford Motor Company, Nazi Germany, and the Soviet Union’, Ph.D., Harvard University, 2012, 1–39. On the contested nature of Fordism, see Klautke, Unbegrenzte Möglichkeiten; and von Saldern and Hachtmann, ‘Das fordistische Jahrhundert. Eine Einleitung’. On modernized and rationalized production, see Steven Tolliday and Jonathan Zeitlin, eds., The Automobile Industry and its Workers: Between Fordism and Flexibility (New York, 1987). SHGR, 93, ‘Conférence de M. Louis Renault 17 Novembre 1931’, 24 November 1931. More generally, see Tolliday and Zeitlin, eds., The Automobile Industry and its Workers.

18

Introduction

production – or Fordism in concrete practice. Hoping to give a Fordist jolt to rearmament, the French government in 1939–40 awarded large contracts to Ford SAF, helping to convert the company into a producer of war matériel. Afterwards, it would be the turn of the Germans to chase the Fordist dream by exploiting Ford SAF’s potential for Nazi Germany’s war effort. The Germans would enjoy decidedly mixed results in this endeavour, a point which draws attention to the wartime period. Generally speaking, the scholarship on American business in Europe views the war as something of a hiatus. Much more attention is paid to the inter-war years and to the 1920s in particular, while the decades after 1945 until the collapse of Bretton Woods and the first oil shock in the early 1970s are also relatively well researched.39 To the extent that the wartime period is considered, the focus is often on the complicity of American companies with the crimes of the Nazi regime, most notably the use of slave labour and the Holocaust. If some of this work is sensationalist, for example Edwin Black’s book on IBM, more balanced studies highlight the complexity of the situation facing American companies while also avoiding apology.40 Especially pertinent among the latter is the extensive research report on the activities of Ford-Werke, Ford Dearborn’s German subsidiary, which was sponsored by Ford and overseen by Simon Reich. In many ways, the report is a tour de force, offering a richly documented analysis of Ford-Werke under the Nazis that details the extent of the company’s use of forced labour.41 But for all its worth, in concentrating almost exclusively on Germany the research report represents a missed opportunity to further our understanding of American business in wartime Europe. As The Politics of Industrial Collaboration shows, the history of Ford-Werke was deeply 39

40

41

For examples, see Emily S. Rosenberg, Financial Missionaries: The Politics and Culture of Dollar Diplomacy 1900–1930 (Cambridge, MA, 1999); Frank Costigliola, Awkward Dominion: American Political, Economic and Cultural Relations with Europe 1919–1933 (Ithaca, NY, 1984); Mira Wilkins, The Maturing of Multinational Enterprise: American Business Abroad from 1914 to 1970 (Cambridge, MA, 1974); Hubert Bonin and Ferry de Goey, eds., American Firms in Europe: 1880–1980 (Geneva, 2009); and Richard Kuisel, Seducing the French: The Dilemma of Americanization (Berkeley, 1997). Edwin Black, IBM and the Holocaust (Washington, 2001); also see Charles Higham, Trading with the Enemy: An Exposé of the Nazi-American Money Plot, 1933–1949 (New York, 1983). For more balanced studies, see Henry Ashby Turner, General Motors and the Nazis (New Haven, 2005); and Charles Cheape, ‘Not Politicians but Sound Businessmen: Norton Company and the Third Reich’, Business History Review, 62 (1988), 444–6. Ford Motor Company, Research Findings about Ford-Werke under the Nazi Regime (Ford Motor Company: Dearborn, 2001). Also see Projektgruppe ‘Messelager’, Zwangsarbeit bei Ford (Köln, 1996); and Reinhold Billstein, Karola Fings, Anita Kugler and Nicholas Levis, Working for the Enemy: Ford, General Motors, and Forced Labour in Germany during the Second World War (New York, 2000).

Chapter outline

19

intertwined with that of Ford SAF. This point is noteworthy for two reasons. One reason concerns American business in general. American companies in Nazi Germany faced a different situation from their counterparts in most of occupied Western and Northern Europe, where slave labour was not an issue. Largely freed of direct involvement in Nazi crimes, American companies outside of Germany could focus more single-mindedly on the benefits and risks of producing war matériel for the Germans. Because the ethical stakes were less acute, the choices and decisions of companies were less extraordinary – but perhaps for that reason also more revealing of business calculation in wartime. The second reason to underscore the intertwined nature of Ford-Werke and Ford SAF’s wartime histories is that it provides a different perspective on Ford’s European empire. Studies of the latter tend to consider each European company in isolation, with the emphasis on its bilateral relations with Ford Dearborn.42 Yet during much of the Occupation, Ford SAF and Ford-Werke were engaged in a struggle over the future of Ford Europe. Just as importantly, this struggle was part of a larger story of efforts to remake France and to refashion Europe under German aegis. Chapter outline Chapter 1 traces the history of Ford SAF from its creation in the 1920s to the eve of France’s defeat in 1940, emphasizing the company’s struggles to survive and prosper; only with French rearmament in the late 1930s was Ford SAF placed on a secure footing. Chapter 2 focuses on the effects of France’s defeat and on the efforts by Ford-Werke to take control of Ford SAF. With the help of the COA, Ford SAF managed to preserve its autonomy in return for a promise to work wholeheartedly for the Germans – a promise the company initially at least did its best to fulfil. Chapter 3 discusses the critical year of 1942, the first full year of American belligerency and also the moment when the course of the war began to turn against the Germans. If Ford SAF came under increasing pressure to meet German needs, it also faced the wrath of the Allies as Poissy became the target of British air raids in the spring. Chapter 4 addresses the efforts of the German occupation authorities in early 1943 to mobilize all the economic and industrial resources of occupied France, which included a renewed attempt by Ford-Werke to take control of Ford SAF. The latter managed to preserve its independence once more but only by pledging 42

Hubert Bonin, Yannick Lung and Steven Tolliday, eds., Ford 1903–2003: The European History, 2 vols. (Paris, 2003); and Mira Wilkins and Frank Ernest Hill, American Business Abroad: Ford on Six Continents (Detroit, 1964).

20

Introduction

itself to participate in a European truck programme directed by FordWerke. Chapter 5 tackles the question of industrial collaboration and resistance in 1943–4 through an examination of Ford SAF’s contribution to the truck programme. The chapter builds a circumstantial case that Ford SAF probably did deliberately under-produce for the Germans, but also suggests that this outcome did not constitute resistance. Chapter 6 briefly surveys the years from the Liberation in 1944 to the sale of Ford SAF in 1953. The abandonment by Ford Dearborn of the French market is a reminder that the American business model was not always triumphant in Europe.

1

Ford SAF: 1929–1940

On 8 March 1942, twelve Royal Air Force Boston bombers attacked the Ford SAF plant at Poissy. The damage was negligible. Several weeks later, the bombers returned. The raid on the night of 1–2 April also caused little damage, as the Whitley and Wellington bombers despatched on this occasion by RAF Bomber Command missed the target. The raid of 2–3 April, undertaken by forty Wellington and ten Stirling bombers, was much more destructive. A message from Ford SAF passed through the American embassy at Vichy to Ford Dearborn confessed that Poissy had been ‘badly damaged’.1 Edsel Ford, son of Henry Ford and the de facto head of Ford Dearborn for European matters, commiserated, telling Maurice Dollfus, the managing director of Ford SAF, that he was sorry that your ‘fine new plant’ had been bombed, but that it was perhaps ‘inevitable’. Edsel Ford concluded that he hopedt production would soon resume normally.2 Such a sentiment was striking, given that the United States and Germany were at war and that Edsel Ford was well aware that production at the Poissy plant consisted of trucks and truck components for the Wehrmacht. As the raids demonstrated, the British appreciated Poissy’s activity. In March 1942, a British intelligence report surveying the French motor industry described the Poissy factory as the ‘most modern and efficient in France’.3 Ford SAF was perceived – rightly – by the British as a major player in the French automobile industry. A company with a plant of this stature could not be allowed to continue to produce unmolested for the Germans. Such status was novel for Ford SAF. In 1929, when Ford SAF was created, Poissy did not exist and the idea of a new Ford manufacturing plant in France seemed risible. Ford SAF was a minor competitor in an industry dominated by Renault, Peugeot and Citroën. For much of the 1 2 3

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 74, Georges Lesto to Ford Dearborn, 3 June 1942. Lesto was the assistant manager of Ford SAF. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 74, Edsel Ford to Maurice Dollfus, 17 July 1942. TNA, FO 837/15, report #6, 19 March 1942.

21

22

Ford SAF: 1929–1940

1930s, there was little reason to believe that Ford SAF would ever be anything more marginal in the French automobile sector. The Depression, gathering force from 1930 onward, metastasized from a serious recession in the course of 1931. If the French economy initially was less savaged than the American, it was a fleeting reprieve. The failure of the Creditanstalt in Austria, followed by the collapse of various German banks, intertwined with monetary policy that constricted the money supply and the application of orthodox deflationary steps by governments to undermine successive economies.4 If some countries emerged from the worst of the Depression by mid-decade, this was not true of either the United States or of France, where both economies limped through the Dark Valley of the 1930s. The French automobile industry was not immune to these developments and nor was Ford SAF. Put simply, the 1930s was a difficult business environment in France. In navigating the shoals of the Depression, Dollfus was the helmsman of Ford SAF. Appointed managing director in 1930 and remaining in that post until 1949, Dollfus was combative and vigorous.5 He quickly identified with Ford SAF and equally quickly began arguing for a more autonomous role within the Ford empire. Chafing at his subordination to Sir Percival Perry, the head of Ford Motor UK, Dollfus sought to exploit his relationship with Henry and Edsel Ford to obtain what he believed Ford SAF needed to ensure a prosperous future – a manufacturing plant.6 Poissy was his project. Throughout the 1930s, Dollfus worked 4 5

6

Harold James, The End of Globalization: Lessons from the Great Depression (Cambridge, MA, 2001). Dollfus had an eclectic business background. He had been a partner of Bernhard, Scholl & Co. Ltd, bankers in Paris and London. Dollfus was also an investor in Bank Oustric, sat on the board of the Marchal headlights company and had at one time run Champagne Ayala. From 1923, he was a director of the French arm of Hispano-Suiza, the Spanish car, aeronautics and naval engine maker. See BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 206, unknown author, 8 November 1929, for a summary of his pre-Ford career. For Dollfus as director of Hispano-Suiza, see Manuel Lage, Hispano-Suiza in Aeronautics (Warrendale, 2004), 82. Business historians have made much of the baronial nature of Ford’s corporate structure in the inter-war years, frequently contrasting it with the more ‘modern’ management practices of General Motors under the aegis of Alfred Sloan Jr. There existed no separate European division within the Ford organization. Wilkins and Hill have portrayed the French operations as governed closely from Dearborn. Nevins and Hill on the other hand remark that ‘[t]he French, German, Spanish, Italian, Dutch, Belgian and other concerns operated with little regard for each other, and the oversight exercised by Dearborn through traveling auditors and district supervisors, occasional roving agents, and intermittent flow of letters and cables, lacked consistency and force’. Steven Tolliday has advocated a middle ground, suggesting that while Ford Dearborn tried to maintain central control over the European operations with some success in the 1920s, this effort failed in the 1930s. See Douglas Brinkley, Wheels for the World: Henry Ford, his Company and a Century of Progress 1903–2003 (New York, 2004), 338, 344, for the contrast with Opel (GM); Wilkins and Hill, American Business Abroad, 99–100; Allan Nevins and

Ford SAF: 1929–1940

23

to appease Ford Dearborn, to free Ford SAF from Perry’s oversight, and to fend off the political threats of competitors such as Renault, Citroën and Peugeot. It was Dollfus who proclaimed loudly, if disingenuously, that Ford SAF was French. It was Dollfus who engaged with the efforts of French producers to cripple Ford SAF through the imposition of higher tariffs. It was Dollfus who won approval from Ford Dearborn to build Poissy. His political adeptness would serve him well after the Fall of France in 1940 when he gravitated seamlessly toward Vichy and the Germans. Dollfus could not have managed without the support of the Fords, Henry and Edsel. Ford was still dominated by Henry Ford when the Depression struck but age and ill health were eroding his capacity to control his empire. Edsel Ford made most decisions concerning Europe. Edsel Ford sanctioned the construction of Poissy as well as approving the steady shift of the company into war matériel that began in the late 1930s. Until his premature death in 1943, Edsel backed Dollfus. In this view, Charles Sorensen, the other senior Ford Dearborn executive concerned with Europe in these years, joined him. Sorensen was a hard-driving executive whose relationship with Dollfus evolved. Supportive of Dollfus initially, by 1940 Sorensen privately thought that Dollfus was a liability.7 Nevertheless, Sorensen followed where the Fords led.8 The ambitions of Dollfus and the rearmament undertaken by the French government in the late 1930s transformed Ford SAF. By September 1939, less than a year after construction on Poissy was begun and well before it was complete, Ford SAF was no longer a car company. It made aviation engines, trucks and aircraft cannon, while simultaneously building Poissy. But the rapidity of the change was beyond Dollfus and Ford SAF. Dollfus was prone to optimistic, even fanciful notions of Ford SAF’s capabilities, a tendency that became more marked after 1938. He overextended Ford SAF. The construction of Poissy and the stark failure of the company in 1939–40 to fulfil the contracts placed with it by the French government demonstrated the limitations of Ford SAF. The transition from being an automobile manufacturer to a firm manufacturing an array of products for the state was too compressed. As the months of the Phony War demonstrated, Ford SAF only fitfully supplied what it had contracted. Ford SAF neither managed to finish Poissy nor

7 8

Frank Ernest Hill, Ford, 3 vols. (New York, 1963), III, 269; and Steven Tolliday, ‘The Origins of Ford of Europe: From Multidomestic to Transnational Corporation, 1903– 1976’ in Bonin, Lung and Tolliday, eds., Ford 1903–2003, I, 153–60. See his remark, quoted in Wilkins and Hill, American Business Abroad, 318, ‘Better if Dollfus had gone’ on a letter from a discharged employee of Ford SAF. Brinkley has remarked: ‘it is important to keep in mind that Sorensen’s long career was built on the fact that he never did anything that Henry Ford didn’t want done’. Wheels for the World, 345.

24

Ford SAF: 1929–1940

had it furnished sorely needed equipment to the French military. Understanding how and why this occurred between 1929 and 1940 is the aim of this chapter. Ford SAF and the Depression, 1929–1938 The French automobile industry suffered badly in the decade of the 1930s. Though the Depression was late arriving in France, not gripping the country until 1931–2, an overvalued currency hamstrung an economy behind its European rivals throughout the 1930s.9 Throughout the decade, the French economy struggled, mired in unemployment and weak demand. The fortunes of the French automobile industry tracked these developments, as it was a sector that relied upon the domestic market for its prosperity. Outside of the French Empire, export markets were limited for French manufacturers. It had not always been so, for in 1914 the industry was the second largest producer in the world behind the United States, with exports prominent. World War I closed the export market while reordering the industry towards the production of war matériel. The 1920s were marked by recovery from the war and a steady growth in production. As late as 1929, the French automobile industry retained its position as the second largest producer in the world. However, in the 1930s matters changed rapidly. The French market shrank – industry production in 1929 was 253,000 cars, tumbling to a low of 163,000 in 1932, before recovering to 224,000 in the last full peace-time year, 1938. Compounding these difficulties, the sector faced more competition within Europe. Growing output in the UK and in Germany meant that by 1939 France had slipped to third in automobile production in Europe behind these two and was fifth in the global table.10 The travails of the 1930s struck French manufacturers hard. Though Renault, Citroën and Peugeot had emerged as the French Big Three in the 1920s with a combined market share of nearly 75 per cent in 1929, there existed far more companies in the sector.11 Of the ninety firms making automobiles in the French industry in 1929, the great majority were small producers. Catering to niche markets, these firms found the bracing conditions of the 1930s extraordinarily difficult. Some, such as 9

10 11

On the performance of the inter-war French economy, see Alfred Sauvy, Histoire économique de la France entre les deux guerres, 3 vols. (Paris, 1966–75); Tom Kemp, The French Economy 1913–39: The History of a Decline (London, 1972); Margairaz, L’État, les finances et l’économie. See James M. Laux, In First Gear: The French Automobile Industry to 1914 (Montreal, 1976); and Jean-Louis Loubet, Histoire de l’automobile française (Paris, 2001), 138. Loubet, Histoire de l’automobile française, Table, 138.

Ford SAF and the Depression, 1929–1938

25

Berliet, abandoned the car market. Many failed. Their numbers fell from ninety in 1929 to twenty-eight in 1939.12 The combination of technological backwardness, a shrinking domestic market, financial weakness, labour strife, indifferent management and low productivity plagued an industry that had too many companies.13 The Depression pruned the French automobile sector but it was an unplanned, haphazard restructuring. Even so, there remained too many companies in 1939 for the size of the French market. During the Occupation years, an appreciation that the ravages of the 1930s had not gone far enough in rationalizing and consolidating the industry animated both industry leaders and Vichy. The key differentiation was that men such as Lehideux believed that rationalization should be planned rather than left to the vagaries of the market. Patrick Fridenson has commented that the outcome of the Depression was to make the state a partner with the car companies.14 Certainly, government support and government contracts were increasingly important for the sector through the decade. This was not the case for Ford SAF. Until the rearmament boom of the late 1930s Ford SAF was not treated on the same footing by French governments as domestic firms. Ford SAF was not deemed to be a French firm, but instead an American subsidiary and thus not eligible for government orders. Ford SAF had been established in 1929 as a consequence of an overhaul of Ford’s European subsidiaries under the Perry Plan, drafted by Percival Perry.15 One of the driving forces in the Perry Plan was a recognition that Ford’s European subsidiaries needed to be more responsive to national imperatives. A second, at odds with this notion, was simultaneously yoking them to a new manufacturing plant at Dagenham in Britain. Shares in the European subsidiaries would be sold to the respective publics in each country where Ford operated, while Dagenham’s production would supply manufactured vehicles as well as parts for the European subsidiaries which were intended to be assembly plant operations. In keeping with this scheme, shares were sold in the new Ford SAF while control remained 12

13 14 15

There is some dispute regarding how many makers remained in business in 1939. Patrick Fridenson, Histoire des usines Renault (Paris, 1972), 196, and Sylvie van de Casteele-Schweitzer, ‘Management and Labour in France 1914–39’, in Tolliday and Zeitlin, eds., The Automobile Industry and its Workers, 66, put the number at 28 rather than Loubet’s 31. Yves Cohen, ‘The Modernization of Production in the French Automobile Industry between the Wars: A Photographic Essay’, Business History Review, 65 (1991), 754–80. Jean-Pierre Bardou et al., The Automobile Revolution: The Impact of an Industry (Chapel Hill, 1982), 142. For Ford in France before 1929 see Nevins and Hill, Ford; Wilkins and Hill, American Business Abroad; and the relevant essays in the Bonin, Lung and Tolliday collection, Ford, 1903–2003.

26

Ford SAF: 1929–1940

firmly in the hands of Dearborn. At the first annual general meeting of Ford SAF on 3 May 1930 Dollfus, soon to become managing director, declared that the share offering to French citizens made by Ford SAF had received more than 82,000 applicants, proof of the firm’s French character.16 This gloss did not disguise the reality that Ford Dearborn retained control. Neither French governments nor Ford SAF’s French competitors were convinced. They continued to view Ford SAF as an American firm, with good reason. Evidently, Ford SAF was distinct from its French rivals. The Ford name, Ford financial support and Ford marketing and engineering expertise all distinguished Ford SAF. There is little doubt that these assisted Ford SAF materially. Dollfus told the May 1930 general meeting that the company did not have to bear the costs for labs, or manufacturing methods or technical studies, for all of this was undertaken by Ford Dearborn. As he remarked: We are completely free from all such worries, which are usually such a heavy strain on other Manufacturers and the advantages gained, which fortunately are inherent to our Company, will, we are certain, enable us to continue the assembly of Ford cars by means of spare parts bought in France in larger quantities daily, with more and more satisfactory results.17

Such optimism, if typical of Dollfus, was misplaced. The immediate problem facing Ford SAF was tariffs. Tariffs on imported automobiles and automobile components were in place in France throughout the 1920s. Ford SAF was vulnerable to higher tariffs given its dependence upon imports. The April 1930 French tariff law moved the average duty on finished automobiles and automobile components from 45 per cent to 60 per cent, responding in part to the complaints of Renault, Peugeot and Citroën regarding unfair competition.18 The politics of protection drew upon the growth of anti-Americanism in France.19 The warmth of 1918, when Franco-American relations were bathed in the rays of victory, had long since faded. Woodrow Wilson, the wartime American president and a man who arrived in France to a rapturous reception, was vilified after 16 17 18

19

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 206, 3 May 1930, speech by Maurice Dollfus to Ford SAF AGM. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 206, 3 May 1930, speech by Dollfus to Ford SAF AGM. ‘French Tariff Bill Drastic in Content’, Automotive Industries, 62 (19 April 1930), 633. Jean-Louis Loubet and Nicolas Hatzfeld, ‘Ford in France, 1916–1952’, in Bonin, Lung and Tolliday, eds., Ford 1903–2003, II, 327, put the tariff at much higher levels – 70 per cent ad valorem and 90–150 per cent on parts. On anti-Americanism in France, see David Strauss, Menace in the West: The Rise of French Anti-Americanism (Westport, 1978), and Philippe Roger, The American Enemy: The History of French Anti-Americanism (Chicago, 2005). On Roger, see below.

Ford SAF and the Depression, 1929–1938

27

1919 in France. French disappointment with Wilson, with the refusal of the American Senate to ratify the Treaty of Versailles, was enhanced by the poisonous exchanges over war debts and reparation that dominated international relations. In the 1920s and early 1930s, these issues contaminated Franco-American relations. Philippe Roger’s recent study documents an anti-Americanism that blossomed not only from disenchantment with the peace, but was also driven by intellectuals – novelists, commentators, essayists – who feared the decline of France, were mortified by what they saw as the crassness of American culture and society, by its dehumanizing tendencies, and who voiced their distaste in a series of works. The apex of this movement was reached between 1927 and 1932. Intellectual discourse not only popularized a powerful strain of antiAmerican sentiment, it also served two other functions. It provided a veneer of intellectualism for political anti-Americanism, and it fortified the economic anti-Americanism that was articulated commonly. AntiAmericanism appealed to wide swathes of French opinion, making it simpler for André Tardieu’s government, frustrated with the toxic war debt and reparation issues, to proceed with targeted tariff rises. Perhaps this helps to explain why when the April 1930 tariff was passed the vote was 175 to 2 in the French Chamber of Deputies.20 Tardieu himself, originally enchanted by the vision of American modernity represented by F. W. Taylor and Henry Ford, was by 1934 an apostle who had lost faith in American capitalism.21 Intertwined with French anti-Americanism was the complex attitude apparent among French automobile producers toward Ford. Mechanization, the assembly-line, automation and the triumph of technology at the expense of humanity were linked indissolubly with Ford. Citroën, Renault and Peugeot exhibited varying degrees of respect, envy, hostility and fear vis-à-vis Ford.22 André Citroën was the greatest admirer of Ford in French automobile circles, patterning his plants, machinery, marketing and car models on Ford’s example. As Sylvie Schweitzer has put it: ‘André Citroën though, purchased, and dreamt American. His model was across the Atlantic in the figure of Henry Ford.’23 Peugeot never worshipped Ford as assiduously as did André Citroën. Nevertheless if Peugeot resisted Fordian notions of a single model like the Model T, its 20 21 22 23

‘French Tariff Bill Drastic in Content’, 633. Gareth Davies, ‘André Tardieu, les Modérés and the Politics of Prosperity: 1929–1932’, Histoire@Politique. Politique, culture, société, 16 (2012), www.histoire-politique.fr. Patrick Fridenson, ‘Ford as a Model for French Car Makers, 1911–1939’, in Bonin, Lang and Tolliday, eds., Ford, 1903–2003, II, 125–52. Sylvie Schweitzer, Des engrenages à la chaîne: les usines Citroën, 1915–1935 (Lyon, 1982), 12.

28

Ford SAF: 1929–1940

leadership embraced the necessity of greater flexibility, modernization and productivity that accompanied a shift towards more automated assembly-line manufacture. In the mid- to late 1920s, Peugeot moved its operations at Sochaux steadily in the direction of recognizably Ford practices. Peugeot, however, was hit hard by the Bank Oustric affair. Unwisely, its directors had entangled its finances with Bank Oustric, a development that meant that when the latter collapsed in 1930, the directors of Peugeot were more preoccupied with financial survival rather than with fearing Ford. Of the French Big Three, it was Louis Renault’s attitude that was the most nuanced regarding Ford. Renault admired Henry Ford and the Ford achievement.24 Renault’s Ile de Seguin project built in the late 1920s represented a conscious effort to mimic the efficiencies represented by the Ford works at the River Rouge.25 Renault’s respect for Ford did not prevent him from evincing marked opinions regarding the United States and American economic competition. Renault believed that the United States was the real danger to the French economy. As early as 1924, Renault argued for a ‘Buy French’ campaign that was aimed squarely at American competition. While this call fell on deaf ears, Renault continued to urge French politicians to shelter the French automobile industry – writing to Raymond Poincaré in December 1928 along these lines and then to President Paul Doumer the same month. A network of politicians amenable to these ideas existed in the Senate and National Assembly. Renault’s lobbying paid dividends as his influence with Flandin was reflected in the April 1930 tariff increases. Renault expressed his pleasure in a letter to Léon Bailby of the newspaper L’Intransigeant on 18 April 1930. He told Bailby that while the final duty had been whittled down as a result of American pressure, the passage of the duty was a victory not just for the French auto industry, but for French industry more generally. If duties were not passed then all of French industry would be in danger of being ‘completely submerged’ by US competition.26 Renault, Peugeot and Citroën were members of the Chambre syndicale des constructeurs d’automobiles (CSCA), the French automobile manufacturer’s association. The CSCA was one of the instruments through which domestic producers sought to influence government, lobbying consistently for tariff protection. The head of the CSCA was Baron

24

25

The authoritative study of Renault as a company in the inter-war years remains Fridenson, Histoire des usines Renault. As might be expected there are many biographies. Among the recent are: Chadeau, Louis Renault, which focuses on Renault and the Second World War; Dingli, Louis Renault; and Jean-Noël Mouret, Louis Renault (Paris, 2009). Mouret, Louis Renault, 228–30. 26 Dingli, Louis Renault, 151–60.

Ford SAF and the Depression, 1929–1938

29

Charles Petiet, who was especially close with Louis Renault. Dollfus identified Petiet as our ‘worst’ enemy.27 Petiet blocked repeated efforts by Ford to become a member of the CSCA. Acceptance into the CSCA would permit Ford SAF to define itself as indisputably French, thus lessening the punitive effects of measures addressed specifically at foreign automobile producers. Exclusion from the CSCA was galling for Ford. It was all the more painful because the CSCA changed its mind about the Italian firm SIMCA, a subsidiary of FIAT. SIMCA was a more serious concern for French carmakers by 1934 than Ford. SIMCA offered an attractive line of small four cylinder cars that were growing in popularity in the French market. The tariff increases and import quota adjustments advocated by the CSCA in 1932–3 were aimed primarily at heading off the imminent threat posed by SIMCA rather than by Ford SAF. The French Big Three launched a ‘violent campaign’ to stop SIMCA from introducing its small four cylinder car in France.28 Yet in 1936, SIMCA was made a full member of the CSCA whereas Ford remained excluded. Jean-Louis Loubet has concluded that this outcome was because SIMCA played the nationalist card far more effectively than Ford SAF did. SIMCA built its cars at a manufacturing plant in France, using 100 per cent French parts, relying upon French banks for their financing, and with virtual autonomy from FIAT in Turin. The consequence was that SIMCA was able to portray itself as French more plausibly than Ford SAF.29 Ford SAF’s failure to solidify its identity as French was thus not due solely to the machinations of the CSCA. With the tariff battles raging from 1930, the combination of increased costs and the darkening economic situation was reflected in worsening results for Ford SAF. In 1929 and 1930, the company had posted robust profits, but the 1931 profit was less than half of that of 1930, while the results in 1932 swung to a loss of more than 6 million francs. The year 1933 was far worse, as sales declined and losses soared.30 In these circumstances, Perry undertook an extended analysis of Ford SAF at the urging of Edsel Ford in the autumn of 1933. The results made for grim reading. The reports, filed by Perry and his lieutenants, documented a company that suffered from weak management compounded by graft, bloated inventories, exceptionally high advertising costs and burdened with an over-manned assembly plant at Asnières. Each of these weaknesses were being addressed, with management personnel changed, Dollfus attempting to eradicate corruption in the purchasing department root and branch, 27 28 29

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 230, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 2 April 1936. Fridenson, Histoire des usines Renault, 200. Loubet, Histoire de l’automobile française, 169. 30 See Appendix A.

30

Ford SAF: 1929–1940

and advertising costs being reined in while labour reductions were made selectively. Above all, though, ‘the incidence of taxation and the extreme trade depression’ were hammering Ford SAF. The trend was disheartening – to preserve market share Ford SAF had been selling cars at a loss, incurring heavy commercial expenses necessary to keep the dealer network content. As Perry remarked, ‘[t]hat the French organization is held together and sales effected at all is really a wonder’.31 The question was, what could be done to correct this situation? One possibility was building a manufacturing plant in France, a solution championed by Dollfus. This would have the virtue of cementing Ford SAF’s claim to being French while at the same time offering a means of escaping from the burden imposed by tariffs. The inspiration was Ford’s German subsidiary, Ford-Werke, that had constructed a new plant at Cologne that opened in 1931. The idea of a French plant had been floated at the November 1930 meeting of the Ford SAF board, undoubtedly instigated by the laying of the cornerstone for the Cologne factory by Henry Ford in October 1930. Perry and Dollfus were appointed to the committee charged with ascertaining whether a new plant on the Seine could be built that was capable of producing 30,000 cars per year.32 Given that Ford SAF’s sales in the early 1930s were approximately 3,000 a year, this was a starry-eyed figure.33 Perry’s presence on the committee meant a staunch opponent to the notion existed, for his opposition was a given.34 Perry undoubtedly feared for the viability of Dagenham if a new French manufacturing plant joined Cologne.35 With this path blocked, Dollfus offered two other suggestions. The first was to circumvent the tariff by manufacturing more in France, particularly motor and chassis components.36 The trouble was that this had been an objective for Ford SAF since the opening of Asnières in 1925, with only limited results to show. Ford SAF lacked the engineering expertise, the machine tools and the management wherewithal to make serious inroads into the problem.

31

32 33 34 35

36

The series of reports on Ford SAF, dated 10 October 1933, 18 October 1933 and 20 October 1933, are all in BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 217. Perry wrote to Edsel Ford on 10 October, the 18 October memorandum is by F. S. Thornhill Cooper of Ford Motor Co. Ltd UK and the 20 October letter on Ford SAF is from H. S. Cooper to Edsel Ford. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 206, ‘Minutes of the Board of Directors of Ford SAF, 14 November 1930’. Tolliday, ‘The Origins of Ford of Europe’, I, 163. Wilkins and Hill, American Business Abroad, 248. By 1932, speculation was appearing that Dagenham would never be able to fulfil its planned role if the continental European companies built manufacturing plants. See R. J. Politzer, ‘Double or Lose Seen as Ford’s Answer in Europe’, Automotive Industries, 66 (30 January 1932), 145–8. BFRC, FMC, ACC 38, Box 6, Dollfus to Sorensen, 20 May 1931.

Ford SAF and the Depression, 1929–1938

31

These weaknesses plagued Ford SAF throughout the 1930s and war years. The second suggestion was to push for an expansion of the Ford SAF markets to include the French Empire. Dollfus argued that Ford SAF, given the French tariff wall, could more cheaply serve these areas than Ford Dearborn. He returned to this issue in 1934, urging Sorensen to reshuffle supply arrangements to Indochina and Madagascar with Ford SAF filling the needs of these markets rather than Ford Dearborn or Ford Canada. The sensitivity of the suggestion was borne out in an exchange between Perry and Dollfus in 1935 over the disposition of African markets, with Dollfus once more attempting to expand Ford SAF’s remit and Perry balking on the grounds that Dollfus was pursuing an independent course. Sorensen and Edsel Ford were both consulted but Perry prevailed.37 During the Occupation, Dollfus would return to the idea of an African venture. For the moment, he was unsuccessful. To be sure, Perry’s counsel for Ford SAF – to hang on, absorb losses and wait for better times – was not appealing as losses mounted in late 1933. A third idea, merger with another struggling car company, Mathis, offered a way out. Dollfus, accompanied by Émile Mathis, visited the United States in late November 1933. Meeting with Edsel Ford and Sorensen, the conception of joining with Mathis was advanced. Mathis needed cash for his operations at Strasbourg. Edsel Ford and Sorensen were persuaded and their agreement overruled Perry who doubted the wisdom of the idea.38 The merger, consummated on 27 September 1934, was as much a tactical ploy as it was a desire to obtain the Mathis line of cars. At the extraordinary general meeting of shareholders of Ford SAF held on 30 July 1934 to sanction the agreement, the motives were disclosed frankly: to circumvent customs troubles, to extinguish worries about quota limitations or increased tariffs and to diminish the threat from currency fluctuations. Costs, Dollfus promised, would drop, and Ford would be ‘definitely imprinting our products with a French stamp due to their complete construction in France’.39 The newly merged entity was christened Matford SA. Matford owned the Strasbourg plant as well as Asnières. Ford SAF continued as a holding 37

38 39

BFRC, FMC, ACC 38, Box 6, Dollfus to Perry, 22 May 1931; BFRC, FMC, ACC 38, Box 27, Dollfus to Sorensen, 3 December 1934; for the 1935 episode, see BFRC, FMC, ACC 38, Box 27, Perry to Dollfus, 5 June 1935, Dollfus to Perry, 24 June 1935, Dollfus to Sorensen, 24 June 1935. Accounts of the merger include Wilkins and Hill, American Business Abroad, 248–50, and Nevins and Hill, Ford, III, 299–300. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 223, Report of the Board of Directors of the Extraordinary General Meeting of Shareholders, 30 July 1934.

32

Ford SAF: 1929–1940

company that owned the controlling interest in Matford. A reshuffling of Ford SAF’s corporate structure was required. This process saw the sale of Ford Motor Ltd UK’s interest in Ford SAF to Ford Dearborn, ending Perry’s oversight of Dollfus. Going forward, Ford SAF was now controlled by a combination of Ford Dearborn, a Luxembourg-based holding company, and French shareholders, with Dearborn having the dominant say. While the agreement called for Ford SAF to own 60 per cent of Matford with Mathis retaining 40 per cent, this soon fell by the wayside as Mathis failed to contribute the capital that was required. By 1936, Dollfus reckoned that Ford SAF controlled 77 per cent of Matford’s capital.40 Integrating the Mathis cars into the Ford SAF offerings proved troublesome. From 1932, when Henry Ford introduced the Ford V8 in the United States, Dollfus and Ford SAF had no choice but to adopt the V8. Ford SAF did not have the capacity to build its own engines. Adopting the V8 was made easier by the relatively lighter burden imposed by French tariffs on a V8-powered car.41 It was not a choice without perils. The market for V8 automobiles in France was small. Throughout the 1930s, the characteristics of the French automobile market skewed progressively in favour of smaller, lighter, cheaper, more fuel-efficient cars. French consumers, strapped by the Depression, wanted these cars. Ford SAF was swimming against this tide. As Dollfus pointed out repeatedly, Ford SAF dominated the V8 market in France, but it was a hollow triumph, for doing so constrained Ford’s ability to compete in the broader French automobile market. Paradoxically, after 1938 Ford’s V8 dependence did offer the company hope, for the V8 could, and did, power trucks, much in demand by the French military as rearmament gathered pace. After the Fall of France in 1940, the Wehrmacht too coveted Ford V8-powered trucks. For the moment though, this silver lining was hidden and Mathis did have a four-cylinder car. Regrettably, the Mathis plant in Strasbourg required significant changes if it was to produce modern vehicles. The head of the team of American engineers sent to Strasbourg in 1934 to overhaul the plant, L. W. Mix, wrote to Sorensen in December 1934 that he ‘[h]ad to change many operations to get quality and cut the cost in most glaring cases. Still very bad and we could work along that line for a year.’ Mix added in a subsequent letter that there was a pressing shortage of ‘good tool designers or tool makers’. Mathis was a microcosm of the virtues 40 41

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 230, ‘Position of Ford S.A.F. as of 20th July [1936]’. Jean-Louis Loubet and Nicholas Hatzfeld, Les 7 vies de Poissy: un aventure industrielle (Paris, 2001), 30, make this point.

Ford SAF and the Depression, 1929–1938

33

and flaws of the French automobile industry as a whole. The company was capable of and had produced in the 1920s attractive vehicles for the French market. But it was small, cash strapped, with a plant and equipment that was outdated. These were shared weaknesses with Ford SAF – acquiring Mathis had not rectified Ford SAF’s lack of modern engineering expertise and machine tools. Dollfus, perhaps because he had spearheaded the Mathis merger, downplayed these concerns, telling Sorensen that Mix did not understand matters wholly.42 Nonetheless, Dollfus was forced in February 1935 to admit to Edsel Ford that the Mathis four cylinder was obsolete and that it needed a new engine immediately. He complained about the lack of cooperation from Mathis and his unwillingness to assist in new designs for the chassis and motor of an updated four cylinder. Later that year, the decision was made to sell spare parts for existing Mathis cars but not to produce any new Mathis cars. This decision left Ford SAF producing only V8-powered cars under the Matford name. The Matford merger, politically motivated as much as it was by economic considerations, reflected the continuing travails of the French automobile industry. The most spectacular manifestation of the latter in the 1930s was the collapse of Citroën in 1934–5. For Ford SAF, Citroën’s troubles produced opportunity. In dire straits, André Citroën approached Dollfus in January 1935 asking him to consider investing 100 million francs in Citroën in collaboration with Michelin. Dollfus was opposed to these feelers and counselled Dearborn to reject the idea. This advice was heeded and in February 1935 Dollfus informed Citroën that Ford was not interested. His misgivings about a partnership with Michelin were critical in this choice. Dollfus doubted Michelin’s management and in particular their ability to run a car company. He reckoned that under Michelin stewardship Citroën would struggle, thus opening the door for competitors such as Ford SAF. Certainly, Dollfus moved quickly to attempt to seduce Citroën dealers to carry the Ford V8 line with some success.43 He may also have been buoyed by the improved results that Ford SAF had posted in 1934. While sales had rebounded sluggishly from the 1933 depths, the rigorous cost-cutting programme that Dollfus had implemented at the urging of Perry and Edsel Ford had borne fruit, with

42

43

These letters may be followed in BFRC, FMC, ACC 38, Box 22, L. W. Mix to Sorensen, 30 November 1934, Mix to Sorensen, 7 December 1934. BFRC, FMC, ACC 38, Box 27, Dollfus to Sorensen, 2 January 1935. For Dollfus’ dismissive view of Michelin and his effort to recruit Citroën dealers, see BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 223, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 14 February 1935.

34

Ford SAF: 1929–1940

the consequence that 1934 saw a profit posted.44 Matford undoubtedly was also a factor, for Dollfus was preoccupied with ensuring that the merger went smoothly and the Citroën bankruptcy had in this sense come at a bad time. As for Citroën, it was too important to the French government to founder and while André Citroén lost control of his company, its subsequent recovery and restructuring under Michelin aegis drove home this point. In retrospect, the decision to rebuff André Citroën meant that Ford had foregone a chance to vault itself into the front ranks of French producers. It was not until the Occupation that Ford SAF managed to take a place in the front row with the French Big Three. Citroën’s difficulties did not deter the CSCA from continuing to press the attack against Ford and may have added credence to their complaints about unfair foreign competition. In December 1934, Dollfus informed Dearborn that an inquiry from the Ministry of War had been received asking if Matford was French as only French companies were allowed to bid for their contracts. This was, as Dollfus put it, a threat. The restructuring of the board of Ford SAF, recommended by Dollfus in November 1934 that reduced the number of directors to five, removed Perry as chair, and ensured that the majority of directors were French as well as putting in place a French chair (M. Charpentier), was aimed at bolstering the French credentials of the company.45 Though Dollfus signalled that these changes were welcome in France as evidenced by the opening of negotiations with the Ministry of War and the receipt of orders from the Compagnie General Transatlantique, he admitted that ‘we have been attack [sic] from every possible angle’.46 The CSCA was not convinced. As Mathis observed, maliciously, to Edsel Ford in June 1935 the CSCA believed Matford was not a French concern.47 A determined attempt by the CSCA in September 1935 to exclude Matford from the Paris Auto Salon on the grounds that it was not a French company followed. The danger that this posed was real, for if the CSCA prevailed, then Matford would be shut out of bidding for government contracts and would not receive government subsidies designed to promote the export trade. Dollfus recognized the danger. He lobbied the minister of commerce, Georges Bonnet. Bonnet sided with 44

45

46 47

BFRC, FMC, ACC 507, undated but 1946, Table from FMC, ‘Manuf & Assembly, Poissy 1945–1946, France Analysis of Ford Investment, Sales, Costs, Profits, etc, ’46’. Costs fell more than 7 million francs from 1933 to 1934, while commercial expenses tumbled by more than 5 million francs. See Appendix A. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 226, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 15 November 1934; BFRC, FMC, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, ACC 6, Box 226, 10 December 1934. In this letter, Dollfus enclosed the inquiry from the Ministry of War of 7 December 1934. His reply of 12 December 1934 is also here. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 223, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 14 February 1935. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 226, Mathis to Edsel Ford, 29 June 1935.

Ford SAF and the Depression, 1929–1938

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Dollfus against the CSCA, permitting Matford to exhibit at Paris and ensuring that it qualified for the export subsidy.48 Bonnet may have been swayed by assurances that Matford was endeavouring to become French wholly. Though this attack had been thwarted, it alarmed Ford Dearborn sufficiently to ask Dollfus to send an appreciation of Ford SAF’s relationship with the government and with the CSCA. Dollfus replied to Edsel Ford in April 1936 with a lengthy assessment. He was sanguine about Ford’s standing with the government, labelling relations ‘very good’ not just with the Ministry of Commerce but also with the Ministry of Finance. But until all of Ford’s products were 100 per cent French, it was not possible to bid for government contracts. Dollfus had reason to be optimistic on this score, for Bonnet’s recent intervention had extended to granting Ford additional quota room to import parts from the United States. As for competitors in France, Dollfus was careful to delineate friends and foes. In the former category were the national federations of parts suppliers and the national dealers federation, both of which were amicable. The CSCA was hostile, dominated as it was by the French Big Three, who in Dollfus’ view were frightened by competition from outside. Mathis was, at least partially, to blame, for he had surrendered his CSCA membership without consulting Dollfus a year earlier, thus making it simpler for the CSCA to marginalize Ford SAF. Even on this count, however, Dollfus offered a nuanced explanation of the attitude of the key member of the CSCA – Renault. He told Edsel Ford that at lunch recently with Renault and his assistant, René de Peyrecave, the two men confessed that they were upset principally at the prospect of the arrival of General Motors in the French market. Dollfus remarked that Renault and Peyrecave saw Ford as a ‘necessary evil’ and that Ford’s relationship with Renault was ‘good’ while at the personal level his own rapport with Renault was ‘very good’.49 Some of this was wishful thinking. Renault could afford to regard Ford SAF as a ‘necessary evil’ partly because the Ford share of the French market was quite small – Dollfus placed it at about 8 per cent of French production. Ford was struggling in the American market and was not quite the terror that it had been. General Motors was a behemoth, whose inroads into the German market through Opel were apparent. Renault and Peyrecave may have been aware that in 1934 André Citroën, struggling to save his company, had through 48

49

For the CSCA attack on Matford and Dollfus’ successful counter-attack, see BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 226, Dollfus to Sorensen, 10 September 1935 and Dollfus to Sorensen, 2 October 1935. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 230, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 2 April 1936. During the Occupation, René de Peyrecave effectively ran Renault due to the mental and physical decline of Louis Renault.

36

Ford SAF: 1929–1940

the intermediary of Morgan & Cie, the Paris-based arm of J. P. Morgan & Co., discussed with Alfred Sloan Jr of General Motors the possibility of the latter taking a stake in Citroën.50 While this never materialized, the prospect alone was enough to incite alarm. Whether Dollfus’ optimism about Ford’s relationships were justified, fears that the CSCA might succeed in shutting Ford SAF out of the French market were lessened by three factors: a thaw in Franco-American relations, primarily economic and financial, between 1934 and 1936; growing unease at the worsening of the French position in Europe; and finally the election of the Popular Front in 1936 that plunged France into months of domestic turmoil, marked by acute labour strife and capital flight. For Dollfus and Ford SAF, these developments were a boon. The effects of the lessening of Franco-American trade enmity were intangible though the case for the imposition of even more restrictive tariffs and quotas was forestalled, undercutting the CSCA’s efforts to marginalize Ford SAF. Strikingly, after 1935 tariffs as a regular topic of Dollfus’ missives to Dearborn disappear. As for the Rhineland crisis in March 1936, it had made it apparent that the Strasbourg plant was vulnerable. A panicked American workforce had asked Dollfus if they could evacuate when it seemed as if war was in the offing. While Dollfus was willing to entertain the idea, Sorensen was not. Brusquely, he indicated that there was no need for emergency measures.51 The point that Strasbourg was uncomfortably close to the Franco-German border, and thus was likely to be in the zone of military operations should there be a war, was made. Indirectly, the Rhineland crisis boosted the notion of a new manufacturing plant in France for Ford SAF. As for rearmament, the announced expenditures promised significant government contracts in the future and the necessity of utilizing the entirety of the French industrial base, including Ford SAF, in meeting these needs. For the moment, though, the stumbling block remained familiar – was Ford SAF a French company? The labour strife of 1936 had, conversely, less of an impact on Ford SAF save in one key respect – buttressing Dollfus’ conviction that Ford’s future was bright. Beginning in May 1936, strikes at aviation factories in northern France blossomed into a broader, more systematic wave of labour disruptions. Collectively, the strikes paralysed the French industrial sector. Faced with unrest on a scale never before seen, industry moved rapidly to meet

50

51

Pierpont Morgan Library, Morgan Bank’s European Papers, Box 17, J. P. Morgan & Co. to Morgan & Cie, 9 March 1934, Morgan & Cie to J. P. Morgan & Co., 10 March 1934. The talks continued fitfully into December 1934. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 230, Dollfus to Sorensen, 10 March 1936, Sorensen to Dollfus, 11 March 1936.

Ford SAF and the Depression, 1929–1938

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the demands of labour. The Matignon Accords, negotiated and signed in one day, 7 June 1936, offered significant concessions: pay rises, the introduction of the forty-hour work week, paid holidays and the principle of collective contracts were among the chief gains for organized labour.52 In the automobile industry, Renault, Citroën and Peugeot were all hit, with Renault, France’s largest employer, one of the nodes of greatest activity. Louis Renault who ran his works with an ancien régime mentality, was shocked at the scope of the unrest, as was his son-in-law, François Lehideux, who did not hide his fear that revolution was imminent.53 Dollfus while agreeing that the ‘situation. . .is revolutionary’, had quite a different reaction. In letters to Edsel Ford and Sorensen written in June 1936, he advanced a curious argument. While he admitted that he was ‘rather pessimistic about the general situation, I am rather optimistic about ours’. Neither Asnières nor Strasbourg, the two Ford plants in France, had experienced any significant time lost to strikes. This in Dollfus’ view was a reflection of the greater labour tranquillity prevailing among the Ford workforce, due in part to a more enlightened policy on wages. When disruptions had occurred at the plants, it was because the workforce felt compelled to demonstrate their bona fides to the wider labour movement, lest they lose face. Linked to this was the assertion that while the Ford wage bill would rise, it would rise much less than the mandated increases at Ford’s competitors – Renault, Citroën and Peugeot – suggesting that real cost advantages would accrue to Ford SAF. As evidence of these contentions, Dollfus pointed to the much greater time lost due to strikes at the French Big Three, noting that Ford sales were continuing to be strong. There were weaknesses in this sanguine portrait: Mathis was an irritant; Matford continued to lose money due largely to a hike in commissions paid to dealers; and Dollfus did not see how prices could be raised to recoup losses. As he told Edsel Ford, the losses would have to be borne and be considered as a ‘capital investment’.54 Nonetheless, at the end of the year, in November and December 1936, Dollfus returned to the theme that Ford had benefited more from the changes under the Popular Front than its competitors. In particular, the imposition of the forty-hour week had

52

53 54

For accounts of 1936, the strikes and the Matignon Accords, see Julian Jackson, The Popular Front in France: Defending Democracy 1934–38 (Cambridge, 1990), 85–112. For the response of business, see Richard Vinen, The Politics of French Business 1936–1945 (Cambridge, 1991), 26–44. Bertrand Badie, ‘Les grèves du Front Populaire aux usines Renault’, Mouvement Social, 81 (1972), 95–9. These views are laid out in three letters: BFRC, FMC, the letters to Sorensen are in ACC 38, Box 32, while the letter to Edsel Ford is in ACC 6, Box 23. Dollfus to Sorensen, 18 June 1936; Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 23 June 1936; and Dollfus to Sorensen, 25 June 1936.

38

Ford SAF: 1929–1940

improved Ford’s relative cost position, while sales continued to grow.55 Dollfus was guilty of seeing in his competitors’ temporary prostration a permanent state of affairs. The French Big Three would recover and while the lively demand for the V8s produced by Matford was welcome, the structure of the French automobile market had not altered as a consequence of the upheavals of 1936. The French increasingly preferred smaller, cheaper cars that Ford’s competitors were able to produce. Dollfus appreciated that while selling V8s was sensible given the tariff burden Ford SAF faced, a small car was desirable. Strasbourg, retooled for the V8, was not suitable. Dollfus, whose unhappiness with Mathis was shared increasingly in Dearborn, was disinclined to renew the lease option on Strasbourg that was coming due. These considerations, married with his natural optimism, help us understand his renewed advocacy of building a new manufacturing plant in France, a posture that at first blush seems incongruous with his doubts about the French political and economic scene under the Popular Front. Dollfus’ reading was girded by the profit and sales figures for Ford SAF: when Dollfus was considering the future course of Ford SAF the improved sales and profit figures in 1936 and 1937 were an incentive to embark on the course of what he had always wanted – the construction of a modern manufacturing plant.56 The way was cleared by the final breakdown of relations with Mathis. The latter was willing to sell Strasbourg but the talks failed in 1937. For Ford, the utility of purchasing Strasbourg was offset by the plant’s age. As Perry put it to Sorensen, ‘I emphatically agree with your view that the money which Mathis asked for his old plant could be very much better spent in buying new equipment.’57 Mathis was obstinate, a stance that suited Dollfus. Supported by Edsel Ford and Sorensen, Dollfus declined to purchase the plant and served notice in 1938 that Ford would abandon the lease in 1940.58 Rearmament, the coming of war and the remaking of Ford SAF, 1938–1940 With Strasbourg’s future decided, constructing a manufacturing plant became a necessity. Importing finished cars was impossible due to tariffs 55

56 57 58

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 230, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 25 November 1936; BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 234, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 5 December 1936, 10 December 1936, and 18 December 1936. See Appendix A. BFRC, FMC, ACC 38, Box 82, Perry to Sorensen, 18 May 1937. More detail on the negotiations is contained in BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 234. Accounts are in Wilkins and Hill, American Business Abroad, 266–7, and Nevins and Hill, Ford, III, 310–11.

The remaking of Ford SAF, 1938–1940

39

and quotas. Asnières was not a candidate for conversion as it was aging and was of limited size. Dollfus wanted a new manufacturing plant near Paris. He found his site at Poissy on the River Seine. The decision to build a new plant at Poissy, intertwined with the move of Europe towards war in 1938–9, had momentous consequences for Ford SAF. Ford SAF was reconfigured by these twin developments. By September 1939, Ford SAF was no longer a car company. It was a truck company, an armaments company and an aircraft engine company. It was a company dependent upon contracts from the French government. The long-running battle over identity ended in 1938–9. With the awarding of substantial government contracts in 1939, the question of whether the company was French or not was buried, while those same contracts led Dollfus to anticipate confidently a stream of future profits. In 1938–9 the chief matters of contention were financing the Poissy plant and the advisability of accepting government contracts. This led to a crisis in the autumn of 1939 when raising Ford SAF’s capital to meet the costs incurred in the construction of Poissy fomented a clash between Dollfus and Dearborn. The resolution of this dispute favoured Dollfus, resulting in the peculiar position that Ford SAF became an armaments producer contrary to Henry Ford’s stance against his companies engaging in such work. The principal developments in European international relations in 1938 are well known. French policy, fashioned principally by the premier, Edouard Daladier, and his foreign minister, Georges Bonnet, was more complex than has commonly been made out. Daladier was well aware of the German threat, doubted rightly Hitler’s sincerity in his repeated protestations that all he desired was to reunite Germans in a greater Germany and sought to shift France towards a war footing. Bonnet was less willing to run the risk of confrontation with Germany, fearing that a war would redound only to the benefit of the Soviets.59 For the French military, the situation in 1938 was mixed. While General Maurice Gamelin, the chief of staff of the French army, had no intention of waging a war over Czechoslovakia, he was not despairing of the army’s readiness in the summer of 1938. Gamelin foresaw a war in which France and Britain would triumph through the exercise of their matériel resources in the shape of their respective empires, eventually grinding the Germans down. Gamelin’s guarded perspective was not shared, however, by the leadership of the French air force. Plan V, the ambitious effort to rebuild the French air force that had been launched in March 1938 by Guy La Chambre, the minister of air, was far from reaching its goals. General 59

On Daladier and Bonnet, see Robert Young, France and the Origins of the Second World War (New York, 1996), 29–30, and Elisabeth du Réau, Edouard Daladier (Paris, 1993).

40

Ford SAF: 1929–1940

Joseph Vuillemin, appointed chief of staff of the air force by La Chambre in February 1938, was markedly pessimistic in his assessment of the state of French air power. Vuillemin made it clear to La Chambre and Daladier throughout the summer of 1938 that the Luftwaffe would obliterate the French air force with dire consequences for the war effort and for the civilian population.60 As Herrick Chapman has remarked, ‘More than any other event before the war, the Munich crisis convinced French officials of the urgency of aircraft procurement.’61 The problems of French rearmament and specifically aircraft production interlocked with building a new plant at Poissy. In planning for Poissy, Dollfus was adamant that the facility be capable of producing both V8 vehicles and a new four-cylinder car. Dollfus had told Sorensen in December 1937 that he was open to this notion. The idea of constructing such a car was amplified in a series of letters early in 1938. Dollfus laid out his reasoning for Sorensen: Ford was already the dominant player in the V8 market in France, controlling 57 per cent of the big V8 market and 35 per cent of the small V8 market. The possibility of expanding further was unlikely. It made sense to move into the market for smaller cars given this was the sector of French consumer demand that was most lively and given that Poissy needed to be utilized to its maximum if the best returns were to be extracted. Dollfus wanted a plant that was capable of producing 150–200 cars per day. With his habitual optimism, he forecast that with the appropriate four-cylinder car, Ford could sell 20,000–24,000 of this model per year. Given that total sales in 1937 – a banner year – of the various V8 models amounted to just over 17,000, Poissy had to have a four-cylinder line. But in early 1938, familiar obstacles remained in place. Dollfus told Sorensen that he had been approached about making aviation engine parts for Hispano-Suiza and Gnôme motors, and while sales of V8s to the government might be feasible, French competitors were objecting on the grounds that Ford SAF was not French. In January 1938, Dollfus forwarded to Sorensen a preliminary estimate of the cost of constructing the plant, which he put at $3.5 million if it produced V8 models alone and $4.5–4.7 million if a four-cylinder line was included. How to obtain the funds to pay for the plant was in question. Dollfus admitted that recourse to French government loan programmes aimed at plant modernization was impossible: ‘Such facilities, however, are subject to a certain number of practical conditions, such as qualifications as to 60

61

On French intelligence assessments of German airpower and Vuillemin’s pessimism, see Peter Jackson, France and the Nazi Menace: Intelligence and Policy Making 1933–1939 (New York, 2000), 268–79. More generally, Chapman, State Capitalism, 153–74. Chapman, State Capitalism, 157.

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French nationality and a right of verification of the books. In our position, I am afraid that compliance with such conditions is out of the question.’ Nonetheless, Dollfus found a solution to finance Poissy. He planned to raise the funds from a combination of sources: money would be borrowed from the other Ford companies in Europe, primarily the Belgian, the cost of the needed machinery would be underwritten by Dearborn, Ford SAF would contribute funds, while the sale of Asnières and other assets in France would yield the remainder of the money required.62 Edsel Ford and Sorensen agreed to this scheme and in May 1938 the Ford SAF directors duly voted to proceed with construction of Poissy. Work on the site began almost immediately. The Munich crisis changed matters. The crisis depressed the automobile market in France, with the result that Ford SAF’s total sales in 1938 slumped to 12,000 for the year, putting additional strain on the company’s finances though the final loss for the year was less than Dollfus feared originally.63 More critical were the effects on France’s rearmament programme and on politics. In the wake of Munich, the Daladier government embarked upon plans to expedite rearmament, leading to a confrontation with the French labour movement. The failure of labour’s general strike in November 1938 in France shifted decisively the balance of power between government and labour in France, to the benefit of industry. Throughout the French automobile sector, 1938–9 evidenced the quicker cadence of rearmament. This took two principal forms. One was the growing involvement of the automobile companies in other areas of rearmament, from making artillery shells, to tanks, to aviation engines. The second was prioritizing truck production at the expense of cars to meet the needs of the military. All of the surviving firms in the industry were pressed into meeting the overriding imperative of rearmament, with their workforces, plants, equipment and capital dedicated to the demands of the state.64 Ford SAF, with its new plant at Poissy under construction, was targeted as a firm that could help French readiness for war. Questions of identity were swept aside. Daladier in his dual role as premier and minister of defence warned Dollfus after Munich that Ford SAF needed to be prepared for a crash conversion to wartime production. In December 1938, the Ford SAF directors decided that steps should be taken to create a manufacturing plant removed from the 62 63 64

A detailed breakdown is contained in BFRC, FMC, ACC 713, Box 7, Dollfus report, 8 November 1938. BFRC, FMC, ACC 38, Box 40, Dollfus to Sorensen, 19 December 1938. Loubet, Histoire de l’automobile française, 177–81, sketches these developments.

42

Ford SAF: 1929–1940

Franco-German frontier and well outside of Paris.65 This decision was given added weight when early in 1939 La Chambre approached Dollfus about the possibility of Ford SAF manufacturing aviation engines at Poissy. Dollfus was interested. His long association with HispanoSuiza – Dollfus had been a board member since 1923 – meant not only familiarity with the French aircraft industry, for Hispano-Suiza along with Gnôme-et-Rhône was one of the two principal engine manufacturers for the French air force, but contacts with leading figures in the French rearmament drive. The Popular Front as part of its nationalization scheme had taken over the major airframe makers in France. The aircraft engine makers were too large to be absorbed with the funds available and so in the spring of 1937 the Popular Front government purchased a minority stake in Hispano-Suiza, obtaining a seat on the board of directors. This represented another point of contact between Dollfus, the government and rearmament. Shortly thereafter, in the summer of 1937 Raoul Dautry became president of Hispano-Suiza. In September 1939, Dautry was appointed by Daladier as the new minister of armaments, responsible for overseeing all aspects of French armaments including the aviation sector. La Chambre was a partisan not only of purchasing in the United States but also of engaging the French automobile industry directly in aircraft production. La Chambre believed that reliance upon the nationalized firms alone was insufficient. Private industry must be recruited.66 Ford’s Poissy expansion, Dollfus’ involvement with Hispano-Suiza and the needs of French rearmament combined. But before Dollfus could agree to La Chambre’s request, he required the approval of Ford Dearborn. Henry Ford believed in pacifism, had regarded World War I as a tragedy and his post-war commitment to peace never waned. He was loath to sanction Ford’s participation in armaments production. Beyond this, there was the broader question of American public opinion. The American involvement in World War I weighed heavily. Widely seen as an episode that should not be repeated, the drum beat of mistrust and suspicion was kept alive throughout the 1930s by academic works from historians such as Charles Beard, Congressional hearings investigating the bankers and the so-called merchants of death and most visibly the passage of successive Neutrality Laws that sought to guarantee the United States did not become involved in a future European war. While debate continues over Roosevelt’s intentions, there is no question that even if he was privately against isolationism, he had not managed to overcome it by 65 66

Nevins and Hill, Ford, III, 317. Chapman, State Capitalism, 166–72. On French purchasing efforts in the United States, see John McVickar Haight Jr, American Aid to France, 1938–1940 (New York, 1970).

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43

1939. Having supported appeasement in 1938 and having welcomed the Munich agreement, Roosevelt’s administration charted a cautious course through 1939. Roosevelt’s hopes that Hitler and Mussolini might be amenable to resolution of outstanding issues were not dashed when Germany absorbed what remained of Czechoslovakia in March 1939. Repeated gestures designed to promote stability in Europe were rebuffed, notably in April 1939, when Hitler scathingly dismissed Roosevelt’s latest proposal out of hand. The coming of war revealed that the American public remained conflicted. While most Americans backed France and Britain, equally large numbers desired fervently that the United States remain neutral. Roosevelt’s caution was thus understandable and it was not until October 1939 that Congress agreed to modify the neutrality legislation that had hindered Allied purchasing in the United States.67 While such considerations might have given Dollfus pause, he moved ahead though the construction at Poissy strained Ford SAF’s finances. Contractors building the new plant were offered stock in Ford SAF in lieu of cash. Dollfus told Sorensen that to offset the heavy overhead costs associated with the work at Poissy, he was striving to obtain ‘the largest number of government contracts possible’. There had been some successes in this regard. A small contract for 1.5-ton trucks destined for alpine and colonial troops had been obtained in 1938, though the French army remained leery of Matford’s foreign roots.68 Notification of La Chambre’s approach in January 1939 was thus undoubtedly unsurprising to Ford Dearborn. In March 1939, Dollfus went to the United States to discuss building engines for the French air force, meeting Edsel Ford and Sorensen in Florida. These talks, expanded to include other Ford Dearborn executives, revolved around the details of the proposed work. Neither Edsel Ford nor Sorensen appear to have been concerned at the prospect of undertaking the work, nor is there evidence that Henry Ford was consulted. This is remarkable inasmuch as little more than a year later, in dire circumstances for Britain and France, Henry Ford intervened to cancel a contract for Rolls Royce Merlin engines with the British government that had been agreed to by Edsel Ford and Sorensen. The 1940 decision cancelling the Rolls Royce contract was at least consistent with Henry Ford’s long-standing convictions. Perhaps in 1939, Henry 67

68

The literature on these topics is immense. For a starting point, see Justus D. Doenecke et al., ‘The United States, Europe and Asia between the World Wars and the Prelude to World War II’ in Robert Beisner, ed., American Foreign Relations since 1600, 2nd edn (Santa Barbara, 2003), 817–932. BFRC, FMC, ACC 38, Box 40, 23 December 1938, memo on financial problems at Poissy; and François Vauvillier and Jean-Michel Touraine, L’Automobile sous l’uniforme 1939–1940 (Paris, 1992), 77.

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Ford SAF: 1929–1940

Ford regarded work being done in France as sufficiently distant not to violate his well-known scruples regarding manufacturing war matériel; perhaps the episode is further evidence of the incompleteness of his control over his extended empire by this stage of his life. In any event, the Florida conversations proceeded unchecked. Dollfus told Ford and Sorensen that the French government was willing to order immediately 1,000 aviation engines, to be made at Poissy, with a price per motor of $14,000–15,000. The government would pay 65 million francs toward the cost of new machinery and would guarantee cost plus 10 per cent profit. If the order should be cancelled all costs to the time of cancellation would be covered and the government pledged to purchase a minimum of 250 engines. The French government wanted Poissy to produce 55 engines a month or approximately 600 a year. The intent was to manufacture the Merlin engine under licence from Rolls Royce.69 The March 1939 Florida talks established that Ford SAF would make engines for the French air force. What remained was ironing out the details of the contract and deciding where the work would be undertaken. The second question was settled first. After some searching, a suitable complex was located at Bordeaux. The plant, which consisted of various buildings and occupied 32,000 square metres, had cranes and access to docks and railways. A newly formed subsidiary of Ford SAF, FordAir created on 23 June 1939, purchased the Bordeaux plant for 6.5 million francs in late July 1939, though the transaction did not close until just before the outbreak of war. Machinery and equipment from Strasbourg was shipped to Bordeaux to outfit the plant. More specialized machine tools were ordered in the United States, through a FordAir subsidiary, Machine Suppliers Inc., incorporated in October 1939 in Dearborn and headed by Mix, the Ford engineer who had been involved with the Strasbourg plant.70 The French government furnished the financing for FordAir. The contract proved more difficult to settle. This was a function of a number of considerations, one of which was the scope of the air force rearmament programme. While there was agreement that rapid expansion of the air force was essential, the French Ministry of Finance, led by Paul Reynaud, worried by the implications for the franc and the French foreign exchange position, questioned the escalating costs of Plan V. La Chambre 69 70

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 57, H. L. Moekle memorandum, 17 March 1939. Moekle was part of the Florida conversations as a member of Ford Dearborn’s auditing department. On Bordeaux, see Nevins and Hill, Ford, III, 320; BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 57, Dollfus to Edsel Ford and Sorensen, 9 September 1939, for the plant’s physical dimensions and characteristics. NARA, RG 131, Foreign Funds Control, Box 135, memorandum of 13 February 1942 laying out the structure of Machinery Suppliers Inc.

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in contrast was urging a maximal effort. Dollfus cabled Dearborn on 9 May 1939 ‘they [the French government] are becoming increasingly anxious to ensure early delivery of these engines. . .I saw the Minister [La Chambre] again yesterday, and he urged me very strongly to do everything I could in this respect.’71 War in September 1939 doused the embers of Reynaud’s resistance while increasing dramatically the expectations of industry. In September 1939, the decision was taken to boost the airframe target from 330 a month to 1,600 a month by June 1940. This necessitated correspondingly greater engine output but Gnôme-et-Rhône managed to dissuade the Air Ministry that this goal should be met (in part) by licensing the Rolls Royce engine technology. Domestic engine production would suffice.72 A second problem was that while Edsel Ford and Sorensen might have agreed in principle to the aviation engine contract, they were never comfortable. Dearborn signalled to Dollfus in May 1939 that they were uneasy with the lack of specifics of the work. Without more information, Dearborn was not certain that they could design and supply the machine tools necessary. Dollfus was reassuring in response, telling Edsel Ford that nothing was amiss and that the government had increased its order to 1,200 engines, while boosting the amount that they were willing to spend on machinery from 65 to 89 million francs. That same month, the notice from Dollfus that the French government was pressing Ford SAF to boost production and inquiring whether the other Ford European companies might aid, should be interpreted in part as designed to ease the concerns of Ford Dearborn.73 Throughout the summer of 1939, Dollfus and Dearborn wrangled over modifications to the engine contract. It appeared by the outbreak of war that matters had been settled. The total value of the order was 540 million francs for 1,200 Rolls Royce Merlin engines with production ramping up from 2 engines in September 1939 to 60 a month in June 1940 and 120 a month thereafter. The government reserved the right to cancel the contract after 300 motors.74 In the autumn of 1939, a Hispano-Suiza engine replaced the Merlin. Dollfus was at pains to assure Dearborn that this switch would be seamless, made simpler due to his past association with Hispano-Suiza and was motivated primarily by the fact that the Hispano-Suiza motor could be built more quickly.75 As Chapman has shown, the lobbying by Gnôme-et-Rhône mentioned earlier was in 71 72 73 74 75

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 57, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 9 May 1939. Chapman, State Capitalism, 214, for the higher airframe target, and 172 for Gnôme-etRhône. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 243, Dollfus to Ford Dearborn, 9 May 1939. BFRC, FMC, ACC 507, Box 67, contains a copy of the contract. BFRC, FMC, ACC 507, Box 66, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 8 December 1939.

46

Ford SAF: 1929–1940

fact the chief reason for the change. The doubts harboured in Dearborn about the FordAir project lingered. In October 1939, when Ford SAF asked Guaranty Trust of New York to guarantee the amount of 30 million francs on behalf of Machinery Suppliers Inc., Ford Dearborn’s response was unequivocal: ‘We explained that the American Ford Company had no direct connections with Fordair or the United States buying corporation and that it would not desire to connect itself direct with these companies.’ Grudgingly, Dearborn admitted that they thought it was a good business.76 When Dollfus’ ambitions for FordAir became more grandiose in the spring of 1940 – he told Edsel Ford that he was aiming for production at Poissy to reach 500 engines a month – and followed this startling statement with a proposal in April 1940 to swallow Hispano-Suiza, Edsel Ford quashed such dreams: ‘The aviation industry is a highly specialized one, and I am sure that you will find it a most difficult one. Although there may be some asset in FordAir at the end of the war, so far as we are concerned we would be glad to have it wound up and liquidated, and return to our regular production matériels.’77 Qualms about FordAir and the course that Dollfus was charting for Ford SAF were compounded by a dispute that arose in 1939 regarding money. This involved primarily the expenses associated with the construction of Poissy. To meet the outlays required at Poissy, the board of directors of Ford SAF, from August 1939 chaired by Dollfus, authorized a rise in the capital of the firm from 130 million francs to 300 million francs. Ford Dearborn was called upon to contribute to this capital expansion. Initially, Dearborn agreed. But then came war. War swept away Dollfus, who was animated further by the award of a substantial truck contract to Matford. The Ministry of War placed an order for 5,000 5-ton covered trucks.78 Dollfus told Sorensen in September 1939 that he had stopped making cars in compliance with orders from the French government, was evacuating machinery from Strasbourg and was shipping it to Bordeaux. Once Bordeaux was operational, Asnières would be shuttered. Six days later, Dollfus informed Dearborn that Asnières was being ‘transformed’ to handle truck repairs and that the truck contract Matford had been awarded ‘is more than double our total yearly business and will amount to some twenty million dollars yearly’.

76 77 78

BFRC, FMC, ACC 507, Box 67, memorandum by H. L. Moekle, 26 October 1939. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 62, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 4 March 1940, Edsel Ford to Dollfus, 19 April 1940. Vauvillier and Touraine, L’Automobile sous l’uniforme, 77 and 103. In December 1939, the truck contract was raised to 6,150 trucks. The same month Matford received an order for 900 fuel tankers from the Ministry of Air.

The remaking of Ford SAF, 1938–1940

47

Dollfus wanted money immediately from Dearborn.79 For Dollfus, war removed the last impediments to the future prosperity of Ford SAF. Questions of the company’s identity were buried; its commercial success seemed ensured; all that was needed was financial assistance from Dearborn. If war stimulated Dollfus, Edsel Ford and Sorensen were worried. The outbreak of war caused them to reconsider their initial acquiescence to raising the capital of Ford SAF. The frenetic nature of Dollfus’ communications in September, especially the shuffling of plans for Asnières, was ill received. Warning from Dollfus on 18 September that Poissy might be seized by the French government for repair work freshened worries.80 Dearborn had doubts regarding the sprawling nature of Ford SAF’s growth. FordAir was a sore point. Rapidly, Ford SAF experienced a cash flow crisis, for even with the injection of funds provided by the French government to FordAir, Dollfus had overreached. Cost overruns at Poissy were taking their toll. By October 1939, he was desperate. In a private and confidential letter to Edsel Ford, Dollfus defended his actions and warned ‘these payments [to Poissy contractors] cannot be postponed any longer without destroying completely the credit of this organization, and, if I may say so, affecting seriously the credit of other Ford companies in Europe’. Bankruptcy loomed. Dollfus told Edsel Ford that questions were beginning to be asked in official quarters about Dearborn’s commitment to Ford SAF and to France.81 Faced with this missive, Edsel Ford and Sorensen gave way. Dearborn agreed to inject $2 million into Ford SAF, half of which was to be in the form of machinery, the remaining $1 million to be split into a $680,000 cash advance and a $320,000 purchase of 12,000 shares of Matford. Dollfus was relieved: ‘My greatest problem was the financial one; that is practically over now.’82 While Dollfus obtained what he wanted, he had overextended Ford SAF. The months of the Phony War demonstrated this unequivocally, for while Matford and FordAir had handsome contracts, they failed to fulfil them. Ford SAF’s deficiencies in this regard were, of course, not unique. French industry as a whole had trouble ramping up to meet accelerating rearmament demands. Nonetheless, the confusion within Ford was acute enough that in November 1939 Edsel Ford inquired plaintively for a reckoning of what products were being made where, for he was 79 80 81 82

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 57, Dollfus to Sorensen, 9 September 1939, Dollfus to Dearborn, 15 September 1939. BFRC, FMC, ACC 507, Box 69, Dollfus memorandum, 18 September 1939. BFRC, FMC, ACC 507, Box 66, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 14 October 1939. BFRC, FMC, ACC 507, Box 66, memorandum by H. L. Moekle, 26 October 1939, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 27 October 1939.

48

Ford SAF: 1929–1940

uncertain.83 Edsel Ford’s bewilderment is understandable, for Ford SAF was attempting to keep Asnières going, while finishing Poissy and integrating Bordeaux. Dollfus, however, was to some extent responsible for this situation. As Sorensen remarked: ‘Dollfus could never stay with any plan he laid. Everyday he had a new plan.’84 The result was shifting priorities as to what would be built where. Exacerbating matters were circumstances and the need to configure multiple plants. Strasbourg had been emptied of machinery and its personnel transferred. Though some 600 men from Strasbourg were retained, labour shortages were pressing. This had begun to be an issue late in 1938 when wage pressures mounted.85 It worsened through 1939 as the upturn in Ford SAF’s fortunes mandated a larger workforce, but the demands of conscription, the coming of war and the shortage of skilled staff led to Dollfus to confide to Edsel Ford ‘[m]y greatest problem today is getting enough men to do the work we have been entrusted with’.86 Hiring women was a partial solution to the labour shortfall, an expedient that delivered some relief but not enough, for recruitment proved challenging, due to ‘shockingly low salaries’. How much labour handicapped Ford SAF is conjectural but it was a factor. Raw matériels were also becoming an issue for Ford SAF by the spring of 1940. Beyond these impediments, existed others. One was the lack of engineering expertise available to Ford SAF. This situation, which owed much to the dependence upon Ford Dearborn, had been apparent throughout the 1930s and was not corrected by the time that war came. Evidently, it was linked to the fact that Ford SAF did not have its own manufacturing plant, a state of affairs that Poissy was supposed to rectify. But Poissy was delayed repeatedly. By the autumn of 1939, it was functioning at 10 per cent of capacity. In March 1940, Dollfus admitted to Edsel Ford that the Poissy plant was still not finished, though he hoped it would be completed by mid-April.87 When the German invasion began on 10 May 1940, Ford SAF appeared to be reaching its stride. The firm made trucks, truck parts, aviation engines and components for the 20 mm Hispano-Suiza air cannon. Trucks were made at Bordeaux and assembled at Poissy. Bordeaux also made parts for the aviation engines and for the Hispano-Suiza cannon. Poissy was supposed to be turning out aviation engines. Production 83 84 85 86 87

BFRC, FMC, ACC 507, Box 66, Edsel Ford to Dollfus, 9 November 1939. BFRC, FMC, ACC 65, Box 65, Sorensen Oral Reminiscences. See too Charles E. Sorensen, My Forty Years with Ford (New York, 1956). BFRC, FMC, ACC 38, Box 40, Dollfus to Sorensen, 19 December 1938. BFRC, FMC, ACC 507, Box 66, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 27 October 1939. Wilkins and Hill, American Business Abroad, 318, for the 10 per cent figure; BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 62, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 4 March 1940.

The remaking of Ford SAF, 1938–1940

49

was rising but overall what is striking is how poor Ford SAF’s production record was. Of the 10,400 truck orders that were placed for delivery by the end of 1940, approximately 1,000 were delivered. Of the 900 fuel tankers ordered by the Air Ministry, 150 were delivered.88 Aviation engines? FordAir seems to have produced no Hispano-Suiza aviation engines. Despite Ford SAF’s uneven performance in meeting its contracts, on the eve of the Fall of France Dollfus felt confident about the future. Rearmament and war had had the effect of loosening the relationship with Ford Dearborn. Ford SAF appeared to be on the verge of financial independence. Poissy was nearing completion and the order books were full. Ford SAF was a company whose prospects of being a major player in the European market had improved dramatically. It was this promise that attracted both the Germans and Vichy after June 1940. Yet both would have done better to examine searchingly Ford SAF’s track record. If as an automobile company Ford SAF had managed the not insignificant feat of surviving the challenging environment of the 1930s, it had only done so due to the support of Ford Dearborn. What would happen once that backing was removed, as it was after May–June 1940? As a constituent of the French rearmament effort, Ford SAF had underperformed. Put charitably, it had not been able to produce what it had contracted. Dollfus had pledged the firm to undertake a variety of enterprises that were beyond its physical, labour and engineering capacities. This reality was obscured by the dazzling lure of Poissy. Once the latter was completed, the bottlenecks constraining Ford SAF’s productive capacity would disappear – or so it was imagined.

88

Vauvillier and Touraine, L’Automobile sous l’uniforme, 77 and 103.

2

The initial struggle for control: 1940–1941

Everything changed with France’s rapid defeat in the summer of 1940. Unleashed on 10 May, the German offensive in the West scored a decisive success in a matter of days when tank units managed to break through the French lines in the Ardennes, cross the Meuse River and begin their dash to the Channel. Before long, the bulk of Anglo-French armies found themselves out-manoeuvred and cut off. As early as 15 May, a distraught Paul Reynaud, the French premier, informed Winston Churchill, the newly appointed British prime minister, that ‘[w]e have been defeated; we have lost the battle’.1 Reynaud’s bleak assessment proved all too accurate. On 27 May, the British expeditionary force, together with elements of the French army, began the withdrawal by sea at Dunkirk. Less than a month later, on 17 June, Marshal Philippe Pétain, now French premier, asked the Germans for an armistice. Signed five days later in a forest clearing in Compiègne, located north-east of Paris, the armistice agreement marked France’s military exit from the war. Provisional in nature, the armistice agreement was to be replaced by a formal peace treaty at the end of the war. In the meantime, the Germans sought to keep their options open, which helps to explain the document’s brevity. Under the terms of the armistice, France was divided into several parts, the principal ones being an occupied zone that included most of northern France and that extended down the Atlantic coast to the Spanish border; and an unoccupied zone covering much of southern France and whose capital was the sleepy spa town of Vichy. This division would last until November 1942 when German troops entered the unoccupied zone. The French army and air force were effectively disarmed and its fleet demobilized in its home ports. If anything, the economic terms were briefer still. Article 17 forbid the French from transferring ‘economic valuables and provisions’ from the occupied to the unoccupied zone, while article 18 stipulated that the French government would be

1

Jackson, The Fall of France, 9.

50

German policy

51

responsible for all occupation costs – an article that the Germans would use to extract resources on a massive scale. All other issues would be dealt with by a Franco-German armistice commission that would include an economic section. The open-ended nature of the armistice agreement is significant because it meant that the concrete aspects of the German occupation would be worked out – or negotiated – afterwards. This process would involve both German and French officials at the highest levels, but it would also include a wide range of other actors, among them Ford SAF. German policy The Germans were woefully unprepared for the Occupation. The lightning-quick victory in the West had caught Hitler and his minions by surprise. Even so, given that the Nazi regime had been preparing for a war of conquest from the beginning, it is remarkable how little attention was paid beforehand to the details of occupation. As Josef Goebbels, the Nazi propaganda maestro, admitted to journalists just one month before the German offensive in the West: ‘If anyone asks how you conceive the new Europe, we have to reply that we don’t know.’2 This is true not only of the political-legal constraints (if any) on the powers of the occupation authorities, but also of the larger aims and nature of the Occupation. A November 1939 directive concerning the future administration of occupied territories in Western Europe assigned the task to the army high command and indicated that the treatment of local populations would depend on their behaviour towards the Germans. Mention of longer-term aims – and especially of annexationist plans – was to be strictly avoided. Two points are worth underscoring. One is that the Germans clearly distinguished between Eastern and Western Europe. The defeat of Poland in September 1939 marked the beginning of widescale atrocities against civilians as well as the complete disappearance of the Polish state.3 Nothing similar was envisaged for the West. The second noteworthy point is that the Germans conceived of their projected occupation in the West largely in reactive terms, a principle reiterated in another directive issued on the eve of the offensive in May 1940. The civilian populations would be ‘protected and economic life maintained’

2 3

Cited in Mark Mazower, Hitler’s Empire: Nazi Rule in Occupied Europe (London, 2008), 121. For Poland see Alexander B. Rossino, Hitler Strikes Poland: Blitzkrieg, Ideology and Atrocity (Lawrence, KS, 2003); and Jochen Böhler, Auftakt zum Vernichtungskrieg. Die Wehrmacht in Polen 1939 (Frankfurt am Main, 2006).

52

The initial struggle for control: 1940–1941

insofar as they avoided ‘hostile acts’ which included the undefined category of ‘passive resistance’.4 This uncertainty carried over into the initial thinking on economicindustrial policy. That the French economy would be exploited to Germany’s benefit was self-evident; but the question of how and to what extent was initially unclear. Instructions from the army high command in October 1939 stated that the ‘principal task’ of an occupation was to encourage a ‘calm and loyal attitude of [local] populations’. Accordingly, ‘the protection’ of economic goods in general and of private property in particular took priority over the needs of the occupation forces or the German people. Such altruism, however, quickly proved ephemeral: by year’s end the talk was of using the resources of the occupied territories in the ‘interests of the Wehrmacht and of home (Heimat)’.5 Fuelling this change was a growing awareness that Germany’s war economy was reaching the limits of its capacity. Already in November 1939, General Georg Thomas, head of the economic section of the OKW (armed forces high command), had warned that shortages of capacity and labour meant that ‘the war economy in its present form could not continue’. Hitler’s response was to step up production in the run-up to the offensive in the West – a decision that Adam Tooze aptly describes as ‘going for broke’.6 Thomas had little choice but to acquiesce. Nevertheless, the yawning gap in war production between demand and capacity did mean that Thomas and his staff would cast ever more covetous eyes at the potential riches of Western Europe. Thus, in instructions drawn up in February 1940, armaments teams were told that their first task in occupied Western Europe was to identify factories that could work for the Wehrmacht. Significantly, the instructions remarked that such work could only be undertaken on a voluntary and contractual basis.7 These developments are important because occupied France would be placed under military authority, the MbF, which possessed a staff that fluctuated between 1,200 and 1,600 during the war. Within the MbF, the economic sub-section was directly subordinate to Thomas and the OKW 4

5 6

7

‘Führer’s Directive’, 9 May 1940, Documents on German Foreign Policy, series D, vol. IX, 300–1. For the November directive, see Bernhardt R. Kroener et al., eds., Das Deutsche Reich und der Zweite Weltkrieg, V/1: Kriegsverwaltung, Wirtschaft und Personelle Resourcen 1939–41 (Stuttgart, 1988), 5/1, 56–7. BA-MA RW 19/1779, ‘Wirtschaftliche Aufgaben im besetzten Gebiet’, Wirtschaftsabteilung, 13 November 1939; and ‘Richtlinien für I Wi’, undated but late 1939. BA-MA RW 19/1792, ‘Aktennotiz. Besprechung General Thomas mit Minister Funk und Staatssekretär Posse am 7.11.1939’; and Tooze, The Wages of Destruction, 326–67. BA-MA RW 19/1779, ‘Rüstungswirtschaft. 1. Aufgaben der Rüstungsdienststellen im besetzten Gebiet’, 5 February 1940.

German policy

53

in Berlin. Although the military administration was quickly established, German economic policy initially remained uncertain. When the Germans entered France they immediately embarked on large-scale plunder. In principle, plunder was to be limited to what individual soldiers confiscated as ‘war booty’ – money, weapons, bicycles, food, etc. In reality, however, the practice was far more extensive and systematic. In July 1940, Thomas approved the seizure of all stocks of scarce raw matériels and of factory machines. As a result, the Germans continued to take almost everything they could get their hands on, loading trains that were then sent to Germany. In October 1940, German officials estimated that almost 4,000 industrial machines had been removed from France, a figure that would climb to well over 16,000 by the end of 1941.8 Few companies were completely spared. In the case of Ford SAF, twenty-four train cars (wagons) of matériel were seized from its Asnières plant, some of which found its way to other Ford companies in Europe (Anvers and Amsterdam).9 Plunder on such a scale, however, amounted to an immediate and temporary fix rather than a long-term policy. Aware of this, the army moved quickly to limit the ‘uncontrolled seizures’ of goods.10 More generally, while plundering would continue at a reduced level throughout 1940–1, the occupation authorities understood that a more sustained and less one-sided approach was needed if Germany were to reap the full benefits of French industrial capacity. For Thomas’ staff, as already indicated, the answer was to get French factories working for the Wehrmacht. Developments on the ground, meanwhile, pointed in this direction. As soon as the armistice agreement was signed, German industrialists began to descend on France in search of possible sub-contractors. By and large, they found a receptive audience among French industrialists, the vast majority of whom were eager to get their factories and labour force working once again. In the automobile industry, for example, French companies were determined to restart production that had been disrupted by the recent upheavals. Although some companies such as Renault initially hesitated to take a lead, seeking political cover from French authorities, it was self-evident to

8

9

10

BA-MA RW 24/2, ‘Kriegstagbuch Wehrwirtschafts – und Rüstungsstab Frankreich’, ‘Bericht der Ereignisse’, 7 October 1940; and RW 24/3, ‘Bericht der Ereignisse’, 1 December 1941. AP, Ford SAF, DOS 2008 RE-30422, Ford SAF, ‘Rapport sur la vie de Ford S.A.F. pendant la guerre (1er Septembre 1939 – 1er Novembre 1944)’, undated, 8; and AN 3W/ 230, Schmidt (Ford-Werke) to Major Dr Voekler (GBK), 20 December 1940. For more on German plundering, see Radtke-Delacor, ‘Produire pour le Reich’, 101–3. BA-MA RW 35/522, untitled note from Oberbefehlshaber des Heeres. Der Chef der Militärverwaltung in Frankreich. Verwaltungstab, 19 August 1940.

54

The initial struggle for control: 1940–1941

all concerned that getting back to work meant working in large part for the occupiers. Consequently, by the end of August 1940 German officials could report that thirty-one automobile factories in or around Paris had received German army (Heer) contracts, notably among them the Ford SAF factories in Asnières and Poissy.11 German policy quickly adapted to the changing situation. As early as mid-July, a high-ranking official in the German automobile industry informed a meeting of French producers that the occupation authorities wanted to see a quick ‘remise en marche’ of production.12 Any lingering doubts were swept aside the following month when Hermann Göring, the German industrial chief, issued a decree calling for the ‘systematic’ exploitation of Western Europe’s resources, effectively clearing the way for the large-scale use of French industrial capacity. For this purpose, a clearing house was created (ZASt) within the MbF to coordinate (and oversee) the placing of contracts with French companies. Although Göring’s decree sought to restrict contracts to ‘indirect war matériel’ (i.e., mostly parts rather than complete products), this distinction soon became meaningless, in large part because the ZASt proved ineffective as German industrialists and military procurement officials preferred to deal directly with French companies.13 As a result, the tide of contracts of all kinds quickly rose. By January 1941, German occupation officials estimated that some 435 French factories had received German contracts for a total value of 1.5 billion Reichsmarks. With good reason, Arne RadtkeDelacor has described Göring’s 1940 decree as the ‘charter’ for FrancoGerman business relations.14 Göring’s ambitions That Göring played a leading role in promoting the placement of industrial contracts in occupied Western Europe is significant. As head of the Four Year Plan organization, he had been a pivotal figure in the Nazi 11

12 13

14

For Renault’s position, see BA-MA RW 24/15, ‘Lagebericht des Wirtschafts- u. Rüstungsstabes Frankreich für die Zeit bis 31.7.1940’, 5 August 1940. For contracts, see NARA T 77/1255, Rüstungsinspektion Paris, ‘Firmenbelegung durch Wehrmachtteil Heer’, 25 September 1940. AN Z/6NL/3 dossier 9SP, ‘Note de M. de Peyrecave’, 30 June 1947. BAL R 3101/30839, RWM circular, ‘Planmässige Ausnutzung der Wirtschaft der besetzten westlichen Gebiete für die deutsche Kriegswirtschaft’, 28 August 1940, and accompanying documents; for ‘indirect war matériel’, see BA-MA RW 24/15, Chef des Wirtschafts- u. Rüstungsstab Frankreich, ‘Tätigkeitsbericht’, no. 559/40, 10 August 1940. AN AJ 40/776, ‘Bericht zum 18. Januar 1941. C. Die franz. Wirtschaft. I. Allgemeines’; and Radtke-Delacor, ‘Produire pour le Reich’, 104.

Göring’s ambitions

55

regime’s economic preparations for war before 1939, fully sharing Hitler’s determination to accelerate armaments production despite the increasing strains caused by Germany’s limited resources. In a meeting with German industrialists in 1936, Göring typically exclaimed that the phrase ‘it is impossible’ simply did not apply to rearmament.15 But his ambitions and radicalism extended well beyond Germany. Once the war began, Göring emerged as a powerful proponent of recasting the European economy with the ultimate goal of creating a continental empire. Interestingly, Göring was hardly alone in dreaming of empire. Following Germany’s military victories in the West, a variety of governmental and nongovernmental agencies – the Foreign Ministry, the German Reichsbank and various industrial organizations – began to consider the economic outlines of a post-war, German-dominated Europe. At a meeting in June 1940 of the economic group for the German automobile industry, an organization comprising principally of company representatives, the participants were told that they must collectively begin to prepare for the ‘expansion of the German economic space [in Europe]’ which the ‘victorious end to the war would inevitably produce’.16 From the beginning, a deep-seated ambivalence characterized much of this dreaming about European empire. As might be expected with Nazi Germany, domineering impulses were amply evident. For example, in June 1940 an Interior Ministry official wrote a memorandum on Germany’s western borders that proposed permanently weakening France by reducing it to a ‘core area’ (Kerngebiet), separated from most of its most valuable industrial areas. Far from unique, the memorandum’s hostility towards France reflected a powerful strain within the Nazi regime in 1940 – a strain Hitler himself endorsed.17 At the same time, it is possible to detect more moderate impulses, particularly within commercial, industrial and financial circles. While taking for granted that Germany would dominate a post-war European economy, leading members of these circles believed that the Germans would be better served by a more cooperative approach that took into account the interests of other countries. As one high-ranking German Reichsbank official wrote in 15

16 17

Göring is cited in Jost Dülffer, ‘Die “Gruppe Otto Wolfe” 1929 bis 1945’ in Peter Danylow and Ulrich S. Soénius, eds., Otto Wolf: Ein Unternehmen zwischen Wirtschaft und Politik (Munich, 2005), 176. For Göring more generally, see R. J. Overy, Göring, the ‘Iron Man’ (Boston, MA, 1984). MBA, Bestand Kissel, 7.2, Wirtschaftsgruppe Kraftfahrzeug, ‘Niederschrift über die Beiratssitzung am 6.6.1940’, 6 June 1940. Peter Schöttler, ‘Eine Art “Generalplan West”. Die Stuckart-Denkschrift vom 14. Juli 1940 und die Planungen für eine neue deutsch-französishe Grenze im Zweiten Weltkrieg’, Sozial.Geschichte, 18 (2003), 83–131. Schöttler argues that it is quite possible that Hitler read the memorandum.

56

The initial struggle for control: 1940–1941

August 1940, ‘the individual peoples [of Europe] should not be forced into a greater German economic bloc but should be persuaded to participate in a continental European economic community’. If talk of an economic community was probably far-fetched, the note of restraint is nevertheless worth underscoring.18 For Göring, however, any idea of restraint was anathema. His views, moreover, carried particular weight. In addition to his various titles, Göring was Hitler’s presumptive heir. Although his authority would soon begin to decline, in 1940 Göring was still a powerful figure within the Nazi regime. From the outset of the war, he used his considerable influence to advocate a ruthless and one-sided approach to Europe’s economic future, one in which the organized exploitation of other countries would be the guiding principle. An important element of this approach was the ‘Germanization’ of Europe’s economy. Walter Funk, the German economics minister and close ally of Göring, explained what this meant in a July 1940 speech: the creation of a continental bloc modelled on Nazi Germany’s economic system. In this conception, other countries would be compelled not only ‘to organize their economies according to the needs of the German market’, but also to adopt more dirigiste methods. Germany’s ‘prodigious [military] successes’, Funk asserted, had decisively demonstrated the superiority of its economic system and the inadequacies of economic liberalism. As a result, ‘[t]here can be no question of re-establishing the free play of competitive forces’.19 Funk’s concluding remarks are especially pertinent in light of the widespread belief among German officials that France constituted a bastion of economic liberalism. Reporting to the MbF on his recent visit to occupied France in September 1940, one German observer deplored the dominance of a mental ‘attitude [associated with] a pure liberal-capitalist economic system’. French industrialists in particular, he added, appeared unable to grasp ‘the concept of a unified national-military armaments economy’ that was so familiar to their German counterparts. Similarly, an undated MbF assessment described France as the ‘classical country of economic liberalism’, adding that in 1940 it did not possess ‘even the

18

19

BAL R 2501/7017, Reichsbank (Volkswirtschaftliche Abteiliung) to Dr Reithinger (Leiter der Volkswirtschaftlichen Abteilung der I. G. Farbenindustrie A. G.), 30 August 1940. The leading historian of Germany’s continental European plans detected an important element of restraint – an element he attributed to sentiments of ‘European solidarity’ and an attachment to economic liberalism. See Jacques Freymond, Le IIIe Reich et la réorganisation économique de l’Europe 1940–1942 (Leiden, 1974), 103–8, 127–35, 155–8. For Funk’s speech, see the résumé in Ministère des Affaires ètrangères, Vichy 622, ‘Lettre no. 31. L’unification économique de l’Europe d’après le discours du ministre allemand de l’économie nationale’, Berne, 30 July 1940.

Göring’s ambitions

57

modest beginnings of a planned economy’.20 For Göring’s Four Year Plan, it was self-evident that the French needed ‘a new economic face’.21 During the coming months and years, the need to mobilize French productive capacity for Germany’s war effort would reinforce this impulse, but the larger ambition of ‘Germanizing’ the French and European economies would not disappear entirely. Meanwhile, the goal of remodelling France’s economic system so that it resembled more closely that of Nazi Germany could provide the occupation authorities with valuable leverage over Vichy, precisely because many French officials also believed that economic liberalism belonged to the past. In a public address in September 1941, a high-ranking German embassy official welcomed what he saw as signs that the French were turning their back on the ‘old liberalist (liberalistische) economy’, remarking pointedly that this development could lay the basis for a Franco-German partnership in the construction of a new Europe. Conspicuous among those in attendance at the event was François Lehideux.22 If Göring fully agreed with Funk’s general outline for Germanizing the European economy, he placed particular emphasis on two related aims. The first was to increase the presence of German companies in Europe, principally through the purchase or confiscation of local companies or through some form of unequal partnership between local and German companies. ‘One goal of German economic policy’, he secretly instructed in August 1940, ‘is the enlargement of German influence in foreign enterprises.’ Writing to Funk the same month, Göring called for the ‘intensive penetration’ by German capital of the economies of occupied Europe. Equally significant, he insisted that this task could not await the end of the war but must begin at once: ‘I ask you to pursue during the war with all available means the acquisition for the German economy of leading economic positions in France or of dominant economic positions in third countries in French, Dutch, Belgian or Norwegian possession.’23 For Göring, then, the priority was to increase Germany’s economic presence in France. As we shall see, this effort had implications not only for French industry as a whole but also for Ford SAF. 20 21 22 23

BA-MA RW 24/15, ‘Bericht über Frankreich’, Schwarz, 24 September 1940; and AN F 37/28, ‘Rohstoff-Bewirtschaftung und Auftragsverlagerung in Frankreich’, undated. ‘Französischer Wirtschaftsreform’, Der Vierjahresplan, 4, 20 (October 1940), 899. PAAA, Botschaft Paris, 2405, ‘Ansprache Lyon für Herrn Gesandten Schleier’, 25 September 1941. Göring is cited in Stephen H. Lindner, Das Reichskommissariat für die Behandlung feindlichen Vermögens im Zweiten Weltkrieg (Stuttgart, 1991), 43; and BAL R 2501/7017, Göring to Funk, 17 August 1940.

58

The initial struggle for control: 1940–1941

For Ford SAF in particular, however, it was Göring’s second aim that would cause the greatest concern: to reduce and eventually eliminate the presence of foreign (non-European) companies in Europe. Of decisive importance was German policy towards enemy-owned companies. Interministerial discussions in Berlin on the subject had begun in the autumn of 1938 following the brush with war during the Czech crisis. At the time, the participants agreed to two wartime principles: to respect private property and to confiscate enemy assets (including companies) in Germany only as retaliation for measures against German property abroad. At a meeting soon after the start of the war, officials reaffirmed these two principles and further agreed that administrators would be imposed on foreign companies to ensure that they worked ‘in conformity with the interests of the Reich’.24 The Justice Ministry was charged with drafting a decree on the treatment of enemy assets, which was issued in January 1940. Although in principle the decree applied only to Germany, it was understood that it would also determine policy in the occupied territories. Stephen Lindner, who has written a valuable history of the bureaucratic entity charged with overseeing enemy assets, the Reichskommissariat für die Behandlung feindlichen Vermögens (RkBfV), describes the decree as ‘astounding’ in its moderation.25 While Lindner is correct to highlight this aspect, two related points need to be kept in mind. The first concerns the United States. In drawing up the decree German officials had Britain and France chiefly in mind. But the United States also figured in their thinking. In part, this was because several American companies in Germany, among them Ford-Werke, were technically owned by companies listed in Britain.26 A weightier factor, however, was the desire not to jeopardize American neutrality. Washington’s open sympathy for the Allies, together with the country’s vast resources, not only made the United States a potential enemy, but also one whose belligerence could decisively affect the course of the war. In December 1939, for example, the OKW warned that the proposed decree on the treatment of enemy assets must contain nothing that might provoke the neutral powers, by which it 24

25 26

BAL R 2/30023, Auswärtiges Amt, ‘Niedershrift über die am 7.10.1938 im Auswärtigen Amt stattgefunden Besprechung wegen Behandlung feindlichen Vermögens im Falle eines Krieges’, 13 October 1938; and ibid., Reichsminister der Justiz circular, vo. Va 6 1343, 28 October 1939. See Lindner, Das Reichskommissariat, 32, and, more generally, 29–40. On this point, see Philipp Grassert, ‘Keine rein geschäftliche Angelegenheit: Die “Feindvermögensfrage” und die Auseinandersetzungen um die amerikanischen Investitionen im Dritten Reich’ in Manfred Berg and Philipp Grassert, eds., Deutschland und die USA in der Internationalen Geschichte des 20. Jahrhunderts (Stuttgart, 2004), 353–4.

Göring’s ambitions

59

clearly meant the United States.27 And this leads to the second point: the policy embodied in the January 1940 decree did not enjoy a consensus. That this was so became clear at an inter-ministerial meeting in February 1940 in the offices of the newly created RkBfV. At issue was the nature and scope of the activities of company administrators. OKW and Foreign Ministry officials recommended a minimalist interpretation that would strictly limit the ability of an administrator to intervene in a company’s management. By contrast, officials from the Interior and Finance Ministries wanted administrators to be armed with extensive powers, including the authority to liquidate a company. Given the disagreement, the RkBfV was able to impose its own viewpoint, which was that enemy companies should be treated as German companies – i.e., that they should be left largely alone. Interestingly, in justifying its position the agency looked to the post-war period, suggesting that enemy-owned companies could serve as useful cards in negotiations over reparations and war damages.28 Göring’s Four Year Plan organization played almost no role in the discussions during 1939–40. But this relative silence quickly ended with the German military victories in Western Europe. Largely as a result of Göring’s insistent pressure, during July–August 1940 a series of inter-ministerial meetings occurred to discuss whether the time had come to abandon the existing policy and to proceed with the ‘exploitation’ (Verwertung) of enemyowned property. Taking the lead, Göring’s officials maintained that ‘a rapid entry by Germany into the enemy’s economic position, especially in the occupied territories, was desirable’. In particular, they wanted to use German-appointed administrators to eliminate enemy-owned companies. At these meetings, Göring’s officials received strong backing from their counterparts in the Economics Ministry, highlighting the emerging alliance between Göring and Funk. As for Göring himself, he pointed to Hitler’s apparent disinterest in the economic aspects of a final peace treaty as a reason for action. Reiterating his comments to Funk, Göring insisted that effort to ‘secure’ Germany’s ‘economic position’ in Europe must begin at once and not after the war, since by then it would be too late.29

27

28

29

BAL R 2/30023, Oberkommando der Wehrmacht circular, Wi. Rü Amt, B. Br. 7089/39, 14 December 1943, with attachment: ‘Stellungnahme zu dem Entwurf des Reichsministers der Justiz einer Verordnung über die Behandlungen feindlichen Vermögens’, 14 December 1939. BAL R 87/56, ‘Sitzung des Reichskommissars für die Behandlung feindlichen Vermögens für Freitag, den 16. Februar 1940’; and R 2/30038, ‘Vermerk über die Besprechung bei dem Reichskommissar für die Behandlung feindlichen Vermögens am 16. Februar 1940, 16 Uhr’, undated. BAL R 87/67, ‘Aktenvermerk’, RkBfV, 11 August 1940.

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The initial struggle for control: 1940–1941

Although continued opposition from the Justice and Foreign Ministries as well as from the RkBfV blocked any change, Göring had no intention of dropping the subject. Indeed, in December 1940 officials from the Four Year Plan and the Economics Ministry reiterated their calls for a change in policy, arguing in particular for a decree that would permit the ‘forced sale’ of enemy-owned companies in occupied Europe.30 After considerable debate, the RkBfV decided to prepare a draft decree along these lines for possible use in the future. There, matters stood for the time being. Although Göring had failed to impose his views, his determination to Germanize the European economy remained undimmed. Indeed, he would pursue his campaign with renewed vigour. As the war dragged on and final victory receded from view, the urgent need to exploit occupied Europe’s resources not only came to trump longer-term perspectives, but also tended to reinforce the economic status quo since it could be plausibly argued that any change would be disruptive in the short term. In this context, German policy towards enemy-owned firms in occupied Europe became a means for Göring to resist this process and, in so doing, to keep open the possibility of a profound transformation of the European economy after the war. The American entry into the conflict in December 1941 would greatly increase the stakes involved, prompting Göring to renew his campaign against enemy – and especially American – companies in occupied Europe. In the meantime, the immediate future of American-owned companies in Hitler’s Europe would be determined not by decisions in Berlin but by developments on the ground. During 1940–1, Ford SAF found itself threatened by Ford-Werke, Ford’s German affiliate, which sought to take advantage of Germany’s military victories to replace Dearborn as the centre of Ford’s European empire. That Ford-Werke’s ambitions accorded with those of Göring to eliminate the American presence in Europe’s economy only added to the threatening situation facing Ford SAF. The GBK In its concrete, everyday aspects, German policy towards the French automobile industry and Ford SAF in particular would initially be determined by the German organization in charge of the automobile industry – the Generalbevollmächtigten für das Kraftfahrwesen (GBK). Created in 30

BAL 87/208, ‘Aktenvermerk’, RkBfV, no. 24759/40, 20 December 1940; and BAL R 2/ 30024, Reichsminister der Justiz circular, no. 6536/40, 23 December 1940, with attachment: ‘Vermerk über die Staatssekretärbesprechung am 16. Dezember 1940’, undated.

The GBK

61

November 1938 by Göring and headed by General Adolf von Schell, a military expert in motorization who in 1930–1 had studied Ford Dearborn’s production methods first hand while posted in the United States, the GBK was given the dual task of increasing output for the Wehrmacht and of encouraging the rationalization of the German automobile industry, principally by concentrating production in fewer companies and by reducing the number of vehicle types. A decree in March 1939 envisaged drastic reductions, for example slashing automobile-types from 52 to 30 and truck-types from 113 to 19.31 The latter goal, however, met with considerable resistance from the automobile companies, who found the process neither economically nor politically attractive. But the GBK’s biggest problem was to meet the regime’s ever-growing demands for greater production at a time of mounting shortages of matériels and manpower. In July 1940, the head of Daimler-Benz, speaking for the industry as a whole, informed Schell that German automobile companies were stretched beyond the limits of their resources and that the GBK’s production programme for 1940–1 simply could not be met. Either more resources would have to be found or the programme would have to be reduced.32 Given this situation, it is hardly surprising that in the summer of 1940 the GBK looked to Western Europe and to France in particular with covetous eyes. No sooner had German troops arrived in Paris than the GBK established an office there under Colonel (later General) Max Thoenissen. Under Thoenissen, the GBK in Paris had two partly overlapping priorities. The first and most immediate one was to get French automobile companies working for the Germans as quickly as possible. Accordingly, Thoenissen sought to put a stop to the practice of plundering French companies, deeming it counter-productive; back in Berlin, meanwhile, Schell warned German industrialists that they would be arrested if they seized machines and matériel in France. More generally, Schell informed the latter that the French automobile industry must be encouraged to produce ‘as many vehicles as possible’, and this for both political and economic reasons: If we make it impossible for the French worker to gain their bread, if we remove the possibility for him to work, then we must feed him and employ him. If we throw the French, who were previously working, onto the street then we impose on ourselves a political burden that is too heavy. [What we need to do instead is] to build up

31

32

H. S. Granf von Scherr-Thoss, Die deutsche Automobilindustrie. Eine Dokumentation von 1886 bis heute (Stuttgart, 1974), 333; and Peter Kirchberg and Siegfried Bunke, Vom Horch zum Munga. Militärfahrzeuge der Auto Union (Bielefeld, 2010), 95–7. MBA, Bestand Kissel, 9.27, Kissel to Schell, 25 July 1940.

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The initial struggle for control: 1940–1941

fully the possibility to exploit the [existing] capacity of automobile manufacturing, a capacity which we simply need regardless of whether it is Renault or MercedesBenz or the Auto-Union or Citroën.

Schell’s exhortations were partly a response to resistance. If some German companies sought to place contracts in France, especially for the production of various vehicle parts, the German automobile industry as a whole hesitated to encourage the recovery of its French counterpart for fear of creating a post-war rival. For Schell, such hesitations were unacceptable. France’s industrial potential, he intoned, should not be seen as a ‘competitor’ but as a vital complement to Germany’s war effort.33 The GBK’s second priority was to begin to create a Western European automobile industry. In brandishing this prospect, the GBK no doubt hoped to reassure German industrialists that the current efforts to exploit the French automobile industry would not work to their longer-term detriment. But more was at stake. The underlying question was how to organize Europe’s economy following Germany’s expected victory. And this question solicited different responses within the GBK. To be sure, everyone agreed that the German automobile industry would enjoy a dominant position after the war. But there was far less consensus on the question of how Germany should use this position. Schell’s views resembled those of Göring and of the Nazi regime. He believed that the German automobile industry must become the ‘expression of the national socialist [Nazi] viewpoint’ – that it should be first and foremost the instrument of Nazi Germany’s larger political ambitions.34 For Schell, this meant exploiting the Occupation to construct a post-war European ‘economic space’ that would operate to Germany’s unique benefit. The automobile industries of other countries would not simply be subordinate to that of Germany; they would effectively be absorbed by it. The task of French (and other) companies would merely be to produce German vehicles, the number and nature of which would be determined exclusively by the Germans. Dictation and not collaboration would be the order of the day. For Schell, moreover, the principal purpose of this Europeansized German automobile industry was to enable it to become competitive (konkurrenzfähig) with the American automobile industry. Reflecting the continentalist perspective popular in Nazi Germany at the time, he envisaged the European (German) and American industries locked in a postwar duel for global supremacy – a duel that would constitute one part of a 33 34

MBA, Bestand Kissel, 9.28, ‘Vortrag des Generals von Schell am 4.9.1940. (Stenogram)’, undated. Adolf von Schell, ‘Nationalsozialistische Wirtschaftsformen und Kraftfahrzeugindustrie’, Der Vierjahresplan, 3, 17 (September 1939), 571.

The GBK

63

greater struggle between a German-dominated Europe and the United States.35 Thoenissen’s approach was different. By 1940, Göring’s officials had come to suspect that the GBK had been co-opted by the automobile industry. That Thoenissen would head the German automobile industry’s professional association after the war suggests that their suspicions were not completely unfounded.36 But Thoenissen was never simply a spokesman for the German automobile industry. Like Schell, he sought to compel German companies to collaborate with their French counterparts. His vision of the post-war European automobile industry, however, was markedly less unilateralist and domineering – a vision which helps to explain his future tenure as president of the Bureau international des constructeurs d’automobiles during the 1950s. As Thoenissen explained in November 1940, Germany had to construct Europe’s economic future with and not against other countries. Referring to the French automobile industry in particular, he insisted that it should not be ‘smash[ed]’, not only because the Germans desperately needed its productive capacity but also because Germany’s own experience with the Versailles treaty had shown that a punitive peace bred resentment and resistance – sentiments that handicapped efforts at cooperation. And this was Thoenissen’s basic point: more could be gained through collaboration than through dictation. Consequently, he envisaged the post-war European automobile industry as a cartel in which each national industry would be assigned particular markets and product types. Industrial rationalization would proceed on a European-wide basis and in negotiation between the cartel’s members; it would not simply amount to the superimposition of Germany’s automobile industry on the others. If Germany’s voice would undoubtedly speak louder than others, Thoenissen clearly had in mind a form of partnership between the various countries and industries. Significantly, he explicitly rejected Göring’s idea of exploiting the Occupation to increase Germany’s economic presence in Europe by taking over companies.37

35 36

37

MBA, Bestand Kissel, 9.48, ‘Ansprache des Herrn Generalmajor v. Schell vor der Kraftfahrpresse am 24. September 1940’, undated. For Göring’s officials, see Kirchberg and Bunke, Vom Horch zum Munga, 94. For Thoenissen, see www.lexikon-der-wehrmacht.de/Personenregister/T/ThoenissenMax. htm; and Marine Moguen-Toursel, ‘Max Thoenissen: des commandes de guerre aux structures européennes de l’automobile’ in Olivier Dard and Gilles Richard, eds., Les permanents patronaux: éléments pour l’histoire de l’organisation du patronat en France dans la première moitié du XXe siècle (Metz, 2005), 125–41. MBA, Bestand Kissel, 9.28, Wirtschaftsgruppe Kraftfahrzeug, ‘Niederschrift über die Beiratssiztung am 28.11.1940’, 4 December 1940.

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The initial struggle for control: 1940–1941

Once established in Paris, Thoenissen quickly made his influence felt. Under the GBK’s aegis, representatives of the French, German and Italian automobile industries began discussing the outlines of a post-war international cartel in late 1940, leading to an agreement in the spring of 1941 to create a ‘European automobile committee’ (EAC) with Thoenissen himself as president. Although conceived with the post-war period in mind, the committee soon began to study a variety of issues such as the division of the European market, the reduction of vehicle types and the standardization of production across national industries.38 Meanwhile, Thoenissen sought to build a partnership with the French automobile industry, principally (as we shall see) by promoting Lehideux’s COA as the GBK’s privileged interlocutor. In partnership with the COA, he strove to profit from the growing number of German contracts with French companies to encourage the rationalization of the French automobile industry. Through its allocation of contracts and scarce matériels, for example, the GBK worked to reduce the number of companies and of vehicle types. If one obvious goal of these efforts was to increase production in the short term, another one was to integrate the French automobile industry more closely with Germany’s, helping thereby to lay the basis for the post-war period. At the same time, the GBK also sought to establish its influence at the company level. In May 1940, the German military authorities issued a decree enabling them to appoint ‘administrative commissars’ to companies in occupied France which possessed valuable productive capacity and whose directors were deemed potentially unreliable. Seizing an opportunity, the GBK during the summer arranged for administrators to be named to almost all French automobile companies. In principle, the commissars enjoyed a considerable say in all aspects of a company’s operations, though in practice their authority varied greatly depending on the particular circumstances.39 Apparently unhappy with this flux, the MbF issued a new decree in November 1940 which greatly widened the commissar’s powers, paving the way for what one post-war report

38

39

AN 3W/234, Armand (COA) to Norguet (Ministère de la production industrielle), 7 May 1941, with attachment: ‘Comité européen de l’automobile’, undated; and ibid., ‘Entwurf einer Geschäftsordnung der Vorläufigen Kommission für die Zusammenarbeit der europäischen Automobilindustrie’, 27 January 1942. BA-MA RW 35/256, ‘Kommissarische Verwaltungen auf Grund der Geschäftsführung’, Wi/4, undated; AN 3W/221, ‘Note relative aux commissaires d’usines’, undated. For extensive claims to authority, see AN Z/6NL/80, ‘Compte-rendu de l’entretien du 25 juillet 1940 avec Monsieur Jordan, Directeur-Général de la Société anonyme des automobiles Peugeot’, Cpt. Dietz, undated.

French policy

65

described as a ‘virtual guardianship’ (tutelle).40 This new decree provoked a sharp response from François Lehideux who had been appointed by Vichy to head the Comité d’organisation for the French automobile industry (COA). The result was that at the end of 1940 Thoenissen negotiated an accord with Lehideux in which the GBK recognized the COA as the representative of the industry with ‘full authority’ to negotiate on behalf of its member companies. Together, the GBK and the COA would direct industrial collaboration in the automobile industry.41 As part of the accord, Thoenissen agreed to strip the German commissars appointed to French automobile companies of all their authority, reducing their role to that of ‘advisors’ without ‘any powers of intervention’. In so doing, he accepted Lehideux’s assurances that French companies would cooperate voluntarily with the Germans. No decision better illustrates Thoenissen’s collaborative approach towards the French automobile industry. Yet just as significantly, Thoenissen insisted on one exception: that of Ford SAF. In December 1940, he thus informed the company that its commissars would retain considerable authority over business operations.42 For Thoenissen, it appears, Ford SAF was an automobile company unlike the others. French policy Needless to say, the French were even less prepared for the Occupation than the Germans. If the Germans were surprised by the speed and extent of their victory, the French were in shock. But crushing defeat could also be an opportunity, particularly in the economic realm. As Richard Kuisel showed, Vichy became a meeting place for an array of groups, each with its own ideas about how to reform – or overhaul – France’s economic system. There were the corporatists who sought to restructure the economy along professional and functional as opposed to class lines; there were the conservatives who wanted to re-moralize the economy, taking as their model the supposedly non-competitive and socially integrative local community of earlier periods; there were the syndicalists who hoped to promote labour’s influence while eschewing the principle of class struggle; 40 41

42

AN Z/6NL/3, dossier 9SP, Parquet de la Cour de Justice du Département de la Seine, ‘Exposé’, 30 April 1949. AN 3W/234, ‘Protocole faisant suite aux décisions prises au cours de la Conférence entre le Colonel Thoenissen et M. Lehideux, le samedi 25 janvier 1941’, with attached note by André Lenard, undated; and 3W/221, ‘Traduction du procès-verbal des entretiens avec M. Lehideux les 13 et 16 Décembre 1940’, undated. AN Z/6NL/80, ‘Complément à la note du 10 Octobre 1944 concernant l’activité de la Société des automobiles Peugeot de Septembre 1939 à Septembre 1944’, undated.

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The initial struggle for control: 1940–1941

and there were the modernizers who were determined to transform the French economy into a dynamic, growth-oriented and internationally competitive force. Initially, this last group emerged as the most influential one, with self-described modernizers appointed to many of the leading economic posts in the government. Quickly, however, these modernizers found themselves overwhelmed by the crisis conditions created by the defeat and occupation. ‘Economic survival’, Kuisel writes, ‘thus became the dominant motive of Vichy’s political economy.’43 To be sure, the interest in long-term ‘structural change’ did not disappear. And as Kuisel and other scholars have shown, a variety of proposals emerged during the Occupation years for a planned economy of one sort or another. But under Vichy, these proposals largely remained confined to paper, waiting to be taken up after the Liberation.44 If this general portrait rings true, it does nevertheless neglect several aspects of the wartime story. First and foremost, it largely leaves out the occupiers. While the occupation regime is seen as decisive in setting the parameters within which France’s economy operated, the Germans themselves are accorded little direct influence on the making of French policy. But wartime economic policy, whether French or German, was a far more interactive process than is often portrayed. From the beginning of the Occupation, French authorities found themselves confronted with fastchanging developments on the ground – developments fuelled mostly by the actions of various German actors. The pressing need to respond to these developments would greatly shape Vichy’s economic policy, both in its short-term and long-term goals. Nowhere was the reactive element of French policy more evident than in the industrial realm. The principal French actor was supposed to be the Ministère de la production industrielle (MPI). Intended as an amalgam of four earlier Ministries (Public Works, Commerce, Armaments and Labour), the MPI in fact had to be built from scratch in the confused conditions of summer 1940. Two further factors hampered its effectiveness in industrial matters. One was the appointment of René Belin at its head. A former secretary of the Confédération générale du travail, the French trade union umbrella organization, Belin was predictably more interested in social-labour issues than in production.45 Aside from the 43

44 45

Richard Kuisel, Capitalism and the State in Modern France (Cambridge, 1983), 130–1. Also see Philip Nord, France’s New Deal: From the Thirties to the Postwar Era (Princeton, 2010), 88–115; and Gérard Brun, Technocrates et technocratie en France 1918–1945 (Paris, 1985). In addition to Kuisel, see Margairaz, L’État, les finances et l’économie, I, and Philippe Mioche, Le Plan Monnet. Genèse et élaboration, 1941–1947 (Paris, 1987). René Belin, Du Secrétariat de la CGT au gouvernement de Vichy (Paris, 1978), 124–30.

French policy

67

general goal of restarting the French economy, he appears to have had few clear ideas of his own. The second factor was the MPI’s rivalry with the Ministère de l’économie et des finances headed by Yves Bouthillier. Extremely ambitious and politically savvy, Bouthillier had no intention of confining his activities to financial issues.46 Although the MPI would successfully resist efforts to sideline it, during the opening months of the Occupation the ministry was in no position to impose its own stamp on French policy – assuming, of course, that MPI officials knew what they wanted. Meanwhile, at the same time that Belin’s MPI struggled to find its feet the Germans (as we saw) began to place contracts with French companies. The quickening flow of these contracts soon compelled the French authorities to define a position. For the Vichy government, as a French official explained to his German counterpart in September 1940, producing for the occupiers posed several dangers, most notably among them the risk of provoking British reprisals and of alienating French opinion which might be ‘shocked by such intense collaboration with Germany’.47 These dangers prompted the French authorities to try to place limits on German contracts, particularly in terms of what could be produced. On the basis of a recently signed law, the MPI in October 1940 issued instructions that no contracts be accepted for goods of an ‘offensive character’; the following month it reiterated the instructions, referring this time to ‘war matériel’.48 These proposed restrictions, it is worth recalling, mirrored those that Göring had earlier sought to impose on the Germans, who were instructed to place contracts for ‘indirect’ and ‘unimportant’ (i.e., non-war matériel) goods. In both cases, the restrictions proved ineffective. One problem is that they were confusing: the distinction between offensive and non-offensive goods or even between war and non-war matériel was far from clear-cut. That the MPI allowed French firms to repair (but not to assemble) German tanks underscores this point. But a bigger problem was that neither the Germans with contracts to give nor the French companies who sought

46

47

48

One sign of Bouthillier’s expansive conception of his role was his advice during 1939–40 that France needed to scale back its war effort for fear of the economic, social and political costs. See Centre des archives économiques et financières, Savigny-le-Temple (CAEF) B 33196, ‘Note pour le ministre’, no. 259, 4 January 1940, Bouthillier. ‘Procès-verbal de l’entretien entre M. Hemmen et M. de Boisanger le 24 septembre, 11 heures’, reproduced in France, La Délégation française auprès de la Commission allemande d’armistice. Recueil de documents publié par le Gouvernement français, I (Paris, 1947), 45. AN 3W/234, MPI to Lehideux (COA), 23 October 1940; and AN F 12/9962, MPI (Service des commandes allemandes) to COA, 12 November 1940.

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The initial struggle for control: 1940–1941

them appear to have paid much attention to such restrictions. Before long, the MPI stopped referring to them altogether.49 In quietly disregarding its own restrictions on the acceptance of German contracts the MPI was not simply bowing to reality. From the beginning, the MPI’s driving aim was not so much to limit FrancoGerman industrial collaboration as to gain an important measure of control over the process. In part, this reflected the regime’s larger politique de présence – the policy of affirming French authority in all spheres of activity. But there was more to the matter than this. In the wake of defeat, the French government embraced economic collaboration with the Germans, convinced as it was that France’s and Europe’s future lay in a German-dominated Europe. As Pierre Laval, Vichy’s de facto premier, explained in August 1940 to a German interlocutor, he believed in a ‘New Order and realized that it must be under German leadership and that economic issues would play the most important role [in the New Order]. We [the Vichy government] are not opposed to an economic penetration (Durchdringung) of France by Germany.’50 Admittedly, not everyone reacted as complacently as Laval did to the prospect of German economic ‘penetration’ of France. Indeed, not without some reason (as we saw), many Vichy officials strongly suspected the occupation authorities of wanting to increase Germany’s presence in various sectors of the French economy with a view to completely dominating it. From this perspective, contracts with individual French companies could be dangerous, providing the Germans with a foothold that they would then work to expand. Some sense of the strength of French suspicions on this score is evident from a report by a French armistice commission official in July 1940, which warned that the Germans seemed bent on ‘taking over the running of industrial companies whenever it appeared possible’.51 To counter this danger, Vichy passed a law in September 1940 empowering the MPI to appoint its own ‘provisional administrators’ to those French companies deemed incapable of directing their own 49

50

51

The MPI, in any case, allowed exemptions to the rule that French companies could not produce war matériel for the Germans. See AN 19830589/7, MPI, ‘Note pour les directions’, 28 December 1940. See ‘Besprechung mit Ministerpräsident Pierre Laval im Hause von Marcel Ribardière am 28. August 1940’, reproduced in Friedrich Grimm, Frankreich-Berichte 1934 bis 1944 (Bodman, 1972), 150. Also see Délégation générale du Gouvernement français dans les territoires occupés, ‘L’opinion publique en zone occupée et certains aspects de l’attitude allemande. Gravité de la situation’, 16 October 1940. Accessed online: www.ihtp.cnrs.fr/ prefets/. ‘Compte rendu no. 4 (no. 324/E.M.) du 5 au 7 juillet inclus’, 8 July 1940, H. Lacaille, reproduced in France, La Délégation française auprès de la Commission allemande d’armistice, I, 45.

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affairs. Vichy-appointed officials would presumably act as a barrier to the Germans. The occupation authorities, however, succeeded in making appointments conditional on their approval, and in the end the practice was largely confined to Jewish-owned companies – a category of companies that Vichy proved just as eager to liquidate as did the Germans.52 In any event, whatever the suspicions of Germany’s longer-term aims, no one on the French side disputed the importance of getting factories working again and thus the need for industrial collaboration. As early as July 1940, the new Vichy government announced its desire for the ‘resumption as quickly as possible of the country’s economic activity’. Significantly, it called on the directors of companies to take the initiative in this regard, implicitly urging them to approach the Germans.53 The strategy for the government became one of gaining some control over the process of industrial collaboration in order to reap the maximum benefits possible. From the beginning, Vichy officials considered access to France’s industrial capacity to be a valuable bargaining chip. Studies of Vichy–German relations have rightly emphasized the importance of the French navy and empire in this regard.54 Yet both of these amounted to negative assets, in that the Germans, for the most part, were content to deny their use to the enemy. French industrial production, by contrast, was a positive asset, one which offered the Germans immediate matériel advantages. Well aware of this, Vichy sought to extract concessions from the occupation authorities in return for industrial collaboration. In September 1940, the French delegation to the armistice commission was thus informed that the principal goal in all discussions with their German counterparts on the issue of contracts with French companies must be to ‘obtain. . .compensation’ (contre-partie).55 Vichy initially conceived of compensation in terms of an intergovernmental agreement to improve France’s present and future status in a German-dominated Europe. As the instructions mentioned above 52

53

54

55

On the French law, see BA-MA RW 35/256, ‘Kommissarische Verwaltungen auf Grund der Geschäftsführung’, Wi/4, undated; for Jewish companies, see Philippe Verheyde, Les mauvais comptes de Vichy: L’aryanisation des entreprises juives (Paris, 1999). The announcement was signed by Léon Noël, Vichy’s representative in Paris, and distributed by the principal employers’ organization, the Confédération générale du patronat français. See the file in AN Z/6NL/80. Hervé Coutau-Bégarie and Claude Huan, Darlan (Paris, 1989); and Bernard Costagliola, La marine de Vichy. Blocus et collaboration, juin 1940 – novembre 1942 (Paris, 2009). AN AJ 41/530, ‘Instructions à la Délégation Française à Wiesbaden pour la conduite des négociations concernant les fabrications de guerre et livraisons destinées à l’Allemagne’, 16 September 1940.

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indicated, ‘it is necessary that the [industrial] collaboration offered by us brings as a result an improvement in the existing [political] atmosphere between the two countries and that it facilitates relations with the occupation authorities’. This larger ambition, however, had little chance of being realized, if only because Hitler continuously vetoed general political negotiations with the French. One-sided concessions were all he would accept: from the French, Hitler confided during the war, he wanted ‘acts’ and not ‘words’.56 The result was that collaboration became a wager on the future: the French offered immediate concessions, ceding in the process much of their bargaining power, in the hope of buying German goodwill after the war. In the industrial realm in particular, the German refusal to consider general political negotiations compelled the French to adopt a more limited and focused approach to the issue of ‘compensation’. The goal now became to link concessions directly to particular contracts. Accordingly, in the autumn of 1940 the MPI informed French industrialists that they could accept German contracts but that they should also demand in return sufficient supplies of raw matériels and the release of French POWs to work in their factories.57 In the end, even this modest goal proved elusive. In desperate need of contracts to function, French companies found themselves in a poor bargaining position. No less importantly, the Germans, faced with their own shortages of various matériels and convinced of the existence of untapped stocks of resources in France, all too often either ignored requests for supplies or reneged on their promises.58 More generally, Vichy’s goal of gaining some control over FrancoGerman industrial collaboration influenced its projects for reorganizing the French economy. Probably the most prominent measure in this regard was the August 1940 decree which created Comités d’organisation (COs) in various industrial and commercial sectors. Headed for the most part by prominent business leaders and placed under the authority of the MPI, the COs were charged with determining production capacities, distributing raw matériels, setting prices and, more generally, exercising a ‘control’ over the sector as a whole. If one aim was to combine elements of corporatism and state dirigisme in the management of the economy, another one was to create an instrument for the centralized direction of 56 57 58

Ralf Georg Reuth, ed., Joseph Goebbels. Tagebücher. Band 4: 1940–1942 (Munich, 2008), 26 April 1942, 1785. AN F 12/9962, MPI (Service des commandes allemandes) to COA, 12 November 1940. As early as the spring of 1941, the MPI was complaining that the Germans were not respecting their promises to supply raw matériels. See AN 19830589/7, MPI, ‘Note au sujet de l’exécution de commandes allemandes par l’industrie française’, 23 June 1941. Also see AN 3W/226, COA to Zentra-Kraft, 10 October 1941.

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economic and especially industrial collaboration with the Germans. As Belin himself explained in early 1941, the number and scope of German contracts made it impossible to leave matters to individual companies, which understandably were in no position to consider the larger political and economic picture: In these conditions, it is necessary that the state be able to oversee German contracts, keeping statistics [on their number and nature] and watching over them to make sure that they are carried out in a manner that conforms to the general interest [of France] and to the legislation in existence and to the agreements made with the German authorities.

The COs, the MPI continued, would provide the ‘natural framework’ for this effort, helping to make sure that individual orders did not ‘hamper the coherence and successful implementation’ of overall production plans.59 Another important and related measure came in September 1940 with the creation of the Office central de répartition des produits industriels (OCRPI), which was assigned the critical task of allocating what were increasingly scarce matériels.60 Under the MPI’s aegis, the OCRPI would work with and through the COs, reinforcing the latter’s role as agents of state policy and of industrial collaboration. Referring to the OCRPI in particular, an MPI assessment thus noted that ‘this centralization of distribution [of matériels] will prove beneficial in periods in which raw matériels are lacking and especially during the entire period when France is under occupation and blockade’.61 The consensus among scholars is that the CO and OCRPI were largely ineffective. The ‘CO-OCRPI system’ of controls, Kuisel wrote, was ‘poorly conceived and operated’ – a situation he attributed to internal contradictions in French policy as well as to the economic crisis engendered by war and occupation.62 But if the system proved disappointing, it was also because the Germans obstructed French efforts to create a more centralized economic structure. This is most clearly evident in the case of the COs. In the opening months of 1941 the MPI attempted to establish its authority over industrial collaboration by insisting that French companies with German contracts inform their COs of the details, which were necessary to ensure the existence of a variety of conditions, among them 59

60 61 62

AN F 12/9962, ‘Instructions relatives aux commandes allemandes’, MPI, no. 304/A.E., Belin, 1 February 1941. Also see ‘Exposé des motifs de la loi du 16 août 1940’ in Collection droit social, no. VII, 1940, 35–6. For the CO and OCRPI, see Kuisel, Capitalism and the State in Modern France, 132–44; and Margairaz, L’État, les finances et l’économie, I, 511–23. AN F 37/2, ‘Projet d’organisation et de répartition des produits suivants les suggestion des autorités allemandes’, 5 September 1940. Kuisel, Capitalism and the State in Modern France, 143–4.

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sufficient contingents of (German) raw matériels, regulated prices and proper payment arrangements. When, however, the MPI duly submitted a draft circular to the MbF for approval, the latter reacted negatively, maintaining that the COs could only ‘advise’ and ‘support’ French companies; in no way were they to possess ‘decision-making power’. MPI officials were thus informed that the COs should have no say in the acceptance or refusal of contracts. More generally, the military authorities wanted to eliminate any intermediaries between German organizations with contracts and French companies.63 Issued in August after considerable discussions, the final version of the circular largely reflected the German position. While French companies possessing German contracts were to provide detailed monthly reports, the COs were effectively constrained from intervening in the negotiation of terms. Instead, the text greatly circumscribed the COs’ role, which ‘consists simply of guiding, advising and helping companies insofar as one of the two contracting parties ask for its aid’.64 Not surprisingly, the German authorities were satisfied with the outcome. They had blocked Vichy’s efforts to make the COs into instruments of the regime’s larger political-economic goals; instead, the role of the COs was to be limited to that of facilitating industrial collaboration between the industry and company levels. More generally, the Germans were confident that with weaker COs France’s economy was well on its way to being reorganized on the ‘German model’ – even if just what this model was remained unclear.65 At the same time, however, it is reductionist to argue, as does Annie Lacroix-Riz, that the COs were merely a tool of the occupiers.66 If nothing else, it ignores the fact that the overall result proved counter-productive for the Germans. In the absence of any alternative framework, the defeat of French efforts to introduce some centralized control over the placing of contracts ensured that general 63

64 65

66

See the file in AN AJ 40/776 and especially Wi II/Gen to Gruppe Wi X, no. 252/41, 18 April 1941, which contains a translated copy of the French draft; MbF to MPI (Bichelonne), 2 May 1941; and Gruppe Wi II, ‘Besprechung mit den Herren Bichelonne und Panié am 30. Mai 1941’, 30 May 1941; and BA-MA RW 19/562, OKW Wi Rü Amt, no. 23174/41, 2 May 1941. Also see Arne Radtke-Delacor, ‘La position des Comités d’organisation face aux autorités d’occupation: la pomme de discorde des commandes allemandes en 1940–1941’ in Hervé Joly, ed., Les Comités d’organisation et l’économie dirigée du régime de Vichy (Caen, 2004), 63–71. AN F 37/28, ‘Note’, Secrétariat d’état à la production industrielle, no. 2637, 13 August 1941, with attached draft circular. See BA-MA RW 35/714, ‘Die Formen des Eingriffs in die französische Wirtschaft’, undated; and AN F 37/28, ‘Rohstoff-Bewirtschaftung und Auftragverlagerung in Frankreich’, undated. Annie Lacroix-Riz, ‘Les Comités d’organisation et l’Allemagne: tentative d’évaluation’ in Joly, ed., Les Comités d’organisation, 47–62.

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ignorance and even confusion would reign concerning the situation in France. Revealingly, in 1941 the MbF admitted that it did not possess a ‘clear picture’ of industrial activity: it could not say what percentage of French capacity was being used by the Germans and how much remained unused or even how many contracts had been placed with French companies. Indeed, the German authorities would repeatedly turn to the French for such information, only to be informed that the latter were equally in the dark.67 Whatever their intentions, the Germans would quickly discover that they needed the COs for the information and coordination they could potentially provide; and this need would make it difficult to limit their influence over industrial policy. Paradoxically, then, the defeat of the MPI’s attempt to strengthen the COs did not necessarily weaken the latter. Indeed, the opposite is closer to the truth. In vetoing the MPI’s proposals, the Germans dealt a blow above all to the MPI’s authority rather than to that of the COs. The MPI’s initial goal had been to use the COs as its own instrument in the politics of industrial collaboration. Under the guidance of MPI officials, the individual COs would engage in negotiations with corresponding industrial and sectorial organizations on the German side, establishing the parameters of collaboration while also maximizing Vichy’s bargaining position.68 In thwarting the MPI on this score, the occupation authorities not only reduced the MPI’s influence over the COs; but in doing so they ensured that the COs would replace the MPI as the principal collective actor on the French side. As a result, the course of industrial collaboration would greatly depend on the relationship between individual COs and their German counterparts. François Lehideux and the COA The first CO created was for the automobile (and bicycle) industry (COA). Taking over from the now defunct pre-war industrial organization (the CSCA), the COA began operating in October 1940 under the direction of François Lehideux. Lehideux was an apt choice. Though the scion of a banking family, he possessed considerable knowledge of the French automobile industry, having worked for several years at Renault. Lehideux’s energy, ambition and talent, together with his 67 68

AN AJ 40/776, ‘Auftragserteilung und Betriebserkundung’, undated but 1941. For French ignorance, see 3W/57, ‘Note sur les commandes allemandes’, MPI, March 1941. AN 19830589/7, MPI, ‘Notes au sujet des commandes allemandes en France’, 27 January 1941.

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marriage to Louis Renault’s niece, helped him to rise quickly at Renault, eventually becoming its director-general. A bitter falling-out with Renault during 1939–40, however, meant that Lehideux found himself unemployed in the wake of France’s defeat. But not for long. In September 1940, he became head of the COA. In addition to his practical experience in the automobile industry, Lehideux’s qualifications for this new position included a fierce loyalty to Pétain and to Vichy’s ‘national revolution’ – the project of remaking France anew. Indeed, long after the war Lehideux would serve as president of an association dedicated to preserving Pétain’s memory.69 Interestingly, Lehideux does not appear to have been Vichy’s first choice. Instead, Baron Charles Petiet, the president of the CSCA, was tapped to head the COA. Following discussions between German and French officials, however, Lehideux was chosen, which suggests that German and French authorities sought a break with the past.70 No less importantly, however, is that Lehideux was generally viewed as someone favourably disposed to industrial collaboration. Indeed, in early August 1940 he had brokered a deal between German military officials and Renault by which the Germans themselves would repair tanks using the facilities and parts provided by the company.71 It is not known whether Lehideux actively sought the position, but once appointed he strove to shape the comité into an instrument of his ambitions. After the Liberation Lehideux insisted that the COA acted as a ‘screen’ and ‘barrier against German demands’.72 As we shall see, this claim, which mirrored Pétain’s later justification that he served as a ‘shield’ between the French people and the German occupiers, should not be dismissed too quickly. But as with Pétain’s justification, the problem with Lehideux’s claim is that it paints the COA’s activities in a far too passive and reactive light. From the outset, Lehideux sought to impose his authority over the French automobile industry, rejecting the idea that the COA should content itself with

69 70

71

72

APP GA L10, Dossier François Lehideux, report of June 1990. Jean Sauvy, Les organismes professionnels français de l’automobile et leurs acteurs 1896–1979 (Paris, 1998), 158–9; and Thoenissen’s comments in MBA, Bestand Kissel, 9.28, Wirtschaftsgruppe Kraftfahrzeug, ‘Niederschrift über die Beiratssitzung am 28. November 1940’. AN 3W/217, ‘Memento de la réunion tenue le dimanche 4 août [1940] à 10 heures, à l’Hôtel Majestic’, undated. After the war a top-ranking Vichy official remarked that one reason for choosing Lehideux was his favourable attitude towards collaboration with the Germans. See AN 3W/221, Jacques Barnaud deposition, 16 May 1945. Also see Patrick Fridenson, ‘Syndicalisme de l’automobile: la redistribution des cartes’ in Michel Margairaz and Danielle Tartakovsky, eds., Le syndicalisme dans la France occupée (Rennes, 2008), 87–8. AN 3W/221, Lehideux deposition, 1 March 1945.

François Lehideux and the COA

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simply acting as a spokesman for the industry in general or for its largest companies in particular. Industrial collaboration would play a critical role in Lehideux’s ambitions for the COA. In short order, he built up his comité into a sizeable organization (eventually employing 400 or so people), divided into several sections dealing with subjects ranging from raw matériels, social issues, legal questions, to statistics and the press; reflecting Vichy’s anti-Semitic policies, there was also a section for ‘Jewish questions’.73 At the heart of this sprawling organization could be found the ‘service des commandes allemandes’, created in November 1940 and headed by Amaury de l’Epine, a close collaborator of Lehideux. If its ostensible task was to oversee the placing of German contracts for the industry as a whole, its real purpose was to centralize the process within the COA, reducing if not eliminating direct contact between German organizations and companies on the one hand and French companies on the other.74 In so doing, the COA (and Lehideux) would become the privileged, indeed the sole, interlocutor of the Germans. Not surprisingly, Lehideux fully shared the MPI’s goal of promoting the COs into powerful economic actors charged with regulating all aspects of industrial activity – fixing overall programmes, approving and distributing contracts, allocating raw matériels, inspecting production. For Lehideux, the COA was to be the nerve centre of the French automobile industry’s collaboration with the Germans.75 Lehideux’s efforts on this score met with considerable success. Mention has already been made of the accord that Lehideux negotiated with Thoenissen at the end of 1940. Although the documentary record for the COA’s activities is sparse, there is evidence that the COA succeeded in imposing itself on the GBK as a collaborator and even partner.76 The COA did so by acting as an indispensable intermediary between French companies and various German actors. German companies seeking to place contracts in France would inform the COA of their needs and ask it to identify appropriate French companies; COA officials would then contact the French companies to ask them whether they were interested in a specific contract and under which terms, information which they then

73 74 75

76

See the chart in NARA T 73/2, ‘Références C.O.A.’, 17 February 1941. AN 3W/52, Lehideux (COA) to Barnaud (MPI), 21 May 1941; and 3W/232, COA circular, signed L’Epine, 10 December 1940. AN AJ 40/776, COA, no. 162, signed Lehideux, 4 March 1941. During his tenure as secretary of state for industrial production during 1941–2, Lehideux strove to augment the COs’ authority. See AN 3W/221, ‘Circulaire aux Comités d’organisation et aux Conseils consultatifs tripartites’, Lehideux, 18 November 1941. See the run of correspondence between the COA and the GBK in 1941–2 in NARA T 73/2.

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relayed back to the German company, sometimes (but necessarily) via the GBK. Similarly, French companies seeking work used the COA to help locate potential German orders. Often enough, the COA also mediated the disputes that arose between the different parties over accusations that one or the other had not fulfilled the terms of a contract. In some cases, the COA launched its own inquiry into the matter, reporting its findings to the GBK. No less importantly, the COA gathered statistics on the overall situation in the French automobile industry (number of German contracts, their nature and value, etc.) – statistics which it regularly shared with the German authorities who, as we saw, were keenly aware of their ignorance. In a recent essay, Marcel Boldorf argued that the COs were powerless, principally because they had no say over the distribution of raw matériels.77 For the COA at least, his conclusion needs to be nuanced. Although the COA had no direct sources of its own, it could influence the quantities that it received by a variety of means, which included pressuring the OCRPI for larger contingents, negotiating deals with other COs and insisting that the German authorities and German companies furnish their own supplies. In all these cases, the fact that the French automobile industry was so heavily engaged in working for the Germans helped the COA in its ongoing search for more matériels. All told, then, under Lehideux’s leadership the COA became a leading and indeed invaluable actor in industrial collaboration. But Lehideux was not interested in promoting the COA’s influence for its own sake. Two underlying larger goals guided his activities. The first concerned industrial collaboration. Lehideux was a determined and committed supporter of working with the Germans. Before the war he had sympathized with right wing political movements, most notably Colonel La Roque’s Croix de Feu, the extent of whose fascist leanings remain a subject of historical debate.78 But there is little reason to believe that his commitment to collaboration stemmed from strong ideological affinities with the occupiers. That he shared the anti-leftist and especially antiPopular Front prejudices of many French conservatives is indisputable; that he was a fascist or a Nazi is a stretch. Instead, as a self-defined pragmatist, Lehideux was motivated by the conviction that the French must accept the reality of Germany’s victory and thus of its present and future predominance. Vichy’s overriding task was to carve out a satisfactory role for France in a German-dominated Europe. As he remarked to 77 78

Boldorf, ‘Die gelenkte Kriegswirtschaft im bestetzten Frankreich (1940–1944)’, 115. APP GA L10, Dossier François Lehideux, report of 9 September 1940. For the debate on the Croix de Feu, see Sean Kennedy, Reconciling France against Democracy: The Croix de Feu and the Parti Social Français, 1927–1945 (Montreal, 2007), 4–16.

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reporters in May 1941: ‘The driving idea of the government’s project is to make it possible for France to use the maximum of its economic, material and moral resources to allow it to maintain its place in the new Europe.’79 To do so, the French would have to cooperate loyally with the Germans, embracing what Lehideux called ‘constructive collaboration’. Addressing COA officials in November 1940 on the subject of relations with the occupiers, Lehideux explained that ‘it is your duty to accept all personal humiliations. . .It is unimportant if we are not always understood by some of our countrymen: we must. . .transform defeat into victory (gagner la défaite), and we will do so.’80 The German occupation authorities identified Lehideux as one of the most fervent advocates of industrial collaboration within Vichy. As Thoenissen told representatives of the German automobile industry, Lehideux was ‘extremely energetic and clever’ and should be viewed as ‘our partner’.81 To be sure, Lehideux’s commitment to working with the Germans set him apart from many French officials, for whom collaboration was more of a stopgap. That said, Lehideux was never an unconditional partisan of Franco-German cooperation – just as he was never the reluctant collaborator that he professed to be in his memoirs.82 Early on, he showed himself to be uncompromising in his determination to safeguard French ownership of industry against the threat of German ‘penetration’. Throughout the Occupation, he would categorically oppose all measures to increase German participation in French companies, whether through the appointment of administrators or through the purchase of shares. No company would benefit more from this stance than Ford SAF. In this sense, Lehideux and the COA did act as a ‘barrier’ to the Germans. Yet his efforts in this regard need to be placed in their proper context. Lehideux conceived of industrial collaboration in terms of a partnership with the Germans in which both sides would benefit. The French might not be equals but nor were they to be mere subalterns. Time and again, Lehideux would threaten to end his collaboration when German demands exceeded what he considered to be compatible with a partnership. 79

80

81

82

‘M. Lehideux délégué général à l’Équipement national, demande aux Français, pour refaire le pays, d’avoir une mentalité des pionniers’ in La Vie industrielle, 15 May 1941, 1, 3, emphasis in original. AN 3W/224, ‘Memento. Conférence de M. Lehideux aux chefs de service du C.O.A. du 18 Nov. 40’, undated. For ‘constructive collaboration’, see Michel Margairaz, ‘Les politiques économiques de Vichy’, Histoire@Politique. Politique, culture, société, 9 (2009), www.histoire-politique.fr. MBA, Bestand Kissel, 9.28, Wirtschaftsgruppe Kraftfahrzeugindustrie, ‘Niederschrift über die Beiratssitzung am 28. November 1940’. Also see the assessment in AN 3W/ 230, Schleter (Paris) to AA (Berlin), 9 December 1941. Lehideux, De Renault à Pétain, 240–3.

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Certainly, one can argue that Lehideux fundamentally misunderstood Nazi Germany’s immediate and long-term aims, which were to exploit and to subjugate France. But it is also true that Lehideux managed over time to construct a mutually advantageous and dependent relationship (that is to say, a partnership) with the German authorities and with the GBK in particular. The second and related goal guiding Lehideux’s activities was to revamp France’s economy and industry. It was imperative, he announced in a September 1941 speech, ‘to rethink the French economy’, by which he principally meant the introduction of greater state direction (dirigisme) in all economic sectors.83 His ambitions on this score helped him to become Vichy’s delegate-general for national (industrial) reequipment from February 1941 and its secretary of state for industrial production from July 1941 to April 1942. As delegate-general, Lehideux would propose a ten-year plan which called for massive public work projects aimed at modernizing the agricultural, energy, communications and urban construction sectors among others. And as secretary of state he would lobby for increased powers for the MPI in the development of industrial production, predictably attributing a critical role in the endeavour to the COs.84 But it was within the bounds of the COA that Lehideux’s ambitions to reorganize French industry found their most tangible expression. He shared the belief, widespread within business circles, that the French automobile industry suffered from archaic production methods, excessive competition and general incoherence. A large dose of rationalization was urgently required. The leading industry newspaper defined the COA’s tasks in the following fashion: ‘It will pursue the rationalization of the means of production through the abolition of some companies as well as the combination of others to eliminate inefficient competition and wastage. The aim will be to standardize the types of vehicles offered by limiting the range of vehicles produced and normalizing systems of production.’85 For Lehideux, the Occupation represented an opportunity as much as (if not more than) a burden. Together, German contracts and the difficult economic situation could be used as clubs to impose reform on an industry that had supposedly proved itself incapable of changing under peacetime conditions. ‘Do not count too much 83

84

85

AN 3W/221, ‘Extraits de l’exposé de M. Lehideux Délégué Général à l’Equipement National à la première séance du Comité Consultatif de l’Equipement national. Séance du 9 septembre 1941’. ‘M. Lehideux lance un appel pour le développment de la production et définit les mesures décidées à l’égard des Comités d’organisation et des Administrations Publiques’, La Journée Industrielle, 29 August 1941, 1, 3. ‘Situation de l’industrie automobile’, La Journée Industrielle, 26–8 April 1941, 4.

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on the help of industrialists’, Lehideux warned COA officials in 1940. Instead, it was up to the COA to instigate ‘a complete revolution in all the traditional methods’ that would have the effect of transforming the French automobile industry into ‘an industrial instrument capable of integrating itself into the European [economic] organization of the future’.86 The European automobile committee, mentioned above, combined all three of Lehideux’s priorities: collaboration with the Germans, the defence of French interests and the transformation of the French automobile industry. Following the Liberation of France Lehideux would claim that his participation in the committee had simply been an empty gesture designed to win German goodwill. At the time, however, he manifested considerable enthusiasm for the project. Responding to GBK suggestions in the autumn of 1940, Lehideux wasted little time, travelling to Berlin at the end of the year to begin talks on the subject, which he then vigorously pursued; as a result, he probably contributed more than anyone to the creation of the EAC in the spring of 1941.87 For Lehideux, one purpose of the committee was to safeguard the interests of the French automobile industry. The Germans in principle committed themselves not only to reorganize Europe’s post-war automobile industry in cooperation with the French (and Italians), but also to preserve the independent existence of the French industry. The agreement worked out between French, German and Italian officials foresaw the division of the continent’s industries and markets into three national groupings, with each one assigned a share (that of the French was 25–30 per cent) as well as distinct functions. During the war itself, the committee’s various study commissions would lay the basis for the post-war reorganization at the European and national levels, all the while embedding German industry in a web of practical multinational cooperation that a victorious Germany could not easily renounce.88 There is every indication, moreover, that Lehideux took the wartime aspect of the committee’s work seriously, for example devoting considerable financial resources in an effort to breathe organizational life into the commissions. In the end, the committee achieved little, largely because, as an Italian official remarked

86 87

88

AN 3W/224, ‘Memento. Conférence de M. Lehideux aux chefs de service du C.O.A. du 18 Nov. 40’, undated. MBA, Bestand Kissel, 9.32, Wirtschaftsgruppe Kraftfahrzeugindustrie, ‘Tätigkeitsbericht der Geschäftsführung’, no. 6/40, 12 January 1941; also see AN 3W/230, ‘Aktenvermerk. Besprechung mit Herrn Lehideux am 15. und 12.12.1940’; and ibid., ‘Uebersetzung der Aktennotiz betreffend Konferenz vom 18. Dezember 1940 beim Comité d’organisation de l’automobile’, Lehideux, undated. ‘Quelques précisions sur l’accord international de Berlin’, La Journée Industrielle, 5 August 1941, 4.

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in 1942, it was becoming increasingly difficult to imagine what post-war Europe would resemble.89 But whatever the reasons for the EAC’s relative failure, it cannot be attributed to a lack of interest on Lehideux’s part. If Lehideux heavily invested his time and the COA’s resources in the EAC, his cooperation with the Germans did not end there. On several occasions during 1940–1, he travelled to Berlin to discuss the details of wartime collaboration between the French and German automobile industries. Not surprisingly, Vichy authorities pressed the COA’s chief to demand political and economic concessions from the Germans in return for making available the productive capacity of French companies.90 But in 1940–1, Lehideux was less interested in extracting immediate concessions than he was in establishing the foundations for longterm cooperation between the COA and the GBK – a cooperation that would pave the way for a larger Franco-German industrial partnership after the war. Like Thoenissen, Lehideux foresaw the post-war period in terms of regional economic blocs, one of which would be European. ‘Whatever the outcome of the war’, he explained in February 1941, ‘Europe will ineluctably have to organize itself in the economic realm; the [national] European markets are too narrow for industries to survive.’ Interestingly, Lehideux’s vision of economic blocs had a distinct antiAmerican colouring: ‘if Europe does not organize, the United States will enrich itself at European expense. Europe must organize to meet the American challenge, and in this Europe we have a central role to play on both the economic and the intellectual front.’91 Through wartime industrial collaboration, the French and Germans would together construct a European economy capable of competing with the United States. By the spring of 1941, Lehideux was confident that his ambitions were well on the way to being realized. In March, he signed a protocol with Thoenissen, finalizing the accord worked out between the COA and GBK at the end of 1940.92 With the protocol, Lehideux believed that the GBK had fully accepted the COA as its partner. The two organizations would jointly establish overall production programmes for the French automobile industry and would be responsible for ensuring their execution.

89 90 91 92

AN 3W/234, G. Acutis (Associazione fragli Industriali dell Automobile) to Thoenissen, 21 May 1942. See BA-MA RW 24/3, Wirtschafts- und Rüstungs Stab Frankreich, ‘Bericht der Ereignisse’, 11 March 1941; and AN 3W/52, ‘Réunion avec M. Lehideux’, 13 May 1941. AN 3W/217, ‘Conférence d’Information. I. La lutte contre le chômage’, École libre des sciences politiques, Lehideux, 7 February 1941. AN 3W/52, Lehideux to Barnaud (MPI), 1 April 1941, with attachment: ‘Conditions pour la passation de commandes par l’industrie allemande à l’industrie française’, undated.

Ford SAF in 1940

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Lehideux hoped to expand this shared responsibility to encompass the allocation of contracts as well as of scarce raw matériels and even labour.93 More generally, Lehideux viewed the protocol as a first step in his larger political and economic project of constructing a post-war Europe, a project in which the French automobile industry stood at the vanguard. Speaking to journalists in May 1941, he thus enthused that ‘here, within the COA, we are more than a little pleased that it is the automobile industry that is the first to embark on the road towards a new order [in Europe]’.94 As we saw, Lehideux’s enthusiasm was not entirely misplaced. The COA quickly established its importance, becoming a vital intermediary between German authorities and companies on the one hand and French companies on the other. Its working relations with the GBK did foster a mutual dependence. Yet Lehideux held an exaggerated idea of his ability to shape developments. Whatever Thoenissen’s promises, the Germans in general considered the COA to be a useful instrument for exploiting France’s industrial capacity more than they did a partner in reconstructing Europe’s economy. No sooner had the ink dried on the protocol than the GBK itself was seeking to bypass the COA and to deal directly with French companies – much to Lehideux’s displeasure. But Lehideux was no dupe. Notwithstanding his obvious satisfaction with the accord between the GBK and the COA, Lehideux realized that success would demand constant vigilance and effort. The relationship between the COA and the GBK was a dynamic one in which Lehideux would combine cooperation and confrontation in varying doses. On no issue would this mixed approach be more evident than on that of Ford SAF’s future – an issue that figured prominently in the negotiations between the COA and the GBK during 1940–1. Ford SAF in 1940 As we saw, it was rearmament in the late 1930s which not only saved Ford SAF from its immediate financial difficulties, allowing it to fund the construction of the Poissy complex; rearmament also beckoned a promising future of profitable production as the government became the company’s principal client. From this perspective, the onset of the war in September 1939 was a welcome development. Indeed, the Phony War was a period of immense optimism for Ford SAF. Although the 93 94

AN 3W/221, ‘Aktennotiz über das Ergebnis der Besprechung im GBK während des Berliner Aufenhaltes von Herrn Lehideux vom 1.-6.4.1941’, undated. AN 3W/221, ‘Extraits du Journal “Le Matin” du 4 Mai 1941’, undated.

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mobilization meant the loss of numerous workers and administrative personnel, Ford SAF was able to ensure the release of workers from the army and to recruit others, thanks in large part to the company’s importance to France’s war effort. In April 1940, the company had over 2,500 workers. During 1939–40, the production of trucks (mostly 5-ton) for the French army gradually expanded, reaching 44/day in March 1940, a figure Dollfus claimed would soon increase to 50, if not more. While awaiting the completion of Poissy, parts for these trucks were made at the Bordeaux factory and then shipped to Asnières for final assembly. At the same time, the company had received expanding orders from the Air Ministry, principally for Hispano-Suiza airplane engines and engine parts but also for airplane canon. By the spring of 1940, Ford SAF had begun making some engine parts at Bordeaux and Poissy, even if the production of engines was not expected to begin for another six months.95 All told, on the eve of Germany’s offensive in the West the outlook for Ford SAF looked exceedingly bright. Germany’s lightning-quick victory in May–June 1940 changed everything. At the beginning of June, the French government instructed Dollfus to begin transferring machinery and stocks from Poissy to Bordeaux, which was largely and quickly accomplished despite the growing chaos. On 10 June, Dollfus received the additional order to evacuate Asnières together with all male workers aged eighteen to forty, and to relocate to Bordeaux within two days; but this task proved impossible and the company had to leave behind almost all of its moveable matériel. Although none of Ford SAF’s factories were damaged during the military campaign, the company did not get off unscathed. At Poissy, there remained little for the Germans to seize as the complex had effectively been stripped; at Asnières, by contrast, German troops not only took control of the factory but also pillaged machines, parts and completed trucks. Several days later, German commissars were appointed to both Poissy and Asnières, and they immediately put an end to illegal seizures – i.e., undocumented confiscation. With Ford SAF now centred exclusively in Bordeaux, Dollfus faced a difficult situation as refugees flooded in, overwhelming the city’s administration and infrastructure and rendering production all but impossible. Following the armistice, in any case, activity at the Bordeaux factory came to an official halt.96

95 96

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 243, Dollfus telegram to Ford Dearborn, 15 September 1939; and ACC 6, Box 248, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 4 March 1940. See AP, Ford SAF, DOS 2008 RE-30422, Ford SAF, ‘Rapport sur la vie de Ford S.A.F. pendant la guerre (1er Septembre 1939 – 1er Novembre 1944)’, and BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 248, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 18 July 1940.

Ford SAF in 1940

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From the beginning, Dollfus was determined to get Ford SAF working again. At the beginning of July 1940, he received authorization from the German authorities to return to Paris; once there, he immediately set out to regain control of Poissy and Asnières. This proved relatively easy as Thoenissen, the GBK’s representative in Paris, was eager to exploit the productive capacity of the French automobile industry. Before the month was out, he could telegram to Ford Dearborn that ‘we are already resuming production on [sic] trucks on a small scale’, adding that this was ‘in accordance with desire of both French and German authorities’.97 Over the next several weeks, Dollfus threw himself into a round of meetings and negotiations with French and German officials, travelling not only to Vichy but also to Berlin, where he discussed Ford SAF’s future directly with the GBK’s chief, General Schell. The result of all this activity was an agreement with the GBK signed in early August 1940. In return for the promise to cooperate fully with the occupiers, Ford SAF was allowed to take over the direct running of its factories, though German administrators would remain for the time being. After the Liberation, Dollfus would insist that he had made his approval conditional on not producing war matériel, telling the Germans that this contradicted American interests. Whether true or not, this proviso was largely irrelevant since the GBK wanted Ford SAF to concentrate on what it was already making – i.e., trucks.98 By the end of August, the company was assembling 10–12 trucks/day, which Dollfus hoped to increase to 20, though he admitted that this would depend on sufficient supplies of matériels. Soon afterwards, the company received a contract from the Germans to build 2,500 trucks for 1940 at an eventual rate of 500/month.99 It is worth underscoring how quickly and adeptly Ford SAF adapted to the changed situation brought about by France’s defeat. Notwithstanding the initial chaos and uncertainty of enemy occupation, Dollfus in a matter of weeks had seemingly assured the company’s future. As he wrote in early August 1940: ‘There is no doubt that whatever happens in the future, the activity of the Company will remain in France as one of the three or four big concerns existing here.’100 Part of this success can be attributed to the strong backing Ford SAF received from the French government. At 97 98 99

100

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 248, Dollfus telegram, 3–5 July 1940; and ACC 606, Box 6, Dollfus telegram, 22 July 1940. AN 3W/221, Dollfus deposition, 9 November 1944; and BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 248, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 31 August 1940. AN AJ 40/610, ‘Bericht des stellvertretenden Verwalters für die Firma Ford Société Anonyme Française. . .über die Gesellschaft nach dem Stand von Juli 1942’, 6 August 1942. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 248, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 2 August 1940.

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Vichy, Dollfus enthused, ‘I have obtained the best possible cooperation from everybody. . .and I can confirm to you that we shall have the best protection that can be obtained for a purely French concern.’ As a concrete sign of its support, the French government accorded Ford SAF an advance of 20,000,000 francs to help finance its efforts to restart production.101 But much of Ford SAF’s success in adapting to the German occupation was also due to Ford-Werke, the German member of Ford’s European empire. In June 1940, the GBK appointed Robert Schmidt, Ford-Werke’s general director, to be the commissar of both the Poissy and Asnières factories. Soon afterwards, Schmidt and his collaborators arranged for Dollfus’ return to Paris and then helped to persuade Thoenissen (who admittedly needed little persuading) that the Germans would be better served by leaving Ford SAF under French management. Dollfus was extremely grateful for this help, informing Ford Dearborn that he was working closely with Schmidt and that they shared a ‘complete understanding’ on all important matters. More generally, Dollfus took considerable comfort in the knowledge that Ford SAF was not alone when it came to dealing with the occupation authorities. ‘Naturally the advantages that we have are because we belong to the Ford family’, he intimated in October 1940, ‘advantages which we cannot over estimate in the present circumstances’.102 Ford-Werke’s European designs Notwithstanding Dollfus’ understandable satisfaction with the immediate course of events following France’s military defeat, Ford SAF’s relations with the Germans quickly proved contentious. The principal difficulty came not from the GBK but from Ford-Werke. Established in Germany as a joint stock company in 1925, Ford’s German branch (Ford AG) was initially owned by Ford Britain before becoming a direct subsidiary of Ford Dearborn, which possessed the majority of its shares. Following a slow start, Ford AG grew quickly during the 1930s; although it remained considerably smaller than Ford Britain, by 1938 Ford AG was the largest member of Ford’s continental European empire, easily outpacing Ford SAF in terms of production.103 Much as with Ford SAF, as an Americanowned company Ford AG faced a variety of discriminatory measures during the inter-war years, not least from other companies in the German automobile industry who were eager to weaken a rival. But the 101 102 103

Ibid., Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 18 July 1940. Ibid., Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 21 August and 11 October 1940. See the figures in Wilkins and Hill, American Business Abroad, 436.

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arrival of the Nazis in 1933 profoundly altered the situation as the company came under increasing nationalist pressure. Even the favourable reputation that Henry Ford, a notorious anti-Semite, enjoyed among high-ranking officials, including Hitler, proved of little help in this respect.104 Ford AG found itself forced to launch a concerted effort to distinguish itself as a German as opposed to foreign (American) company. Ford-Werke, its directors would retrospectively explain, ‘is. . .German and has always been German’. Since the 1930s Ford-Werke ‘[h]as. . .systematically developed into a purely German enterprise with all the responsibilities [this entails] and with such success that the American majority shareholders, independently of the favourable political attitude towards us of Henry Ford, have become a positive asset for the German economy’.105 The measures taken by Ford AG ranged from the purely symbolic to the more substantial: changing the company’s name in 1939 to the more German-sounding Ford-Werke; the increasing use of local suppliers as part of a ‘made in Germany’ campaign; eliminating foreigners (and Jews) from its board of directors; reducing Ford Dearborn’s ownership from 75 per cent to 52 per cent; and cutting formal ties with Ford Dearborn.106 Ford-Werke’s efforts on this score met with considerable success. In a gesture whose meaning was lost on no one, Hitler in 1936 made a point of visiting the Ford display at the international automobile exhibition in Berlin. The following year, the agency responsible for the advertising industry identified Ford AG as a German company – a label the Economics Ministry confirmed.107 This allowed Ford AG to compete for military contracts, and soon the company was producing increasing numbers of trucks and troop carriers for the Wehrmacht at its Cologne and Berlin factories. Interestingly, in working for the Wehrmacht, Ford AG’s directors found themselves compelled to relax their earlier 104 105

106

107

Daimler-Benz, for example, waged a campaign against Ford AG throughout the 1930s, denouncing it as a non-German company. See the file in MBA, Bestand Kissel, 11.5. Ford-Werke to Reichskommissar für die Behandlung feindlichen Vermögens, 18 June 1941, reproduced in Witich Roβmann, ed., Vom mühsamen Weg zur Einheit. Lesebuch zur Geschichte der Kölner Metall-Gewerkschaften. Quellen und Dokumente 2: 1918–1951 (Hamburg, 1991), 356–8. For Ford-Werke, see Simon Reich, Research Findings about Ford-Werke under the Nazi Regime (Dearborn, MI, 2001), 5–14; and Hanns-Peter Rosellen, ‘. . .und trotzdem vorwärts’. Die dramatische Entwicklung von Ford in Deutschland 1903 bis 1945 (Frankfurt, 1986), 61–163. Among American companies in Germany during the 1930s, Ford AG was by no means alone in trying to strengthen its German identity. See Alexander Schug, ‘Missionare der globalen Konsumkultur: Corporate Identity und Absatzstrategien amerikanischer Unternehmen in Deutschland im frühren 20. Jahrhundert’ in Wolfgang Hardtwig, ed., Politische Kulturgeschichte der Zwischenkriegszeit 1918–1939 (Göttingen, 2005), 323–30. Rosellen, ‘. . .und trotzdem vorwärts’, 146.

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resistance to the Nazi regime’s policy of standardizing production. In line with Ford Dearborn’s general policy, Ford AG had long insisted on maintaining Ford production norms. Among the advantages of the latter was that they facilitated the integration of various Ford companies in different countries and continents into a global production process. During the late 1930s, Ford AG would benefit from this process, importing parts from other Ford factories in Europe as well as in the United States.108 Nevertheless, as Ford AG and then Ford-Werke’s production became more ‘German’, disagreements arose with other Ford companies over the fixing of norms – disagreements that pointed to the future difficulties that Ford-Werke would confront in mobilizing Ford’s European empire for its own ends. As with Ford SAF, during the late 1930s and up to 1940 Ford-Werke found itself pulled in contrary directions. As part of Ford’s European empire, Ford-Werke was one element of a larger international and even transnational business enterprise in which various companies exchanged expertise, personnel, parts and even assembled vehicles on a regular basis. As late as 1938–9 Ford-Werke and Ford SAF were cooperating on the development of a moderately priced and smallish (4-cylinder) passenger car, the Taunus, which Dollfus in particular appeared eager to introduce to the French market. Yet at the same time, Ford-Werke (like Ford SAF) was forced to become more nationally rooted in response to the growing nationalism affecting politics and economics. The company’s participation in German rearmament during the 1930s reinforced this process, as did the onset of war, which not only restricted communications with Ford Dearborn but also offered an opportunity for greater autonomy, if not outright independence. Writing to Ford Dearborn in November 1939, Heinrich Albert, the chairman of Ford-Werke’s board, explained that government regulations made it impossible for him to consult in advance: ‘As the situation is changing continuously we have to make up our mind almost daily about one matter or another of some importance.’ Although he reassured the Americans that ‘we shall protect your property and your interests and shall always act in the spirit in which you want to run the business’, his message was clear: Ford-Werke would determine its current and longer-term direction largely on its own.109 Crucially, Ford-Werke’s growing autonomy coincided with Nazi Germany’s efforts to create a European empire by conquest beginning in 1938, opening new and even dizzying prospects for the company. 108 109

Reich, Research Findings about Ford-Werke under the Nazi Regime, 19–21, 24–8. BFRC, Ford-Werke, FMC 0003162–63, Heinrich Albert (Ford-Werke) to Sorensen, 27 November 1939.

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Rather than being merely a prominent member of Ford’s European operations, Ford-Werke could become the centre of its own continental empire. Tellingly, Ford-Werke moved energetically in 1939–40 to seize ownership of patents belonging to the Ford companies in Austria, Czechoslovakia, Poland and Hungary – countries that were all under Nazi Germany’s thumb in one way or another. Although explaining that it was acting to prevent the confiscation of these patents by the German government, Ford-Werke also sought to keep them out of the hands of Ford Britain.110 But it was the German occupation of most of Western Europe in 1940 that profoundly altered matters, if only because the largest Ford companies (with the exception of Ford Britain) were located there. The question was, how would Ford-Werke respond to this new situation – and opportunity? As we shall see, Dollfus soon became convinced that Ford-Werke intended to take control of the various Ford companies in Europe, rendering them completely subordinate. Ford-Werke’s directors, by contrast, would insist that Dollfus was paranoid and duplicitous. The truth appears to lie somewhere in between, though perhaps closer to Dollfus’ version than to that of Ford-Werke. To understand the situation in 1940 one must begin with Robert Schmidt, Ford-Werke’s general director. Appointed to the position in 1937, Schmidt soon emerged as the dominant force, partly because the other co-director was a non-German (a Dane) and also because, as a member of the Nazi party, he enjoyed good relations with the regime. Exceedingly ambitious for himself and for his company, Schmidt found himself hampered by Ford-Werke’s limited size and capacity: despite recent growth, it remained a relatively minor player in the German automobile industry, possessing less than 10 per cent of market share in 1939, well behind several companies, including Opel (GM).111 If Ford-Werke wanted to expand further, one obvious way of doing so was to incorporate the other Ford companies in Europe. Sensing an opportunity, Schmidt arrived in France in the summer of 1940 in the wake of the German army. His representatives acted quickly, seizing control of Ford SAF’s Asnières plant and confiscating various goods which they then shipped to Ford plants in Anvers and Amsterdam. Meanwhile, Schmidt not only managed to get himself appointed as the administrator of Ford Belgium and Holland (as well as France), but in late June 1940 he also signed an accord with Thoenissen and the GBK authorizing him to create a ‘uniform [production] 110 111

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 248, Schmidt (Ford-Werke) to Ford Dearborn, 23 April 1940. Von Scherr-Thoss, Die deutsche Automobilindustrie, 328.

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programme’ for trucks that would involve all the Ford companies in occupied Europe and, just as importantly, would be directed by FordWerke. Ford factories in France, Belgium and Holland would all produce inter-changeable truck parts and sections, exchanging matériel, machines and finished products with each other depending on local needs. Although all four companies would be involved in production, FordWerke and Ford SAF would assemble the trucks, a decision that reflected their greater size. Consistent with the wishes of the GBK, which wanted the French industry to shift towards the exclusive production of German vehicles, Schmidt’s programme would make Ford-Werke trucks, although Ford SAF would be allowed to continue to make its own 5-ton and 3-ton trucks insofar as their various parts were compatible with German types. The programme also called for Ford SAF’s activities to be centralized at Poissy, where production would gradually increase to 500 complete trucks/month as well as parts for 500 more, the vast majority of which would be shipped to Ford factories in Holland and Belgium. Interestingly, Schmidt recognized that this programme posed considerable challenges to Ford SAF in terms of adapting its current production programmes. Nevertheless, he was confident that Ford SAF would do its part, reporting in September 1940 that ‘due to the close co-operation of everybody concerned it has come to a final plan which seems to work alright and with fair financial results for the companies involved’.112 Ford-Werke justified its initiative and Schmidt’s ‘uniform programme’ as the best available option. It would maintain the independence of the various companies while allowing them to keep producing non-war matériel – i.e., trucks. The German occupation of Western Europe, Albert explained in November 1940, put us before the great problem of how plants which depended entirely on your [Ford Dearborn] assistance and – in the case of France at least partly – on American supplies of machines and matériel could be kept alive or be restored to life, and that even in their former own line of production instead of war matériel.113

No less importantly, Albert insisted that Schmidt’s programme offered the various Ford companies valuable safeguards against the rapacious instincts of the German authorities: Ford Europe’s integration into the 112

113

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 255, Schmidt (Ford-Werke) to Edsel Ford, 19 September 1940; ibid., NARA 0001167, ‘Preliminary Investigation of Ford Werke A.G. (External Assets – Germany)’, 21 June 1945, which contains Robert Schmidt to Lord Perry, 28 May 1945; and AN 3W/230, Schmidt (Ford-Werke) to Voekler (GBK), 20 December 1940. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 248, Heinrich Albert to Edsel Ford, 16 November 1940.

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German war effort would help to counteract the temptation for the Germans to exploit the Occupation to eliminate foreign (and especially American) companies. Thanks largely to Schmidt, Albert had earlier argued, Ford-Werke had not only ensured the continued survival and independence of the Ford companies in occupied Europe; it had also provided a model of industrial collaboration in which local companies would work for the occupiers under their own management – and under the loose supervision of a German company. What Schmidt had done (at the beginning not without doubts and hesitations on the part of the authorities) has been done in the Ford spirit. . .and in the expectation of the loyal cooperation of the managers [of the Ford companies]. The authorities have approved of this method and shall adopt it now in France generally from the beginning of the next year on.114

In many ways, Ford-Werke’s arguments made sense. It was Schmidt who had used his influence as administrator of Ford SAF, Belgium and Holland, to have Dollfus and other managers ‘reinstated’; and it was Schmidt who persuaded Thoenissen of the value of Ford Europe’s potential contribution to the German war effort, thereby precluding the risk of a German take-over. It was also true that if the Ford companies in occupied Europe wanted to keep their factories running and their workers employed, they had no alternative but to work for the Germans. In 1940, in other words, Schmidt’s ‘uniform programme’ was an attractive proposition. And yet far more was at stake. It is impossible to separate Ford-Werke’s immediate aim, which was to restart production at the various Ford companies, from the larger context created by Germany’s military victories in the West. As with many officials within Nazi Germany, the company’s directors believed that Europe stood at the dawn of a new political and economic order. Admittedly, there was no consensus on what this new Europe would look like, and Ford-Werke’s directors doubtlessly opposed the more dirigiste inclinations of the GBK’s General Schell.115 But everyone agreed that a future Europe would be dominated by Germany. As Albert prophesied in September 1940: It is, of course, somewhat early to discuss what should be done after the war. But not only in official quarters but also in business circles, the opinion prevails that a radical change will take place after the war economically and that the German sphere of interest will be immensely enlarged whatever the political settlement may be. It is assumed that the grater [sic], if not the whole, of Europe will economically form one unit and that import and export will be possible only according to a 114 115

Ibid., Heinrich Albert to Edsel Ford, 11 July 1940. For Schell’s dirigiste inclinations, see MBA, Bestand Kissel, 9.48, ‘Ansprache des Herrn Generalmajor v. Schell vor der Kraftfahrpresse am 24. September 1940’.

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uniform plan and that also in the motorcar business a united program. . .may have to be set up for the whole of Europe, Germany taking the lead.

For Albert, it was self-evident that this German-dominated Europe implied a profound reconfiguration of the relations between the various Ford companies on the continent, with Ford-Werke replacing Ford Dearborn as the nerve centre of activity.116 This reconfiguration necessarily entailed the subordination of the Ford companies in occupied Europe to Ford-Werke. Just as pertinently, however, the latter could not simply take over these companies – or at least not yet. Before December 1941, they were majority owned by nationals of a country (the United States) that was not at war with Nazi Germany; even afterwards, as we shall see, the Nazi regime proved reluctant to seize private property, even when it was enemy-owned. For Ford-Werke, accordingly, the short-term task became that of preparing the groundwork for its post-war supremacy. And this is precisely what Schmidt’s ‘uniform programme’ would achieve. In the meantime, there were advantages to remaining tied to Ford Dearborn, among them continued access (however limited) to American expertise, methods and technology. But the biggest advantage is that it would help to dampen the potential resistance of the different Ford companies, thereby facilitating the longer-term goal of bringing them under Ford-Werke’s control. ‘As long as Ford-Werke A.G. have an American majority’, Albert would argue in November 1941, ‘it will be possible to bring the remaining European Ford companies under German influence, namely that of Ford-Werke A.G., and thus to implement [Germany’s] policy of continental empire (Grossraumpolitik). As soon as the American majority is eliminated, each Ford company in every country will fight for its individual existence.’117 Ford SAF’s response Dollfus was initially pleased with Schmidt’s ‘uniform programme’. In September 1940, he described the latter ‘as a good one from a general 116

117

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 248, Heinrich Albert to Edsel Ford, 18 September 1940. Also see Johannes Reiling, Deutschland Safe for Democracy? Deutsch-amerkanische Beziehungen aus dem Tätigkeitsbereich Heinrich F. Alberts, kaiserlicher Geheimrat in Amerika, erster Staatssekretär der Reichskanzlei der Weimarer Republik, Reichsminister, Betreuer der Ford-Gesellschaften im Herrschaftsgebiet des Dritten Reiches 1914 bis 1945 (Stuttgart, 1997), 403–4. BFRC, Ford-Werke, NARA 0000001–0000539, ‘Report on the Ford Werke Aktiengemeinschaft’, which includes ‘Memo über die Ford-Werke A.G. unter dem Gesichtspunkte, ob eine vollständige Verdeutschung notwendig oder auch zur zweckmässig ist’, 25 November 1941, Albert.

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point of view’, permitting Ford SAF ‘to obtain certain parts’ now unavailable from other sources as well as offering the company ‘to a large extent protection against any requisitions for other than Ford purposes by the German authorities’. Two months later, however, Dollfus had changed tack, maintaining to Ford Dearborn that Ford-Werke was providing a ‘one-sided picture’ and ‘could not be trusted’.118 Tensions, in fact, had been brewing between the French and German companies for several weeks. One issue of contention concerned the seizure of raw matériels and other supplies from Asnières in June 1940, which Ford SAF eventually valued at between 15 and 17 million francs. Dollfus dwelt almost obsessively on this issue, insisting that Ford-Werke either offer compensation or return what it had taken. Schmidt refused to do either, adding insult to injury by admitting that many of the seized goods had been sent to Germany and subsequently lost and not, as he originally claimed, delivered to the Ford factories in Belgium and Holland.119 Another contentious issue involved exports. During the autumn of 1940, Ford SAF began producing and shipping truck parts to Ford Germany, Holland and Belgium; this raised the question of how to designate these shipments. Schmidt’s representative in France claimed that cross-border transfers of goods between Ford companies should not be considered as exports and thus did not fall under French commercial laws. Although this position arguably benefited Ford SAF by exempting the company from export taxes, it also meant that shipments were not subject to prior approval from French authorities. Eager to retain some control over Germany’s burgeoning use of French industrial capacity, Vichy had passed legislation, providing it with a veto over all exports. For Dollfus, this legislation constituted a potential defence against what he viewed as excessive demands by Ford-Werke on Ford SAF.120 The issue of prices provoked further disputes. From the outset, it was Ford-Werke that determined the price of parts that Ford SAF sold to other Ford companies, which in principle amounted to fix costs plus 12 per cent. In reality, however, the situation was more complicated. The set price amounted to significantly less than Ford SAF could have got from the Wehrmacht in France; meanwhile, Ford-Werke priced its own (admittedly more limited) shipments of parts to Ford SAF at double what it paid. One problem stemmed from the over-valued

118 119 120

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 248, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 12 September and 27 November 1940. BFRC, FMC, ACC 507, Box 69, Schmidt to Dollfus, 30 November 1940. AN 3W/234, Schmidt to Dollfus, 17 October 1940; and ibid., Albert (Ford-Werke) to Legrand (Ford SAF), 6 November 1940.

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German currency that provided Ford-Werke with a decided advantage in its dealings with the various Ford companies in occupied Europe. Ford SAF, in fact, accused its German counterpart of engaging in arbitrage at its expense. But the accusations did not end there. In Dollfus’ telling, Ford-Werke was systematically defrauding not only Ford SAF but also the German authorities: the German company apparently bought parts from Ford SAF and other Ford companies at undervalued prices and then sold the assembled product (mostly trucks) to the Wehrmacht at greatly inflated prices.121 But for Dollfus all these issues were merely symptoms of a more basic problem: the threat that Ford-Werke posed to Ford SAF’s independence. Having spent a good deal of the pre-war period struggling to escape from Ford Dearborn’s tight control, Dollfus was not about to allow Ford SAF to become a satellite of Ford-Werke. Indeed, as one of Dollfus’ close collaborators remarked after the war, preserving Ford SAF’s ‘independent operations’ became the ‘Bible’ during the war.122 From this perspective, what is surprising is not that Dollfus grew convinced that Ford-Werke constituted a mortal danger but that he initially endorsed Schmidt’s ‘uniform programme’. And this draws attention to another point: Dollfus was not opposed in principle to working for the Germans. Indeed, if anything, the opposite is true. During the opening months of the Occupation, he happily welcomed German contracts, viewing them as a means not simply of tiding over Ford SAF during a difficult period but also more ambitiously of developing the company into a leading member of the French automobile industry. Determined to resist Ford-Werke’s project to create its own European empire, Dollfus pursued a multi-pronged strategy. One prong was to solicit Ford Dearborn’s help in reining in Ford-Werke. Thus, while the latter reassured the Americans that it was acting in their best interests, Dollfus sought to disabuse Ford Dearborn, presenting Schmidt in particular as a double-crossing schemer. Portraying himself as a genuine defender of Ford Dearborn, Dollfus argued that ‘the future organization of the Ford companies’ in Europe should be a matter for the Americans to decide after the war; meanwhile, during the war itself, the priority should be on preserving the independence of the various Ford companies.123 Dollfus enjoyed some success in this endeavour. In October 1941, Edsel Ford intimated to Albert that ‘a general rearrangement of the ownership of our Continental 121 122 123

AN 3W/234, Dollfus to Lehideux, 11 December 1940; and ibid., untitled note from the COA’s Service des commandes allemandes, 10 December 1940. BFRC, FMC, ACC 880, Box 6, ‘Conversation with M. Lesto, 6/9/60’. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 248, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 27 November 1940.

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businesses may be required’ and even asked for ‘his thoughts and suggestions’ on the matter. Yet, influenced by Dollfus’ arguments, he soon revised his position, informing Dollfus in January 1941 that Ford Dearborn fully approved of ‘your suggestion regarding the status of the various Continental European countries’ and shared ‘your desire that the French companies remain independent’. Predictably, Dollfus wasted little time in conveying this information to Ford-Werke.124 In a related move, Dollfus sought to convince Ford Dearborn that North Africa held enormous promise as a post-war market. In December 1940, Ford SAF’s board decided to empower Dollfus to set up a subsidiary company in Algeria; not long afterwards, the company purchased land in Oran for this purpose.125 To be sure, Dollfus had been interested in the idea of an African subsidiary since the 1930s, but little had been done before the outbreak of war.126 The Occupation, however, breathed new life into the project. From the outset, Vichy authorities were eager to ‘modernize’ Algeria, elaborating far-reaching plans for its industrialization – plans which solicited a positive response from several companies, including Ford SAF.127 But Dollfus was not simply responding to Vichy’s call. The emphasis on North Africa’s post-war potential also needs to be understood as an effort to present an alternative to FordWerke’s ambitions to reconfigure Ford’s continental empire around itself. In directing attention southwards, Dollfus proffered a vision of a post-war European–African economic union (Eurafrique) in which Ford SAF would play a prominent and even leading role. Writing to Edsel Ford in May 1941, Dollfus contended that while no one knew when or how the war would end, one thing was nevertheless certain: ‘the commercial development of the African continent’. ‘We must therefore be ready to take advantage of this situation, and when I say “we”, I mean not only the French Ford, but the other European Ford companies as well.’ Ford SAF, as he had explained in an earlier letter, was uniquely placed to direct this

124

125

126 127

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 248, Edsel Ford to Albert, 31 October 1940; and ACC 6, Box 255, Edsel Ford to Dollfus, 29 January 1941. As early as November 1940, Dollfus told Albert that the maintenance of Ford SAF’s independence reflected the ‘express desire of the FMC’. See ACC 507, Box 69, Dollfus to Albert, 30 November 1940. BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 2, Ford SAF, ‘Minutes of the Board Meeting of Ford S.A.F. Held on. . .December 20th, 1940 at 10.30 A.M.’, 15 May 1941. A subsidiary, Ford Afrique, would be created in December 1941. See BFRC, Ford-Werke, NARA 0001466–99, American consulate, Algiers, to secretary of state, no. 1535, 11 July 1942, ‘A New Ford Company for Africa’. For pre-war interest in Africa, see André Demaison, ‘Sahara’, La Revue Matford, 38 (1939), 16–20. On this aspect, see Daniel Lefeuvre, ‘Vichy et la modernisation de l’Algérie. Intention ou réalité’, Vingtième siècle, 42 (1994), 7–16.

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critical endeavour because of France’s close political, financial and other ties to North Africa. Waxing enthusiastically, Dollfus outlined a scheme in which Ford SAF in France and North Africa would assemble complete vehicles (trucks and tractors) from parts and sections made by all the Ford companies in Europe, including Germany.128 Dollfus’ African project promised Ford Dearborn an alternative postwar future to the one offered by Ford-Werke. But however attractive this alternative might have been, the Americans could provide little concrete help for the time being. If Dollfus wanted to thwart Ford-Werke’s ambitions, Ford SAF would need other allies. And so he turned to Lehideux and the COA. The January 1941 protocol Dollfus established a close working relationship with Lehideux from the outset. One of Lehideux’s first moves was to create a COA sub-committee to advise him on all aspects of the French automobile industry. Presided by Lehideux, the committee comprised one government official as well as one member each from the Big Three automobile companies; significantly, the only other member was Dollfus. ‘I am very pleased to be named on the committee’, Ford SAF’s director confided, ‘because in the future I will be in a position to fight for interests with, at least, as much power as those defending the interests of Renault, Peugeot and Citroen.’ Dollfus’ nomination was a promising sign that Lehideux fully recognized Ford SAF’s enhanced status within the industry. Just as importantly, membership on the committee not only afforded Dollfus regular and privileged access to the COA’s chief, but also promoted Ford SAF into something of a partner in the overall administration of the French automobile industry.129 As tensions mounted between Ford SAF and Ford-Werke during the autumn of 1940, Dollfus not surprisingly turned to Lehideux for support against what he called the threat of ‘German ascendency’. When, in November, the GBK under Thoenissen excluded Ford SAF from its decision to reduce the authority of the German administrators assigned to French automobile companies, Dollfus flew into action, pleading with Lehideux to do something. Responding to Dollfus’ pleas, Lehideux convinced Thoenissen later the same month to agree to an undefined reduction of Schmidt’s power as administrator. In a letter to Lehideux, 128 129

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 255, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 10 March and 2 May 1941. Sauvy, Les organismes professionnels français de l’automobile et leur acteurs, 158–9; and BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 248, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 11 October 1940.

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Thoenissen reaffirmed the COA’s status as the sole representative of the French automobile industry as a whole with the occupation authorities and promised that Ford SAF would be treated no differently from any other French company. At the same time, however, Thoenissen made it clear that Ford SAF was, in fact, different. Schmidt, he explained, had been made personally responsible for combining the capacity of the Ford companies in France, Germany, Holland and Belgium into a single and coherent production programme. As he emphasized: ‘In the future it is he [Schmidt] alone who will take the decisions necessary regarding the technical program as well as the rational execution of the production programme in the four Ford factories.’ Unlike with other French companies, special measures were needed with Ford SAF in order to ensure that it played its part in the larger project. Thoenissen, it appeared, was backing Ford-Werke. Any reduction of Schmidt’s authority would be largely cosmetic.130 Predictably, Dollfus found Thoenissen’s position unacceptable. Writing directly to Schmidt at the end of November, he claimed that he would happily ‘receive’ any ‘suggestion’ and ‘cooperation’ from FordWerke but only ‘under the condition that I deem it necessary, and not embarrassing’.131 If the two companies were to collaborate, Ford SAF would have to remain independent. In a lengthy letter to Lehideux several days later, Dollfus elaborated on his thinking, insisting that Schmidt could not be trusted and that the GBK’s proposal would amount in practice to Ford SAF’s complete subordination to Ford-Werke: ‘If you entrust M. Schmidt with the power to make final decisions regarding automobile manufacturing, you will, in fact, be giving to him alone authority over the decisions that will determine our needs, our resources, our supplies, our finances, in short the very existence of our company.’ At the same time, Dollfus understood that simple opposition to the GBK and Ford-Werke would likely antagonize Lehideux, who was committed to collaborating with the Germans. Accordingly, Dollfus carefully crafted his arguments to appeal to Lehideux, framing the issue in terms of the COA’s authority: Ford SAF’s special status constituted a violation of Thoenissen’s promise to treat the COA as the GBK’s partner. No less importantly, he sought to align Ford SAF’s interests with Lehideux’s own conception of industrial collaboration. Ford SAF’s interests, Dollfus affirmed, ‘concord completely with my firm personal desire to contribute to a [Franco-German] collaboration that has proved itself to be necessary’. Ford SAF, he 130 131

AN 3W/221, Dollfus deposition, 9 November 1944; and 3W/230, Thoenissen to Lehideux, 28 November 1940, emphasis in original. BFRC, FMC, ACC 507, Box 69, Dollfus to Schmidt, 30 November 1940.

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continued in this vein, was fully committed to collaborating loyally with the Germans and to meeting its production targets, adding that ‘it is understood that the German army will be the first served’. To facilitate this collaboration, Dollfus accepted that Ford-Werke’s officials be allowed to visit Ford SAF’s factories to verify matters first hand and to provide advice on improving the quality and quantity of production. In return for these concessions, Dollfus not only demanded an end to Schmidt’s appointment as administrator but also proposed that the COA together with the GBK be made responsible for overseeing all aspects of Ford SAF’s participation in the larger Ford programme. Ford-Werke, in other words, would be stripped of all direct influence over the company while the COA’s general authority would be augmented.132 Well aware of Dollfus’ lobbying, Ford-Werke did not remain silent. As always, the company sought to reassure Ford Dearborn that its actions were in the best interests of all concerned. To Dollfus, meanwhile, Albert contended that Ford-Werke had no say in the question of Ford SAF’s status – or in that of the relationship between the two companies. Ultimately, these were matters for the GBK to decide.133 But FordWerke was far from neutral. In a letter to the GBK in Berlin in December 1940, Schmidt defended his actions since France’s defeat. Under Thoenissen’s guidance, Ford-Werke had established a production programme that integrated the various Ford companies in Europe, including Ford SAF. Addressing Dollfus’ complaints, Schmidt claimed that they were either unfounded or lay beyond his control (prices of parts, for example) and, in any case, ignored the fact that without his help Ford SAF would not now be producing and turning profits. More generally, Schmidt denied any intention of favouring one Ford company over another, declaring, interestingly, that to do so would be ‘crazy’ given the fact that Ford Dearborn was the majority owner of all Ford companies in Europe. In the end, Schmidt identified Dollfus as the culprit, painting him as a diabolic figure bent on sabotaging any cooperation between Ford SAF and Ford-Werke: ‘He [Dollfus] has made it clear that he is unwilling to subordinate himself to anyone in the running [of Ford SAF], neither now nor in a future European organization.’ Rather than loyally cooperating with Schmidt, Dollfus ‘from the start spun intrigues against my ideas and against the [production] plan that I had established together with the GBK. Unfortunately, everyone who has come into contact with him has 132 133

AN 3W/234, Dollfus to Lehideux, 9 December 1940. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 255, Schmidt to Edsel Ford, 10 January 1941; and ACC 507, Box 69, Albert to Dollfus, 15 November 1940.

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fallen under his spell.’ Insisting that in attacking him Dollfus was also criticizing the German authorities, Schmidt concluded the letter with a demand that Ford SAF’s director be removed.134 That Schmidt addressed his letter to the GBK in Berlin and not to Thoenissen suggests that he included the latter among those whom Dollfus had enchanted. If so, he was not entirely wrong. During the autumn of 1940, Thoenissen grew increasingly irritated with the steady stream of recriminations between Ford-Werke and Ford SAF. At a meeting in Berlin in December, Thoenissen raised the issue with Lehideux, agreeing in principle that Ford SAF should not be discriminated against but treated as any French automobile company.135 Soon afterwards, at a meeting in Paris in January 1941 to discuss cooperation between the GBK and the COA, Thoenissen once again raised the subject of Ford, telling Lehideux that he was sick and tired of receiving ‘complaints’ from the two companies. Eager to establish his authority, Lehideux insisted that the COA represented all French companies in the automobile industry and therefore could not accept that Ford SAF be placed under a separate administrative regime. More constructively, he went on to outline a compromise proposal to Thoenissen that largely reflected Dollfus’ desires. Ford SAF would promise to do its best to fulfil the production targets determined by the GBK, while the COA and not Ford-Werke would be responsible for ensuring that it did so. Any disputes between the two companies would be referred to GBK and to COA officials for joint mediation. Schmidt, as a result, would be stripped of all practical control over Ford SAF’s production activities, merely retaining the right to inspect (and reject) the manufactured parts that were destined for other Ford companies. Significantly, Thoenissen quickly accepted Lehideux’s proposal, effectively abandoning his support for Ford-Werke.136 The immediate result was a protocol signed by Lehideux and Thoenissen in January 1941 which reconfirmed Ford SAF’s independence. As Dollfus enthused in a report to Ford Dearborn, ‘our point of view was not only agreed with by the French authorities, but also by the German authorities’.137 Dollfus’ success, however, extended beyond the 134 135

136 137

AN 3W/230, Schmidt (Ford-Werke) to Voekler (GBK), 20 December 1940. AN 3W/230, ‘Aktenvermerk. Besprechung mit Herrn Lehideux am 15. und 16.12.1940’, Berlin, 23 December 1940; and Dollfus’ comments on a conversation with Lehideux in BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 255, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 20 December 1940. AN 3W/230, ‘Compte-rendu des conférences qui ont eu lieu à Paris les 23–24 et 25 Janvier 1941’, L’Epine, 28 January 1941. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 255, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 29 January 1941, which includes ‘Protocol of the decisions taken at the Conference held between Colonel Thoenissen and Mr. Lehideux on Saturday 25th of January 1941’, 29 January 1941.

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formal terms of the protocol. Instead of merely reducing Schmidt’s authority, the GBK decided to abolish the position of administrator altogether and to appoint instead its own ‘industrial representative’ (Industrie Beauftragter or IB) to Ford SAF. Although the IB chosen, Johannes Stahlberg, came from Ford-Werke, his influence proved to be extremely limited. This result is partly explained by the scope of the IB’s duties. Unlike administrators, whose authority could vary greatly depending on particular circumstances, the IBs were instructed to work closely with French company directors, acting more as an intermediary between them and the German authorities than as the latter’s representatives. For Stahlberg in particular, this meant that his role with Ford SAF was, as one report later remarked, ‘purely advisory’.138 But another reason for the IB’s limited influence is that Dollfus and Lehideux worked together to resist Stahlberg’s attempts to impose his authority. Thus when Stahlberg, newly installed in his position, informed Dollfus that he possessed a ‘right of control over production and purchases as well as the right to examine the [company’s] books, etc.’, Dollfus immediately contacted Lehideux who then complained to Thoenissen that the IB was over-stepping his authority. In the face of Lehideux’s complaints, Thoenissen not only refused to widen the IB’s powers but also rejected Ford-Werke’s attempts to impose its authority on Ford SAF. At a meeting in March 1941, the two thus agreed that there would be no ‘fundamental changes’ to the original protocol.139 Why was Thoenissen so conciliatory? One reason stemmed from his belief in the principle of industrial self-administration. If the German automobile industry and German companies should be free to run their day-to-day affairs by themselves, albeit with some oversight from German authorities, the same held equally true for French companies. Thoenissen assumed that French automobile companies would work most effectively for the Germans under their own independent management. From this perspective, Ford-Werke’s seeming desire to exert a tight control over Ford SAF appeared unnecessary and even counter-productive. But no less important a factor for Thoenissen was his evident desire to forge a close working relationship with the COA. From early on, Lehideux made it clear that he considered Ford SAF’s status to be a critical issue, one 138

139

For the IB’s duties, see BA-MA RW 24/54, ‘Niederschrift über die IB-Besprechung am 22. April 1941’, 12 January 1941. For Stahlberg, see AN AJ 40/610, ‘Bericht des stellvertretenden Verwalters für die Firma Ford Société Anonyme Française. . .’, 6 August 1942. AN 3W/234, Dollfus to Lehideux, 27 January 1941; and 3W/221, ‘Aktennotiz über das Ergebnis der Besprechung im GBK während des Berliner Aufenthaltes von Herrn Lehideux vom 1.-6.4.1941’.

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which could jeopardize the growing collaboration between the GBK and the COA. Lehideux’s promotion of the issue into something of a test case of collaboration in the automobile industry no doubt contributed to Thoenissen’s irritation. At the same time, the January 1941 protocol was a small price to pay to ensure Lehideux’s goodwill, especially since it seemingly ensured that Ford SAF would produce for the German war effort. All told, by the spring of 1941 Dollfus had good reasons to be satisfied with the course of events since France’s defeat. Our ‘business is now exclusively run by ourselves’, he informed Ford Dearborn in April, adding that ‘“everything” is progressing satisfactorily’.140 Not only had the threat from Ford-Werke been neutralized, but Dollfus had succeeded in forging an alliance with Lehideux that promised a bright future for all concerned. ‘Plans are being laid down in this country for the future of our industry’, he reported in May. ‘As you know, I happen to be one of those who are consulted on the said plans. These plans will I believe maintain a very good rank to our firm.’ Dollfus, meanwhile, assured Lehideux that Ford Dearborn appreciated his efforts on behalf of Ford SAF, assuring him that ‘when peace came we could count absolutely’ on the ‘attitude of Ford’.141 The immediate future also appeared favourable. Ford SAF’s production was concentrated in Poissy, which, while not completely finished, was equipped with modern machines and machine tools as well as with a workforce of around 2,500. According to Dollfus, the plant made and assembled 400 trucks/month in addition to parts for another 400 trucks. Finding customers posed no difficulties, since the German demand for trucks ‘seems to be always growing’.142 Yet if Ford SAF’s future seemed secure in early 1941, several ominous clouds were forming on the horizon. One of them was Ford-Werke. The struggle between the companies had been temporarily suspended rather than definitively settled. While Schmidt and Albert understood that Thoenissen preferred to defer the question of Ford SAF’s status until after the war, they had no intention of waiting until then: they remained determined to exploit the circumstances of war and occupation to lay the basis for Ford-Werke’s post-war supremacy. As Albert curtly advised Ford Dearborn in July, Schmidt and himself would continue ‘to carry on using our own judgment at the best of our knowledge, in Germany as well as in the occupied territories’.143 As for Dollfus, notwithstanding his

140 141 142 143

BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 6, Dollfus to Sorensen, 3 April 1941. AN 3W/234, Dollfus to Lehideux, 1 March 1941; and BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 255, Dollfus to Sorensen, 30 May 1941. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 255, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 10 March and 3 April 1941. Ibid., Albert to Edsel Ford, 1 July 1941.

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general optimism regarding the future, the recent experience with FordWerke had left him suspicious and prickly, ready to denounce any and every perceived threat to Ford SAF’s independence. ‘We are chased and attacked from every angle’, he wrote in May 1941. ‘I am getting difficulties and hostilities from those that should support us’ – i.e., Ford-Werke.144 Taken together, Dollfus’ state of mind and Ford-Werke’s ongoing ambitions made future clashes all but inevitable. Another cloud on the horizon was the growing interest of the occupation authorities in Ford SAF’s productive capacity. In the run-up to the invasion of the Soviet Union in June 1941, the Germans were eager to maximize France’s industrial contribution to Germany’s war effort. In January 1941, the OKW’s economic chief, General Thomas, insisted that ‘France with all its resources must be exploited to a greater extent than before.’ Similarly, Göring’s Four Year Plan lectured the MbF two months later that the task of ‘aligning the French economy with German wartime economic needs’ had assumed a new urgency.145 In April, Thoenissen accordingly informed German armament officials in Paris that the output of the French automobile industry must be considerably increased over the next nine months. Significantly, in his comments Thoenissen emphasized the pressing need for trucks.146 Armaments officials, moreover, had particularly high expectations for Ford SAF. The company’s modern plant at Poissy when combined with the Ford name, which was practically synonymous with mass production, conjured up visions of endless numbers of trucks rolling off the assembly-lines. No less importantly, during the struggle with Ford-Werke, Dollfus had been compelled to portray Ford SAF’s productive potential in upbeat and even inflated terms in his campaign to convince the German authorities to preserve the company’s independence. Heightened expectations on the part of the Germans, in turn, drew attention to two problems. The first concerned Ford SAF’s output. To be sure, some confusion existed regarding figures. Those provided by Dollfus for weekly and monthly production did not always concur with one another and were often subject to rapid change. But for the Germans, what mattered most was the number of vehicles delivered. And, here, the results were disappointing. Of the 2,500 vehicles that Ford SAF was 144 145

146

Ibid., Dollfus to Sorensen, 30 May 1941. Emphasis in original. For Thomas, see Hans-Adolf Jacobsen, ed., Kriegstagebuch des Oberkommandos der Wehrmacht (Wehrmachtführungsstab) Band 1/2 1. August 1940 – 31. Dezember 1941 (Munich, 1982), Thomas to Keitel, 9 January 1941, 997–8. Göring is cited in Umbreit, Der Militärbefehlshaber in Frankreich, 30. For economic preparations for Barbarossa in general, see Tooze, The Wages of Destruction, 429–60. AN 3W/232, ‘Note’, Rüstungsinspektion Paris, 9 April 1941.

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contracted to build between August and December 1940, it delivered less than one half (1,080), a continuation of its pre-armistice performance. The following year saw improvements but the results still fell short: if Ford SAF matched and even exceeded the targets for parts, it delivered only 60 per cent of the 6,000 or so trucks it was supposed to produce.147 Admittedly, many of the reasons for Ford SAF’s disappointing results lay beyond its control. Growing shortages of various matériels, for example, not only reduced overall output but also affected quality, since the company was forced to use substitutes that were second-rate at best. Nevertheless, the gap between expectations and reality could pose problems for Ford SAF, for it provided a reason – or excuse – for various German actors to intervene. Much would depend on Ford SAF’s success in closing this gap.

147

AN AJ 40/610, ‘Bericht des stellvertretenden Verwalters für die Firma Ford Société Anonyme Française’, 6 August 1942; and 3W/232, Ford SAF to COA, 27 January 1942. For figures, also see Wilkins and Hill, American Business Abroad, 436.

3

A year of transition: 1942

For both the Germans and the French, 1942 was a transitional year. This is true in the general sense that 1942 lies somewhere between the seeming certainty of German victory that dominated for most of 1940–1 and the belief that Germany might ultimately be defeated that began to take hold in 1943. To be sure, for much of the year the prospects of an Allied victory in the war – and of France’s Liberation from occupation – appeared to be distant at best. Nevertheless, during 1942 France and Europe’s future began to look less dark than it did in 1940 or even 1941. Evolving assessment about the war’s likely outcome, in turn, influenced the short-term and long-term calculations of the various actors in our story. For the Germans, the failure of Operation Barbarossa, together with the American entry into the war in December 1941, transformed the conflict. The changing military situation fuelled calls in Berlin for a radicalization of policy, one manifestation of which was renewed pressure to confiscate American-owned firms in Germany and in occupied Europe. Notwithstanding the powerful voices calling for such a measure, more moderate counsels eventually prevailed. While the long-term future of American companies remained uncertain, Ford SAF’s immediate fate would be determined by developments in France itself. Meanwhile, the shifting tides of war made necessary a more thorough mobilization of resources if Nazi Germany was to avoid being overwhelmed by the combined strength of a global coalition of great powers. In this context, squeezing more out of occupied Europe in general and out of France in particular became a pressing concern. At the same time, Germany’s declining military prospects made the task of exploiting France more difficult, since the occupation authorities had less to offer the French in return for cooperation. For the French, meanwhile, the growing uncertainty concerning the outcome of the war encouraged a greater assertiveness towards the occupiers. If this posture was evident within the Vichy government, it can also be detected among workers, including those at Ford SAF. This growing uncertainly also fuelled attempts to renegotiate the bases of industrial 102

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collaboration. Here, François Lehideux provides a telling example. While by no means abandoning his ambitions to reorganize the French automobile industry, during 1942 Lehideux did begin to conceive of this project more in strictly French rather than in Franco-German terms. The immediate result was an emerging reticence on his part to cooperate with his German counterparts. The year 1942 was also a transitional one for Ford SAF. The preceding period, running from the summer of 1940 to mid-1941, had seen several notable successes. In addition to staving off the threat from Ford-Werke, Dollfus succeeded in forging an alliance with Lehideux, whose COA worked closely with the GBK. In return, Ford SAF promised to do its best to produce for the Germans, which was hardly a high price to pay given the financial benefits and the lack of alternatives. The available evidence, moreover, suggests that Ford SAF respected its part of the bargain during 1941 and the beginning of 1942. In the spring of 1942, however, Allied bombers attacked Ford SAF’s Poissy plant, inflicting considerable damage and highlighting in stark fashion the stakes involved in industrial collaboration. The effects of the bombing would be considerable. The company found itself compelled to disperse its industrial capacity to several locations, a process that aggravated existing problems concerning the quantity and quality of its production. These problems, in turn, attracted the attention of the German authorities as well as of FordWerke, both of whom sought to revise the status quo created by the January 1941 protocol. For Ford SAF, the immediate task was to repair the damage and to restart production. But informing this activity was the question of whether it remained in the company’s best interests to work wholeheartedly for the Germans. German policy: the American entry into the war Less than a week after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941, Nazi Germany declared war on the United States. Although the German government was not bound to do so under the terms of the tripartite alliance, Hitler himself took the decision, much to the surprise and unhappiness of almost all of his political and military advisors who considered that the Wehrmacht had its hands full with the war against the Soviet Union. For Hitler, however, the present moment appeared optimal. He believed that war with the United States was inevitable for strategic and ideological reasons; and if so, a good case could be made for provoking a war now rather than later when the Americans had mobilized their vast resources. Not only would the United States be tied down in the Pacific, providing Germany with time to defeat the Soviets; but the German navy

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would be allowed to wage all-out submarine warfare against shipping in the Atlantic, thus further delaying American preparations.1 However rational Hitler’s decision was to declare war on the United States, American belligerence had important implications for Ford SAF. Overnight, it went from being a foreign-owned company to an enemyowned one. What this new status meant for Ford SAF in concrete terms would initially be determined by deliberations in Berlin. In principle, the answer seemed straightforward: American companies in Germany and occupied Europe would be subject to the January 1940 decree on the treatment of enemy assets discussed in the previous chapter. Yet, in reality, the situation was not so simple. Both Göring’s Four Year Plan organization and the Economics Ministry had remained dissatisfied with what they viewed as the excessive moderation of German policy towards enemy-owned companies. For Göring, the control of these companies offered a means of increasing Germany’s dominating position in the European economy while reducing the influence of foreign countries, not least the United States. The two departments, accordingly, lobbied in Berlin for changes to the January 1940 decree. In August 1941, for example, the Economics Ministry asked that administrators be appointed not only for enemy-owned companies but also for important Americanowned companies, singling out among others the members of Ford’s European empire. In an inter-ministerial meeting in October 1941, officials from Göring’s organization spoke in terms of a general liquidation of enemy- and foreign-owned companies. Responding to the argument that such measures could await the end of the war, the department’s representative countered that now was the time to create ‘established facts’ (vollendete Tatsachen).2 Not surprisingly, these departments seized upon the American entry into the war to advance their agenda. At an inter-ministerial meeting on 22 December 1941, an Economics Ministry official argued in favour of extending the January 1940 decree to the United States, describing the measure as the sole ‘guarantee’ available that American companies would work ‘in the interests of the German war economy’. In a letter to the

1

2

For an excellent discussion of Hitler’s decision to declare war on the United States, see Ian Kershaw, Fateful Choices: Ten Decisions that Changed the World 1940–1941 (London, 2007), 382–430. BAL R 87/67, RWM to RkBfV, no. 7280/41, 11 August 1941; and ibid., RkBfV, ‘Vermerk’, no. 1140/41, 31 October 1941; also see R 2/30024, RFM, ‘Vermerk’, 9 September 1941. In arguing for the need to expand Germany’s economic presence in Europe during the war itself, the Economics Ministry and the Four Year Plan could count on a new and powerful ally, the SS. See BAL R 87/9164, ‘Besprechung bei Reichskommissar Ministerialdirektor Ernst’, 6 August 1941.

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Foreign Ministry two days later, the Economics Ministry formally requested this extension. The accompanying memorandum claimed that American authorities had been waging economic war against German interests since 1939, which in itself justified retaliatory measures. But it placed greater emphasis on the urgent need to appoint German administrators to US-owned companies in order to prevent them from working in an ‘American spirit’.3 At an inter-ministerial meeting in February 1942, the Economics Ministry representative reiterated that a ‘pressing interest’ existed in placing a ‘number of American companies under [German] control as soon as possible’, mentioning in particular companies in the automobile industry.4 That the Economics Ministry’s ambitions went beyond simply obtaining guarantees of good conduct from American companies is evident from an internal memorandum in January 1942. Widely circulated within the ministry, the memorandum contained two related proposals. One was to strengthen the power as well as the independence of administrators so that their aims and activities ‘always correspond to national socialist principles’. In particular, the Economics Ministry wanted to put an end to the common practice of appointing administrators who came from the company itself and who were thus tempted to identify with its interests. In backing this proposal, Martin Bormann, the influential head of the Nazi party chancellery, would later complain that such administrators possessed a ‘cosmopolitan mentality’ that prevented them from pursuing ‘German interests’.5 The Economics Ministry’s second proposal was to appoint administrators not only to individual companies but also to entire industries in which there was a sizeable American presence. These administrators would operate on a European-wide basis (Germany and occupied Europe) and would provide ‘united direction’ to the industries concerned. Such a concentration of authority, it is worth underscoring, was precisely what Ford-Werke sought over Ford’s European empire.6 The request to extend the January 1940 decree to the United States met with fierce resistance from the Foreign Ministry. Strictly speaking, the latter did not possess much of a case since the United States was now a belligerent and thus fell under the scope of the decree. Before December 1941, the Foreign Ministry had framed the decree in retaliatory terms: 3

4 5 6

PAAA R 40537, RWM to Auswärtige Amt, no. 58903/41, 24 December 1941, emphasis in original; and ibid., ‘Aufzeichnung über die Besprechung im AA vom 22.12.41 über die Behandlung der Vereinigten Staaten von Amerika als Feind im Sinne der Feindvermögensverordnung’, 22 December 1941. BAL R 3001/22827, ‘Vermerk’, no. 633.42, undated. BFRC, Ford-Werke, BAL 5755, Bormann (Partei-Kanzeli) to RJM, 31 October 1942. BAL R 3101/33172, RWM, ‘Vermerk’, no. 06911/42, 25 January 1942.

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Germany should not seize the initiative but instead wait for other countries to take discriminatory measures against German assets abroad. Following the American entry into the war, the ministry continued to defend this position, claiming that Washington had done nothing to threaten German companies in the United States. In this situation, to apply the January 1940 decree risked provoking the Americans to respond in kind. For this reason, the ministry reacted strongly to the news that Göring, under his authority as head of the Four Year Plan, had appointed an administrator to Opel (GM), insisting that we must ‘strive if possible to avoid measures within Germany that will put at risk German assets abroad’.7 Provoking Washington, moreover, appeared especially dangerous because Germany supposedly had far more to lose. To be sure, the Foreign Ministry admitted that the value of American assets in Germany far outweighed the value of German assets in the United States – a point it used to explain American restraint. But to prevent this difference from being used to justify measures against American companies, Foreign Ministry officials argued that the geographical compass must be widened to include all of the Americas (Latin and South America) on the grounds that Washington exerted a predominant influence in the region and could therefore compel countries to follow its lead. Once this was done, the overall balance of gains and losses tipped decisively in Germany’s disfavour.8 Interestingly, in its calculations the Foreign Ministry excluded American assets in occupied Europe outside of Germany. The issue, in any case, went well beyond the calculation of balance sheets. In a series of inter-ministerial meetings in early 1942, Foreign Ministry officials made it clear that they viewed the United States differently from other belligerents. What the ministry feared most was an ‘economic war’ with the United States which, it believed, Germany would certainly lose. At one such meeting, a high-ranking Foreign Ministry official insisted that if the Economics Ministry wanted such an economic war, it must provide a persuasive argument regarding the ‘necessary assurances of success’. In private, meanwhile, the same official warned against engaging in an ‘economic war’ with the United States: Looking forward finally from the declaration of war with the United States, we can imagine that the effect of the enemy assets law will be to open an economic war with the United States. This would completely contradict the previous guidelines held to by Germany, which is to pursue a military war but not an economic war. 7 8

PAAA R 40538, ‘Aufzeichnung’, Albrecht, 9 February 1942. For the Foreign Ministry’s position, see BAL R 2/30075, ‘Schnellbrief’, no. 39442, 17 December 1941; and R 2/30075, AA circular, no. 39442, 17 December 1941.

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Such a general measure can only be accepted if it contributes to the war aim of defeating the United States. This, however, appears thoroughly improbable. The opening of an economic war against the United States will unleash against us the already-mentioned unfavourable effects [the loss of German assets throughout Latin and South America], without achieving any [positive] effects of its own.9

The hope that a war with the United States could be confined to the military realm, excluding the economic, was certainly odd, if not downright bizarre. But this does not mean that Foreign Ministry officials were detached from reality. After all, their position reflected a realistic assessment both of Germany’s relative economic strength and of its prospects for victory in a war against the United States. And this realism holds the key to explaining the Foreign Ministry’s thinking. At the most basic level, the case for limited war needs to be understood as a response to Göring and others who insisted that Germany was engaged in a total war in which restraint had no place.10 For the Foreign Ministry, such a war could only lead to disaster for Germany. Set against the backdrop of the failure of Operation Barbarossa to inflict a quick and decisive defeat on the Soviet Union, a limited war with the United States might even keep open the possibility of a separate peace, thereby allowing Germany to concentrate on the eastern front. Faced with strong pressure for more radical measures, the Foreign Ministry and its bureaucratic allies, principally the RkBfV, the agency responsible for overseeing German policy towards enemy-owned assets, engaged in delaying tactics. The opening months of 1942 thus saw several rounds of proposals, counter-proposals and meetings. Events, however, were working against the Foreign Ministry. One reason for this stemmed from the Foreign Ministry’s own arguments. Framing the issue in terms of retaliation meant that a good deal of the debate in Berlin centred on what the American government was doing. Although the Foreign Ministry continued to insist that the Americans were manifesting restraint, information soon trickled in suggesting that Washington was adopting discriminatory measures against German assets. In early 1942, the Roosevelt administration moved to freeze German assets and to assign control over them to the Office of Alien Property Custodian.11 Alien 9

10 11

PAAA R 40538, ‘Aufzeichnung über die Behandlung des amerkanischen Vermögens in Deutschland’, Schiffner, 20 January 1941; and ibid., ‘Besprechung über die Behandlung der Vereinigten Staaten als Feindstaat im Sinne der Feindvermögensordnung am 16. Januar 1942’, Schiffner, 22 January 1942. See the comments in Lindner, Das Reichskommissariat, 161. On the American steps, see Stuart L. Weiss, The President’s Man: Leo Crowley and Franklin Roosevelt in Peace and War (Carbondale, IL, 1996), 114–47. Crowley headed the Office of Alien Property Custodian when it was created in 1942. Also see Lindner, Das Reichskommissariat, 92.

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Property Custodians possessed full powers to dispose of enemy and neutral assets as they deemed best. In at least one case, that of the American affiliate of I. G. Farben, the custodian worked quickly to ‘Americanize’ the company.12 But if mounting evidence of American measures against German companies weakened the Foreign Ministry’s position, so too did the intervention of the occupation authorities in France. Unlike German military leaders in Berlin, who initially appeared largely uninterested in the issue, the MbF had been pressing for measures against American assets for some time. In April 1941, several months before the United States’ entry into the war, the MbF’s economic section recommended that American companies be subject to surveillance and even possible seizure. Shortly thereafter, it imposed strict restrictions on the use of assets by American individuals and companies.13 Following the American entry into the war, the MbF urged the authorities in Berlin to extend the January 1940 decree to the United States. In particular, the MbF asked for the authority to appoint German administrators to American companies, partly in order to pre-empt the French government.14 In late 1941 – early 1942 Vichy authorities began discussing the possibility of appointing their own administrators to American-owned companies, drawing up a list in which Ford SAF was included. Much to the MbF’s displeasure, Vichy guidelines indicated that appointments would be made in consultation with the companies concerned, effectively ensuring that the administrators would be an instrument of company policy. Indeed, the guidelines allowed company directors to become administrators and it was thus proposed that Dollfus be appointed for Ford SAF.15 The MbF feared that the appointment by Vichy of administrators such as Dollfus would strip the Germans of any influence over Americanowned companies. Accordingly, the MbF pressed Berlin to be allowed 12

13

14 15

Declan O’Reilly, ‘Vesting GAF Corporation: The Roosevelt Administration’s Decision to Americanise I. G. Farben’s American Affiliates in World War II’, History and Technology, 22 (2006), 177–80. For the MbF, see the file in AN AJ 40/605, especially Herrn KVR Bolck, 7 April 1941, Leiter der Wirtschaftsabteilung to Leiter der Verwaltungsabteilung, 3 April 1941; CAEF B0063544, ‘Note sur le blocage des avoirs américains’, September 1941; and MbF to Min. de l’Economie Nationale et des Finances, 19 July 1941. Also see BA-MA RW 35/ 304, ‘Bericht über die wirtschaftlichen Lage im Bereich des Militärbefehshabers in Frankreich’, 2 August 1941. PAAA R 40538, MbF to RFM, 10 January 1942. AN 19830589/7, Secrétariat d’état à la production industrielle, ‘Note pour Messieurs les Chefs de Service’, no. 31.671, 19 December 1942; and ibid., ‘Nomination d’Administrateurs provisoires pour les Sociétés placées sous influence américaine. Fiche de renseignements. Ford S.A.F.’, undated.

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not only to appoint German administrators but also to devise safeguards to ensure that the latter served German interests. Significantly, the MbF was particularly unhappy with the administrators that the GBK had appointed to French companies, contending that all too often they identified with their assigned companies rather than with the larger goal of the German occupation, which was to exploit France’s productive capacity to the maximum.16 The MbF’s lobbying, moreover, appears to have carried some weight in Berlin. Thus, in justifying its decision to support the extension of the January 1940 decree to American-owned companies in Germany and in occupied Europe, the Justice Ministry prominently cited the MbF’s position.17 Under pressure from all sides and increasingly isolated, the Foreign Ministry had no choice but to end its opposition. In early April 1942, the January 1940 decree was accordingly revised to include the United States. As Stephen Lindner argues, it is remarkable that it took the German authorities four months to recognize the obvious – that the United States was officially an enemy.18 More than anything, this delay is a reflection of the unique role of the United States in the Nazi regime’s efforts to define the nature of the war. By excluding the United States from the January 1940 decree, the Foreign Ministry hoped to avoid the catastrophe of an unwinnable war by limiting its scope, at least in the economic realm. For others, however, extending the decree imposed itself not only for the self-evident reason that the United States was now a belligerent, but also as a means to radicalize Germany’s economic war effort – to use the war to transform the German and European economies. Radicalizing impulses, as a good deal of research indicates, pulsed through the Nazi regime, reaching their murderous apogee in genocide.19 By this standard, the ambitions to eliminate the presence of American companies in Europe appear relatively mild. Yet, as the debates in Berlin in early 1942 suggest, the potential for the radicalization of German policy existed in all domains. This point is pertinent for American-owned companies in France for two reasons. One reason is that these companies 16

17 18 19

BAL R 87/2, MbF to RkBfV, no. Wi I/3, 28 February 1942. For unhappiness, see the retrospective comments of General Barckhausen in NARA T 77/1221, ‘Die deutsche Wehr- und Rüstungswirtschaft in Frankreich vom 3.7.1940 bis 31.3.1943’, undated but 1943. PAAA R 40539, RJM to AA, no. 936/42, 20 March 1942; also see BAL R 3001/22827, RJM Schnellbrief, no. 1212/42, 13 March 1942. Lindner, Das Reichskommissariat, 92–7. Notable examples include Christopher R. Browning, The Origins of the Final Solution: The Evolution of Nazi Jewish Policy, 1939–1942 (London, 2005); Ian Kershaw, Hitler 1936–1945: Nemesis (London, 2000); and MacGregor Knox, Common Destiny: Dictatorship, Foreign Policy and War in Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany (Cambridge, 2000).

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operated in a climate of uncertainty. A sudden change in German policy could not be ruled out. The second reason is that the practical implications of the decision to extend the January 1940 decree remained unclear. They would have to be worked out between the various French and German actors concerned. German policy: the American entry into the war and Ford SAF Generally speaking, the decision to extend the January 1940 decree on enemy assets to the United States had little immediate impact on American-owned companies. Despite being forced to give way on the principal point, the German Foreign Ministry did succeed in gaining concessions when it came to applying the decree, most notably regarding the authority of the German administrators who would be appointed. Predictably, Economics Ministry officials continued to demand that administrators be named for entire industries and that individual administrators be given wide powers and be truly independent of the companies they administered; no less pertinently, they insisted that such measures were especially urgent in the case of American multinational companies.20 But the Foreign Ministry succeeded in ignoring these demands, ensuring that the administrators’ powers would continue to be circumscribed.21 This hands-off approach would extend to occupied France. Having lobbied in Berlin for the extension of the January 1940 decree, the MbF quickly set about appointing administrators to American-owned companies. By September 1942, there were 130 German administrators, a number that rose to 850 by July 1943, though not all of these were named to American companies.22 Not surprisingly, the MbF sought to define their powers as broadly as possible. The appointees, read the instructions prepared by the MbF’s enemy assets section, were to ‘administer’ the companies ‘according to the principles of a directed economy for the benefit of Germany’. While they should try to preserve 20

21

22

BAL R 3101/33172, RWM draft circular, 9 April 1942; and ‘Niederschrift über eine Besprechung vom 18. Juli 1942 bei Herrn Staatssekretär Dr. Koch über Grundsätze der Verwalterbestellung für amerikanische Vermögen’, 24 July 1942. BAL R 3101/33172, RkBfV to RWM, 20 July 1942. Also see Anita Kugler, ‘Die Behandlung des feindlichen Vermögens in Deutschland und die “Selbstverantwortung” der Rüstungsindustrie. Darstellt am Beispiel dr Adam Opel AG von 1941 bis Anfang 1943’, 1999. Zeitschrift für Sozialgeschichte des 20. und 21. Jahrhunderts, 3 (1988), 46–78. AN AJ 40/602, MbF to General von Unruh, 16 July 1943; and BA-MA R 35/305, MbF, Wirtschaftsabteilung, ‘Wirtschaftsbereich’ for June to September 1942, 1 November 1942.

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the ‘interests of the enemy owners’, they should do so only to the extent that it ‘does not contradict Germany’s welfare’.23 In the end, however, the MbF failed to transform the German administrators of American-owned companies into reliable instruments of its policies. In a post-hoc assessment of its activities during the Occupation, the MbF’s enemy assets section admitted that German administrators had had little impact on the ‘independent life’ (Eigenleben) of enemy-owned companies. Indeed, going further, the overview claimed that German administrators had exercised less authority in France than in Germany and other occupied territories. For this, it blamed the bureaucratic rivalries in Berlin.24 But if these rivalries were certainly a factor, alone they cannot explain why administrators proved to be particularly weak in France. To understand this difference, one must also consider the relationship between the MbF’s principal aim, which was to exploit French resources for the German war effort, and France’s special role as the economic and industrial crown jewel of Germany’s European empire. The Germans urgently needed to maintain and even to increase French production, a priority which determined the choice of administrators for Americanowned companies. In principle, the MbF insisted that the administrators must possess ‘unconditional political reliability’.25 In practice, however, they privileged expertise over politics. As with Ford SAF, almost all the important American-owned companies in France were working for the Germans by 1942. The occupation authorities quickly realized that if they wanted to avoid costly disruptions to production, they would not only have to limit the role of administrators but also to appoint people who knew something about the industry and company concerned. And more often than not this meant someone close to or even from the company itself. The MbF was well aware of the risk that such a person would be co-opted by the company he administered, but this was a risk it had to accept. In the end, the occupation authorities could only hope that the interests of Germany’s war effort would continue to coincide with those of American-owned companies. Interestingly, Ford SAF appeared to be something of a special case because of its fraught relations with Ford-Werke. The decision to extend the January 1940 enemy assets decree to the United States had implications not only for Ford SAF but also for its German counterpart. Well

23 24 25

BA-MA RW 35/257, ‘Dienstanweisung für die Verwalter von Feinsvermögen’, undated but 1942. Ibid., ‘Bericht der Gruppe Wi ½ (Feindvermögen) über ihre Tätigkeit vom 20.10.4015.8.44’, 17 February 1945. Ibid.

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before the American entry into the war, Ford-Werke had suggested to the German authorities that an administrator would be unnecessary as the company ‘was and always had been German’. As decisive evidence of its German identity, Ford-Werke emphasized its efforts, under GBK instructions, to reorganize the Ford companies in occupied Europe ‘on the basis of a common programme’ and to make ‘their war potential available to the army administration’. Nevertheless, if the authorities insisted on appointing an administrator, Ford-Werke asked that it be Heinrich Albert, the chairman of its board, who supposedly had laboured to reduce ‘American influence’.26 In Berlin, however, it appeared self-evident that Ford-Werke would need an administrator. Indeed, even before the extension of the January 1940 decree there were discussions on whom to appoint. Reflecting Ford-Werke’s wishes, the focus was initially on Albert. Thoenissen, the GBK’s chief in France, lobbied in his favour. As Thoenissen explained in December 1941, he was concerned about Göring’s ambitions to Germanize the European economy, fearing in particular that a ‘third party’ might exploit the appointment of an administrator to seize control of Ford-Werke and the other Ford companies in Europe. Such a step would not only disrupt the current production of trucks, which the Wehrmacht badly needed; it would also jeopardize the longer-term aim of reorganizing the post-war European automobile industry to reflect Germany’s dominant position.27 To recall, Thoenissen believed that this aim should be pursued in cooperation with the automobile industries and companies of other European countries. Paradoxically, this belief made it important not to alienate Ford Dearborn. Well aware of the rivalry between Ford-Werke and Ford SAF, Thoenissen counted on the Americans to restrain the French company’s resistance to being integrated into a German-led European automobile industry after the war. And this explains his choice of Albert as administrator. As a ‘prominent Ford representative’ with close ties to Ford Dearborn, Albert would provide a reassuring presence to the Americans, reducing the possibility that they would back Ford SAF against Ford-Werke. Conversely, if Albert were not chosen, Thoenissen maintained, Dollfus’ ‘influence’ with Ford Dearborn would rise, undermining ongoing efforts to ensure that after the war the ‘Schwerpunkt of Ford’s [European] interests lies in Germany’.28 26 27 28

Ford-Werke to RkBfV, 18 June 1941, reproduced in Roβmann, ed., Vom mühsamen Weg zur Einheit, 356–8. BFRC, Ford-Werke, NARA 000451–454, Albert to Schmidt (English translation), 20 December 1941. See BFRC, Ford-Werke, BAL 5784–86, RkBfV, ‘Vermerk’, 20 April 1942; and also see BAL R 87/6205, ‘Vermerk’, RkBfV, no. 36/41, 27 November 1941.

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Not surprisingly, Albert shared Thoenissen’s thinking. It was imperative, he explained in December 1941, that Ford-Werke ‘stick wholeheartedly and to the last minute’ to Ford Dearborn in order ‘to build up a German domination within the Ford concern as far as Europe was concerned’.29 Albert’s and Thoenissen’s calculations, however, were threatened by Robert Schmidt, Ford-Werke’s director. Although Schmidt pretended that he was happy to see Albert as administrator, behind the scenes he appears to have campaigned for his own appointment. Before long, both Göring’s Four Year Plan and the Economics Ministry expressed their support of Schmidt, who they viewed as a more suitable ally in their pursuit of a more interventionist approach to Americanowned companies. Soon afterwards, the German security services vetoed Albert’s appointment, presumably because he was too ‘cosmopolitan’ in outlook.30 Albert, however, did not accept his apparent defeat. In addition to calling on Thoenissen’s help, he quietly endeavoured to ensure that his ‘oversight of and influence on’ Ford-Werke ‘remained as before’.31 The upshot was a compromise. While Schmidt was appointed as Ford-Werke’s enemy assets administrator, Albert became the chairman of the company’s reconfigured board of advisors. More pertinently for our story, Albert and not Schmidt was chosen to administer Ford SAF. Although Thoenissen’s reaction is unknown, Dollfus at least was relieved by the outcome. Early on, he had urged Thoenissen to name someone to Ford SAF who was unconnected to Ford-Werke, preferably a German military officer.32 But for Dollfus, the priority was on excluding Schmidt. The latter, he informed Ford Dearborn in the spring of 1942, had done ‘everything he could to be appointed at Paris. We finally succeeded in avoiding this danger (and it was a real danger).’ While not thrilled with Albert, Dollfus was nevertheless confident that the German authorities in France have ‘accepted our view point as regards the protection of our business’. Ford Dearborn was thus told that Ford SAF’s administrator would almost certainly be instructed to do ‘nothing. . .to impede our

29

30

31 32

BFRC, Ford-Werke, NARA 000451–454, Albert to Schmidt (translated), 20 December 1941. Albert lobbied hard to be named administrator, informing the RkBfV in December 1941 that he was in no way beholden to Ford Dearborn and that ‘I have always represented in principle and in fact exclusively German interests’. See BAL R 87/6205, Albert to RkBfV, 12 December 1941. BFRC, Ford-Werke, BAL 5778–80, RkBfV, ‘Vermerk’, 19 December 1941 and 25 March 1942; and BFRC, Ford-Werke, NARA 0000147, Albert to Schmidt, 5 February 1942. Also see Reich, Research Findings about Ford-Werke under the Nazi Regime, 32–3. BFRC, Ford-Werke, BAL 5784–86, RkBfV, ‘Vermerk’, 20 April 1942. BAL R 87/6205, RkBfV, ‘Vermerk’, 24 December 1941; and Reich, Research Findings about Ford-Werke under the Nazi Regime, 34.

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future activities, and that no measures of confiscation, either moral or material, [will] be taken’.33 Ford SAF’s confidence, however, was premature. In Berlin, Schmidt made it clear that, as administrator of Ford-Werke, he intended to raise anew the issue of Ford SAF’s immediate future. In a meeting with RkBfV officials in the spring of 1942, Schmidt dwelt on the ‘discrepancies’ (Unstimmigkeiten) existing between Ford SAF and Ford-Werke. From the outset, Schmidt continued, Dollfus had been disloyal, doing everything he could to undermine Ford-Werke’s efforts on behalf of the German war economy. Cooperation between the two men, Schmidt insisted, was simply ‘not possible’. Dollfus would have to go. Schmidt, in fact, had already approached the MbF about seizing effective control of Ford SAF. For now, the occupation authorities responded cautiously to the suggestion – a response he attributed principally to Dollfus’ close relations with the GBK. But Schmidt, as we shall see, was not about to abandon the issue.34 German policy: the growing gap between French and German interests The American entry into the war had far-reaching implications for Germany’s war effort. For the moment, however, the Germans expected that it would take considerable time before the United States was able to mobilize and apply its massive resources. To be sure, some observers, such as the German military attaché in Washington, warned against ‘an under-estimation of the American capacity to produce and the American willingness to produce’.35 But most of them believed that the United States would be unable to tip the matériel balance between Axis and Allies decisively in the latter’s favour before 1943 at the earliest. Speaking to representatives of the German automobile industry in November 1941, General Schell, the GBK’s head, downplayed the immediate impact of American belligerency. When it comes to war production, he remarked, the United States ‘cannot from one day to the next come up with a huge quantity of matériel’.36 In the meantime, the more immediate 33 34 35 36

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 260, ‘Memorandum from Mr. George Lesto Ast. Manager of Matford Company’, 9 June 1942. BAL R 87/6205, ‘Aktenvermerk’, RkBfV, 29 April 1942. ADAP, vol. 13/1, Botschaft Washington to AA (Berlin), no. 2194, 12 July 1941, 106–8. SäSC, Auto Union 31050, 599, ‘Vortrag des Herrn General von Schell anlässlich der Beiratssitzung in der Wirtschaftsgruppe Fahrzeugindustrie am 18. November 1941’. Also see Joseph Maiolo, Cry Havoc: How the Arms Race Drove the World to War 1931–1941 (New York, 2010), 353–4.

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and preoccupying situation was in the East. The Red Army’s surprise counter-offensive in early December 1941 not only triggered a serious political-military crisis in Berlin at precisely the same moment as Pearl Harbor, but also marked the definitive failure of Operation Barbarossa. Once the counter-offensive had been beaten back and the front-lines stabilized, German political and military leaders confronted the reality that the war would not end quickly. In November, Schell had spoken of the possibility of a decade-long war, though he hoped victory would come sooner. But however long the war, everyone agreed that a major offensive against the Soviets would be needed in the spring of 1942. Preparing for this offensive took precedence over other considerations. The priority, accordingly, became to increase armaments production. A Hitler decree in early December 1941 announced the need for the ‘systematic combination of all construction and production resources’ for ‘rearmament tasks’.37 Responding to the decree, Wilhelm Keitel, the head of the OKW, drew up a memorandum in January 1942 aimed at charting a new course in armaments production. In addition to according the army the priority, it called for rigorous steps to increase output by concentrating and rationalizing industries and by eliminating all production that was not absolutely essential to the war effort. ‘All measures that today are merely partial efforts towards future peace planning represent a weakening of the war economy and should therefore be completely ended.’38 That these steps were not meant to apply to Germany alone is apparent from the remarks of General Thomas, the OKW’s economic chief, later the same month. Addressing a gathering of armaments officials from the various occupied countries, Thomas informed them that they ‘must make the strongest efforts to mobilize more than before the economic potential of their territories for German rearmament and to forbid any production that is not of a war-important nature.’39 Possessing the largest economy in occupied Europe, France would necessarily be affected by the renewed commitment of the Germans to exploit all the resources at their disposal. German occupation officials in France were fully attuned to the growing sense of urgency reigning in Berlin. As early as September 1941, 37

38

39

‘Vereinfachung und Leistungssteigerung unserer Rüstungsproduktion’, Hitler, 3 December 1941, reproduced in Martin Moll, ed., ‘Führer-Erlasse’ 1939–1945 (Stuttgart, 1997), 210–12. ‘Uberblick über die Rüstungsmaβnahmen’, OKW, no. 1/42, 3 January 1942, reproduced in Thomas, Geschichte der deutschen Wehr- und Rüstungswirtschaft, 1918–1943/45 (Boppard an Rhire, 1966), 478–82. BA-MA RW 19/562, ‘Vortrag des Herrn Amtschef des Wehrwirtschafts-u. Rüstungsamtes im Oberkommando der Wehrmacht General d.Inf. Thomas gelegentlich der Besprechung der Rüstungs-Inspekteure und Rüstungskommandeure am 21.1.1942 in Berlin’, OKW Wi Rü, no. 213/42, undated.

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a high-ranking MbF official warned armaments officials that their pleasant life in occupied France should not blind them to the seriousness of Germany’s overall situation. War production must be increased without delay, he intoned, adding that ‘[i]f we want to preserve the existence of our people, then nothing else matters’.40 More concretely, the MbF’s economic officials reported that it was necessary not only to augment the number of German contracts and sub-contracts with French companies but also better to oversee the execution of these contracts with an eye to reducing unnecessary production. As a report in January 1942 explained, the ‘large-scale planning of the overall production for the Wehrmacht and for the [French] civilian sector’ was ‘absolutely necessary’ in order to increase output. Only by such planning would it be possible to ‘implement in large part the desired concentration in the especially productive factories as well as the closing of unimportant output, [which would] free-up additional capacity for new [German] contracts’.41 Several months later, at a high-level meeting in Paris attended by Lehideux among others, German officials asked the French participants to cooperate in drawing up industry-wide plans to concentrate production. In the meantime, French and German officials would work together at a local level in order to close factories that were not working for the occupiers.42 As the German occupation authorities would quickly discover, however, increasing French production for the German war effort would not be easy. One problem was the growing shortages that afflicted France’s economy, greatly hampering activity. ‘No energy sources. No raw matériels. Little manpower’ was how one French analysis succinctly assessed matters in the autumn of September 1941.43 During 1941–2, German reports referred with increasing frequency to the lack of raw matériels, energy, transport and labour. In the Paris region, the ratio between needs and available supplies of various oil products for factories, for example, ranged from 3 to 1 and 4 to 1. In the spring of 1942, the MbF noted dejectedly that ‘the difficulties are constantly increasing in all areas of the industrial economy’ and that ‘new bottlenecks

40 41

42 43

BA-MA RW 24/42, ‘Niederschrift über die IB Besprechung am 29. Sept. 1941’, General Rüdt von Collenberg. BA-MA RW 24/16, Wi- und Rü Stabes Frankreich, ‘Lagebericht des Wehrwirtschaftsund Rüstungsstabes Frankreich für Oktober 1941’, Paris, 15 November 1941; and RW 24/17, Wi- und Rü Stabes Frankreich, ‘Lagebericht des Wehrwirtschafts- und Rüstungsstabes Frankreich fuer Dezember 1941’, Paris, 15 January 1942. AN 3W/52, ‘Compte-rendu d’une réunion du 25 mars à l’Hôtel Majestic’, 26 March 1942. ‘Synthèse zone occupée – 16 septembre 1940 (DGTO)’, accessed online at: www.ihtp. cnrs.fr/prefets.

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and obstacles were constantly emerging’.44 Among the industries adversely affected by the shortages was the French automobile industry. In February 1942, the economic group representing the German automobile industry identified shortages of various kinds as the principal danger to the ongoing efforts to exploit the productive capacity of French companies. It recommended closer cooperation between the GBK and the COA in order to ensure that the focus remained on ‘war-important and war-decisive’ production.45 In German eyes, the penury of supplies confirmed the pressing need to rationalize and concentrate French production. The ‘ever increasing shortage’ of matériel, the MbF underscored, ‘demands the strongest measures of concentration and especially the ending of all production that is unimportant to the war and to existence (aller nichts kriegs- und lebenswichtigen Fertigung)’.46 With this in mind, in December 1941 and again in March 1942 the occupation authorities issued decrees empowering them to close factories; in May 1942 the Germans began drawing up a list of designated factories, many of which belonged to the consumer goods industries but some of which belonged to industries directly linked to the war effort.47 The occupation authorities, however, were eventually forced to admit that they had had little success in closing factories. If one problem was the lack of German officials to oversee the decree’s implementation, the Germans pointed to another and more fundamental factor: the uncooperative attitude of the French authorities. The difficulties that the MbF encountered in imposing greater concentration on French industry reflected a fundamental dilemma that emerged with growing sharpness in 1941–2. At a very basic level, the Germans depended on the cooperation of the French. As Elmar Michel, the head of the MbF’s economic administration, explained after the Liberation, the MbF’s constrained resources limited its role to that of ‘controller’. The Germans, Michel remarked, had no choice but ‘to execute German demands through agreement and collaboration’ with French officials 44

45 46 47

NARA T 77/1256, ‘Lagebericht der Rüstungsinspektion A zum 3. Januar 1942’, no. 9920/42, 3 January 1942; and MbF, ‘Lagebericht April/Mai 1942’, 31 May 1942, emphasis in original. Accessed online at: www.ihtp.cnrs.fr/prefets. MBA, Bestand Kissel, 9.33, Wirtschaftsgruppe Kraftfahrzeug, ‘Tätigkeitsbericht der Geschäftsführung’, no. 12/42, 12 February 1942. MbF, ‘Lagebericht April/Mai 1942’, 31 May 1942, emphasis in original. Accessed online at: www.ihtp.cnrs.fr/prefets. AN 19830589/8, ‘Ordonnance allemande concernant la fermeture d’entreprises’, 5 March 1942; and Marcel Boldorf, ‘Les effets de la politique des prix sur la consommation’ in Sabine Effosse, Marc de Ferrière le Vayer and Hervé Joly, eds., Les entreprises de biens de consommation sous l’Occupation (Tours, 2010), 21–2.

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and industrialists.48 During the first year of the Occupation, this approach worked well enough. Initial fears concerning the possibility of ‘passive resistance’ on the part of French authorities towards industrial collaboration were quickly dispelled. While Vichy actively encouraged the Germans to place contracts in France, companies such as Ford SAF proved to be eager to work for the occupiers due to the absence of alternatives and the prospect of considerable profits.49 To be sure, German observers sensed that the vast majority of the French hoped for a British victory; but they also recognized that these hopes in no way precluded a desire to collaborate. Growing numbers of ‘leading economic actors’ in France, one report concluded, manifested a willingness to cooperate with Germany ‘in the framework of a new European economy’.50 By 1942, however, the willingness of the French to cooperate appeared to be faltering. As the prospects of a rapid German victory receded, the German authorities began to detect a change in the attitudes of the French. In February, the MbF’s economic section reported on signs of opposition on the part of French industrialists to collaboration. Several months later the German armistice commission noted that the French government and people were hedging their bets towards the occupiers in light of the uncertain outcome of the war.51 Over the course of the year, German perceptions on this score would harden. Increasing numbers of French industrialists, it was alleged, were losing confidence in collaboration, convinced that it worked to Germany’s unique benefit. Reports soon began to speak of ‘passive resistance’ on the part of French workers that manifested itself in poor discipline, shoddy workmanship and even deliberate delays.52 Increasingly concerned, armaments officials launched a propaganda campaign in the autumn of 1942, replete with pamphlets, lectures and concerts, aimed at convincing French workers to ‘apply

48 49

50 51

52

AN 3W/52, ‘Les buts de l’Administration militaire’, translated excerpts of Michel’s final report. In May 1941, one German automobile company reported that French companies preferred German contracts because they paid more. See SäSC, Auto Union 31050, ‘Bericht über die Aufenthalt Schlobsnieβ in Paris in der Zeit vom 7. bis 13. Mai 1941’, 17 May 1941. BA-MA RW 24/16, Wi- und Rü Stab Fr, ‘Lagebericht des Wehrwirtschafts- und Rüstungsstaabes Frankreich für Februar’, 3 March 1941. BA-MA RW 24/17, Wi- und Rü Stabes Frankreich, ‘Anlage zum Lagebericht’, 12 February 1942; and RW 19/3360, ‘Beurteilung der Lage Frankreichs und Einstellung der Achensenmächte zu Frankreich’, Deutsche Waffenstillstandskommission, Wiesbaden, no. 113/42, 1 July 1942. For example, see BA-MA, RW 24/98, ‘Kriegstagebuch des Rü Kdos Paris-Mitte für den Zeitabschnitt 28.9–27.12.42’, 20 January 1943; and RW 24/49, Rü In A, ‘Lagebericht’, no. 10102/42, 1 February 1942.

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themselves in the interests of German policy’. Meanwhile, a series of intimate meetings were organized with French industrialists in the hope of fostering ‘closer personal contact’. The overall results, however, proved disappointing.53 For the Germans, what they perceived as the growing hostility of the French became a key factor in explaining disappointing production. Here, General Barckhausen, the head of the MbF’s armaments section, offers a telling example. In October 1942, he warned his subordinates that German armaments production was threatened by sabotage – a threat he largely attributed to the influence of Allied propaganda. ‘AngloAmerican propaganda finds an especially attentive ear among many French people, with its advice they do not work or work as little as possible for German war production and that they do everything to hurt German interests.’ Going further, he even alleged that a ‘throng of spies and saboteurs’ were targeting French factories producing for the Germans.54 Admittedly, Barckhausen’s views were alarmist. Although the French police, who kept a close eye on these matters, observed an increase in grumbling and even in political activity (mostly leafleting and graffiti) among some workers during 1941–2, it was entirely episodic and without any detectable impact on production.55 Nevertheless, Barckhausen’s views are worth citing because they draw attention to a significant development during 1942: the growing belief of the occupation authorities that French and German interests in the economic and industrial realms were diverging. On the German side, no one was more aware of this growing divergence of interests than the GBK’s chief in France. Speaking in September 1942 to German armaments officials, Thoenissen emphasized the need to reanimate the ‘community of interests’ between occupiers and occupied. ‘The goal of this community of interests’, he reminded his listeners, ‘is to ensure that those French industries working for the German war effort are developed in such a way that this [Franco-German] union produces the greatest results for the strengthening of Germany’s armaments potential’. Thoenissen understood, moreover, that this community could not be imposed but must be voluntary. A ‘lasting strengthening of [our] war potential’ was ‘for the most part dependent on the voluntary readiness 53

54 55

BA-MA RW 24/47, Rü In A (Paris u. Nordwest-Frankreich), ‘Kriegstagebuch’, 27 November 1943; ‘Aktenvermerk’, 8 September 1942; and ‘Vierteljährlicher Überblick zum K.T.B. für die Zeit vom 1.10–31.12.42’. BA-MA RW 24/5, ‘Anspruche des Chefs des Wi. Stabes Frankreich an die Teilnehmer des Ausbildungslehrganges für Wi-Offiziere am 12. Oktober 1942’, 19 October 1942. For example, see the reports for the Seine-et-Oise department, which included Poissy, in ADY 1 W/8.

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of the French to cooperate’. Yet, here, precisely could be found the ‘core’ of the problem confronting the Germans: Germany demands from its defeated opponent, who meanwhile for an uncertain and unforeseeable period is subjected to the strongest political and military pressure, that it contribute through the greatest possible voluntary effort for war production to the achievement of [a German] victory, one in which the vast majority of the people of this defeated opponent has no interest.56

Thoenissen’s comments can partly be read as an implicit criticism of Hitler’s consistent refusal to negotiate a political agreement with France during the conflict that would secure its place in a post-war Europe – an agreement that Vichy leaders desperately sought. But it was more than this. Thoenissen identified a basic challenge that would increasingly confront the occupation authorities in the economic realm: how to convince French industrialists and workers to act in contradiction to their perceived interests: ‘Above all our duty is to ponder over and over again until our heads hurt how we are to get the French to help us with all their available means to strengthen our war potential, [and this] despite what is for them a fate [that is] very difficult to accept.’57 For Barckhausen, the answer to Thoenissen’s question was to appeal to the material interests of the French. The promise of considerable profits would stimulate collaboration. But as Barckhausen himself recognized, this promise had its limits. While the profit motive might prompt French companies to work for the Germans, it alone offered no guarantee that they would commit ‘all their available means’ to the task. Indeed, given the belief that rising numbers of factory directors possessed a reserved and even hostile attitude towards the occupiers, the wholehearted cooperation of French companies was doubtful.58 At the same time, in an economy of growing penury such cooperation would be more necessary than ever to maintain let alone to increase production. Unlike Barckhausen, Thoenissen hoped to reduce the emerging gap in French and German interests by appealing to politics. One aspect of this appeal consisted of a renewed emphasis on Europe – on the collective construction of a post-war order that would benefit everyone. The greater France’s immediate contribution to this order, the greater would be its eventual reward. Similarly, Thoenissen continued to insist that the 56

57 58

BA-MA RW 24/38, ‘Niederschrift der Anspruche des Chefs des Deutschen Beschaffungsamtes in Frankreich Generalmajor Thoenissen’, Paris, 1 September 1942, emphasis in original. Ibid., emphasis in original. NARA T 77/1221, ‘Die deutsche Wehr- und Rüstungswirtschaft in Frankreich vom 3.7.1940 bis 31.3.1943’, Barckhausen, undated but 1943.

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French and Germans must stop conceiving of production in a national framework and instead should ‘speak only of an overall European armaments capacity’. Within the European realm production would be integrated: ‘rational operating factories’ would be used and all ‘irrational operating factories’ would be closed, regardless of their national affiliation.59 Sensing perhaps that appeals to a shared and bright future might ring hollow by 1942, Thoenissen emphasized another aspect of politics: anti-communism. The French, he explained, must be made to understand that the West in general was engaged in a life-and-death struggle against Bolshevism in which France must do its part – a part he defined principally in terms of ‘maximum economic performance (wirtschaftliche Hochstleistung)’.60 To be sure, Thoenissen’s anti-communism was not simply instrumentalist. Many high-ranking MbF officials adhered to Nazism, among them Barckhausen who in 1942 described the ‘national socialist Weltanschaaung’ as the ‘basis of the current spiritual leadership of the German armed forces’.61 But if Thoenissen’s anti-communism was doubtlessly sincere, in framing the war as an anti-Bolshevik crusade the occupation authorities also sought to motivate the French to increase their contribution to the German war effort. It would be wrong to dismiss the appeal of anti-communism to Vichy. In June 1942, Premier Pierre Laval notoriously declared that he ‘desired the victory of Germany’ for otherwise ‘Bolshevism would tomorrow install itself everywhere.’62 Laval, moreover, was not alone. On a visit to Berlin the month before, Lehideux had announced that ‘the war against Bolshevism is really Europe’s war, [it is] the defence of a civilization that belongs to all European peoples’.63 Lehideux’s evolving views on industrial collaboration will be discussed below. But for now it is enough to note that there is little reason to believe that the Germans could rely on anti-communism to stimulate the French to greater efforts. Although hostility to communism was rife within French political and economic circles, the idea of an anti-Bolshevik crusade possessed limited

59 60 61

62 63

BA-MA RW 24/38, Thoenissen to Barckhausen, 9 September 1942, emphasis in original. Ibid., ‘Niederschrift der Anspruche des Chefs des Deutschen Beschaffungsamtes in Frankreich Generalmajor Thoenissen’, Paris, 1 September 1942, emphasis in original. BA-MA RW 24/5, ‘Anspruche des Chefs des Wehrwirtschafts- und Rüstungsstabes Frankreich Generalleutnant Barckhausen anlässlich des Auflösungs-Appels am 28. Juli 1942, 12 Uhr’, 28 July 1942. For the Nazi affinities of the MbF in general, see Eismann, Hôtel Majestic, 111–25. Fred Kupferman, Pierre Laval (Paris, 1976), 337. AN 3W/217, ‘Résumé de l’exposé fait par Monsieur François Lehideux au cours des entretiens qu’il a eus à Berlin les 18 et 19 mai 1942 avec le Maréchal de l’air Milch et le Général von Loeb’, undated.

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attraction, reverberating principally with the small group of ideologically committed collaborators in Paris such as Marcel Déat and Jacques Doriot. Still more to the point, by 1942 the growing doubts about the likelihood of a German victory meant that the French would have to consider other factors, among them the possibility of an Allied victory. In this situation, it would become even harder for the Germans to convince French companies to align their interests unconditionally with those of Germany. Profits and politics would not be enough. If the occupation authorities wanted to exploit more fully France’s industrial capacity, something more was needed. One possibility was for the Germans to assume a more active role in industrial matters. German policy: the reorganization of the MbF’s economic administration One must begin with developments in Germany. In February 1942, Hitler appointed Albert Speer as armaments minister to replace Fritz Todt, who had just died in an airplane accident. After the war, Speer would help to propagate the idea of an ‘armaments miracle’ under his competent and technocratic leadership. Before his appointment, the story goes, German war production was crippled by inefficiencies in a variety of areas ranging from the allocation of scarce resources to production methods and the pricing of contracts. Once in office, Speer moved quickly to streamline Germany’s industrial effort, injecting significant doses of rationalization, concentration and central direction, all of which resulted in impressive gains in output. In recent years, Speer’s self-serving account has been subjected to thorough revision. His claim to have been an apolitical technocrat largely ignorant of the Nazi regime’s crimes is no longer credible in light of Germany’s massive recourse to slave labour under his watch, which he not only accepted but vigorously pursued. As for the ‘armaments miracle’, scholars have convincingly shown that notable jumps in output, to the extent that they existed, cannot be attributed to any wondrous abilities on Speer’s part. Instead, they were the combined result of earlier reforms and investments and of increasingly desperate and ruthless methods to mobilize various factors of production, among them slave labour.64 64

On the ‘economic miracle’, see Tooze, The Wages of Destruction, 552–89; Jonas Scherner and Jochen Streb, ‘Das Ende eines Mythos? Albert Speer und das so genannte Rüstungswunder’, Vierteljahrschrift für Sozial und Wirtschaftsgeschichte, 93 (2006), 172–96; and Lutz Budrass, Flugzeugindustrie und Luftrüstung in Deutschland 1918–1945 (Düsseldorf, 1998). For the argument that Speer was anything but apolitical, see Gitta Sereny, Albert Speer: His Battle with Truth (London, 1995).

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But for all its mythic elements, Speer’s appointment as armaments minister did mark a departure. Speer helped to inspire the regime with an intensified sense of urgency in regard to the war economy. Within days of taking office, he and Hitler agreed that the sole priority for industrialists would be an immediate increase of armaments production and that the ‘strongest punishment’ would be applied to those who failed to comply.65 In addition to this sense of urgency, Speer introduced significant changes to the administrative structure of the German economy. From the outset, he strove to sideline his various institutional rivals, most notably Göring’s Four Year Plan, the Economics Ministry and the OKW’s economic and armaments section under General Thomas. All three saw their authority rapidly dissolve as the Armaments Ministry moved to the fore. At the same time, Speer pursued a combination of centralized and decentralized economic direction. On the one hand, he created the Zentrale Planung, an inter-departmental body chaired by himself and charged with overseeing armaments production. Given the expanding importance of the latter to the overall German economy, Speer’s influence reached into a growing number of areas. On the other hand, Speer encouraged the autonomy or ‘self-responsibility’ of industry by rapidly increasing the number of committees and rings on which sat representatives of major companies. Attached to the Armaments Ministry, the committees and rings grouped together companies within industries and sub-industries and were charged with organizing production, establishing production programmes and managing the distribution of scarce matériels and parts among member companies. No less importantly, they were to pursue industrial rationalization by channelling production to targeted companies, reducing product types and favouring the standardization of parts.66 The automobile industry played a major role in Speer’s efforts to reorganize Germany’s economic administration. Production levels for the industry as a whole proved disappointing, falling well below needs. Thus, while the Wehrmacht lost over 74,000 vehicles (of which about 31,100 were trucks) between December 1941 and March 1942, it received only 7,441 new ones during this period. Worse still, the output of trucks actually declined by 40 per cent between 1939 and 1940 and

65 66

Willi A. Boelcke, ed., Deutschlands Rüstung im Zweiten Weltkrieg. Hitlers Konferenzen mit Albert Speer 1942–1945 (Frankfurt am Main, 1969), 19 February 1942, 16. In addition to Tooze, see Bernhard R. Kroener et al., eds., Das Deutsche Reich und der Zweite Weltkrieg, V/2: Kriegsverwaltung, Wirtschaft und Personelle Ressourcen 1942–1944/45 (Stuttgart, 1999), 275–326.

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continued to stagnate throughout 1941.67 Clearly frustrated with these results, Speer and Hitler decided in July 1942 to sideline the GBK and to dismiss Schell, its head. As a result, the GBK was replaced by the Hauptauschuss Kraftfahrzeuge, the committee for the automobile industry. Under the leadership of Wilhelm Schaaf, the director of BMW, the committee was more determined than ever to harness occupied Europe’s industrial capacity to the German automobile industry. If for the moment this meant above all sending French skilled workers to German factories, Schaaf and his colleagues also searched for ways to increase the output of factories in France.68 As the Hauptauschuss Kraftfahrzeuge’s thinking suggests, Speer’s administrative reorganization had an impact in France. Speer was ruthlessly ambitious, and so it was not surprising that he sought to extend his armaments empire to France, which accounted for almost 60 per cent of all German contracts outside of Germany.69 But in the opening months of 1942, his task was greatly facilitated by the general sentiment reigning in Berlin and Paris that the German economic administration in France was not working. In February, the MbF’s economic and armaments section admitted that production figures were ‘disproportionately lower’ in France than in Germany and other occupied territories. The report attributed this situation to France’s unique status as a (partially) occupied country with an independent (Vichy) government. The Vichy authorities, the COs and French industrialists all supposedly conspired to advance ‘purely French interests’. Starting from this assumption, the Germans convinced themselves that considerable industrial capacity remained available in occupied France.70 To tap this potential, however, the economic administration would have to become more effective in order to

67

68

69 70

For vehicle losses, see Kirchberg and Bunke, Vom Horch zum Munga, 106; for trucks, see Neil Gregor, Daimler-Benz in the Third Reich (New Haven, 1998), 141. For production, see Maurice Olley, The Motor Car Industry in Germany during the Period 1939–1945 (London, 1949), 10–11. For the Hauptauschuss Kraftfahrzeuge, see Boelcke, ed., Deutschlands Rüstung im Zweiten Weltkrieg, 8 July 1942, 152–3; and Martin Pesch, Struktur und Funktionsweise der Kriegswirtschaft in Deutschland ab 1942 – unter besonderer Berücksichtigung des organisatorischen und produktionswirtschaftlichen Wandels in der Fahrzeugindustrie (Köln, 1988), 81–91. For the desire to exploit French industry, see SäSC, Auto Union 31050, 599, Wirtschaftsgruppe Fahrzeugindustrie, ‘Niederschrift über die Beiratssitzung am 18. November 1942’, 27 November 1942. The figure is in terms of monetary value and is cited in Houwinck ten Cate, ‘Die rüstungswirtschafliche Ausnutzung Westeuropas während der ersten Kriegshälfte’, 182. BA-MA RW 24/17, Wi- und Rü Stabes Frankreich, ‘Lagebericht des Wehrwirtschaftsund Rüstungsstabes Frankreich für Januar 1942’, 15 February 1942, and ‘Anlage zum Lagebericht’, 12 February 1942; and NARA T 77/1256, Rü In Fr, ‘Grundlegende Betrachtungen über in Frankreich noch vorhandene freie Kapazitäten’, 31 October 1942.

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prevent the French from playing on German divisions, which the occupation authorities viewed as an endemic problem. A more effective administration was also necessary in order to force Vichy authorities to rationalize French industries, principally by shutting down ‘unimportant’ factories. More generally, it would provide some measure of mastery over what appeared to be a wayward situation. As mentioned in the previous chapter, in 1940 the MbF had created a clearing house (ZASt) to oversee the placing of German contracts in France; yet, despite clear regulations, German industrialists and military procurement agencies continued to place the vast majority of contracts directly with French companies, ignoring the ZASt. Woefully uninformed about the overall industrial situation, the MbF could only lament its ignorance and impotence.71 Seizing on the widespread sense of dissatisfaction, Speer moved quickly to overhaul the German economic administration in France. At a highlevel meeting in Berlin in June 1942, he sketched out a new organizational framework that was designed to concentrate and centralize authority under his own ministry. Soon, the MbF found itself stripped of much of its influence over war production – much as the OKW had been in Germany. While an economic staff remained in place under General Barckhausen, it now served merely as the MbF’s representative with Speer, concerning itself with ‘questions of an entirely general nature’. Concrete issues would be dealt with by a new agency, the Beschaffungsamt (procurement office), which was directly subordinate to the Armaments Ministry. Modelled on similar agencies within Germany, the Beschaffungsamt replaced the ZASt, its authority encompassing all German contracts in France, regardless of their origin. The flipside to this expansion of German direction and control over industrial policy was a reduction in French influence. The reorganization, Speer explained at the June meeting, would make it impossible for French industry to ‘play off one [German] procurement centre against another’. More generally, it represented a challenge to the more cooperative approach to industrial collaboration embodied in the Lehideux– Thoenissen protocol of January 1941. Indeed, Speer specifically mentioned Lehideux in underscoring his wish that French industrialists be excluded from playing any role in the Beschaffungsamt.72 71 72

BA-MA RW 24/17, Wi- und Rü Stabes Frankreich, ‘Lagebericht des Wehrwirtschafts- und Rüstungsstabes Frankreich für Januar 1942’. BA-MA RW 24/38, ‘Niederschrift des Besprechung in Paris am 15.6.1942 nachmittage unter Leitung des Ministers für Bewaffnung und Munition Reichsminister Speer’, Berlin, 18 June 1942. For the reorganization more generally, see Milward, The New Order and the French Economy, 110–46.

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Along with centralizing authority under his ministry, Speer also sought to place French factories working for the Germans under closer surveillance. Here, his chief instrument was the tiny armaments inspection staff created in the summer of 1940; placed directly under the OKW, its task was to oversee French production for the Wehrmacht.73 Speer expanded this organization, most notably by increasing the size, number and duties of its ‘armaments teams’ (Rüstungskommandos). He thus divided France as a whole into fifteen regions, each with its own team and sub-teams. All the teams were placed under a central armaments inspectorate (Rü In Fr) which was itself subordinated to the Armaments Ministry in Berlin. The armaments teams would interface directly with French companies working for the Germans, helping them to acquire labour and raw matériels supplies while also prodding and, if necessary, bullying them into meeting their assigned production targets. Working at ground level, the armaments teams would strengthen the occupiers’ hand by providing them with the detailed knowledge of French activities that had hitherto been lacking. Industrial collaboration, as Speer reassured Pierre Laval the same month, might continue, but the Germans clearly intended that it would now do so more on their own terms.74 Several remarks are in order regarding the reorganization of the German economic administration in occupied France. In expanding his armaments empire, Speer sought to extend the administrative system he was forging in Germany. Yet this aim suffered from a basic problem: the absence on the French side of any equivalent to industry ‘self-responsibility’. In Germany, Speer believed he could rely on a combination of nationalist-patriotic sentiment and self-interest to encourage companies to work wholeheartedly for the war effort. Even foreign- and enemy-owned companies, such as Ford-Werke or Opel (GM), could be prodded to do so. In France, as we saw, however, the occupation authorities themselves were convinced that the situation was different. The ‘willingness to perform’ of the French people, Speer’s own staff dourly noted at the end of 1942, had ‘fundamentally diminished’.75 It was becoming increasingly clear that

73 74

75

BA-MA RW 24/58, ‘Geschichte der Rüstungs-Inspektion Paris (vom 20.6. – 30.9.40)’, undated but 1940. For the armaments teams, see NARA T 77/1221, ‘Organisation der Rü-Dienststellen in Frankreich’, no. 5400/42, 26 June 1942, Speer. For Laval, see BA-MA RW 24/38, ‘Aktennotiz über die Besprechung Minister Speer, Minister-präsident Laval in der Deutschen Botschaft in Paris am 16. Juni 1942’, 19 June 1942. NARA T 77/561, ‘Kriegstagebuch des Rüstungsstabes Frankreich des Reichministers für Bewaffnung und Munition vom 1. Oktober 1942 bis 31. Dezember 1942’, 31 December 1942.

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French companies, if left alone, could not be counted on to do their utmost. To be sure, there existed little evidence of active opposition on the part of French industrialists and workers. But this provided little comfort to the Germans at a time when the worsening military situation made it necessary to exploit French resources to the maximum extent possible. If industrial ‘self-responsibility’ was not feasible, then the Germans would have to find a means to scrutinize French companies. And this was precisely one of the principal tasks of the armaments teams. Here, however, the problem was one of resources. The MbF’s economic section had operated on a shoe-string in terms of personnel, and Speer’s new agencies could expect to do the same. Thus, in the autumn of 1942, the armaments team for the centre of Paris comprised four officers and fifteen officials who were responsible for overseeing 227 factories. Although the team would soon be reinforced by an additional twenty-one sub-officers and enlisted men (as well as eight female secretaries), its strength would remain well below what was needed.76 A close surveillance of French companies was simply impossible. Limited resources also meant a considerable carry-over in personnel. Speer’s staff had no choice but to employ numerous officials who possessed considerable experience working with their French counterparts and who were committed to the more collaborative approach that Speer hoped to replace with a more dictatorial one. Figuring prominently among these officials was Thoenissen, who Speer chose to head the Beschaffungsamt. Having built a close professional and personal relationship with Lehideux over the first two years of the Occupation, Thoenissen was unlikely to shut his door to the COA’s chief.77 As we saw, Thoenissen was acutely aware that the Germans needed French cooperation more than ever. Looking ahead, Speer’s efforts to restrain French influence over industrial collaboration are important not so much because they succeeded but because they helped to displace this influence to lower levels – and above all to the company level. Finally, it is worth noting that Speer failed to impose his ministry’s authority in France. When it came to contracts, the Beschaffungsamt did little better than the ZASt: its control of German contracts 76

77

BA-MA RW 24/98, ‘Kriegstagbuch des Rüstungskommandos Paris-Mitte des Reichsministers für Bewaffnung und Munition für den Zeitabschnitt 1.8.1942– 30.9.1942’. For one sign of the personal relationship between the two, see Thoenissen’s condolence letter to Lehideux on the accidental death of his daughter. AN 3W/223, Thoenissen to Lehideux, 1 April 1942.

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would remain partial at best.78 But it was in the vital area of manpower that Speer’s limited authority would be most apparent. In March 1942, only one month after Speer’s appointment, Hitler named Fritz Sauckel, the brutish Gauleiter of Thuringia, as his plenipotentiary for the mobilization of labour in Germany and occupied Europe. Once in his post, Sauckel adopted a hard-line position, demanding that considerable numbers of French workers be sent to Germany, if necessary by forcefully conscripting them. The French government cooperated in order to avoid the worst, with the result that during 1942 almost 300,000 French men and women went to Germany, in addition to the millions of French prisoners of war already there; but these figures fell short of rising German labour needs. The gap between expectations and reality would trigger a spiral of pressure, coercion and resistance during 1943–4, as Sauckel’s officials increasingly resorted to dragooning French manpower.79 Scholars generally portray Speer and Sauckel as bitter rivals in France. While the first sought to increase French production in France, the second undermined this goal by conscripting labour for work in Germany. But for 1942, this portrait of deep-seated rivalry is overdrawn. As Speer curtly informed the MbF in late 1942, Sauckel’s directives must be obeyed.80 To be sure, Speer was too ambitious and too politically savvy to oppose Sauckel, who was armed with a direct mandate from Hitler and who enjoyed the latter’s favour. But if cooperating with Sauckel made political sense at home, it could also serve Speer’s agenda of rationalizing industrial production in France. Sending large numbers of workers to Germany would force French authorities and industrialists to make do with less manpower, a situation which imposed choices. The effect, more concretely, would be to channel scarce labour supplies to factories with German contracts while starving those factories working for the French. This process would work not only between factories but also within them. Cooperating with Sauckel’s staff, members of the armaments teams would identify surplus workers in particular factories; their removal, in turn, would leave French directors no choice but to close down non-essential (non-German) production. 78

79 80

The situation in France appears to have been different from that in Holland, where Speer’s staff did succeed in gaining control of contracts placed with Dutch companies. Hein A. M. Klemann, ‘Dutch Industrial Companies and the German Occupation, 1940– 1945’, Vierteljahrschrifte für Sozial- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte, 93 (2006), 1–22. See Zielinski, Staatskollaboration: Vichy und der Arbeitskräfteeinsatz im Dritten Reich; and Laub, After the Fall, 247–72. BA-MA RW 24/39, ‘Anlagen zum Kriegstagebuch des Deutschen Beschaffungsamtes in Frankreich für das IV. Vierteljahr 1942’, which includes Speer to Stülpnagel, undated.

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As 1942 wore on, however, Speer’s concept of a mutually beneficial relationship with Sauckel made less and less sense to his own staff in France. Ruthlessly determined to scour all of Europe for workers, Sauckel had become convinced by the autumn of 1942 that greater coercion was needed to mobilize French labour for Germany. Fearing the disruptive effects of this project, German armaments officials initially sought to temper the pace of Sauckel’s labour drafts.81 Before long, however, they concluded that Sauckel’s activities were hampering efforts to mobilize French industry, complaining for example of the ‘psychological’ damage being afflicted and of the resulting ‘reduction of production’.82 True to character, Sauckel refused to budge on his demands, depriving Speer’s staff of much of its authority over labour supplies in France. More generally, Sauckel’s intransigence contributed to a flux in German attitudes towards industrial collaboration, with Speer himself unsure whether to privilege production in Germany or in France. As we shall see in the next chapter, Speer would eventually opt to keep French workers working in France. And what he wanted these workers to build first and foremost were Ford trucks. French policy: reassessing industrial collaboration In the scholarship on Vichy France, the appointment of Pierre Laval as head of government in April 1942 is often presented as a decisive moment in Franco-German relations. ‘Collaboration’, Julian Jackson writes of the event, ‘was now to enter a new stage.’83 Since his dismissal in December 1940, Laval had been angling to return to power, convinced that Germany would win the war and that he alone could establish a long-term and mutually beneficial collaboration for France. The failure of his predecessor, Admiral François Darlan, to coax meaningful political concessions from the Germans only confirmed Laval’s belief in his own indispensability. Once in office, Laval centralized political authority around himself, sidelining Pétain and taking over the Foreign Affairs, Interior and Information Ministries. During the coming months, he seized every opportunity for concrete cooperation with the occupiers, seeking in the process to safeguard and expand Vichy’s autonomy and to persuade Germany to offer political concessions to France. Moral

81

82 83

BA-MA RW 24/38, ‘Aktenvermerk zur Sitzung am 16.9.42 16 Uhr’, 29 September 1942; also see RW 19/719, ‘Aktenvermerk über die Besprechung des Organisationsausschusses des Deutschen Beschaffungsamtes in Frankreich am 4.IX.42’, Paris, 5 September 1942. BA-MA RW 24/89, ‘Kriegstagebuch’, Rü Kdo Paris Ost, 27 September 1942. Jackson, France: The Dark Years, 185.

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considerations played little role in Laval’s policy, a point underscored by the notorious involvement of Vichy authorities in the implementation of the ‘Final Solution’ in France. For Laval, Jews (and especially foreign Jews) were a means to his larger end of forging a genuine Franco-German partnership.84 But during 1942, Laval also viewed economic and especially industrial collaboration as an important tool in his wooing of the Germans. As he explained to a gathering of presidents of the Comités d’organisation: France’s salvation, at a moment when Germany is preparing the final offensive against Russia, is in total obedience, without mental reservations. France can seize, in playing an economic role in the victory, a historic chance to modify her destiny. From being a defeated country she can become a nation integrated in the new European ensemble.85

In the industrial realm, this calculation implied an all-out effort by French companies to produce matériel for the Germans. But if the imperative to produce needs to be understood in the context of Laval’s post-war ambitions regarding France’s place in a new Europe, it is also true that during 1942–3 more immediate imperatives dominated policy. Sauckel’s emerging campaign to recruit labour for Germany made it all the more urgent to increase French industry’s contribution to the German war effort. Well aware that labour conscription was unpopular with the French, Laval sought to gain counter-benefits that would appease public opinion, most notably the return of French POWs. At the same time, he understood that the only hope of restraining Sauckel lay in demonstrating that French workers were already working hard in France. It is hardly surprising, then, that in June 1942 Laval promised Speer his full support.86 Michel Margairaz and Henry Rousso, two leading French historians, argue that Laval’s return to power opened a new and more intensive phase in Germany’s economic exploitation of France.87 But this begs the question of whether Laval could count on the support of French authorities and industry in his pursuit of industrial collaboration. The answer is far from straightforward. In April 1942, Laval promoted Jean Bichelonne to secretary-general for industrial production (and minister from November 1942), replacing Lehideux who had occupied the post during the 84

85 86 87

On the Holocaust in France, see Serge Klarsfeld, Vichy-Auschwitz: le rôle de Vichy dans la solution finale de la question juive, 2 vols. (Paris, 1983–5); and Michael R. Marrus and Robert O. Paxton, Vichy France and the Jews (New York, 1981). Jackson, France: The Dark Years, 215. BA-MA RW 24/38, ‘Aktennotiz über die Besprechung Minister Speer, MinisterPräsident Laval in der Deutschen Botschaft in Paris am 16. Juni 1942’. Michel Margairaz and Henry Rousso, ‘Vichy, la guerre et les entreprises’, Histoire, économie et société, 11 (1992), 362–3.

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preceding nine months. A self-styled technocrat whose knowledge, capacity for work and sheer brilliance impressed almost everyone who knew him, Bichelonne was committed to a wide-ranging overhaul of the French economy which included the reorganization and rationalization of industry to make it more efficient, productive and competitive. If, like Laval, he looked principally to the post-war period, Bichelonne also believed that the context of war and occupation offered an opportunity to lay the groundwork for this larger project. Some sense of Bichelonne’s ambitions comes from a lengthy memorandum written in April 1942 by René Norguet, a high-ranking MPI official and close collaborator. Norguet began with a plea for more economic ‘order’ because ‘everywhere there is immense disorder’: ‘There exist in France 22,000 types of ploughs, 1,300 types of forks, 70 types of iron bathtubs. In 1939 we produced 52 types of passenger cars as well as far too many types of locomotives, of trawlers, of cargo ships, of engines of all kinds, etc.’ For Norguet, imposing order meant developing a far-reaching ‘plan’ in which the MPI, the Comités d’organisation and industrialists would work together to reequip French industry, to normalize production processes, to reduce product types and to concentrate production in specialized factories. This programme would admittedly take time, but he insisted nevertheless that work begin immediately despite the uncertainty concerning the future: What will peace look like, what will be the Europe and the economic world of tomorrow? No one knows exactly; but just as [earlier] we badly prepared the means to resist the [German] attack with the excuse that we did not know its location, its date, the form of this attack; we should not fail to prepare the future simply on the excuse that several elements are unknown to us.88

But Norguet’s memorandum is also interesting for what it omitted – any appeal to collaboration with the Germans. This omission is perhaps not surprising given Norguet’s later activities. Unlike Bichelonne, who remained committed to working with the occupiers to the bitter end, Norguet eventually joined the resistance, finishing the war in a German concentration camp. Yet Norguet’s memorandum was not simply an expression of personal politics; nor did it amount to a flight from reality. Instead, it reflected the growing divisions within Vichy itself on the issue of industrial collaboration. For Norguet, the overhaul of France’s economy 88

AN F12/10831, ‘Programme d’action économique. Les comités d’organisation – les administrations publiques’, Secrétariat d’état à la production industrielle, no. 41, 460 DG, 20 April 1942, Norguet, emphasis in original. For Bichelonne more generally, see Guy Sabin, Jean Bichelonne. Ministre sous l’Occupation 1942–1944 (Paris, 1991), 38–9, 49–52.

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had by 1942 become a French rather than Franco-German project. He insisted not only that ‘salvation can only come from ourselves’ but also that the French be prepared for ‘confrontations’ with the Germans in order to promote our ‘national individuality and independence’. Unlike Bichelonne and Laval, Norguet conceived of France’s economic renewal not with the Germans but without and even against them. The German authorities, in other words, were right to suspect that some French officials at least called into question the nature and value of economic collaboration with Germany. The tendency to question economic collaboration manifested itself in a variety of ways. At the broadest level, officials affirmed French interests with greater confidence and determination. Thus, in June 1942 the armaments section of the French armistice commission flatly refused German requests for information on the internal running of French companies on the grounds that such information belonged exclusively to French industrialists. Overall, the French delegation to the armistice commission grew more assertive during 1942, resisting German demands for unlimited access to industrial capacity in the unoccupied zone while also insisting that the French alone had the authority to ‘direct, to control and to watch over’ production. As Couve de Murville, a high-ranking French delegate, tellingly lectured his German counterparts in early 1942, ‘it is. . .normal that the responsible ministers preoccupy themselves with directing French production in order to satisfy in the first instance [France’s] domestic needs’.89 This newly found assertiveness on the part of French officials would complicate the efforts of the occupation authorities – and of Speer’s reorganized economic administration in particular – to increase production by rationalizing and concentrating French industry. The assertiveness of French officials was also apparent on the more specific subject of American-owned companies. As noted earlier, in 1941 the MPI had expressed interest in naming its own administrators to these companies in order to restrain the authority of German-appointed administrators. When French officials first began discussing this possibility, they promised to seek German approval in advance of any appointments – a promise they reiterated in January 1942. In the coming months, however, the MPI often ignored this promise, provoking the ire of the Germans.

89

AN AJ 41/559, ‘Note pour la Commission allemande d’armistice (Sous-Commission “RUSTUNG”)’, Délégation française auprès de la Commission allemande d’armistice. Sous-Commission ‘Armament’, no. 37839, 30 June 1942; for Murville, see AJ 41/110, ‘Compte-rendu de la réunion du 29 janvier 1942, à 11h’, Délégation française auprès de la Délégation allemande d’armistice pour l’économie, no. 102/DE, undated.

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From the beginning, moreover, Vichy authorities made it clear that they would oppose any effort to equip German administrators with far-reaching powers. Thus in a lengthy letter in January 1942, Jacques Barnaud, in charge of economic relations with the occupiers, complained to the head of the MbF’s economic administration of Germany’s ‘economic guardianship’ (tutelle), which supposedly handicapped Vichy’s own ‘exercise of power’. Moving beyond generalities, Barnaud raised the issue of German administrators for American-owned companies, warning against any attempt to use them as a means to gain ‘control. . .of the entire French economy’. The very possibility, Barnaud added, provoked ‘profound disquiet’ on the French side.90 With good reason, it seems, Dollfus assured Ford Dearborn the same month that he could count on ‘a support from the French Government’ in preserving Ford SAF’s ‘French indepedency [sic]’.91 Lehideux and the COA As indicated in the previous chapter, Lehideux was a leading proponent of economic and especially industrial reorganization, a project which included a large measure of rationalization and concentration of France’s productive capacity. As secretary of state for industrial production from July 1941 to April 1942, Lehideux found himself well placed to lobby for this project. In addition to recommending a ten-year plan for the modernization of various sectors of the French economy, he pushed Vichy to adopt concrete measures, supporting for example a proposed law in late 1941 that would allow the government to requisition labour, thus forcing some companies to shut down. Similarly, Lehideux sought to stiffen Vichy’s resolve to oppose the pressure of small- and medium-sized companies, which vigorously lobbied against rationalization schemes on the understandable grounds that they would be disadvantaged. As late as February 1942, he pleaded for the French government to define a ‘single policy regarding the concentration of [industrial] enterprises’.92 Laval’s return to power, however, led to a loss of influence for Lehideux. Not only did Lehideux lose his ministerial position, but it also appears that the new government sought to sideline him by offering the post of French ambassador to Argentina – a posting that would have

90 91 92

AN 3W/52, Barnaud to Michel, 22 January 1942. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 260, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 28 January 1942. For Lehideux, see ‘Décisions prises en comité économique du 27 février 1942’; ‘Procèsverbal de la séance du 14 Octobre 1942’; and ‘Compte-rendu de la réunion du Comité économique interministériel tenue à Paris le 1er Octobre 1941’, all in AN F 60/591.

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left Lehideux far removed from the political worlds of Vichy and Paris.93 Although Lehideux turned down the offer, two points are worth underscoring. The first is that the COA now became his sole official source of authority within Vichy. Ambitious as he was, it was unlikely that Lehideux would abstain from attempting to influence larger political-economic developments in France. But in doing so, his principal instrument would be the French automobile industry. In other words, Lehideux needed the latter as much as – if not more than – it needed him. The second and obvious point is that by mid-1942 he seemed to be out of step with Laval’s government. The question is why were the two out of step? It is possible that Laval, jealous of his authority, wanted to eliminate a potential rival whose arrogance and loyalty to Pétain he found threatening. But it is likely that differences over the course of industrial collaboration also played a role. In principle, Lehideux remained committed to working with the Germans. In Berlin in May 1942 for high-level talks, Lehideux reiterated his support for collaboration, claiming with considerable exaggeration that it had already produced tens of thousands of trucks for the German war effort. Like Laval, he assured his hosts that Germany’s war against Bolshevism was a common European one. And again like Laval, he sought to trade France’s participation in the construction of a new Europe for significant political concessions. The Germans, he insisted, must stop treating France as a defeated enemy and instead respect its sovereignty and independence. But if up to this point Lehideux had said nothing that Laval himself could not have said, he distinguished himself by openly expressing doubts about the wisdom of continued collaboration with the Germans. Speaking frankly, Laval declared that his considerable investment in collaboration over the last two years had produced absolutely no ‘political benefit’. This situation, Lehideux implied, could not continue.94 Obviously, Lehideux’s comments were part of a bargaining strategy aimed at extracting concessions from the Germans. But they can also be read as a sign of his growing ambivalence towards industrial collaboration. This is not to argue that Lehideux began to resist the Germans. As head of the COA, he maintained a close working relationship with the GBK and then with the Beschaffungsamt which, to recall, was headed by Thoenissen. Thus, throughout 1942, the COA cooperated with the occupation authorities in the fixing of production programmes on a trimester 93 94

APP GA L10, dossier François Lehideux, report of 5 July 1942. AN 3W/217, ‘Résumé de l’éxposé fait par Monsieur François Lehideux au cours des entretriens qu’il a eus à Berlin les 18 et 19 mai 1942 avec le Maréchal de l’Air Milch et le Général von Loeb’, undated.

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basis for the automobile industry as a whole and for its member companies in particular. Under Lehideux, the COA also continued to serve as a valuable intermediary between French companies on the one hand and German companies, the German automobile industry (Hauptauschuss Kraftfahrzeuge) and the German authorities on the other.95 Speer’s guidelines notwithstanding, the Germans refrained from reducing Lehideux’s role in industrial collaboration for the simple reason that to do so would have been counter-productive. As a German assessment concluded at the end of 1941, the ‘increase in German armaments contracts with French industry would have been impossible’ without Lehideux’s ‘loyal cooperation’.96 But if the COA maintained its practical cooperation with the Germans, it is also true that Lehideux became more assertive in defending what he perceived to be French interests. He thus vigorously opposed labour conscription for Germany, insisting that French workers would be more productive in French factories. Admittedly, this opposition did not set him apart from Laval’s government, which also strove to keep French workers in France. More telling, accordingly, is Lehideux’s mounting resistance to German efforts to rationalize the French automobile industry. In the summer of 1942, the German authorities effectively issued an ultimatum on the subject. Addressing the representatives of the major automobile companies, General Schell, in one of his last acts as GBK head, declared that over the coming year the number of truck types produced by the French industry as a whole must be reduced to four. Production of these types would be concentrated in a smaller number of factories, entailing the closure of some. Although asking for French cooperation, Schell made it clear that he would resort to compulsion if necessary: ‘[I] prefer to work under conditions of mutual goodwill rather than being forced, sooner or later, to employ other means to arrive [at my goal].’97 Significantly, while the MPI remained interested in rationalizing the automobile industry, though arguably more on French than on German terms, Lehideux appears to have abandoned his earlier enthusiasm for the project. Not only did he refuse to cooperate with the occupation authorities, he was also prepared to call their bluff. In what amounted to a rejection of Schell’s ultimatum, Lehideux proposed to draw up a production programme that would distribute the work associated with 95 96 97

See the files in NARA T 73/2 and AN 3W/226. AN 3W/220, Paris embassy to Auswärtiges Amt, Berlin, 9 December 1941 and 18 April 1942. AN 3W/231, ‘Discours du Général von Schell aux Constructeurs français’, 20 July 1942.

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German contracts more evenly among automobile companies and their suppliers. This would allow the maximum number of companies (and workers) to keep working.98 Confronted with strong German pressure, moreover, Lehideux dug in his heels. Later in the same year, in a meeting with Thoenissen, he ostensibly agreed to cooperate with Speer’s armaments staff, only to insist on conditions that, if accepted, would preclude the concentration of French industry. He thus demanded that the COA be given control over the placing of contracts, empowering it to decide which companies received work. He also contended that the automobile industry be allowed to continue producing French vehicles for the remainder of the war. Only by so doing, he explained, could French companies retain their ‘mechanical skills’ and ‘continue to make progress and improvements to their products’.99 Whereas Thoenissen focused on Germany’s immediate needs, Lehideux looked towards the post-war future. And this future was one that the French automobile industry would forge largely on its own. Ford SAF at the beginning of 1942 The year 1942 proved to be a tumultuous one for Ford SAF. Initially, everything seemed to be going well. As the previous chapter recounted, by the opening months of 1942 Dollfus had succeeded in thwarting Ford-Werke’s threat to his company’s independence. Ford SAF would contribute to Ford-Werke’s larger production programme, but it would retain full control of its own operations. In the process, Dollfus had gained powerful allies in Lehideux and the COA. Meanwhile, in early 1942 Ford SAF resolved its long-running dispute with Mathis. Although the settlement cost 5.5 million francs, it put a final end to the contentious relationship between the two companies following their merger in 1934. With its ‘hands clear’, as Dollfus reported, Ford SAF could now chart its own course. For Dollfus, North Africa loomed large in his future plans as Ford SAF continued to develop the project of creating an affiliate. Having founded Ford Afrique at the end of 1941 with an initial capital of between 30 and 40 million francs, Dollfus began to scout out possible sites in Algeria (Oran). Soon, Ford SAF received a contract from the French 98

99

AN 3W/231, COA to GBK, no. 10844, 9 July 1942. Earlier, in March 1942, Lehideux, as secretary of state for industrial production, had rejected German requests that local French and German officials work together to identify companies and factories to be closed. See AN 3W/52, ‘Compte-rendu d’une réunion du 25 Mars à l’Hôtel Majestic’, 26 March 1942. BA-MA RW 24/39, ‘Übersetzung: Bericht über die Besprechung auf dem Deutschen Beschaffungsamt am 6.11.1942’, undated.

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government to build 30 trucks destined for use in Africa, a figure which it hoped would be raised to 100. Although this fell well short of the 400 trucks that Dollfus, with typical exaggeration, had cited in a letter to Ford Dearborn, the contract did nonetheless augur well for the future.100 In early 1942, however, Ford SAF’s immediate future centred on France. And here, the prospects appeared particularly promising. ‘Our situation’, Dollfus enthused in January 1942, ‘is the best one of all the French Automobile manufacturers.’101 Ford SAF had finally succeeded in concentrating its activities at Poissy, closing down its Bordeaux and Asnières plants; the latter was sold for 21 million francs and the money largely invested in Poissy. At the beginning of 1942, Poissy was basically complete. Well before then, Ford SAF had begun working almost exclusively for the German war effort, producing 3.2-ton and 5-ton trucks (both parts and entire vehicles). During 1941, it delivered almost 4,000 trucks to the Germans as well as another 4,109 truck engines, 4,173 rear axles and 4,000 other parts to the Ford plants in Antwerp and Amsterdam, both of which worked for Ford-Werke.102 If 1940 had been a successful year financially, with the company earning over 5 million francs in net profits, 1941 was even better as net profits quadrupled to more than 22 million francs, by far the best showing since 1930.103 Though describing Ford SAF’s short-term financial state as ‘delicate’ due to German slowness in settling accounts, spending on Ford Afrique and the possibility that the French government would demand the refunding of pre-defeat loans, Dollfus was notably upbeat. Thanks to German contracts, Ford SAF had all the work it could handle. And since the occupiers offered attractive prices, profits could reasonably be expected to rise even further.104 To be sure, Dollfus did not ignore the difficulties confronting Ford SAF. Probably the greatest one concerned the availability of raw matériels (including energy). In an economy of growing scarcity the regular provision of adequate supplies was anything but guaranteed. Indeed, in 100

101 102

103 104

For details, see BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 2, ‘Ford S.A.F. Minutes of the Board Meeting Held on February 18, 1942’, undated; and ACC 6, Box 255, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 25 November 1941. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 260, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 28 January 1942. See AN AJ 40/610, ‘Bericht des stellvertretenden Verwalters für die Firma Ford Société Anonyme Française. . .über die Gesellschaft nach dem Stand von Juli 1942’, 6 August 1942. See Appendix A. BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 2, ‘Ford S.A.F. Minutes of the Board Meeting Held on January 20, 1942’, undated. By early 1942, the dispute between Ford SAF and FordWerke over prices had been settled to Dollfus’ satisfaction. See his comments in ibid., ‘Ford S.A.F. Minutes of the Board Meeting Held on February 18, 1942’.

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December 1941 shortages of various matériels led to the closing of Poissy for ten days. Several months earlier, Dollfus had reported that the challenge of securing raw matériels was ‘becoming daily greater – almost insurmountable’.105 In addition to hampering output, shortages had a deleterious effect on quality as Ford SAF found itself forced to use substitutes. But if the issue of shortages preoccupied Dollfus, it was also one that he believed could be managed. His optimism is partly explained by Ford SAF’s close relations with the COA and with the GBK, which helped in gaining access to scarce supplies. In the last quarter of 1941, for example, its allocation of ferrous and non-ferrous metals was the third largest among the major automobile companies.106 If Dollfus understood that the French and German authorities could not meet all of his matériel needs, he remained confident that Ford SAF could rely on their aid to keep Poissy going. Another source of optimism was Ford SAF’s ability to go outside of official channels to find matériels. In 1941, Dollfus wrote that the company was ‘scraping’ France for supplies and even employing ‘irregular’ means.107 More precisely, this meant recourse to the black market (or markets). As several scholars have shown, the institution of black markets flourished in wartime France as a mix of shortages, rationing and price controls created powerful incentives to direct scarce goods away from ‘official’ markets. It was not simply individuals and families who bought and sold goods on the black market. Exploiting their massive advantage in purchasing power, the occupation authorities created an extensive organization to tap these markets: by 1943, there were over 200 German purchasing agencies in Paris alone. But as the Germans themselves recognized, the black market was an indispensable resource for companies such as Ford SAF who possessed German contracts (and money).108 The risk of sanction was practically inexistent since ‘black market practices’, as Paul Sanders argues, were regarded by the German (and French) authorities as ‘economic normality’.109 It does not appear, in any case, that Ford SAF had to be prodded to use the black market 105 106 107 108 109

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 255, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 21 August 1941. AN 3W/221, COA Service technique, ‘Programme allemande 4e trimestre 1941. Publiée le 1er Octobre 1941’, undated. BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 255, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 9 June and 6 August 1941. NARA T 77/1255, ‘Geschichte der Rüstungs Inspektion A (Paris und NordwestFrankreich). II. (1.10.1940–31.12.1941)’, undated. Paul Sanders, ‘Economic Draining – German Black Market Operations in France, 1940–1944’, Global Crime, 9 (2008), 141 and 136–68. For the black market, also see his Histoire du marché noir, 1940–1946 (Paris, 2001); Fabrice Grenard, La France du marché noir (1940–1949) (Paris, 2008); and Kenneth Mouré, ‘Food Rationing and the Black Market in France (1940–1944)’, French History, 24 (2010), 262–82.

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but rather that it did so voluntarily. And this underscores a larger point: in 1941 and into 1942 Ford SAF’s perceived interests ran parallel to those of the German occupiers, which was to produce as many trucks and truck parts as possible. If the raw matériel situation proved preoccupying, the possibility of labour unrest was also a cause for concern. Across France, Germany’s invasion of the Soviet Union in June 1941 led to an upswing in political activity among some workers, much of which was attributed to communists. Political pamphlets and graffiti inside as well as outside factory walls were the most visible sign of this activity. In February 1942, the French police searched Ford SAF’s Poissy plant, discovering numerous political tracts and detaining some thirty workers for questioning.110 But although both the French and German authorities feared that communist-inspired workers might attempt to sabotage production, the greater challenge for Ford SAF came from the mounting unhappiness of its workforce with working conditions. Already in May 1941, a clandestine pamphlet had denounced lay-offs at Poissy, remarking that Ford SAF’s directors displayed a ‘sadistic hatred’ while at the same time ‘kow-towing to the occupiers’. By the end of the year, however, grumbling focused on the widening gap between the cost of living and salaries: in December, another pamphlet urged workers to submit ‘lists of demands’ in which salary increases figured prominently. Two months later, the French police reported on the growing disquiet among the workers at Ford SAF, warning of the possibility of limited strike action.111 Dissatisfaction with salaries was, in fact, a widespread phenomenon at the time. The combination of inflation and wage freezes, the latter imposed by the Germans who sought to keep living standards in France below those in Germany, translated into a steady decline in purchasing power for French workers. Although some companies no doubt took advantage of this situation to restrain wage scales, Ford SAF lobbied to be allowed to raise them – a position that was fully in accord with Ford Dearborn’s long-standing principle of offering comparatively favourable wages.112 Together, Dollfus’ lobbying efforts and the threat of labour unrest proved persuasive. In what amounted to a testimony to its importance to Germany’s war effort, Ford SAF received permission in February 1942 to raise wages by 25 per cent. While this measure did not represent a 110 111

112

SHGN, 75 E 1433, Poissy, ‘Rapport’, 11 February 1942. BNF, ‘Le Trait-d’Union Matford’, May and December 1941; SHGN, 75 E 1433, Poissy, ‘Rapport’, 2 February 1942. For French fears of sabotage, see AN 19830589/1, Secrétariat d’état à la production industrielle, circular on ‘Méthodes terroristes’, no. 51.956/S.E., 4 August 1942, with untitled attachment dated 24 July 1942. BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 6, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 4 November 1941.

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definitive solution to the global problem of falling living standards and increasingly scarce consumer goods (including food), it did blunt worker unrest at least temporarily. No doubt to Dollfus’ relief, the French police soon reported that a measure of calm had returned to Poissy.113 The bombing of Poissy in March and April 1942 All told, Ford SAF had good reasons to be optimistic in the opening months of 1942. Although raw matériel shortages and labour unrest were ongoing causes of concern, both problems appeared to be manageable. At a company board meeting in February, Dollfus exuded confidence regarding the immediate future, remarking that ‘unless unforeseen circumstances should arise, we expect to increase production in the coming months’.114 ‘Unforeseen circumstances’, however, is precisely what occurred several weeks later. On the night of 3–4 March and again on 8 March the Royal Air Force (RAF) dropped several bombs on Poissy as part of a larger bombing campaign against French factories. The bestknown raid is the one on the Renault works in Boulogne-Billancourt which killed close to 400 people and caused 400 million francs in damages.115 Ford SAF got off lightly by comparison: one person was injured, twenty-five vehicles were destroyed and one building received direct hits, damaging several departments in addition to the warehouse and cafeteria. Total damages were estimated at 40 million francs. Interested solely in results, the German authorities calculated a maximum ‘loss’ (Ausfall) of two-weeks’ worth of production.116 During the bombing raids, the RAF dropped tracts that made it clear that Ford SAF and other factories were targeted because they were working for the Germans.117 This clear-cut warning, however, appears to have had 113

114 115

116

117

SHGN, 75 E 1433, Poissy, ‘Rapport’, 26 February 1942. For working conditions in general, see Patrick Fridenson and Jean-Louis Robert, ‘Les ouvriers dans la France de la Seconde Guerre Mondiale. Un bilan’, Mouvement social, 158 (1992), 129–36. BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 2, ‘Ford S.A.F. Minutes of the Board Meeting Held on February 18, 1942’. See Martin Middlebrook and Chris Everitt, eds., The Bomber Command War Diaries (Hinckley, 1996), 244–6. Also see Matt Perry, ‘Bombing Billancourt: Labour Agency and the Limitations of the Public Opinion Model in Wartime France’, Labour History Review, 77 (2012), 49–53; Lindsey Dodd and Andrew Knapp, ‘“How Many Frenchmen did you Kill?”: British Bombing Policy towards France (1940–1945)’, French History, 26 (2008), 477–9. BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 6, Louis Evan (Ford SAF) to J. A. Gutzeit (Ford Dearborn), 20 March 1942; NARA T 77/1248, Wi und Rü Stabes Frankreich, ‘Kriegstagebuch’, 8 March 1942; and SHGN, 75E 1433, ‘Renseignement relatif au bombardement du 8 Mars 1942. Commune de Poissy’, 11 March 1942. Perry, ‘Bombing Billancourt’, 57.

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no deterrent effect on Ford SAF. The company immediately set out to repair the damage, assigning about 100 workers (roughly 5 per cent of its workforce) to the task. To reduce the risks of further losses, vehicles were now hidden in nearby forests, presumably out of sight of British bombers.118 At the same time, Ford SAF sought to put pressure on the British to cease targeting Poissy. An ‘official protest’ was thus lodged with the American embassy in Vichy against the British bombing. The protest not only insisted that Ford SAF remained an American-owned and directed company, but explained that it was not making matériel but simply trucks for the Germans. Just as importantly, it warned that if Ford SAF was forced to stop production because of future air raids, the Germans would simply seize a ‘very considerable quantity of tools and equipment’ and send it to Germany.119 Unfortunately for Ford SAF, its protest had no effect. In early April 1942, British bombers returned twice to Poissy, dropping some 50–100 bombs. Although no one was killed or injured, the matériel destruction was considerable, easily eclipsing that caused by the earlier raids. In addition to structural injury to buildings, numerous machines and machine tools were damaged, including transformers and cranes, some beyond repair. All told, some 400 machines (or 20 per cent of the total) were partially or completely destroyed.120 A German report in August 1942 pegged the total costs of the raids to Ford SAF at 170 million francs, 64 million of which was for buildings, machines and machine tools. The damage might easily have been greater but for the fact that many bombs had failed to explode on contact.121 But even so, output, which had been picking up after the March raids, came crashing to a ‘definitive halt’. The American embassy in Vichy confirmed this state of affairs, informing Washington in April 1942 that Ford SAF ‘is suspending all operations’. Dollfus was uncertain about when production would be restarted, but did admit in an uncharacteristically downbeat moment that it might require ‘a very long lapse of time’.122 118 119 120

121 122

SHGN, 75E 1433, report, Poissy, 5 March 1943. BFRC, Ford-Werke, NARA 0005414, telegram from American embassy, Vichy, to secretary of state, 17 March 1942, Leahy. BA-MA RW 24/46, Rü In Paris A, ‘Aktenvermerk’, 8 April 1942; CCFA, ‘Bombardement du 2 avril 1942’; and BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 2, Ford SAF, ‘Minutes of the Board Meeting Held on April 21st, 1942’, undated. AN AJ 40/610, ‘Bericht des stellvertretenden Verwalters für die Firma Ford Société Anonyme Française’; and SHGN, 75 E 1433, report, Poissy, 11 April 1942. AP, Ford SAF, DOS 2008 RE-30422, Ford SAF, ‘Rapport sur la vie de Ford S.A.F. pendant la guerre (1er Septembre 1939 – 1er Novembre 1944)’, 11–12; TNA, FO 954/8A, paraphrase of report from US embassy, 17 April 1942; and BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 2, Ford SAF, ‘Minutes of the Board Meeting Held on April 21st, 1942’.

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The obvious question for Ford SAF was what to do now? One possibility was to stop all activity for the duration of the war. Regarding companies in general, scholars generally dismiss this option as unrealistic since it would have amounted to suicide. And there is no doubt that the occupation authorities would have confiscated Ford SAF’s plant and manpower if it had refused to rebuild. Yet it is worth noting that some companies did at least consider the possibility. A good example is Renault. Meeting in midApril 1942, high-ranking officials discussed whether to reconstruct the badly damaged Boulogne-Billancourt plant, thereby incurring the risk of attracting another visit from Allied bombers, or to ‘go dormant while awaiting better times’. One admitted advantage of the latter option was that it would reduce production for the German war economy. In the end, however, the directors rejected what they termed the ‘easy solution’ of shutting down, insisting that this would constitute a dereliction of duty to their workers, to the company and to France. No less important was the belief that Renault’s disappearance would benefit other automobile companies which did not share its scruples and which would continue to work for the Germans.123 It is unknown whether Dollfus weighed his options in the same manner as did the directors of Renault. But it does appear that he quickly decided to get Ford SAF up and running again as quickly as possible – and thus working for the Germans. In many ways, Dollfus had little choice since the occupation authorities clearly indicated that this is what they wanted. Following the initial wave of raids in March 1942, the MbF’s armaments and economic section created a reconstruction committee which, at its first meeting, identified Ford SAF’s Poissy plant as among those in the Paris region that must be reconstructed.124 If this priority meant that in principle the designated companies enjoyed privileged access to scarce manpower and matériels for reconstruction, the question of financing proved more contentious. Initially, the occupation authorities refused to contribute financially, noting that German contracts included a 3 per cent premium for war insurance. Responsibility for financing reconstruction, they accordingly contended, lay with the French – both the government and individual companies. Yet because they urgently needed the output of these factories, the Germans were

123 124

SHGR, carton 21, ‘Extraits de conférence faite par Mr. [sic] de Peyrecave aux directeurs, chefs du départements et chefs de service de l’usine, le 13 avril 1942.’ BA-MA RW 35/720, ‘Niederschrift über die erste Sitzung des WiederaufbauAusschusses beim Wi Rü Stab Frankreich am 11.3.42’, 12 March 1942.

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soon forced to make concessions: they thus agreed not only to price increases but also to hefty advances on contracts, which companies could use for reconstruction.125 The French authorities, meanwhile, were also eager to see Ford SAF rebuilt. In one of his last measures as undersecretary of state for industrial production, Lehideux announced in March 1942 that the priority in reconstruction would be given to companies that had suffered relatively little damage – an announcement that clearly favoured Ford SAF. Still more pertinently, the MPI exempted Ford SAF from the rule that foreign-owned companies were ineligible for financial aid. Before long, Ford SAF had received 38 million francs as well as the promise that it would be reimbursed for 70–5 per cent of its damages.126 But rebuilding Ford SAF would not be enough. The possibility that Poissy might be attacked again could not be ignored. Indeed, in August a lone British bomber would drop one bomb on Ford SAF. Accordingly, Dollfus proposed to the ‘competent authorities’ what he described as a ‘“scattered production” plan’ to disburse capacity in several locations. The Germans needed little convincing. In April 1942, the MbF’s reconstruction committee discussed the possibility of relocating production to ‘prevent. . .a systematic destruction of the factories massed in and around Paris’.127 Moving quickly, in May Ford SAF was instructed to ‘decentralize’ its production facilities, with the result that over the next few months factories were set up in five locations, four of which were near Paris (including one in Poissy itself) and one in Bourges in central France.128 Not surprisingly perhaps, the decentralization of Ford SAF’s productive capacity proved difficult. One problem was financing. Although the Germans agreed to another price increase (of 15 per cent) and the French authorities promised to help defray the costs, neither measure appeared

125

126

127

128

SHGR, carton 132, ‘Note pour Monsieur de Boissanger, Gouverneur de la Banque de France’, Délégation allemande d’armistice pour l’économie, no. 1857, 14 March 1942; NARA T 77/1221, ‘Die deutsche Wehr- und Rüstungswirtschaft in Frankreich vom 3.7.1940 bis 31.3.1943’, Barckhausen; and T 77/638, German armistice commission, ‘Aktennotiz’, 18 March 1942. AN 3W/221, ‘Note pour l’application de la loi du 1er Juilet 1941 (avances provisoires aux industriels et commerçants sinistrés par actes de guerre dont les entreprises ont subi seulement des dégâts partiels)’, 7 March 1942; and BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 260, Dollfus to Edsel Ford, 15 August 1942. BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 2, Ford SAF, ‘Minutes of the Board Meeting Held on April 21st, 1942’; and T 77/1248, Wi und Rü Stabes Frankreich, ‘Bericht der Ereignisse’, 9 April 1942. AN F12/10155, ‘Note pour monsieur le ministre’, Secrétariat-général à la production industrielle, 18 March 1943; and 3W/234, ‘Note pour le ministre’, 23 February 1943.

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sufficient. In September 1943, Ford SAF’s board told Dollfus to negotiate more money from the government – negotiations that would drag along well into the post-war period. A final settlement would only be reached in 1956.129 Another and more immediate problem was that the new locations, as a post-war report noted, ‘were generally mediocre or insufficient for the needs of our production’.130 A good example is the factory in Bourges. In May 1942, Ford SAF took possession of two sites that could in principle serve as factories for the production of several important components of trucks, including crank-shafts and gear systems. Although both sites possessed some equipment, such as cranes, and a seemingly functioning heating system, almost everything else had to be transferred from Poissy and then installed. Despite the best efforts of the local German armaments authorities, who worked closely with Ford SAF personnel, the problems quickly multiplied. In July, the Bourges sites still lacked sufficient water and electricity supplies; meanwhile, a dispute emerged about whether the property and facilities were to be leased by Ford SAF or by the French state. Another problem concerned workers, who were reluctant to relocate to Bourges where wages were significantly lower than in the Paris region. If the decision, taken with German approval, to apply Paris-area wage rates seemingly resolved this problem, the lodging and provisioning of outside workers presented additional difficulties. As a result, Ford SAF decided to hire workers locally but this required supplemental training – and delays. Machinery was also in short supply, with only 60 per cent of the estimated number needed available. In the end, Ford SAF and the Germans eventually managed to get the two factories running, but only on a reduced scale.131 Given the difficulties involved in dispersing production, Ford SAF soon lost much of its initial interest in the project. Indeed, the company sought a partial reversal of the decision. As early as June 1942, Ford SAF asked to be allowed to repair and rebuild the Poissy plant, which had been emptied of its machines and machine tools after the April air raids. Dollfus, it seems, balked at the idea of leaving Poissy idle. Not only had Ford SAF invested considerable effort, money and prestige in the Poissy plant; but since its conception Poissy had encapsulated the vision of large-scale,

129 130 131

See the file ADY 222W 296. AP, Ford SAF, DOS 2008 RE-30422, Ford SAF, ‘Rapport sur la vie de Ford S.A.F. pendant la guerre (1er Septembre 1939 – 1er Novembre 1944)’, 12. BA-MA RW 24/265, ‘Monatlicher Lagebericht’, Wi Kdo Bourges, no. 166/42, 18 May 1942; no. 175/42, 18 June 1942; no. 187/42, 18 July 1942; and AN AJ 40/610, ‘Bericht des stellvertretenden Verwalters für die Firma Ford Société Anonyme Française’.

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efficient and profitable production. Ford SAF could not be a major player in the French automobile industry – whether now or in the future – without Poissy. Whatever Dollfus’ precise thinking, his request to rebuild Poissy met with a favourable response from the French authorities. Interestingly, they justified their support not in terms of the larger political project of Franco-German collaboration but rather in terms of Ford SAF’s future. The MPI thus argued that Ford SAF needed Poissy to maintain and increase its output, which was essential if the company were to recoup its own investment in relocation while also repaying the sizeable advances from the government. A second – and probably more important – consideration was the need to fend off the threat from FordWerke. If, due to the upheavals attendant on the dispersal of its productive capacity, Ford SAF’s output continued to suffer, the company risked being ‘replaced’ by its German rival.132 Unlike the French, the German authorities initially opposed Dollfus’ request to rebuild Poissy, pointing to the costs involved which were estimated at 37 million francs. Equally important, the project would take six to eight months and require large quantities of cement, wood, brick, stone and metals at a time when all these products were in scarce supply. During this period, production would be stalled. Yet, despite their initial lack of enthusiasm, the German authorities soon warmed to the idea of rebuilding Poissy, thanks in part to the efforts of Major Tannen, Schmidt’s representative as administrator of Ford SAF. Realizing that Dollfus’ proposal was unacceptable, Tannen took matters into his own hand, hiring an architect from Ford-Werke, who had considerable experience in constructing Ford facilities in Europe, to prepare a plan for the partial as opposed to complete reconstruction of Poissy. In August 1942, the military authorities approved the plan and repair work quickly began.133 But the German decision cannot be explained by Tannen’s efforts alone. Deeply engaged in Case Blue, their second large-scale military offensive against the Soviet Union, the Germans in the second half of 1942 were in desperate need of all the trucks they could get. In this situation, the promise of Poissy proved to be as captivating for the occupation authorities as it was for Dollfus.

132 133

AN F12/10155, ‘Note pour monsieur le ministre’, Secrétariat-général à la production industrielle, no. 11552, 13 March 1943. AN AJ 40/610, ‘Bericht des stellvertretenden Verwalters für die Firma Ford Société Anonyme Française. . .über die Gesellschaft nach dem Stand von Juli 1942’. In September, Dollfus could inform Ford SAF’s board that repairs were being ‘carried on normally and up to schedule’. See BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 2, Ford SAF, ‘Minutes of the Board Meeting Held on September 30, 1942’, undated.

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Ford SAF’s situation at the end of 1942 The British air raids in March and April 1942 shone a political spotlight on Ford SAF. Before the bombs, the company could claim that its activities were principally a business affair. Regardless of France’s defeat and occupation, Ford SAF needed to keep its machines running, its workers working and its profits flowing in. That this meant accepting German contracts was perhaps unfortunate but it was also an unavoidable reality. Even Ford SAF’s fierce resistance to the threat of take-over by Ford-Werke had more to do with business than politics: Dollfus was more than willing to work for the Germans so long as Ford SAF remained independent. The air raids, however, collapsed the distinction between politics and business. As the RAF pamphlets underscored, Ford SAF and other companies were targeted precisely because they were contributing to the German war effort. Afterwards, Dollfus could no longer pretend that Ford SAF’s decisions and activities could somehow be divorced from the larger course of the war. Interestingly, the reaction of Ford Dearborn to the bombing underscored this last point. If the Americans offered their sympathy to Ford SAF, they also expressed considerable relief. The air raids, Edsel Ford explained to Dollfus, had been well covered in the American press, but fortunately the reports referred to Matford and not Ford SAF; as a result, ‘no reference was made to our possible connection with this Company’.134 Clearly concerned about the possibility of guilt by association, Ford Dearborn sought to distance itself from Ford SAF in the wake of the air raids. In public, the Americans lied, assuring the press that they had had no contact with ‘Matford’ since France’s defeat. Behind the scenes, meanwhile, Ford Dearborn vetoed a proposal from Dollfus to send an official to Dearborn to discuss the overall situation. ‘I am sure that you will understand our reasons’, Edsel Ford informed Dollfus, adding that perhaps a visit could be arranged later when the political situation was no longer in such an ‘uncertain state’.135 Ford Dearborn, however, did not simply cut communications with Ford SAF. During 1942, it completely wrote off its stock interest in the French company, worth some $2.7 million, taking a tax credit.136 134

135 136

BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 260, Edsel Ford to Dollfus, 13 May 1942. For one example, see ‘R.A.F. Blasts Poissy Works; Loses 15 Planes in Big Raids’, New York Times, 3 April 1942, 1, 6. ‘Ford out of Touch since 1940’, New York Times, 3 April 1942, 6; and BFRC, FMC, ACC 6, Box 260, Edsel Ford to Dollfus, 13 May 1942. BFRC, FMC, ACC 714, Box 6, ‘Memorandum. General Summary of Position, Ford S.A.F., with Recommendations’, 22 November 1948.

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For Ford Dearborn, Ford SAF’s production for the Germans had very much become a political issue. If Ford SAF could no longer ignore the political stakes involved in its wartime activities, the company also found itself more committed than ever to working for the Germans. It was not simply that this renewed commitment was an obvious condition of German approval for the rebuilding of Poissy. It is also that the extended discussions concerning Ford SAF’s future in the wake of the British air raids drew additional attention to the company at an especially delicate moment. Mention has already been made of the growing concern among the occupation authorities that French industry as a whole was not contributing sufficiently to the German war effort. In the opening months of 1942, Ford SAF’s results had been disappointing, with production barely attaining the levels of 1941. The air raids and subsequent dispersal of productive capacity predictably led to falls in production. Dollfus, as usual, sought to disguise the reality with rosy-eyed projections, but the Germans had their own figures which indicated, for example, that in August 1942 Ford SAF produced 200 trucks and not the 300 claimed. For German armaments officials, the pressing question in the autumn of 1942 was how to achieve a rapid increase in Ford SAF’s production. Rendering this question all the more urgent was the apparent problem of quality. During 1942, numerous reports circulated from German agencies complaining of Ford trucks. In a report in July, the Organisation Todt described the quality of Ford SAF trucks as ‘downright catastrophic’, adding that ‘this creates the impression that the assembly of the vehicle involves very shoddy work and [even] sabotage’. Another assessment, based on an inspection of fifty Ford SAF truck engines, concluded that they all contained ‘an abnormal amount of sand and chips’.137 To be sure, other companies also received complaints: in November 1941 and again in January 1942, for example, the GBK criticized the quality of Peugeot’s small trucks.138 Given the rampant shortages of matériels and recourse to substitutes, a reduction in quality was all but inevitable. Nevertheless, Ford SAF had good reasons to be particularly concerned about quality complaints. One reason is that it strengthened the impression among the Germans

137

138

AN 3W/234, Generalinspketor für das deutsche Strassenwesen (Organisation Todt) to GBK West (Paris), no. 4320/42 K, 28 July 1942; and ibid., untitled note, 23 October 1942. The reports are cited in AN Z/6NL/80, ‘Rapport à Monsieur Nicolet. Juge d’instruction’, Paul Caujolle and César Choron, 6 June 1946.

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in France that something needed to be done with Ford SAF – that some intervention was necessary. A second and related reason is that Ford-Werke was prominent among the critics, complaining repeatedly to the German authorities in Berlin and Paris about the poor quality of Ford SAF’s production.139 As we shall see in the next chapter, FordWerke would seek to exploit quality issues in a renewed bid to take control of Ford SAF.

139

For example, see BA-MA RW 24/107, Rü Kdo Paris West, ‘Kriegstagebuch’, 25–31 January 1943; and AN 3W/227, ‘Note concernant les réclamations actuelles de Ford Cologne’, 26 February 1943.

4

A period of decision: the first half of 1943

If 1942 was a year of transition, the first half of 1943 was a period of decision. For the Germans, the deteriorating military situation, highlighted by the surrender of the remnants of the Sixth Army at Stalingrad in February, generated a sense of urgency that coursed through the regime’s veins, affecting policy in a wide variety of domains. In Berlin, one sign were renewed inter-departmental discussions over the future of American-owned companies in Germany and occupied Europe. As the prospects of victory receded, those voices calling for radical measures (i.e., outright confiscation) grew louder and more insistent, a situation that did not escape the attention of various actors in France and that provided an important backdrop to Ford SAF’s calculations. More generally, this urgency manifested itself in a strengthened determination to mobilize all the resources at Germany’s disposal for the war effort. If the Germans were to have any chance of avoiding defeat, the economic and especially industrial exploitation of the occupied territories would have to be intensified. Time, moreover, was of the essence: the Germans needed war matériel as quickly as possible. One result was the decision at the end of 1942 to embark on a European-wide truck production programme. Directed by Ford-Werke, this programme would have important implications for Ford SAF. Meanwhile, the growing sense of urgency led to a further reorganization of the German economic administration within France. If one goal was to widen the authority of Speer’s ministry, another one was to provide some measure of oversight over the activities of French companies. This latter goal, however, proved to be elusive, leaving the Germans dependent on companies such as Ford SAF to work wholeheartedly for them. The first half of 1943 also proved decisive for the French. Several factors – the mounting pressure to conscript labour for Germany, the deepening economic crisis caused by general penury and the decreasing likelihood of a German victory – compelled French officials and industrialists to consider to what extent they would cooperate with the occupiers. While Jean Bichelonne, minister for industrial production since 149

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November 1942, ultimately answered this question by recommitting himself to the project of industrial collaboration, the MPI could not simply impose this decision on industry leaders and company directors. In the case of the automobile industry, the success of collaboration – and of the truck programme in particular – would depend greatly on the cooperation of the COA and Ford SAF. Contrary to Bichelonne, however, Lehideux would continue to set clear limits to industrial collaboration, working with his German counterparts only insofar as it was necessary to protect the French automobile industry and its member companies. If anything, the opening months of 1943 were even more decisive for Ford SAF than they were for the Germans and French. At the beginning of the year, the company found itself once again threatened by FordWerke which, with the apparent backing of the occupation authorities, sought to use the European-wide truck programme as a lever to take control of Ford SAF. Thanks to the determined support of Lehideux and the COA, Dollfus managed to preserve Ford SAF’s independence. The price of this achievement, however, was a renewed commitment to industrial collaboration: Ford SAF pledged itself to cooperate fully with Ford-Werke in the truck programme, while Lehideux promised the German authorities that this programme would become the priority for the French automobile industry as a whole. Yet this renewed commitment came at a time when the perceived interests of Ford SAF and of Lehideux pointed in another direction – towards reduced cooperation with the Germans. Accordingly, Ford SAF’s participation in Ford-Werke’s truck programme provides an interesting vantage point from which to assess the nature of Franco-German industrial collaboration during the later phase of the Occupation. German policy: the fate of American companies in occupied Europe During the opening months of 1942, as previously recounted, various governmental departments in Berlin debated the question of whether to extend the 1940 decree on the treatment of enemy assets to the United States. The Foreign Ministry initially sought to prevent the decree’s extension, maintaining that Germany should not take the initiative but act only in retaliation against American measures to confiscate German assets. This argument met with fierce opposition from the Economics Ministry among others, which insisted that the decree be applied to American assets now that the United States was at war with Germany. Behind this seemingly commonsensical position, however, lurked a larger

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political-economic aim: to seize the opportunity created by war and occupation to eliminate the American presence in the European economy. In one way or another, American companies in Germany and occupied Europe would be confiscated. Under growing pressure, the Foreign Ministry withdrew its opposition and in April 1942 the enemy assets decree was extended to the United States. Predictably, however, the Economics Ministry remained dissatisfied with this decision. The original decree embodied a minimalist approach in which enemy (American) companies would be allowed to operate largely undisturbed under watch of a benign administrator. The Economics Ministry thus wasted no time in lobbying for stricter measures. In the summer of 1942, it complained that the RkBfV, the agency responsible for applying the decree, was appointing administrators who were too closely connected to the companies involved to promote ‘German national economic interests’.1 Soon afterwards, ministry officials demanded the legal power to liquidate American-owned firms, maintaining that the Americans were confiscating German assets, particularly patents. In its campaign, the Economics Ministry received strong backing from Göring’s Four Year Plan organization.2 Feeling compelled to respond, the Justice Ministry convened an interministerial meeting for the end of November 1942 to consider the issue. Opening the discussion, the representative of the Four Year Plan emphasized the importance of excluding foreign influence from the European economy: ‘The time has come to advance one step further the exclusion of alien and enemy countries (raumfremden Mächte) in the economic realm for Europe as a whole. It is necessary to create established facts during the war which will remain unshaken during peace negotiations [after the war].’ Economics Ministry officials also pointed to the dangers of a post-war American presence. The war, as one of them explained, fostered the ‘rationalization’ of industry as production became concentrated in fewer and fewer companies. While unavoidable to boost output, this process could create problems after the war due to the prominence of American companies in several industries, chief among them the automobile industry. ‘It would be unacceptable if the growth of production on the German side caused by the needs of the war led to a monopolistic-type 1

2

BAL R 3101/33172, RWM, ‘Vermerk’, no. 27840/42, June 1942; also see RWM, ‘Niederschrift über eine Besprechung vom 18. Juli 1942 bei Hernn Staatssekretär Dr. Krohn. . .Grundsätze der Verwalterbestellung für amerikanisches Vermögen’, 24 June 1942. BAL R 2/30075, RJM to RFM, 10 September 1942, which contains: ‘Niederschrift über die Besprechung am 18. August 1942’, undated; and R 87/79, RWM circular, no. 34162/ 42, 2 September 1942.

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expansion of enemy influence in Germany and Europe.’ The danger was that American-owned companies might end up dominating entire industries. As we shall see, moreover, at the beginning of 1943 this danger was not simply hypothetical. The decision to concentrate truck production with Ford-Werke potentially provided the latter with a privileged position within the German and European automobile industries. In order to protect ‘German interests’, the Economics Ministry thus proposed that enemy assets administrators be appointed not from the American-owned company but from rival companies which presumably had an interest in eliminating foreign influence from within their industry.3 Foreign Ministry officials predictably opposed any action against American-owned companies in Germany or occupied Europe. In addition to challenging the claim that German property in the United States was under systematic attack, the Foreign Ministry continued to argue that Germany had more to lose from confiscatory measures because the overall value of German assets in North and South America outweighed the value of American assets in Germany and occupied Europe. For this reason, the Foreign Ministry opposed confiscating the property of American (and other enemy) Jews, though not their deportation to death camps in the East.4 Interestingly, the RkBfV also rejected the proposal to appoint administrators from rival companies, insisting that it was unacceptable that ‘individual private interests’ might gain an advantage while Germany was left to bear the burden of American retaliation. The meeting ended inconclusively. While everyone agreed that the continued presence, let alone expansion, of American companies in Europe after the war was undesirable, there was no agreement on what should be done to prevent this from happening. Unhappy with this stalemate, the Economics Ministry asked for and received the support of Martin Bormann, head of the Nazi party chancellery.5 Moving quickly, the ministry in early 1943 launched a full-out campaign for a decree empowering German authorities to proceed with the ‘liquidation of the property of U.S. citizens’. In its campaign, the ministry focused on the post-war situation, emphasizing in particular the

3

4 5

For accounts of the meeting, see BAL R 2/30030, RJM circular, no. 6139/42, 23 December 1942, which contains untitled memoranda, no. 5985/42; and R 87/208, RkBfV, ‘Vermerk’, no. 1807/42, 2 December 1942. Lindner underscores this paradox. See his Das Reichskommissariat, 135–53. BFRC, Ford-Werke, BAL 5755, Nazi party Partei-Kanzlei (Bormann) to RJM, 31 October 1942; and BAL R 87/79, RWM to Leiter der Parteikanzlei, 14 January 1943.

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large profits that American companies were making and which could be invested in German companies, leading to the growth of the American presence in Germany’s economy. At an inter-ministerial meeting in April, the ministry’s representative warned that several American-owned companies had enjoyed significant increases in ‘liquid capital’ which they would use after the war to expand market share and even to eliminate all competition. Once again, automobile companies figured prominently among the examples cited, including Opel (GM) and Ford-Werke.6 Two months later, an Economics Ministry circular asserted that large profits for American companies ‘is dangerous for political-economic reasons and contains the possibility of an expansion of enemy assets’. The circular demanded that the administrators of American-owned companies be given the authority ‘to prevent any increase in the company itself or its assets’.7 Finding itself once again on the defensive, the Foreign Ministry sought to reframe the debate on the post-war stakes of wartime measures. For the Economics Ministry, wartime faits accomplis were necessary since afterwards it would be too late. In response, the Foreign Ministry insisted that the outcome of the war alone would determine the nature of the European economy. As it explained in connection with wartime profits: Any fait accompli can be undone, and the only thing that will be decisive here is victory. If the war is won then it becomes easy to ensure that the companies with enemy participation do not keep their wartime excess profits. If for theoretical reasons one assumes the war is lost, [then] fait accomplis have absolutely no use.8

Underpinning these two positions was a more basic difference. The Economics Ministry and its allies conceived of the war as a ‘total’ one. Outright victory, which they insisted was the only acceptable outcome, demanded a more radical (or more total) effort. The hedging of bets, uncertainty about the future, doubts and hesitations – all of these had no place in this conception. In truth, the argument did not depend on the possibility of victory, since the same mantra would continue to be repeated long after any realistic hope of winning the war had disappeared. 6

7 8

BAL R 3001/2817, ‘Niederschrift über die Sitzung des interministeriellen Ausschusses vom 8. April 1943’. For examples of companies, see R 87/67, list attached to ‘Kurzer Aktenvermerk über die Besprechung vom 22.6.1943 betr.: Vermögenszuwachs der Feindbetriebe’, 23 June 1943. BAL R 87/67, RWM circular, no. 6874/43, 15 June 1943. BAL R 2/30038, AA circular, no. R 20001, 23 August 1943, which contains: ‘Unternehmen, die unter maβgebenden feindlichen Einfluβ stehen’, Heinrich Richter, 26 June 1943. For the continued belief in the possibility of a negotiated peace, see PAAA R 40545, RJM (Thierack) circular to Herrn Reichsminister und Chef der Reichskanzlei, no. 4418/43, 3 November 1943.

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But during 1943, the more pertinent point is that the Economics Ministry strove to engulf American-owned companies in its vision of war. For the Foreign Ministry, the Economics Ministry’s ambition to seize control of American-owned companies was doubly nonsensical. Any concrete measures not only risked being disruptive at a moment when Germany needed all the war matériel it could get, but would also needlessly antagonize the Americans, whose support could be essential in any future negotiations, while depriving German negotiators of potential bargaining chips. Germany, one memorandum curtly declared, had ‘nothing to gain in foreign policy terms’ from seizing American-owned companies.9 At a deeper level, on this issue at least the Foreign Ministry resisted the total war logic that sought to radicalize the war effort – and this regardless of Germany’s prospects of victory. In the ideologically heated climate of 1943, however, the Foreign Ministry found itself increasingly isolated within the Nazi regime. The immediate result was that the political momentum behind a decree to liquidate American-owned companies mounted. In a stalling tactic, the Foreign Ministry proposed to prepare a decree regarding the possible confiscation of American-owned companies but argued against its application or even its publication. Rejecting what it termed a ‘drawer decree’, the Economics Ministry insisted that the decree be published, no doubt in the hope of provoking American retaliation which would then justify more radical German measures.10 In light of the Economics Ministry’s insistence and with no consensus in sight, the Justice Ministry reluctantly concluded that a ‘Führer decision’ was necessary. Although the Foreign Ministry resisted this option, presumably out of fear that Hitler would decide for publication, it could not prevent the transfer of the dossier to Hitler’s chancellery.11 And there, matters would stand as Hitler appears to have refused to make a clear-cut decision. Inter-ministerial discussions, as a result, would drag on into 1944 but no concrete action would be taken. American-owned companies in Germany and in occupied Europe would not be ‘Germanized’, as the Economics Ministry wanted, nor would their activities (aside from profits) be subject to particular

9 10 11

BAL R 2/30038, ‘Unternehmen, die unter maβgebenden feindlichen Einfluβ stehen’. BAL R 3101/33292, ‘Vermerk für Herrn Präsident Kehrl’, 20 March 1943. See BAL R 87/79, ‘Vermerk’, no. 4419/43, which contains an account of a 15 October 1943 inter-ministerial meeting; and R 87/67, Partei-Kanzlei (Bormann) to RJM, no. 2620/43, 3 September 1943. For the transfer of the dossier, see PAAA R 40545, Reichsminister und Chef der Reichskanzlei (Lammers) to RJM, no. 12094, 11 November 1943.

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restrictions. The reasons for Hitler’s apparent restraint are unknown, though it is clear that confiscatory measures would have been disruptive at a time when most of the larger American-owned companies were working for the Germans. This was certainly the case with FordWerke, which, as we shall see, had been charged with organizing a truck production programme involving the various Ford companies in continental Europe, including Ford SAF. If this programme would potentially reinforce Ford-Werke’s position in the German and European automobile industries after the war, it was a risk worth running given the Wehrmacht’s desperate need for trucks. In the industrial realm, at least, short-term practical considerations could trump what Stephen Lindner, the RkBfV’s historian, has called the ‘all-powerful ideological viewpoints’ always present in the Nazi regime.12 But if the proposed decree on the confiscation of American-owned companies remained in suspense, the extensive discussions in Berlin on the subject nevertheless had an impact. Throughout 1943, Americanowned companies continued to operate in a climate of constant uncertainty and even menace regarding their immediate future. Writing to the RkBfV in 1943, the enemy assets administrator for Opel (GM) warned of the ‘depressing influence’ exerted by the proposed measures against American-owned companies.13 Such a climate could not but affect the calculations of the latter. This was the case not only in Germany but also in occupied France. The bureaucratic battle in Berlin regarding the fate of American companies was no secret to the German occupation authorities. During 1942, as we saw in the previous chapter, the MbF had lobbied for the extension of the 1940 decree to the United States. Although the MbF generally respected the limited application of the decree, by 1943 several signs indicated that the German authorities were preparing for the possibility of more active measures. In addition to drawing up an accurate statistical portrait of enemy-owned assets in France, they began to subject the administrators of companies to a ‘rigorous scrutiny’.14 But this was not all. Rather than simply waiting for a decision from Berlin, the German authorities once again sought to influence the outcome of inter-ministerial discussions. On several occasions, for example, they not only expressed their concern to the RkBfV that American-owned companies were making hefty profits, but they also pressed the agency to adopt counter-measures. At the same time, the MbF forwarded to Berlin reports that the Americans were

12 13 14

Lindner, Das Reichskommissariat, 110–11, 124. BFRC, Ford-Werke, BAL 3160, Opel (Verwalter) to RkBfV, undated but 1943. For example, see AN AJ 40/591, untitled note, MbF, Gruppe Wi.I/2, 12 June 1943.

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actively liquidating German-owned companies in the United States – reports that the Finance Ministry judged to be misinformed.15 For much of 1943, then, the future of American-owned companies in France was clouded in uncertainty. If in principle all American-owned companies were concerned, Ford SAF was arguably more affected than others. From the latter’s perspective, the reigning uncertainty provided a worrisome background to the dramatic developments during the opening months of the year, when Ford-Werke sought to capitalize on its European-wide truck production programme to take it over. In fashioning a response, Ford SAF could not ignore the fact that the German authorities in Berlin and Paris viewed the continued existence of Americanowned companies as problematic. Just as pertinently, Ford SAF knew that its continued independence partly depended on its contribution to the truck programme. Back in Berlin, one prominent argument against confiscating American-owned companies was that such a measure would likely disrupt current production. If Ford SAF’s contribution should prove disappointing, Ford-Werke and the German occupation authorities would have a stronger case for moving against the company. German policy: the triumph of Speer? While various departments in Berlin debated the fate of American-owned companies, important developments occurred in France during 1943 that would directly affect Ford SAF. Underpinning these developments was the conviction that greater production of war matériel needed to be squeezed out of French factories. Indeed, as the course of the war took a sharp turn against Germany, the need to exploit French industrial capacity became more urgent than ever. In December 1942, even before the enormity of the Stalingrad disaster was apparent, a consensus existed in Berlin that ‘the productive capacity of France will have to be exploited to the greatest possible extent in the general interests of the defence and reconstruction of Europe’. The following month, Hitler himself declared that ‘[w]e must call on France to make a far greater economic effort than before’.16 That Hitler remained unwilling to offer Vichy any political concessions in return meant that economic and industrial collaboration would become more one-sided – more exploitative. For someone like

15

16

For excess profits, see PAAA R 40543, MbF to AA, 4 March 1943; and BA-MA RW 35/ 295, ‘Lagebericht über Verwaltung und Wirtschaft Oktober/Dezember 1943 mit Beitrag des Wirtschaftsstabes West’, undated. For reports to Berlin, see the file in AN AJ 40/604. PAAA R 29598, untitled memorandum, Ribbentrop, 8 January 1943; and Boelcke, ed., Deutschlands Rüstung im Zweiten Weltkrieg, 3–5 January 1943, 217.

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Göring, this posed no problem. Speaking to representatives of the occupation authorities in various countries, Göring in April 1943 explained that it ‘[i]s a fundamental error to believe that we prefer to win over the people of the occupied territories through mild treatment. When it comes to the goal of a new European order these people can [begin to] be won over after the war.’ For now, strong measures rather than kid gloves were needed. Referring to France in particular, he recommended a considerable ‘extension’ of the occupation authorities’ ‘powers’ as the most effective and immediate way to boost industrial production.17 The sense of urgency among the Germans was reinforced by the disappointing production figures in France. In its closing report for the year 1942, armaments officials predicted a ‘notable reversal’ in output for the near future. Three months later they spoke of a 25 per cent fall in overall production during December 1942 – January 1943. Although the results were mostly attributed to temporary problems, notably acute shortages of energy, reports from various regional armaments teams over the next several months indicated continued drops in output, which in some cases easily exceeded 25 per cent.18 A lengthy retrospective report prepared in the spring of 1943 by the head of MbF’s armaments staff amounted to an extended justification for unsatisfactory deliveries of war matériel. But self-justification aside, the underlying message was that France’s industrial potential was not being sufficiently exploited. The ‘pressing task’ of German armaments officials, it concluded, was to ‘employ and to exhaust French economic resources to the greatest extent possible for the German war potential’.19 For armaments officials in Paris and Berlin, the question was how best to explain disappointing production results. Predictably perhaps, the answers depended a good deal on what one believed could and should be done. This was evident in the case of shortages. All German observers agreed that the French economy suffered from increasing penury. Manpower shortages attracted considerable attention, partly because 17

18

19

‘Aus dem Protokoll einer Besprechung von Hermann Göring mit Vertretern dr Okkupationsbehörden am 28. April 1943 über die Einbeziehung der besetzten Gebiete in die “totale Kriegführung”’, extracts reproduced in Ludwig Nestler, Die faschistische Okkupationspolitik in Frankreich (1940–1944) (Berlin, 1990), 266–7. BA-MA RW 24/29, ‘Kriegstagbuch des Rüstungsstabes Frankreich des Reichministers für Bewaffnung und Munition vom 1. Oktober 1942 bis 31. Dezember 1942’, 31 December 1942; NARA T 77/1256, Rüstungsinspektion Frankreich, ‘Kurzbericht zum 22.3.1943’, no. 210/43g, 22 March 1943; and T 77/1263, Rü Kdo Paris West to Rü- und Be Fr, 8 May 1943, with accompanying chart of production from December 1942 to June 1943. NARA T 77/1221, ‘Die deutsche Wehr- und Rüstungswirtschaft in Frankreich vom 3.7.1940 bis 31.3.1943’, Barckhausen.

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Sauckel’s ongoing efforts to conscript workers provoked the ire of both German and French officials. But labour was only one scarce element among many. During 1942, the MbF had kept a close watch on the gap between requirements and supplies of numerous matériels; in the case of oil products, for example, available supplies rarely met 50 per cent of needs. During 1943, a slew of reports from local armaments teams testified to the deteriorating supply situation across the country. The growing scarcity of coal and electricity proved particularly troubling, as both were vitally necessary to keep factories running. On this subject, the armaments inspection office in France tersely remarked in March 1943 that the ‘longfeared supply catastrophe had arrived’.20 If this report was exceptionally alarmist, German officials recognized that shortages of all kinds undermined their efforts to exploit France’s industrial resources. Occasionally, the awareness of the deteriorating supply situation resulted in calls for more sober assessments of France’s productive potential. In early 1943, the Beschaffungsamt complained that Germans too often ‘over-estimated its [French industry] capacity and under-estimated the difficulties from which it suffered’. Similarly, in response to criticism from the German automobile industry that French companies were uncooperative, the Beschaffungsamt lamented the widespread ignorance of conditions in France, pointing in particular to the ‘catastrophic drop’ in coal and electricity supplies as well as to Sauckel’s labour drafts.21 Several German observers, moreover, recognized that the relative lack of vertical integration in many French industries exacerbated the problems created by shortages. Most of the major companies relied on networks of suppliers and sub-suppliers, all of whose members required a steady provision of various factors of production in order to meet the delivery schedules. In an economy of growing scarcity, this horizontal production model translated into frequent and multiple delays across the production chain.22 That this problem handicapped the French automobile industry in particular was recognized by the German automobile industry.23 Generally speaking, however, the German authorities shied away from accepting the full implications of the deepening supply crisis afflicting 20 21

22 23

BA-MA RW 24/49, Rü In A (Paris und NW Fr), untitled situation report, 1 March 1942; and NARA T 77/1256, Rü In Fr, ‘Übersicht 1.1–31.3.1943’. BA-MA RW 24/41, ‘Überblick des Amtschefs über in der Zeit vom 1.1.43 bis 30.4.43 beim Deutschen Beschaffungsamt in Frankreich aufgetretenen wesentlichen Probleme, deren Entwicklung und Lösung’; and NARA T 77/1254, Deutsche Beschaffungsamt Frankreich to Hauptauschuss Kraftfahrzeuge (Schaaf), 19 January 1943. For this problem, see the comments in NARA T 77/1256, Rü In Fr, ‘Die Energielage und die sich darauf ergebenden Folgerungen’, 30 September 1942. See the report in SäSC, Auto Union 31050, 315, ‘Frankreich-Bericht der Wirtschaftsgruppe Fahrzeugindustrie (Sept. 1941)’.

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France. Instead, they preferred to believe that the problem was manageable and that solutions could be found. On the issue of labour conscription, General Barckhausen, the head of the MbF’s economic staff, insisted in 1943 that a ‘clear synthesis’ could be found between the needs of German and French industry for French workers that would satisfy both. Just what this synthesis meant in practice he left unclear. As the supply situation worsened, German reports endeavoured to sound an upbeat note despite the often long list of shortages appended. A report in early 1943 from the armaments team responsible for Paris-West (and thus Ford SAF) announced that although coal supplies for factories presented ‘constant difficulties’, it remained convinced that these ‘would nevertheless be overcome just in time’. Another report from the same team several months later confidently predicted that current production goals would be met despite the admitted ‘delays in the supplies of [raw] matériels’.24 There are several possible explanations for this show of confidence. One of them is that armaments officials in France were bending over backwards to locate supplies for French companies – an effort that met with some success. In prioritizing factories working for the Germans, the armaments teams were able to keep many of them going, even if at reduced rhythms of production. German officials could also take heart in the fact that the supply situation was uneven, varying rapidly across time and region. Thus, for the Seine-et-Oise department, which included Poissy, companies with German contracts had adequate quantities of raw matériels at the end of 1942, experienced notable shortages in February 1943, before matters improved once again in the spring.25 But the belief that supply difficulties could be overcome also reflected the assumption that this is what was happening in Germany. Well before the war, the German economy had been characterized by scarcity. Yet despite mounting shortages of raw matériels and manpower, officials told themselves, German industry continued to pull off impressive feats of production. And what appeared to be possible in Germany should also be possible in France. Lurking behind this thinking was a dynamic that privileged ideology over political-economic facts. In his influential study of the Nazi economy, Adam Tooze stressed the refusal of Speer to accept the reality of 24

25

NARA T 77/1221, ‘Die deutsche Wehr- und Rüstungswirtschaft in Frankreich vom 3.7.1940 bis 31.3.1943’, Barckhausen, undated, section 3, emphasis in original; and T 77/1263, Rü Kdo Paris-West, ‘Überblick über die Berichtszeit vom 1.1. – 31.3.43’; and ‘Uberblick über die Berichtszeit vom 1.7. – 30.9.40’, both undated. ADY 1W 9, ‘Rapport mensuel (Période du 20 Novembre 1942 au 20 Décembre 1942)’, undated; and ‘Rapport mensuel’, February 1943.

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Germany’s economic limits. The result was a blind determination to keep the war economy going, trumpeting small successes while ignoring the increasing and crushing industrial superiority of the Allies.26 Among the German officials in France, this blindness was apparent in the emphasis placed on the decisive importance of will. As Barckhausen exclaimed in a January 1943 speech to his staff: We must possess an unobstructed vision, a clear understanding, a courageous heart and a hardened and steeled will. Whoever with a living heart senses the powerful pulse of the era, who is devoted to his people, will feel within his inner self like never before that Germany’s fateful hour has struck and [will feel] with a powerful and internal fire that all now depends on achieving a German victory in the world; he must feel how the entire meaning and fulfilment of his life is dedicated [to victory]; only then will he be internally strengthened and armed against all the Powers which seek to break his resistance.27

It is possible that Barckhausen identified more closely with Nazi ideology than other officials, though his claim that Germany was threatened with ‘extinction’ by the ‘Jewish-Marxist world revolution’ would likely not have sounded strange to his military audience. But the more pertinent point is that his insistence that reality could be bent according to needs was widely shared. As we shall see in the case of Ford SAF, even someone as practical-minded as Thoenissen could speak in terms of will. For German officials, the biggest obstacle to a more thorough exploitation of French industry appeared to come not from shortages but from the French. The Germans were well aware that Vichy suffered from declining political and moral legitimacy. In October 1943, a frustrated Sauckel likened the regime to a ‘phantom’ and complained that ‘there is no more French authority in this country’. While Sauckel was perhaps overly dismissive, earlier, in July, German armament officials had expressed doubts that the French government possessed sufficient authority to fulfil its promise to collaborate.28 But the Germans were far more worried about what they perceived as a growing unwillingness on the part of French industrialists and workers to cooperate. The previous chapter discussed the emerging gap in 1942 between German and French interests: whereas the occupiers needed the help of the occupied 26 27

28

Tooze, The Wages of Destruction, 552–624. BA-MA RW 24/6, Chef des Wirtschaftsstabes und Rüstungsstabes Frankreich, ‘Anspruche des Chefs des Wi.Stabes und Rü.Stabes Frankreich, Generalleutnant Barckhausen, zum 10. Jahrestag der Machtergreifung, am 30.1.43’, 28 January 1943. Emphasis in original. AN AJ 40/846, ‘Vermerk über die Besprechung am 16. Okt. 1943 mit dem Arbeitseinsatzstableitern unter Anwesenheit. . .Saukel’, undated; and BAL R 3/1821, Chef des Rüstung- und Beschaffungsstabes Frankreich to MbF (Michel), no. 971/43, 30 July 1943.

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to exploit France’s industrial potential, the latter had begun to question whether cooperation lay in their short- and long-term interests. During 1943, as Germany’s overall military situation visibly worsened, the Germans came to conceive of this gap as a chasm. Statements concerning the ‘passive resistance’ of the French and their decreasing ‘willingness to perform’ became a regular feature of reports.29 In a lengthy report in early 1943, Barckhausen directly linked disappointing production results to the hostility of the French: [I]n France we [German armaments officials] are in an enemy country in which every day difficulties of a personal and matériel nature have to be overcome and in which the vast majority of the population confronts German measures with more or less veiled and open resistance, with the result that increasing delays [in production] must inevitably be accepted.30

The general impression, indeed, was that French companies were deliberately limiting their contribution to Germany’s war effort. According to armaments teams, who regularly interacted with companies, many factory directors now manifested a ‘notably reserved attitude’ towards German contracts – an attitude that expressed itself in excuses and delays.31 Admittedly, the problem was not unique to France. Across occupied Europe, the Germans detected a growing reticence on the part of local companies and workers to collaborate. As Speer’s ministry admitted, in the occupied territories the willingness ‘to offer support in the form of armaments production to Germany in its struggle for European freedom. . .exists only in extremely limited measure’.32 Nevertheless, the situation in France stirred particular concern because of the importance of its armaments and armaments-related industries, which easily surpassed those of other occupied territories with the partial exception of Bohemia and Moravia (the Protectorate). By 1943, it had become imperative for the Germans to mobilize France’s industrial potential to the maximum amount possible. The pressing challenge for the Germans, then, was to get the French to do more. On the question of how to do so, the German historian Marcel Boldorf argues that throughout the Occupation the German authorities 29 30 31

32

For example, see BA-MA RW 24/26, ‘Lagebericht des Rü Stabes Frankreich, der Rü In Frankreich und des DBA in Frankreich für den Monat Januar 1943’, 26 February 1943. NARA T 77/1221, ‘Die deutsche Wehr- und Rüstungswirtschaft in Frankreich vom 3.7.1940 bis 31.3.1943’, section B2, 30; section 3. BA-MA RW 24/93, Rü Kdo Paris Ost, ‘Kriegstagebuch für die Zeit vom 1.7. – 30.9.1943’, 30 September 1943; and RW 24/102, Rü Kdo Paris-West, ‘Lagebericht’, 18 October 1943. BAL R 3/1941, ‘Denkschrift betreffend Europäische Wirtschafts-Planung’, 13 September 1943.

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relied on the profit motive to stimulate the efforts of companies.33 There is much to be said for this argument. With their massive purchasing power provided by heavy occupation costs and a distorted exchange rate, the Germans could and did entice companies with the promise of high profits. The latter, as we saw, certainly explains Ford SAF’s enthusiasm to work for the Germans during 1940–1. The problem for the Germans, however, was that the profit motive’s effectiveness decreased over time. During 1940–1 and even into 1942, the Germans had been fairly confident that French and German interests converged when it came to industrial collaboration. Yet by 1943, growing doubts about a German victory together with mounting hardships called into question this convergence. Confronted with what they viewed as a wall of reticence and even hostility, German officials realized that an incentive structure centred chiefly on profits was insufficient to motivate French companies. Something more was needed. The belief that something more was needed provides the backdrop to the decision in 1943 to reorganize once again the German economic administration in France. Given Speer’s vaulting ambitions, this second reorganization predictably involved an effort to centralize authority under his ministry. In early January 1943, Speer succeeded in convincing Göring to issue a decree transferring full power to him for the ‘exploitation of the armaments capacity of the occupied territories’. Several days earlier, Hitler had endorsed Speer’s proposal to give him exclusive control of all armaments production in France.34 Armed with this authority, in the spring of 1943 Speer proceeded to unite the various armaments and economic staffs in France, which included Thoenissen’s Beschaffungsamt, into a single entity, the Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstab Frankreich (Rü Stabes Frankreich), headed by General Stud and placed directly under the Armaments Ministry’s control. Responsible for overseeing all aspects of the German war economy in France, the Rü Stabes Frankreich set out to eliminate what remained of the MbF’s influence in the economic-industrial realm. Chairing his first meeting in June, Stud made it clear that it was Rü Stabes Frankreich’s task – and its alone – to increase French industrial

33

34

Marcel Boldorf, ‘Neue Wege zur Erforschung der Wirtschaftsgeschichte Europas unter nationalsozialistischer Hegemonie’ in Christoph Buchheim and Marcel Boldorf, eds., Europäische Volkswirtschaften unter deutscher Hegemonie, 1938–1945 (Munich, 2012), 16–21. Boelcke, ed., Deutschlands Rüstung im Zweiten Weltkrieg, 3–5 January 1943, 217; and Dietrich Eichholtz, Geschichte der deutschen Kriegswirtschaft 1939–1945, 3 vols. (Berlin, 1969–96), II, 137.

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production.35 Although the MbF complained to Berlin, the economics minister informed the military authorities that Speer’s goal of creating a ‘clear central organization’ enjoyed his full support.36 Notwithstanding the MbF’s official protests, German officials in France generally welcomed the centralization of authority under Speer in the hope that it would solve several persistent problems. One problem was the urgent need to rationalize and concentrate French production in order to ensure the most efficient use of resources. Clear priorities had to be established and respected in the placing of contracts; matériels had to be directed to where they were most needed; and factories of secondary importance had to be closed.37 Although the occupation authorities had been struggling to do this for some time, the uncoordinated and competing activities of different German agencies greatly hampered their efforts. A single and united armaments organization with exclusive power would presumably limit what Barckhausen called the ‘spreading paper war’ between the Germans that risked ‘overshadowing’ their shared interest in mobilizing French industry.38 Equally important, a centralized organization would not only help to fill the vacuum created by Vichy’s vanishing authority, but would also counter the continued attempts by the French to exploit differences between various occupation authorities – a practice that German officials found particularly frustrating. ‘The first duty of Germans in France’, Stud intoned, ‘is to speak with a determinedly united voice in order to avoid. . .providing the French with the opportunity to play German agencies against one another.’39 Whatever its potential benefits, the further centralization of authority over French war production in Speer’s ministry proved to be of limited practical consequence. One reason is that it remained incomplete. Speer’s staff, for example, never succeeded in coordinating the placing of contracts with French companies: German procurement agencies and companies would continue to engage in what one official described as a ‘wild

35

36 37

38 39

BA-MA RW 24/30, ‘Kriegstagebuch des Rü Stabes Frankreich für die Zeit vom 1.5. bis 30.6.43’, and ‘Niederschrift der 1. Sitzung der Rüstungs- und Beschaffungskommission Frankreich am 17.6.1943’, 19 June 1943. BA-MA RW 24/31, Funk to MbF, 17 July 1943. Regarding the closing of factories, a post-Liberation French assessment noted that only 27 companies (out of 625) belonging to the COA and employing some 90 workers (out of 15,000) had been closed by the end of 1942. See AN 19830589/17, ‘Note sur les fermertures d’entreprises’, undated but October 1944. NARA T 77/1221, ‘Die deutsche Wehr- und Rüstungswirtschaft in Frankreich vom 3.7.1940 bis 31.3.1943’. BA-MA RW 24/32, Rü Stabes Fr, ‘Protokoll über die Sitzung mit den Rüstungskommandeuren und Aussenstellenleitern, an 18.15 Uhr auch mit den Länderbeaufträgten, am 1. November 1943’, Paris, 9 November 1943.

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chase’.40 But Speer’s staff had no more success in establishing their authority over the French. As always, the occupation authorities lacked the manpower and expertise to keep a close eye on French industries and companies. Hitherto, the Germans had been content to administer by proxy: they issued general directives that the French then applied, subject to German oversight. In the industrial realm, this practice accorded an important role to the representatives of French industry, prominent among them (as we have seen) Lehideux and the COA. In 1943, Elmar Michel, the head of the MbF’s economic section, publicly lauded administration by proxy, claiming that it allowed the Germans to exploit the French economy with maximum effectiveness and efficiency.41 But by then, Michel’s claim was little more than a propaganda exercise. Given the growing reticence of the French towards industrial collaboration, administration by proxy was clearly inadequate. Speer’s Armaments Ministry, accordingly, coupled centralization with another and arguably more significant scheme: the integration of French industries and companies into the existing economic and industrial structure in Germany. The underlying aim was not so much to impose a German model on the French as it was to provide the occupation authorities with what they had always lacked: a measure of direct oversight over French production. This would be achieved by extending the authority of German industry organizations (the rings and committees that directed particular industries and sub-industries) into occupied France. At the industry level, individual German rings and committees would appoint a representative (Länder-Beauftragte or LB) who, working with Speer’s officials, would organize, coordinate and rationalize production between various French companies. At the same time, individual French companies would be associated with a German company belonging to the relevant industrial ring or committee. The German company would have the status either of a ‘sponsoring company’ (Patenfirma), which oversaw a single French company, or of a ‘leadership’ company (Leitenfirma), which was responsible for several French companies in the same industry.42 40

41

42

BAL R 3101/31166, RBM, ‘Sitzung der Ausschüsse und Ringe von 5. Juni 1943. Neuregulung in Frankreich’, 10 June 1943. Ignoring Speer’s recent reorganization, in the spring of 1943 Daimler-Benz established a bureau in Paris to deal directly with French companies. See the file in MBA, Zentralbüro Paris. AN 3W/221, Michel, ‘L’économie dirigée en France’, translated article in the Berliner Börsen Zeitung, 10 April 1943. Also see de Rochebrune and Hazera, Les patrons sous l’Occupation, I, 147–9. See NARA T 77/1254, RBM, untitled note, 1 February 1943, which contains ‘Entwurf der Geschäftsordnung für die Arbeitsausschüsse und Arbeitsringe des Deutschen Beschaffungsamtes in Frankreich’, undated; and BAL R 3101/32261, ‘Erlass über die

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The task of Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen, Speer told his staff, was to act as a ‘supervisor’ to French companies, ensuring that ‘German interests were represented’.43 An optimistic scenario envisaged German companies helping to invigorate French companies (and industries) by introducing what one official termed ‘German experience and German principles’. In a memorandum in June 1943, Speer called for the ‘complete and planned utilization of France’s war capacity’, emphasizing in particular the role that ‘German practical experience’ imparted by ‘competent personalities’ could play in improving the performance of French companies.44 But lurking nearby was a more pessimistic shadow. Desperately short of war matériel, the Germans needed immediate results from French industry yet at the same time feared that they could not rely on the latter’s goodwill. French companies with German contracts would have to be closely monitored to ensure that they made a maximum effort. For this reason, Speer’s officials insisted that the representatives of Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen with French companies must possess not only a ‘well-grounded factual knowledge’ of the relevant industry but also ‘strong leadership qualities, initiative and agility’. Only men with such a profile would have the combined expertise and authority to push French companies to do everything they could to operate in the ‘most rational way possible, with the least expenditure of raw matériels and workers and with a better use of [their] capacity’.45 The ambition to oversee French companies is critical to understanding the results of Speer’s reorganization of the German economic administration. The latter has been seen as an attempt to impose greater ‘central control’ over French production.46 But while true, this argument overlooks the ironic effect of Speer’s reorganization, which was to decentralize responsibility further. In according a leading role to German industrial committees and rings in French production, Speer extended the principle of industry self-responsibility to France. In practice, this meant devolving authority away from Speer’s staff and towards both German and French

43 44

45

46

Einbeziehung der Betriebe im Bereich des Militärbefehlshabers Frankreich in die Arbeit der Ausschüse und Ringe’, 1 June 1943. Also see Milward, The New Order and the French Economy, 140–6. BA-MA RW 24/30, Rü Stabs Frankreich, ‘Aktenvermerk über die Besprechungen mit Reichsminister Speer am 8.5.1943’, Paris, 12 May 1943. For the official, see BAL R 3101/31166, RBM, ‘Sitzung der Ausschüsse und Ringe von 5. Juni 1943. Neuregulung in Frankreich’, 10 June 1943; for the memorandum, see BA-MA RW 35/721, RBM, ‘Einschaltung der Ausschüsse und Ringe bei der rüstungswirtschaftlichen Nutzbarmachung Frankreichs’, no. 460/43, Speer, 1 June 1943. BAL R 3101/31166, RBM, ‘Sitzung der Ausschüsse und Ringe von 5. Juni 1943; and NARA T 77/1254, ‘Entwurf der Geschäftsordnung für die Arbeitsausschüsse und Arbeitsringe des Deutschen Beschaffungsamtes in Frankreich’. Radtke-Delacor, ‘Produire pour le Reich’, 109.

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actors at the industry and above all company levels. The potential contradiction was apparent: Speer’s reorganization increased the influence of precisely those French actors – industry leaders and company directors – whose perceived reticence to collaborate wholeheartedly had helped to prompt the reorganization in the first place. The burden of dealing with this contradiction would fall chiefly on the German Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen. Speer counted on them to oversee the activities of French companies, with the result that considerable numbers of Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen were appointed during the second half of 1943. But these companies proved ill-suited to the task. One problem was that Speer’s ministry placed notable limits on their authority. Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen were told that they possessed no ‘power of direction’ and that ‘full responsibility’ for the timely fulfilment of orders remained with French company directors. Instead, their duties consisted of cooperating with the latter, proffering advice and help when needed.47 The limited power of Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen is partly explained by the strong French reaction: both the MPI and Lehideux’s COA protested against the scheme, insisting that it undercut the independence of French companies.48 But if Speer’s ministry chose not to ignore French protests, it was chiefly because the existence of Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen did nothing to free the Germans from their dependence on the French. Short of running French companies themselves, which was simply not feasible, armaments officials had no choice but to rely on French help in boosting production. This reality became apparent during the opening months of 1943, even before Speer’s administrative reorganization. As we shall see, during the negotiations in early 1943 over Ford SAF’s contribution to the European truck programme, Speer’s staff was forced to make far-reaching concessions to the COA and to Ford SAF in order to secure their cooperation – concessions that effectively stymied Ford-Werke’s ambitions to control the latter’s operations. French policy: Vichy and the MPI German observers were correct in their judgement that the Vichy government’s authority and relevance declined steeply during 1942–3. Following the Allied invasion of North Africa in November 1942, which

47

48

BA-MA RW 35/787, untitled circular to the heads of the Hauptasschusses and Hauptringe, undated but 1943. For the multiplication of Patenfirma and Leitenfirma, see the lengthy list drawn up in BFRC, Ford-Werke, BAL 2495, Rüstungsobermann in Frankreich, 9 December 1943, and accompaying document. See the file in AN 19830589/6.

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triggered the German occupation of the southern zone, the regime became a shadow of its former self. While Pétain became little more than a figurehead, the government led by Laval suffered from growing unpopularity and declining legitimacy. Meanwhile, reading the writing on the wall, high-ranking officials such as Maurice Couve de Murville, director of foreign exchange at the Finance Ministry, abandoned Vichy (and France) altogether; or, like René Bousquet, the prefect of police, distanced themselves from their earlier enthusiasm for collaboration.49 For Vichy in general, little remained of the early hopes for a Franco-German partnership in the construction of a new post-war Europe. For those who did not belong to the miniscule and marginal minority of ideologically committed collaborators, two complementary goals predominated: to mitigate the worse effects of the German occupation and to remake one’s reputation. These two goals are significant in light of the postLiberation claim that Vichy acted as a shield, protecting the French people from the worst. If scholars have convincingly demonstrated the speciousness of this claim, particularly for the 1940–2 period, the situation became more complicated during 1943–4 in Vichy’s terminal phase. In the economic realm at least, Vichy did begin to play this role – or, perhaps more accurately, had this role thrust upon it by events. Somewhat paradoxically, the effort to prevent the worse prompted a renewed commitment on Vichy’s part to industrial collaboration with the Germans. At the same time, the regime’s declining authority meant that the responsibility for collaboration would rest primarily with the industries and companies directly involved. No one was more aware of this paradox than Bichelonne, the minister of industrial production throughout 1943 and into 1944. The previous chapter argued that MPI officials remained interested in reorganizing French industry but that during 1942 they came to conceive of this project more in French than in Franco-German terms. During 1943, the idea of capitalizing on the circumstances of occupation to reorganize French industry all but disappeared as the priority for the MPI became to keep as many workers and factories working in France as possible. Scholars often portray Bichelonne as a self-conceived technocrat who was, in Julian Jackson’s felicitous phrase, ‘politically autistic’, a self-conception which he supposedly shared with Speer and which formed the basis for their cooperation.50 But although he continued occasionally to speak in vague terms of modernizing French industry, by 1943 politics trumped technocratic ambitions for Bichelonne. Faced with Sauckel’s ongoing campaign

49

Jackson, France: The Dark Years, 226–30.

50

Ibid., 228.

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to conscript French labour and the threat that any unused productive capacity would be transferred to the Reich, he concluded that the only way to protect French workers and factories was to intensify industrial collaboration – to go as far as possible in making French industry a workhorse for the German war effort.51 This logic would eventually lead to the well-known Speer–Bichelonne agreements of September 1943. The next chapter will reconsider the significance of these agreements, but for now it is worth noting that the initiative came from the French side and from Bichelonne in particular. Well aware of the mounting tensions between Sauckel and Speer, Bichelonne sought to strengthen the latter by clearly indicating Vichy’s willingness to collaborate. In January 1943, he thus asked Thoenissen for help in directing German orders to factories that had been forced to shut down for lack of work. At an inter-ministerial meeting three months later, Bichelonne insisted that the rapid acceptance of any and all German contracts was vitally necessary to protect French factories. Given the urgency, he added the following month, neither questions of principle nor procedure mattered.52 It is possible that Bichelonne’s campaign in the opening months of 1943 influenced Speer’s thinking about how best to exploit French industry, although it is difficult to say for certain. If nothing else, it perhaps suggested to Speer that the French could be convinced that it was in their interests to work wholeheartedly for the Germans. Bichelonne did not confine his efforts to reinvigorate industrial collaboration to the Germans. For collaboration to work, French industrialists would also have to be persuaded of its merits. Bichelonne accordingly instructed the COs to make sure that their member companies understood the stakes involved. ‘[T]he considerable work underway to allow the French economy to adapt to present circumstances’, explained a circular to the COs, ‘will not obtain the best results if the operating conditions and the proposed aims do not receive a minimum of understanding from those circles which are directly affected’. Going further, the circular emphasized the need to combat individualist tendencies among company directors which created ‘divisions’ damaging to the ‘general interest’. The task of the COs was to inculcate in French companies a ‘sense of

51

52

AN AJ 72/1926, ‘Conférence de M. Bichelonne. . .prononcée devant les édiles de Paris et de la Seine (5 Août 1943)’. Even the Gaullists would praise Bichelonne’s efforts to keep French workers in France. See AN F1a/3769, CFLN, Commissariat à l’Intérieur, ‘Les prélèvements de la main-d’oeuvre’, undated but early 1944. NARA T 77/1254, ‘Aktenvermerk über den Besuch von General Bronchard am 9.1.1943 beim Deutsche Beschaffungsamt’, 11 January 1943; AN AJ 41/530, ‘Extrait du compterendu du 3 avril 1943’, undated; and ibid., ‘Réunion du 4 mai 1943. 10 heures’, undated.

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responsibility’.53 Meanwhile, under the guise of promoting a corporatisttype organization of professions, the MPI lobbied for a reinforcement of the authority of COs. This was necessary, Bichelonne contended, to ensure not only that everyone ‘is working for the country’ but also that the COs did not simply serve the narrow interests of their member companies. Similarly, Bichelonne’s close collaborator, René Norguet, emphasized the ‘absolute need’ to organize companies into ententes capable of defending the interests of an industry as a whole and of imposing collective decisions on dissident members. For Norguet, the COs would be the chief instrument of this policy.54 When it came to industrial collaboration, the MPI expected the COs to take the lead, exhorting their member companies to work for the Germans. French policy: the COA During 1943, the COA continued its practical cooperation with the occupation authorities begun in 1940–1. In addition to working with Speer’s staff in fixing production programmes, the COA acted as an intermediary between French companies on the one hand and German companies and procurement agencies on the other. A good deal of its activity consisted of helping to place German contracts with French companies. Growing shortages complicated negotiations, as French companies increasingly made their acceptance conditional on supplies of matériels. The tendency of the Germans to promise more than they could (or did) deliver kept COA officials busy attempting to resolve the resulting disputes concerning the partial or non-fulfilment of contracts.55 The practical cooperation with the Germans aside, Lehideux in 1943 appeared to be increasingly preoccupied with the future. In the spring, he created the Conseil de l’automobile, which gathered together the directors of the leading French automobile companies. Dollfus figured among the select group, a testimony to Ford SAF’s stature within the industry.56 Laying out the Conseil’s agenda at its opening meeting in June, Lehideux read from a familiar script, emphasizing the need to rationalize and 53 54

55 56

AN F 12/10146, ‘Note pour Monsieur Norguet’, G. Bourlet, 12 July 1943, with attached MPI circular, 18 July 1943. AN AJ 72/1926, ‘Extrait des conférences prononcées par M. Bichelonne. . .les 5 Août et 12 Octobre 1943’, 6–7; and F 12/10146, ‘Les ententes – rôle économique et social. Allocation prononcée par M. Norguet le 22 Mai 1943 à une réunion du Centre des Jeunes Patrons’, undated. For examples, see the file in NARA T 73/2. For the list of members, see AN 19830589/17, MPI, ‘Note pour monsieur le secrétaire général’, 3 June 1943.

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modernize the automobile industry in order to make it more productive and competitive after the war. Several technical commissions, he added, were already hard at work studying precise issues. Absent from his remarks was any mention of the Germans: as noted in the previous chapter, Lehideux had begun to conceive of the future in French as opposed to Franco-German or European terms. Indeed, Lehideux predicted a ‘sharp commercial struggle’ between national automobile industries in the post-war period. More novel, however, were his prescriptions. To equip the French automobile industry for this post-war struggle, he argued, would require a ‘common plan of action’ as well as an ‘organization’ capable of providing collective direction. Interestingly, Lehideux imagined the latter as a revised version of the COA, though with one significant difference: the post-war organization, he hastened to assure the Conseil members, would be an instrument of the major automobile companies and not of the government.57 Lehideux was clearly preparing his own future. In seeking to ensure COA’s post-war existence, he expected to remain its chief. But Lehideux’s interest in post-war planning also needs to be seen as an effort to strengthen his waning authority within the automobile industry at the time. Lehideux’s leadership of the industry was always bound to be contested. His authoritarian style clashed with an industry ethos that celebrated the independence, authority and genius of company directors, including towering figures such as Louis Renault. If his contacts with both the French and German authorities rendered Lehideux indispensable during the early years of the Occupation, by 1943 his value appeared to be in decline. Tellingly, in the early months of the year the major automobile companies decided to resurrect their pre-war professional organization (Chambre syndicale), which had been abolished by Vichy and effectively replaced by the COA. A new administrative council was elected with two vicepresidents and sixteen members, Dollfus among them.58 Although the administrative council was mandated to cooperate with the COA, from the start the Chambre syndicale infringed on the latter’s prerogatives. The Chambre syndicale’s task, an internal memorandum announced in May 1943, was ‘to begin at once to apply or at least to prepare all measures which favour the future prosperity of the automobile industry’.59 57 58 59

Ibid., ‘Discours de M. François Lehideux. Directeur responsable du C.O.A.’, Conseil de l’Automobile, 9–11 May 1943. Emphasis in original. See the file in CCFA, Carton: archives histoire, circulars, 25 May and 10 June 1943. Also see Sauvy, Les organismes professionnels français de l’automobile et leurs acteurs, 167. CCFA, Carton: archives histoire, ‘Annexe no. 1 à la lettre de 8 mai [1943]’. In the autumn of 1943, Citroën simply refused to cooperate with the COA’s effort at post-war planning. See AN 19830589/17, Citroën to Lehideux, 9 November 1942.

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Confronted in 1943 with the reemergence of an institutional rival, Lehideux felt compelled to justify the COA’s continued existence, not to mention his own position. The need to plan for the post-war period offered an opportunity to do so, but it was one that the resurrected Chambre syndicale could also seize. In this context, Ford-Werke’s truck production programme came as something of a godsend, allowing Lehideux to demonstrate the COA’s pertinence. Ford-Werke’s programme posed a threat not only to Ford SAF but also to the other major automobile companies, which were expected to sacrifice their own programmes and plans. In seeking to modify Ford-Werke’s programme Lehideux could remind the automobile companies of just how useful the COA could be. But it also meant committing the COA to working with the Germans at a time when industrial collaboration was losing its appeal. For Lehideux, the challenge was to chart a course that would satisfy Ford SAF, the other French automobile companies and the Germans, all the while looking out for his own future. Ford-Werke’s European truck programme The immediate origins of Ford-Werke’s European truck programme are to be found in Germany’s worsening military situation, particularly on the eastern front. Locked in a colossal confrontation with the Red Army that stretched over thousands of kilometres, the Wehrmacht was badly in need of motorized transport. In 1941, the horse-powered infantry divisions represented the great bulk of the German army, with the armoured, motorized and lightly motorized divisions constituting a small if powerful spear. From the outset of the invasion, as Martin Van Creveld argues, the Germans operated on a logistical shoe-string, incapable of adequately resupplying its troops. The lack of motorized transport placed incredible strains on most soldiers, who were on foot and who desperately sought to keep up with the rapidly advancing armoured and motorized units. Several factors quickly exacerbated this situation, among them the great distances involved, the region’s rudimentary transport structure and the high rate of losses of vehicles.60 With the failure of Operation Barbarossa in December 1941, the war in the East changed into an exhausting and brutalizing struggle that had little to do with the Blitzkrieg of legend. Meanwhile, the Red Army was becoming increasingly motorized, thanks 60

Martin Van Creveld, Supplying War: Logistics from Wallenstein to Patton (Cambridge, 2004 edn), 142–80. For the dependence on horses, see R.L. DiNardo and Austin Bay, ‘Horse-Drawn Transport in the German Army’, Journal of Contemporary History, 23 (1988), 129–42.

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in large part to lend-lease. Between 1941 and 1945, the Soviet Union received over 300,000 vehicles of all types from the western Allies, well over 80 per cent of which comprised of trucks and other heavy vehicles. Ironically, the vast majority of trucks sent to the Soviets were 6-ton Ford trucks made in the United States.61 In light of this situation, the Germans were understandably desperate to increase truck production. The problem was that the German automobile industry did not appear up to the task. In 1941, the industry had produced just over 86,000 trucks of various kinds; the following year the figure dropped to 80,512. Set against losses, which for the opening three months of 1942 alone numbered over 30,000, this level of output spelt impending disaster.62 In 1942, the regime’s growing dissatisfaction with the German automobile industry as a whole prompted Hitler himself to intervene to demand the dismissal of General Schell as head of the GBK. Speer, however, went further, replacing the GBK with an industry committee, the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug, which was subordinated to the Armaments Ministry. Headed by Wilhelm Schaaf, the director of BMW, the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug had the urgent task of revitalizing the automobile industry.63 Individual companies soon came under intense pressure to boost output, with Ford-Werke being told to increase its quarterly production of trucks from 4,000 to 7,000.64 To improve the automobile industry’s performance, Speer’s ministry chiefly had in mind the continued ‘rationalization’ of production methods.65 In terms of trucks, government and industry officials strove to limit the number of types and companies involved. During 1942, extended discussions occurred over the merits of concentrating production of 3-ton trucks (the Wehrmacht’s workhorse) in one of two models: that of FordWerke or of Opel (GM). Initially, it was decided to build both models even though Opel’s capacity was considerably greater (four times greater in

61

62

63 64 65

V. F. Vorsin, ‘Motor-Vehicle Transport Deliveries through “Lend-Lease” ’, Journal of Slavic Military Studies, 10 (1997), 164. Citing American sources, Hubert P. van Tuyll gives a figure of 363,080 for trucks alone. See his Feeding the Bear: American Aid to the Soviet Union, 1941–1945 (Westport, 1989), 157. Peter Leβmann, ‘Ford Paris im Zugriff von Ford Köln 1943’, Zeitschrift für Unternehmensgeschichte, 38 (1993), 217–19. For production figures, see von ScherrThoss, Die deutsche Automobilindustrie, 341; for losses, see Gregor, Daimler-Benz in the Third Reich, 141. Boelcke, ed., Deutschlands Rüstung im Zweiten Weltkrieg Hitlers, 8 July 1942, 152–3; and Pesch, Struktur und Funktionsweise der Kriegswirtschaft in Deutschland ab 1942, 86–7. BFRC, Ford-Werke, DOJ 0011168, ‘Protokoll über die Beiratssitzung der Ford-Werke A.G. am Montag, den 17 August 1942, 16 Uhr’, undated. SäSC, Auto Union 31050, 599, Wirtschaftsgruppe Fahrzeugindustrie, ‘Niederschrift über die Beiratssitzung am 18. November 1942’, 27 November 1942.

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1939) than Ford-Werke’s.66 But this decision was revised at the end of the year. In December 1942, Speer not only expressly ordered the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug to increase truck production as quickly as possible; he also gave it responsibility for overseeing production in the occupied territories.67 This last point is especially significant. In implementing Speer’s order, the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug placed the emphasis on the Ford-Werke truck, despite the military’s clear preference for that of Opel, which it judged more reliable. Although the possibility of compelling Ford-Werke to build Opel trucks under licence was considered, this option was rejected, partly because of the long delays required to convert Ford-Werke’s productive capacity. But another factor was FordWerke’s presumed ability to draw on the productive resources of occupied Europe – an advantage that Opel did not share.68 The initial programme called for the production of 2,000 trucks/month by Ford-Werke and another 2,000 from the other Ford companies in Europe, foremost among them Ford SAF. Speaking to Ford-Werke’s board of directors in January 1943, Schmidt noted that the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug had instructed him ‘to pursue the complete exploitation of French [productive] potential’ for the truck programme.69 No one greeted the announcement of the European truck programme with more enthusiasm than Ford-Werke and its director, Schmidt. During 1942, Ford-Werke experienced production problems, with its overall output of vehicles declining slightly as compared to 1941.70 Faced with mounting pressure to do better, the company recognized that any significant improvement would be impossible without outside help. It was ‘pointless’ to talk of increased output, Schmidt told the Armaments Ministry in September 1942, without additional supplies of

66

67 68

69

70

BFRC, Ford-Werke, FW 0001927–30, ‘Bericht über die Besprechung im Kraftfahrausschuss am Freitag, 5.6.42’; and SäSC, Auto Union 31050, 599, Wirtschaftsgruppe Fahrzeugindustrie, ‘Niederschrift über die Beiratssitzung am 25. März 1942’, 30 March 1942. BA-MA RW 24/42, ‘Anordnung’, Speer, 24 December 1942. GM’s French affiliate was tiny compared to Ford SAF. See AN AJ 40/608, ‘Bericht über die im Auftrag des Militärbefehlshabers in Frankreich durchgefürhrte Überprüfung der Geschäfts- und Amtsführung des kommiassarischen Verwalters der Firmen General Motors (France) S.A. und Bougie A.G.’, Dr Hans Buwert, 26 November 1943. BAL R 87/6205, ‘Protokoll über die Besprechung der Ford-Werke AG am Mittwoch, dem 13. Januar 1943’, undated. For the army’s preference for Opel trucks, see MBA, Bestand Haspel, 7.1, Generalstab des Heeres Org. Abt. (IIIB) to Chef H. Rüst u. BdE, 16 November 1942. Reich, Research Findings about Ford-Werke under the Nazi Regime, 36; and BA-MA RW 21/ 35/11, Rü Kdo Köln, ‘Rückblick über die rüstungswirtschaftliche Entwicklung in der Zeit vom 2. Marz 1942 bis 31. Mai 1942’, which noted a 7 per cent drop in Ford-Werke’s production as compared to January–February 1942.

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machines, raw matériels, parts and manpower.71 Like other German companies, Ford-Werke would use slave labour in an attempt to bridge the widening gap between needs and resources. But slave labour was a partial answer at best, providing no solution to the pressing problem of matériel shortages. Ford-Werke found itself particularly handicapped by delivery delays on the part of its German sub-suppliers, many of whom suffered from raw matériel shortages.72 Again like other companies, FordWerke looked for replacement sub-suppliers in occupied Europe: the company was especially active in France, placing orders with several companies, among them Peugeot.73 Given the size of the new truck production programme, however, the productive capacity of occupied France would have to be exploited in a more systematic fashion. And for Ford-Werke, this meant mobilizing Ford SAF’s potential. But Ford-Werke’s interest in Ford SAF was not rooted in the needs of the new truck programme alone. Schmidt had never abandoned his hope to profit from Germany’s military successes to ensure Ford-Werke’s postwar dominance of Ford’s continental European empire. That an outright German victory had begun to appear doubtful by late 1942 – early 1943 did not prompt Schmidt to revise his ambitions. If anything, the uncertainty surrounding the future reinforced arguments in favour of wartime faits accomplis: only by acting now could Ford-Werke establish its control over the various companies. In presenting the truck programme to FordWerke’s board in January 1943, Schmidt stressed how it would help to draw the various Ford companies into the German orbit, including those in neutral countries such as Sweden and Spain. He was blunter still in a letter to the Economics Ministry two months later. If Ford-Werke could not gain ‘legal influence’ over the these companies, Schmidt explained, it must at least make them ‘dependent to a considerable extent’. FordWerke would then be able ‘to lay its hands more firmly’ on these companies if and when circumstances allowed.74 Schmidt had no doubt that Ford SAF constituted the principal obstacle to his ambitions. Describing the French company in January 1943 as a ‘problem child’, he singled out Dollfus for particular blame. From the 71 72

73 74

BFRC, Ford-Werke, FW 0001908–1909, ‘Aktennotiz’, 24 September 1942. For slave labour, see Reich, Research Findings about Ford-Werke under the Nazi Regime, 45– 71; and Karola Fings, ‘Forced Labor at Ford Werke in Cologne’ in Reinhold Billstein et al., eds., Working for the Enemy, 135–62. For problems with sub-suppliers, see the memoranda in BFRC, Ford-Werke, FW 0001910–1913. For Peugeot, see the file in AP DOS 2009 RE-5813 on the supply of truck cabins. Also see the list of contracts in T 73/2, COA to GBK, no. 10704, 1 April 1942. BAL R 87/6205, ‘Protokoll über die Besprechung der Ford-Werke AG am Mittwoch, dem 13. Januar 1943’; and BFRC, Ford-Werke, NARA 0000491, Schmidt (Ford-Werke) to Herrn Gusmann, 10 March 1943.

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outset of the Occupation, Schmidt complained, Dollfus had resisted Ford-Werke’s efforts to integrate Ford SAF into its ‘overall planning’, engaging in ‘passive resistance’ and even sabotage.75 Determined to get rid of Dollfus yet well aware that the latter enjoyed the backing of occupation officials in France, Schmidt worked hard to gain the support of German authorities in Berlin. In particular, he sought to stoke the growing concerns over production, circulating reports that Ford SAF’s output was deficient in terms both of quantity and quality.76 Schmidt soon gained an important ally in the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug – and, by extension, Speer’s Armaments Ministry. In a January 1943 letter to German armaments officials in France, the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug denounced what it called the ‘bad faith’ of the French automobile industry as a whole and accused its companies of shirking their commitments. In this light, it is hardly surprising that the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug gave him an ‘explicit mandate’ to ensure the ‘full use of the French productive potential’. Just as importantly, Schmidt was to be ‘completely independent’ and ‘free of the authority of other [German] officials’.77 The Luxembourg accord Sometime in late December 1942 – early January 1943 the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug officially ordered Ford-Werke to draw up a European truck programme. Its projected size (a monthly output of 2,000 trucks and parts for 2,000 more) required the participation of the other Ford companies on the continent and that of Ford SAF in particular, whose productive capacity was easily the largest after Ford-Werke’s. In tapping Ford SAF’s potential, Schmidt initially hesitated between two options: confiscating Ford SAF or renting its factories for the duration of the war. Quickly, however, he chose the second option, presumably because German policy in general excluded the confiscation of enemyowned companies. For Schmidt, in any case, the most important consideration was to possess ‘full powers’ over Ford SAF. Ford-Werke must have control over the running of the company.78 75 76 77

78

BAL R 87/6205, ‘Protokoll über die Besprechung der Ford-Werke AG am Mittwoch, dem 13. Januar 1943’. BA-MA RW 24/106, Rü Kdo Paris West, Kriegstagebuch, 25–31 January 1943; and BFRC, Ford-Werke, FW 0001908–1909, ‘Aktennotiz’, 24 September 1942. The letter has not been found but excerpts are quoted in the response. See NARA T 77/ 1254, Deutsche Beschaffungsamt Frankreich to Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeu (Schaaf), 19 January 1943; also see BAL R 87/6205, ‘Protokoll über die Besprechung der FordWerke AG am Mittwoch, dem 13. Januar 1943’. BAL R 87/6205, ‘Protokoll über die Besprechung der Ford-Werke AG am Mittwoch, dem 13. Januar 1943’.

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Soon afterwards, Ford SAF learnt of the truck programme and of its assigned role. Predictably, its response was less than enthusiastic. At a board meeting in February 1943, Dollfus warned that the company’s very existence was at stake. Echoing this warning, the board declared that ‘it could but protest against eventual foreign interference in the management of the affairs of our Company’.79 Ford SAF, it is worth stressing, was not opposed to contributing to Ford-Werke’s truck programme. During the second half of 1942 the company had sought to raise production to the levels attained before the spring 1942 bombings; its principal customer, moreover, remained the Germans. At the end of 1942, before the announcement of the truck programme, Ford SAF’s major complaints concerned its production programme for the first quarter of 1943, which it deemed to be ‘fairly low’, and the inadequate prices it received for the trucks and truck parts it sold to the Wehrmacht and to Ford-Werke.80 Thus, if Dollfus initially balked at Ford-Werke’s European truck programme it was chiefly because of the menace it posed to Ford SAF’s independence. After some discussion, Ford SAF’s board reluctantly concluded that a compulsory rental agreement was preferable to the requisition of its facilities by Ford-Werke. Interestingly, it made its acceptance of a rental agreement conditional on a written request from the French government. Dollfus wanted proof that Ford SAF had bowed to force majeure. But the board was by no means resigned to defeat. Dollfus was thus instructed to seek the help of Lehideux in what it described as a clear violation of the January 1941 protocol between the COA and the GBK.81 Dollfus, in fact, had not waited for the board’s approval to contact Lehideux, who quickly agreed to support Ford SAF. In a memorandum to the German authorities in early February 1943, the COA refuted FordWerke’s claims that Ford SAF’s output was abnormally low, pointing to the steady increase since the air raids of spring 1942. On the issue of quality, the COA contended that problems could be traced largely to defective parts from Ford SAF’s suppliers as well as from Ford-Werke. To sort through rival allegations regarding quality, the memorandum suggested the creation of a joint inquiry by the COA and German officials. But the most striking element of the memorandum was its conclusion,

79 80 81

BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 2, Ford SAF, ‘Minutes of the Board Meeting Held on February 18, 1943’. For the programme, see AN 3W/229, GB Rü Paris to COA, 17 December 1942. BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 2, Ford SAF, ‘Minutes of the Board Meeting Held on February 18, 1943’.

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which amounted to a principled rejection of any discriminatory treatment of Ford SAF: In any case, the COA wishes to underscore that Ford Poissy is a French company, established on [French] metropolitan soil and, as a consequence, subject to French laws and regulations and, in particular, subject to control by the COA in the same manner as other French automobile companies. In this situation, the COA’s position is very clear: there can be no difference between the Ford company and any other French automobile company.82

Armed with the memorandum, Lehideux arranged to see his long-time partner on the German side, General Thoenissen. Although his Beschaffungsamt had been incorporated into Speer’s reorganized armaments administration, Thoenissen remained a key German official when it came to the French automobile industry. Meeting with Thoenissen in mid-February, Lehideux explained that Ford-Werke’s proposal to rent Ford SAF’s facilities involved a ‘certain number of inconveniences’ and would almost certainly prove disruptive in the short term. Continuing, Lehideux appealed to the history of close collaboration between the two men, insisting that he sought ‘constructive solutions’. He then handed Thoenissen a counter-proposal based on the January 1941 protocol. In return for its wholehearted participation in the truck programme, Ford SAF would remain independent rather than being placed under FordWerke’s control. To ensure compliance, Lehideux recommended the establishment of a ‘technical liaison’ between the two Ford companies as well as the appointment of COA controllers, who would exercise a ‘permanent technical oversight’ of Ford SAF. Put simply, the COA proposed that it be made responsible for Ford SAF’s cooperation.83 Despite Thoenissen’s promise to consider Lehideux’s proposals, COA officials were pessimistic about the outcome. In private, they accepted the possibility of a rental agreement, however ‘painful’ this might be.84 Their pessimism proved to be well founded. In a lengthy letter to Lehideux, Thoenissen rejected the COA’s counter-proposal. For the truck programme to succeed, Thoenissen explained, the various Ford companies must be united under Ford-Werke’s ‘centralized direction’. Past experience indicated that Ford SAF’s cooperation could not be assured if it remained independent. Aside from the personal tensions between

82 83 84

AN 3W/227, ‘Note sur la production de la Société Ford Française et sur la qualité de ses fabrications’, Paris, 10 February 1943. AN 3W/229, ‘Compte-rendu de l’entretien entre le Général Thoenissen et M. Lehideux du 15.2.1943’, undated, and attached untitled note, 15 February 1943. AN 3W/227, ‘Compte-rendu de Messieurs Lehideux et L’Epine avec le Secrétire Général Norguet et M. Bellier, le 15.2.1943’.

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Schmidt and Dollfus, he continued, the underlying problem concerned the contradictory interests of the two companies which made ‘disagreements’ inevitable. The COA’s proposed ‘technical oversight’ appeared to be too weak to make sure that Ford-Werke’s interests and needs predominated. Indeed, Thoenissen argued that the COA counter-proposal amounted to little more than the status quo, which was ‘unacceptable’. Since neither Lehideux nor Dollfus could guarantee Ford SAF’s loyal cooperation with the truck programme, Thoenissen reiterated his belief that the ‘simplest and clearest solution’ would be for Ford-Werke to rent the company’s factories. As for Dollfus, he would be put on paid leave since any ‘active collaboration’ with him was simply impossible.85 Notwithstanding Thoenissen’s apparent firmness, Lehideux made one last attempt to change his mind. In a personal letter, Lehideux contended that the COA’s counter-proposal of 15 February represented the limit of what he could accept. As COA president, Lehideux could not tolerate that a foreign company (Ford-Werke) succeeded in eliminating the director of a French company (Ford SAF), all the more so since he had given his personal guarantee of Dollfus’ willingness to cooperate. Refusing outright to help negotiate a rental agreement between the two companies, Lehideux effectively challenged Thoenissen to carry out his threat to dictate terms to Ford SAF or to confiscate the company outright. But Lehideux did not stop there. Echoing Dollfus, he castigated the proposed take-over of Ford SAF as a violation of the January 1941 protocol, which remained the basis of Franco-German collaboration in the automobile industry. To underscore the stakes involved, Lehideux informed Thoenissen that he would have to consult the French government on his future course of action. The message was clear: neither for the first nor (as we shall see) last time, Lehideux threatened to end his collaboration with the Germans.86 What happened next almost certainly surprised Lehideux and his officials at the COA. The Germans backed down – at least in good part. The decisive moment came in late February when Thoenissen invited Lehideux, Schmidt and the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug’s chief (Schaaf) to a two-day meeting in Luxembourg to consider the matter of Ford SAF. Although no record of the discussions has been found, the meeting did result in an accord. The participants agreed that an ‘experiment’ would be run during March 1943 to test Ford SAF’s readiness and ability to cooperate. Ford-Werke pledged to provide ‘active’ help to Ford 85 86

AN 3W/229, Thoenissen to Lehideux, 16 February 1943 and accompanying note. AN 3W/234, ‘Projet de lettre au Général Thoenissen’, undated but February 1943. The final version of the letter has not been found.

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SAF and Lehideux promised to exert ‘the strongest pressure’ on the French company – pressure that would include the appointment of technical advisors. Under the terms of the accord, Dollfus would be given a production programme for the month of March, and on 1 April Lehideux and Schmidt would meet to examine the results. If the two agreed that Ford SAF had performed satisfactorily, then the company would remain under Dollfus’ direction; if they agreed otherwise, then Ford-Werke would take control of Ford SAF through a ‘rental contract’ and the appointment of new directors. Thoenissen would have the final say in the event that Lehideux and Schmidt disagreed on the results of the experiment.87 Admittedly, the accord was not a final settlement. A take-over of Ford SAF remained possible. In March 1943, Schaaf confidently reported to the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug that Ford-Werke was increasing its grip over Ford SAF.88 But Schaaf’s assessment was exceedingly optimistic. In terms of gaining control over Ford SAF, the Luxembourg accord reflected a defeat more than an opportunity. If Ford-Werke ever had a chance to take over Ford SAF, it was in early 1943: Schmidt enjoyed the support of German authorities in both Berlin and Paris while the COA was pessimistic about what it could do. This favourable conjuncture would not reappear, as the Luxembourg accord granted Ford SAF not merely a reprieve but new life.89 With the help of Lehideux and the COA, Dollfus would have the time to prepare a more effective defence against Ford-Werke. Significantly, Schmidt himself appears to have realized that the moment had passed. At a meeting of French and German officials in early March 1943, Schmidt’s representative explained that Ford-Werke now thought it best to allow Ford SAF and the COA together to oversee France’s contribution to the European truck programme. Ford-Werke would offer suggestions but all decisions regarding the application of the programme would be taken by the French.90 Although Schmidt would continue to criticize Dollfus, he had abandoned his larger ambition of taking over Ford SAF.

87

88 89 90

A copy of the accord is in BA-MA RW 24/42, ‘Anlässlich der Verhandlungen am 21. und 22. Februar 1943 über die Einfügung der Ford S.A.F. in das vom Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeugindustrie angeordnete Gesamtbauprogram’, 22 February 1943. BAL R 3101/9088, Wirtschaftsgruppe Fahrzeugindustrie, ‘Niederschrift über die Beiratssitzung am 24. Marz 1943’, undated. Leβmann makes this important point in ‘Ford Paris im Zugriff von Ford Köln 1943’, 225. AN 3W/227, ‘Compte-rendu de l’entretrien du 6 mars ayant pour but de donner des éclaircissements sur la lettre du Monsieur R.H. Schmidt du 2 mars 1943’, undated; and ibid., Schmidt to Lehideux, 2 March 1943.

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The obvious question is why Thoenissen backed down. It was certainly not because of any opposition on Vichy’s part. If anything, the French government appears to have approved of Ford-Werke’s proposal. The priority for Bichelonne and the MPI was to encourage the Germans to employ French factories and workers in France; the issue of Ford SAF’s independence was of comparatively little concern.91 To explain Thoenissen’s decision, one must start with Thoenissen himself. Although Thoenissen had little sympathy for Dollfus, there are good reasons to suspect that his initial support of Ford-Werke’s proposal was less vigorous than it seemed. Jealous of his authority, Thoenissen made it clear to Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug representatives among others that he intended to retain the ultimate say in all matters concerning the French automobile industry.92 No less importantly, from the outset of the Occupation Thoenissen had conceived of his role as that of a mediator between the occupation authorities and the French automobile industry. Often enough, mediation translated into the defence of French automobile companies against what he viewed to be excessive German ambitions. During 1942, Thoenissen had resisted Daimler-Benz’s efforts to gain control of Renault; and in early 1943, he did the same regarding the relationship between Volkswagen and Peugeot.93 When one adds to the mix his close professional and even personal relationship with Lehideux, it is not surprising that Thoenissen proved to be well disposed towards Ford SAF. But Thoenissen’s sympathies alone cannot explain why he abandoned his initial support for Ford-Werke’s control of Ford SAF. Thoenissen understood perhaps better than anyone that the European truck programme depended on the willing cooperation of the French automobile industry in general and of Ford SAF in particular. Thoenissen had admitted as much to Lehideux when he remarked that Ford-Werke sought access to Ford SAF’s ‘practical knowledge’ (connaissances) of production

91

92

93

After the Liberation, both Lehideux and Dollfus remarked upon Bichelonne’s unhelpful position. See AN 3W/221, Lehideux deposition, 13 October 1944; and Dollfus deposition, 9 November 1944. NARA T 77/1254, ‘Aktenvermerk über Besprechung im Deutschen Beschaffungsamt am 9.3.1943’, undated. By the spring of 1943 Thoenissen appears to have been losing patience with Dollfus. See AN 19830589/17, ‘Note sur l’affaire Ford’, undated but post-Liberation. For Renault, see MBA, Carl Shippert file, Shippert to Kissel, 29 January 1942. For Peugeot, see BA-MA RW 24/42, ‘Aktennotiz über Besprechung in Angelegenheit Volkswagen-Werk-Peugeot im D.B.A. am 10.2.43’, 10 February 1943; and Peter Leβmann, ‘Industriebeziehungen zwischen Deutschland und Frankreich während der deutschen Besatzung 1940–1944. Das Biespiel Peugeot – Volkswagenwerk’, Francia, 17 (1990), 121–53.

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gained over several years as well to its extensive network of suppliers and sub-suppliers.94 Even the outright confiscation of Ford SAF’s factories, had it been politically feasible, would not have provided these two elements. To exploit Ford SAF’s productive potential to the full, FordWerke needed Dollfus’ help. In the end, Thoenissen’s hard-line position was a bluff aimed at weighing the balance of collaboration in the German company’s favour. When Lehideux called his bluff, Thoenissen had no choice but to back down. From February to April 1943 Despite the defeat of its ambitions to take over Ford SAF, Ford-Werke still needed the former to participate in its European truck programme. As Schmidt explained in a lengthy letter to Major H. Tannen, the assistant enemy assets administrator at Ford SAF, the combined efforts of the Ford companies in Germany, France, Belgium and Holland would be required to meet the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug’s target of 2,000 trucks/month (and parts for 2,000 more trucks). Given Ford SAF’s disappointing production results in terms of both quantity and quality, Schmidt wanted it to concentrate on making complete engines as well as parts for gear-boxes and rear axles. Although Ford SAF might be allowed to produce some of the 2,000 trucks, Ford-Werke would remain at the centre of the combined production process, receiving truck parts from the various Ford companies which it would then assemble. In outlining Ford SAF’s projected role, Schmidt identified several potential problems. One problem was Ford-Werke’s demand that Ford SAF centralize its engine production in one location, preferably at La Courneuve, just outside of Paris. Schmidt believed such a measure to be essential in order to oversee and improve the quality and quantity of output; for Ford SAF, however, this centralization of production risked diverting resources from the rebuilding of Poissy, which remained the priority.95 Another problem stemmed from Ford-Werke’s desire to transfer machines between companies to ensure maximum efficiency. In particular, Schmidt proposed to send 100 to 150 machines from Ford SAF to Ford-Werke and perhaps a handful in the opposite direction. It is hard to imagine a proposal more likely to arouse Dollfus’ suspicion and ire. A third problem involved the standardization of production on Ford-Werke’s 3-ton truck. Issues of compatibility 94 95

AN 3W/229, Thoenissen to Lehideux, 16 February 1943. AN 3W/228, Schmidt to Tannen, 2 March 1943 (French translation).

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inevitably arose because Ford SAF had been making its own 3-ton truck. Although some parts could be used in both trucks, many could not. The need to adapt Ford SAF’s production to the German model raised numerous questions that offered fertile ground for dispute, among them: how much time was needed to complete the transition and which production standards were to be used.96 Regarding such questions, Schmidt informed Tannen that ‘common action’ could help smooth over the difficulties, but this smacked of wishful thinking. Ford SAF’s sub-suppliers constituted the fourth and final problem. With good reason, Schmidt wondered whether they would be able to deliver sufficient matériel to Ford SAF to permit it to meet the European truck programme’s production targets. Earlier, in September 1942, similar doubts had prompted him to judge that Ford SAF might be able to produce at most enough parts for 500 trucks/month.97 Yet having drawn Tannen’s attention to this critical issue, Schmidt proceeded to downplay its significance, maintaining that reliable sub-suppliers could be found within the French automobile industry as a whole.98 Schmidt’s solution to these problems was to keep a close watch over Ford SAF, even if he could not do so directly. Dollfus would continue to run the company, he instructed Tannen, but all ‘decisions of principle’ regarding the truck programme would be approved by Ford-Werke, thereby assuring what he termed a ‘single viewpoint’. To enforce this ‘single viewpoint’, Schmidt sought to develop an entente with Tannen. As he elaborated: I want in every case to prevent erroneous conclusions from being drawn from conversations and minor frictions that will almost certainly be unavoidable; I want in every case an objective picture, a well-defined programme so that agreement can exist on all sides on the goal to pursue and so that a single line is assured. For these reasons, I ask that you base yourself solely on the information I give you and to consider all other viewpoints as not binding and as [merely] personal information from your interlocutor.

96

97 98

Germans blamed disappointing production in the French aircraft industry largely on the difficulties of switching from French to German models. See Bettina Glaβ, ‘Der lange Schatten der Rüstung: Die Entwicklung der Luftfahrtindustrie im Raum Toulouse von der Mitte der 1930er Jahre bis 1970’, Ph.D., Ruhr-Universitä Bochum, 2004, 94. For a valuable discussion of the situation in the French aircraft industry, see Chapman, State Capitalism, 237–55. BFRC, Ford-Werke, FW 0001908, ‘Aktennotiz’, 24 September 1942. AN 3W/228, Schmidt to Tannen, 2 March 1943.

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At the same time, Schmidt did not fully trust Tannen, who seemed all too ready to defend Ford SAF’s interests.99 Accordingly, he decided to appoint to Ford SAF a liaison person (B. Behr) directly subordinated to him as well as several technical advisors from Ford-Werke.100 Together, they would watch over Dollfus – and Tannen. While Schmidt sought to make the best of his initial defeat, Lehideux was determined to use the time gained by the Luxembourg accord to limit if not eliminate Ford-Werke’s influence over Ford SAF. Lest Schmidt harbour any lingering hopes of taking over Ford SAF, the COA chief bluntly informed him in early March 1943 that ‘I do not accept it [a takeover] and I will not accept it.’ No less tellingly, Lehideux added that ‘I have every intention of remaining master [of the automobile industry] in France.’101 More concretely, Lehideux attached to Ford SAF two close collaborators as COA ‘controllers’, Amaury L’Epine and Jean-Marie Ricq. After the Liberation of France, both men would claim that they sought every opportunity to thwart Ford-Werke – claims which do not appear to have been merely post-hoc justifications. In instructions to Ricq, Lehideux identified his chief mission as ‘the defence of the Ford factories’, which he deemed essential for ‘safeguarding the interests of the automobile industry and above all for the defence of the country’s interests’.102 Ricq, in particular, proved to be an inspired choice. Having lived under German occupation during World War I and having been condemned to death for distributing illegal newspapers, Ricq was not particularly fond of the Germans. The task of defending Ford SAF and the French automobile industry against German encroachments was one that he enthusiastically endorsed. As part of the Luxembourg accord, Lehideux had promised that COA officials would cooperate with Ford-Werke’s advisors, jointly examining complaints regarding Ford SAF and identifying ways to improve the quality and quantity of its output. In reality, however, the COA was never interested in such cooperation. Immediately upon taking up his duties as controller, L’Epine informed Tannen that the COA believed Ford SAF’s performance to be ‘satisfactory’. To some extent, L’Epine was merely echoing Dollfus’ repeated affirmations that Ford-Werke’s

99

100 101 102

Ford SAF admitted as much after the Liberation, noting that Tannen (and his successors) acted with ‘consideration’ for Ford SAF’s rights. See AP, Ford SAF, DOS 2008 RE-30422, Ford SAF, ‘Rapport sur la vie de Ford S.A.F. pendant la guerre (1er Septembre 1939 – 1er Novembre 1944)’, 13. AN 3W/228, Schmidt to Tannen, 2 March 1943. AN 3W/234, Schmidt to Tannen, 2 March 1943, and attached letter. For instructions, see AN 3W/221, Lehideux to Ricq, 1 March 1943.

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complaints were unfounded.103 But some dishonesty was also involved. Under the terms of the Luxembourg accord, the COA’s technical services submitted two of Ford SAF’s trucks to a thorough examination. The results were not encouraging. When overlooked slightly, the two trucks soon exhibited numerous problems: the engine flooded with oil, the electrical system broke down completely and ‘serious defects’ afflicted both the brake and suspension systems.104 Fortunately for Ford SAF, the COA does not appear to have forwarded its report either to Ford-Werke or to the German authorities. While the COA withheld damning information, Ricq and L’Epine pursued a subtle two-pronged strategy of obstruction in their activities as controllers. One prong consisted of feigning genuine cooperation with Ford-Werke and the German armaments staff. Taken together, frequent meetings, multiple factory inspections, detailed technical discussions of various aspects of production and an extensive examination of each and every complaint seemingly held out the prospect of practical progress while, in fact, creating few concrete results.105 Attention to endless minutiae marked the interaction of the two controllers with Ford-Werke officials, which not only consumed time and energy but also helped to ensure that the larger issue – that of Ford SAF’s willingness to contribute to the truck programme – receded from view. The second prong of the strategy was to absolve Ford SAF of responsibility for ongoing difficulties. From the beginning, the COA’s controllers contended that many of Ford SAF’s production efforts were hampered by Ford-Werke, whose output suffered from quantity and quality problems. That Ford-Werke’s own trucks continued to be the object of complaints from the Wehrmacht no doubt strengthened the credibility of this contention among the German authorities in France.106 Ricq and L’Epine also drew attention to Ford SAF’s lack of sufficient machine tools appropriate for making truck engines and parts that conformed to Ford-Werke’s specifications. Since these machine tools could not be found in France, they would have to come from Germany – that is to say, from Ford-Werke. Rather than trying to seize Ford SAF’s machines for use elsewhere, they insisted, Ford-Werke

103

104 105 106

See AN 3W/234, ‘Memento relative à mon entretien du 10 courant avec le Major Tannen et M. Behr’, L’Epine, March 1943; and 3W/228, Dollfus to Lehideux, 5 March 1943. AN 3W/228, ‘Note de service’, COA, 3 April 1943. For example, see AN 3W/227, ‘Sujets à traiter à la conférence de fabrications d’accessoires éléctriques’, 22 March 1943; and 3W/228 for reports on a series of factory visits. For complaints about quality, see the report in BFRC, Ford-Werke, FW 0001360–1374, ‘Bericht über Generator – Versuchtsfahren bei der Ford Motor Company A/S, Kopenhagen’, July 1943.

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should transfer some of its own machines to France. When not pointing a finger at Ford-Werke, the COA’s controllers invoked the overall situation of penury in France, exploiting the reality of shortages in an effort to reduce German expectations regarding Ford SAF’s ultimate contribution to the European truck programme.107 A wrangle over Ford SAF’s test programme for March 1943 helped Ricq and L’Epine in their strategy of obstruction. At the beginning of the month, German armaments officials handed Tannen a programme which called on Ford SAF to produce a small number of French trucks (after which it would switch to the German model) as well as several hundred engines, rear axles and additional parts.108 Dollfus immediately protested not only the late arrival of the programme but also its output targets, which were supposedly too low to permit Ford SAF to make sufficient profits to sustain itself. This second complaint is worth emphasizing, suggesting as it does that in early 1943 Ford SAF objected to the terms of its participation in Ford-Werke’s truck programme rather than to working for the Germans. But Dollfus was not interested in immediate profits alone. Unhappy with the prospect of merely making truck engines and truck parts for Ford-Werke, he wanted Ford SAF to produce not only complete trucks but complete French trucks. As he explained to Lehideux, it was vital that Ford SAF continue to make its French model for otherwise it would lose valuable expertise.109 If Ford SAF focused exclusively on the German model, it would be badly placed after the war to take advantage of what Dollfus believed would be a large demand for trucks within France and its empire. Under COA pressure, the German authorities gave way, agreeing to increase the March targets for trucks and, more satisfying still, to allow Ford SAF to keep producing French trucks for the time being.110 The latter decision represented a considerable victory for Dollfus in the medium term, for the longer Ford SAF made French trucks, the more difficult it would be fully to convert machines and machine tools for the German model. In the immediate term, meanwhile, considerable confusion surrounded the March 1943 targets. And with so much confusion there could be no clear-cut test of Ford SAF’s willingness and ability to participate in Ford-Werke’s European truck programme. Tellingly, by the second half of March 1943 all talk of a test appeared to have ceased. 107 108 109 110

AN 3W/234, L’Epine to Norroy (COA), 2 March 1943; and 3W/227, ‘Résumé de l’exposé de Monsieur Messis au sujet d’approvisionnement’, 1 March 1943. AN 3W/228, Stahlberg to Tannen, 2 March 1943; and ibid., Dollfus to COA, 4 March 1943. AN 3W/228, Dollfus to Lehideux, 5 March 1943. AN 3W/227, COA to Brückner (Hauptgruppe Motorsierung im Heereswaffenamt), 15 March 1943; and 3W/228, Tannen to Brückner, 15 March 1943.

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Ford-Werke’s European truck programme, however, did not threaten Ford SAF alone. To help maximize Ford SAF’s contribution, FordWerke demanded that its programme be assigned priority within the French automobile industry, which would allow it to draw on the productive capacity of other companies. This was important because most companies possessed their own production programmes for the Germans: during the first half of 1943, for example, Renault was supposed to deliver 6,000 3.5-ton trucks, Citroën 2,680 3.5-ton trucks and Peugeot between 500 and 600 2-ton trucks.111 Together, these programmes would eat up scarce resources, leaving little for Ford-Werke. Having long sought to rationalize French industry, the German authorities readily agreed that the activities of the major French automobile companies, together with their suppliers, should be geared increasingly towards the needs of FordWerke’s programme. Accordingly, in March 1943 the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug’s representative in France informed the COA that the five major automobile companies (Citroën, Renault, Peugeot, Berliet and Sauer) should cease production of new vehicles for the Wehrmacht by the end of the year. Rather than producing their own vehicle models, these companies would supply various truck parts to Ford SAF and FordWerke.112 Not surprisingly, the major French automobile companies had no desire to abandon their own production programmes in which they had invested considerable expertise and resources and which promised high profits. Nor did they find the prospect of working for a rival company attractive. Renault’s directors, for example, did not disguise their animosity towards Ford SAF, telling German armaments officials their company was far better suited for Ford-Werke’s programme.113 At the same time, Renault and the other French automobile companies would need help to resist a reorganization of their industry in favour of Ford SAF. And so they turned to the COA. Lehideux, eager to reaffirm his authority over the industry, seized on the opportunity. In March 1943, he convoked a meeting of company directors at which it was agreed that the COA would take the lead in thwarting the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug’s plans.114 111

112

113 114

For the programmes, see AN 3W/229, ‘Note pour Messieurs Champomier [et] Norroy’, 7 December 1942. All three companies were also supposed to produce large numbers of vehicle parts for the Germans. See ibid., ‘État des prévisions de livraisons des pièces détachées en 1943’, undated. See NARA T 77/1254, ‘Aktenvermerk über Besprechung im Deutschen Beschaffungsamt am 9.3.1943’, undated; and MBA, Bestand Haspel, Teil 1, Reichminister für Bewaffnung und Munition, ‘Niederschrift über die 2. Sitzung der Kraftfahrzeug-Kommission am 18.05.1943’, 25 May 1943. BA-MA RW 24/100, Rü Kdo, Paris-Mitte, Kriegstagebuch, 24–30 May 1943. AN Z/6NL/81, Lehideux deposition, 18 June 1948.

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The April 1943 agreements In the spring of 1943, Lehideux had three immediate goals: to reaffirm the COA’s authority at the head of the French automobile industry; to preserve Ford SAF’s independence; and to prevent the subordination of French automobile companies to the needs of Ford-Werke’s European truck programme. Lehideux’s first step was to reassure the Germans of his willingness to cooperate with them. Thus, towards the end of March he signed a protocol with the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug in which he promised the COA’s ‘close collaboration’ in efforts to reorganize the automobile industry.115 But this promise was vague. In a series of meetings soon afterwards French and German officials discussed the details of this ‘close collaboration’. The Germans were impressed by the seeming goodwill on the French side. The discussions, one report enthused, took place ‘in a spirit of [mutual] accommodation and understanding’, adding that they ‘could be viewed as a model of how cooperation between a German committee and its corresponding Comité d’organisation in the planning and placing of contracts should occur’.116 On closer inspection, however, the discussions revealed a good deal of hesitation and doubtful commitments on the part of both the French and Germans. As stipulated in the Luxembourg accord, Lehideux and Schmidt met in Paris on 1 April to review the results of Ford SAF’s month-long ‘test’. Significantly, neither mentioned the rental of Ford SAF by Ford-Werke. This option no longer existed. Instead, the two men outlined the terms of their future cooperation. Ford SAF would remain independent and in return it would contribute to the European truck programme, chiefly by making parts for Ford-Werke’s German model. Lehideux promised that the COA would continue to offer ‘technical aid’ to Ford SAF, while Schmidt agreed that Ford-Werke and the COA would together determine a ‘transitional programme’ for the French company aimed at minimizing the disruptive effects of switching production from the French to the German truck. Lehideux and Schmidt established a tentative schedule: Ford SAF would produce parts for 2,000 trucks during April and May 1943, a figure that would rise to 4,000 during July–September and to 6,000 during October–December. Left unexplained was the relationship

115

116

AN 3W/229, ‘Protocol concernant les entretiens ayant eu lieu le 26 Mars 1943 au Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeuge, Berlin-Charlottenburg, Hardenbergstrasse’, 26 March 1943. BA-MA RW 24/42, Kriegstagebuch, Beschaffungsamt, 5–8 April 1943.

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between the proposed schedule and Ford SAF’s still undetermined ‘transitional programme’.117 The following day, Schmidt and Lehideux were joined by a variety of German and French officials. Ricq, the COA’s controller with Ford SAF, began the meeting by affirming that the company’s problems concerning quality were well on the way to being solved. Ricq did add, however, that he did not feel qualified to comment on Ford SAF’s ability to meet the proposed production schedule. On the subject of quality, the participants briefly considered the idea of stopping all production for a certain period during which Ford SAF would convert its capacity in order to produce parts for German trucks. Schmidt appeared favourable, mentioning a possible stoppage of six to seven weeks which would allow the remaining difficulties concerning quality to be resolved. Dollfus, by contrast, was unenthusiastic about a complete stoppage, presumably because it would be costly in terms of loss of production and because it would commit Ford SAF irrevocably to the German model. Rather than settle the issue, the participants moved on to consider the proposed production schedule. Reiterating his pledge to Lehideux of the day before, Schmidt renounced any desire for ‘operational authority’ (Eingriffsberechtigung) over Ford SAF; but in return, he insisted that the latter commit itself formally to the schedule. Dollfus offered assurances on this score, but no sooner had he done so then he raised reservations in the form of unrealistic requests. German authorities, he remarked, must provide sizeable contingents of raw matériels six months in advance. Given the German automobile industry’s own pressing shortages – shortages which had spurred the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug to turn to France in the first place – this request had no chance of being met. Dollfus also demanded 150,000 hours of work by skilled machine toolists, without which, he maintained, Ford SAF would not be equipped to produce parts for German trucks. These machine toolists would have to come from other companies, which raised the fraught question of the automobile industry’s ability and willingness to contribute to the European truck programme. Meanwhile, Lehideux expressed his own doubts about the proposed schedule for Ford SAF, insisting that the latter could not simultaneously increase its output and convert its productive capacity.118 Schmidt, by this point, was growing discouraged. Although he would continue to defend Ford-Werke’s demands, Schmidt began to develop what amounted to a parallel strategy: to absolve Ford-Werke of any blame 117 118

AN 3W/228, ‘Conférence Lehideux-Schmitt du 1er avril 1943’, 2 April 1943. NARA T 77/1254, ‘Protokoll über die Besprechung am 2. April 1943 im Deutschen Beschaffungsamt’, undated.

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for what he suspected would be the failure of the truck programme – or at least of its French component. Ford SAF and the COA, he insisted at the meeting, ‘must themselves undertake. . .full responsibility for the implementation of the [truck] programme’. No doubt aware that Dollfus and Lehideux’s full cooperation was unlikely, Schmidt wanted to make sure that the lines of responsibility led to the French. A few months later, Schmidt would explain to Ford-Werke’s board of directors that he had harboured doubts about the ‘feasibility’ of Ford SAF’s participation from the beginning. These doubts, in turn, raised the danger that the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug and the Wehrmacht would blame FordWerke for the disappointing results. To avoid this possibility, he assured the board, Ford-Werke ‘has worked energetically. . .to prevent itself from becoming the scapegoat for things over which the company has no influence’.119 The ironic result of this calculation was that Schmidt became a proponent of Ford SAF’s independence. But if Schmidt had effectively abandoned the goal of taking over Ford SAF, he still hoped to extract some contribution from the latter, however limited. As Schmidt explained to Tannen in early April 1943, the help of Ford SAF and of the French automobile industry remained essential to the European truck programme.120 Accordingly, on 6 April German and French officials reconvened to initial a protocol outlining the terms of Ford SAF’s participation in the truck programme. Schmidt showed himself to be remarkably accommodating on many of the more contentious points.121 He thus agreed to allow Ford SAF to continue to make French trucks into the indefinite future, leaving it to technicians from Ford SAF and Ford-Werke to determine the best moment to stop this production. Schmidt also sought to reduce tensions by limiting the number of machines that Ford SAF would transfer to other factories: a mere 112 out of a total of some 1,800. Lehideux and Dollfus continued to resist any loss of machines, though the latter eventually accepted the principle of a transfer when told that the entire programme depended on it. On the question of concentrating engine production, Schmidt reiterated his position that a single location was indispensable to ensure adequate quality, while Dollfus argued that this would leave Ford SAF vulnerable to Allied air raids. Once again, Schmidt did not insist on the point, consenting to work with Ford SAF in finding a ‘solution’ that ‘respected both

119 120 121

Ibid.; and BAL R 87/6205, ‘Protokoll über die Beiratssitzung der Ford-Werke A.-G. am Mittwoch, dem 1. Juli 1943’, undated. AN 3W/228, Schmidt to Tannen, 4 April 1943. Lehideux had identified the contentious points in a letter to Tannen the previous day. See AN 3W/228, Lehideux to Tannen, 5 April 1943.

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viewpoints’. No particular foresight was needed to realize that such a solution would prove elusive. If Schmidt proved to be pliable, he did nevertheless insist that the COA accept full responsibility for Ford SAF’s participation in the truck programme. Interestingly, COA officials sought to avoid doing so, maintaining that responsibility would be ‘very difficult to define’. In the end, Lehideux simply repeated his promise to do all he could to help Ford SAF and to ensure that its needs received the priority within the French automobile industry. Although Lehideux’s promise fell short of what Schmidt wanted, Schaaf, the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug’s chief, precluded further discussion by declaring that he was satisfied. Hitherto, he remarked, ‘the COA’s help had been greater than one could have expected and he was convinced that in the future [the Germans] could count on the same support’.122 With the direct control of Ford SAF by Ford-Werke no longer a possibility, the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug had no choice but to rely on Lehideux and the COA to provide some oversight. Along with negotiating Ford SAF’s contribution to the European truck programme, French and German officials also discussed its implications for the French automobile industry. At a meeting on 5 April, Lehideux circulated a four-page memorandum reflecting one overriding aim: to avoid any immediate disruption to the industry. The memorandum began by asserting that numerous automobile companies suffered from a reduced, exhausted and insufficiently skilled workforce as well as from inadequate and aging machines. For these reasons alone, French companies had to be protected from Sauckel’s labour drafts and from the seizure of any of their machinery. No less pertinently, the memorandum argued that the automobile industry’s precarious condition meant that individual companies required a lengthy transitional period (and considerable financial help) to switch from French to German models. During this period, the production of French models would continue and would only gradually be wound down.123 Lehideux’s demand had important implications. A transition involved a period of overlapping production, yet in a context of mounting penury it would be extremely difficult to find sufficient supplies of matériel to make both French and German models. Choices would have to be made, and given Germany’s urgent need for results,

122 123

BA-MA RW 24/42, ‘Protokoll über die Besprechung am 6. April 1943 beim C.O.A.’, undated. BA-MA RW 24/42, ‘Memorandum’, Lehideux, 3 April 1943, which is attached to ‘Sitzungsbericht vom 5. April 1943 deutsche Delegation und Leitung des COA’, 13 April 1943.

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there would be strong pressure to favour current (French) production. In other words, the longer the transition period the less likely it was that there would be a switch from French to German production. The Germans sought to reassure Lehideux. Although avoiding formal commitments, Schaaf did promise that he would do everything in his power to prevent French workers and machines from being sent to Germany. On the question of the transitional period, Schaaf accepted that the conversion of production would occur ‘in phases’, but resisted Lehideux’s claim that French companies could not even begin to make parts for German trucks before at least nine months – that is to say, before early to mid-1944. At a later meeting the same day, Schaaf suggested a transitional period of three months which might be extended to six months in exceptional circumstances. Once again, however, Schaaf did not press the point, preferring to reiterate his confidence in the COA’s goodwill.124 But the most revealing discussions were those over raw matériel supplies. At the 5 April meeting, French and German officials considered the allocation of raw matériel contingents to the French automobile industry as a whole. The Germans viewed allocations as a means of reducing the transitional period from French to German production: over the course of 1943, the amounts designated for French production would be sharply cut, compelling companies to switch to German production. Lehideux opposed this approach: not only did he argue for a more gradual rate of reduction; he also pressed for an increase in the production of French vehicles during 1943, arguing that the target (14,000 vehicles for the last three-quarters of the year) was well below capacity and did not reflect a rational use of the French automobile industry. Predictably perhaps, Lehideux was largely successful, with contingents for French production expected to decline by only one third between the first trimester of 1943 and the first trimester of 1944. More remarkable, however, is the fact that Ford-Werke’s truck programme was not included in the figures. The French and Germans agreed to treat the Ford programme separately for the simple reason that the contingents did not exist. Even without the Ford programme, a considerable gap existed between the projected needs and supplies of the automobile industry during 1943. When Schaaf emphasized that the Germans could not close this gap, Lehideux could only express the hope that sufficient contingents could be found. The 124

NARA T 77/1254, ‘Protokoll über die Siztung vom 5. April 1943 zwischen der deutschen Delegation und der Leitung des C.O.A. in den Räumen des C.O.A.’, undated; also see T 77/1254, ‘Bericht über eine Besprechung vom 6.4.43 zwischen der deutschen Delegation und der Direktion des C.O.A.’, 14 April 1943.

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Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug’s chief responded that this hope was ‘not realizable’ (nicht erfüllbar). Lehideux and Schaaf briefly returned to the subject of raw matériel contingents at the 8 April meeting, only to decide to refer the matter to future talks between technical experts.125 In the spring of 1943, Ford SAF’s truck programme was more virtual than real. The programme lacked the required raw matériels and neither the French nor the Germans knew where to find them. The COA was fully aware of this. An internal memorandum in early April candidly admitted that we ‘do not believe in it’. To Schaaf, Lehideux claimed that ‘he could not sign up to a programme that he could not fulfil’.126 But this was untrue. One priority for Lehideux was to keep the French automobile industry making as many French vehicles and parts as possible. For this reason, it was necessary to feign belief in the Ford programme’s feasibility as this would allow companies to maintain (and even increase) their current production during the transitional period – a period that Lehideux could reasonably hope to extend well into the future. But the Germans were not dupes. If they played along with Lehideux’s stratagem it was because they had little choice. Desperate for trucks, Schaaf hoped that despite the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug’s weakened bargaining position it could get something out of the French automobile industry in general and out of Ford SAF in particular. Writing to Lehideux in early April 1943, Dollfus profusely thanked his ‘dear friend’ for all he had done: [I] wish to express my sincere thanks for the energy and indeed the faith with which you defended the interests not only of Ford SAF but of the Ford Motor Company itself in the difficult circumstances that we recently encountered. At the same time you defended me personally and achieved full success in my case as well as in that of Ford SAF. I am personally extremely grateful.

In his reply in mid-April, Lehideux wrote that in defending Ford SAF ‘I was defending the interests of the French automobile industry’.127 In addition to preserving Ford SAF’s ‘sovereignty’, he had blunted the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug’s attempt to subordinate the French automobile industry to Ford-Werke’s European truck programme. But 125

126

127

See BA-MA RW 24/42, ‘Bericht über die Besprechung vom 8.4.43 zwischen der deutschen Delegation und der Direktion des C.O.A.’, 8 April 1943; NARA T 77/1254, ‘Niederschrift über die Besprechung zwischen den Kontingentberarbeitern des Hauptausschusses Kraftfahrzeuge und des C.O.A. beim C.O.A. am 12. April 1943’, 13 April 1943; and AN 3W/229, COA, ‘Service matières premières’, 5 April 1943. AN 3W/229, ‘Note pour Monsieur Lehideux’, COA, 8 April 1943; and T 77/1254, ‘Bericht über eine Besprechung vom 6.4.43 zwischen der deutschen Delegation und der Direktion des C.O.A.’. AN 3W/234, Dollfus to Lehideux, 6 April 1943; and Lehideux to Dollfus, 14 April 1943.

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Lehideux was also defending his own interests. During the negotiations with the Germans he had repeatedly insisted that the COA be viewed as the sole representative of the French automobile industry; German officials were to deal with the COA alone and not with individual French companies. Although Schaaf was non-committal, he did offer Lehideux the ‘ever closer cooperation’ of the German authorities.128 All told, then, Lehideux had good reason to be pleased in the spring of 1943. Yet the COA’s chief could not rest on his laurels. Lehideux and Dollfus had both promised their wholehearted participation in FordWerke’s truck programme despite the waning appeal of industrial collaboration. Given German desperation, the COA and Ford SAF would come under strong pressure to produce immediate results.

128

BA-MA RW 24/42, ‘Bericht über die Besprechung vom 8.4.43 zwischen der deutschen Delegation und der Direktion des C.O.A.’.

5

The extent and limits of industrial collaboration: 1943–1944

In the scholarly literature on Franco-German wartime industrial collaboration, the final phase of the Occupation is dominated by the Speer– Bichelonne agreement, signed in Berlin in September 1943.1 In return for Bichelonne’s promise of Vichy’s wholehearted cooperation in the joint effort to increase France’s contribution to the German war effort, Speer consented to maintain production within the country, protecting French workers (and machines) from being sent to Germany, principally by designating factories as S-Betriebe (Speer factories). Presenting themselves as apolitical technocrats, the two men wrapped the agreement in a vision of future European cooperation. But its core amounted to a shortterm gamble by Speer and Bichelonne born of urgency. As Germany’s prospects of military victory rapidly faded and as its industrial inferiority relative to its enemies became painfully evident, the call for more radical measures coming from Fritz Sauckel among others grew louder. For Speer, however, the experience of Sauckel’s labour drafts suggested that radical measures were counter-productive, arousing the resistance of the French and undermining production. Now more than ever, a more efficient and thorough exploitation of France’s capacity required French cooperation. If this logic swayed Speer, it also shaped Bichelonne’s thinking. For Vichy’s minister of industrial production, a renewed commitment to industrial collaboration offered the best means of keeping at bay Sauckel and the chaos his activities represented. Speer thus gambled that more could be gotten out of France in the upcoming critical months by persuasion than by coercion, while Bichelonne calculated that collaboration would have a moderating effect on the German authorities. If the nature of the Speer-Bichelonne agreement is fairly clear, there is considerable disagreement regarding its results. In his landmark study of France’s economy under German occupation, Alan Milward concluded that the agreement had little effect on developments, partly because of 1

Milward, The New Order and the French Economy, 147–80; Margairaz, L’État, les finances et l’économie, I, 691–714.

194

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crippling shortages and partly because Germany’s exploitation of French resources had already reached high levels.2 More recently, Arne RadtkeDelacor challenged this conclusion, arguing that the agreement should be seen as a success for the Germans, who expanded their share of French output during 1943 and early 1944 to perhaps 45–50 per cent. Similarly, not only did the number of German contracts rise, but so too did their fulfilment rates (increasing by some 30 per cent), which suggests that France was being exploited more efficiently. For Radtke-Delacor, these figures also discredit the later claims by French industrialists that they had engaged in deliberate under-production (freinage).3 The economic historian Hein Klemann provides an interesting comparative perspective on the competing views of Milward and Radtke-Delacor. Klemann has calculated that overall French production measured in GDP (1938=100) dropped from 80 in 1943 to 66 in 1944, a drop which distinguished France from other occupied countries in Western and Northern Europe whose output either increased, remained stable or declined far less steeply. Indeed, France’s fall in GDP exceeded that of Greece, a country for which the Occupation is generally viewed as an economic catastrophe. Although Klemann has little to say about the Speer–Bichelonne agreement itself, his figures call into question the success of efforts to increase France’s contribution to the German war effort during 1943–4.4 Notwithstanding their differences regarding the success of the Speer– Bichelonne agreement, the scholars mentioned all adopt a macroapproach focusing on overall industrial production for the Germans. But if a global picture is valuable, it is less useful for understanding how industrial collaboration worked in practice. To answer this question, one also needs studies of developments at the industry and company levels. In examining Ford SAF’s contribution to Ford-Werke’s European truck programme, this chapter offers a case study that is particularly pertinent due to the prominent role of the French automobile industry. In many ways, the Speer–Bichelonne agreement did not constitute a new departure so much as it did the continuation of industrial collaboration, the terms of which had been worked out between the COA and the 2 3

4

Milward, The New Order and the French Economy, 147–80. Radtke-Delacor, ‘Produire pour le Reich’, 113–15; and his ‘Verlängerte Werkbank im Westen: Deutsche Produktionsaufträge als Trumpfkarte der industriellen Kollaboration in Frankreich (1942–1944)’ in Stefan Martens and Maurice Vaïsse, eds., Frankreich und Deutschland im Krieg (November 1942 – Herbst 1944): Okkupation, Kollaboration, Résistance (Bonn, 2000), pp. 340–50. Klemann and Kudryashov, Occupied Economies, 329–31. Jonas Scherner’s figures for the value of contracts for the Wehrmacht also show a notable decline for France during 1943–4, a decline unmatched in Western and Northern Europe with the partial exception of Belgium. See Scherner, ‘Europas Beitrag zu Hitler’s Krieg’, 19.

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The extent and limits of industrial collaboration: 1943–1944

Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug in the spring of 1943. Ford-Werke’s programme did not merely prefigure the Speer–Bichelonne agreement; it was its practical embodiment. But this is not all. The history of Ford SAF’s participation in FordWerke’s truck programme offers an opportunity to examine more closely the issue of freinage. Following the Liberation Lehideux and Dollfus both contended that under their guidance Ford SAF had resisted the Germans by deliberately under-producing during 1943–4. As mentioned in the introduction, the argument that French companies under-produced has been gaining scholarly ground, especially but not solely for the automobile industry. Yet the concept of ‘deliberate under-production’ has received surprisingly little critical scrutiny. How does it work? Who are its principal actors? How can its effects be measured? This chapter will discuss these and other questions. In doing so, it will highlight the difficulties involved not only in establishing deliberate intent but also in distinguishing underproduction from the other factors influencing production, most notably those rooted in an economy characterized by a growing penury of resources. That said, the chapter argues that a circumstantial case can be made that Ford SAF did not do all it could have to contribute to the truck programme. In this sense, one can speak of deliberate under-production. Just as importantly, however, this freinage did not constitute resistance because it was largely devoid of political motives. The Speer–Bichelonne agreement Before examining Ford SAF’s activities programme during 1943–4, it is worth considering more closely the Speer–Bichelonne agreement because it highlights the limits to German authority – limits that would severely handicap the efforts to integrate Ford SAF into Ford-Werke’s production programme. The initiative for the Speer–Bichelonne agreement came from Vichy, which sought to reenergize industrial collaboration in order to protect French workers and factories from Sauckel’s labour drafts. To help persuade the occupation authorities of France’s potential contribution to Germany’s war effort, Bichelonne in early 1943 urged French companies to accept every German contract. The shortage of almost all factors of production, however, made this a risky policy: additional contracts would exacerbate the fierce competition for scarce resources, with debilitating effects on overall production. A more organized approach was therefore needed. In a series of meetings with German officials in the summer of 1943, Bichelonne discussed the idea of integrating French industry more thoroughly into a larger and German-led European production programme – an expanded version of Ford-Werke’s truck

The Speer–Bichelonne agreement

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programme. In mid-July, he formally handed a memorandum to the MbF which outlined a programme to increase French armaments production by 50 per cent. In addition to exploiting state-controlled factories, Vichy proposed to mobilize the capacity of the southern zone, which before November 1942 had been unoccupied and thus free from Germany’s direct control. While the memorandum spoke of the aircraft, electrical and mechanical industries, it also held out the possibility of extending the programme to other industries. That Bichelonne’s overriding aim was to keep French labour in France is clearly evident from the proviso that the programme would require an additional 215,000 workers.5 Shortly after submitting his memorandum, Bichelonne asked for a meeting with Speer to discuss its contents.6 It was far from certain that Speer would agree to a meeting. In an assessment of Bichelonne’s memorandum in July 1943, Speer’s staff in France responded with considerable scepticism. The Germans had no illusions about Vichy’s primary motive, which was to prevent further transfers of French workers and machines to Germany, even if they acknowledged Bichelonne’s goodwill towards them. But for Speer’s staff, the chief concerns involved resources and authority. The proposed programme required ample supplies of labour, raw matériels and energy, none of which were readily available. Even if resources might be found, it was uncertain that they could be exploited. Speer’s staff openly questioned whether the French government possessed the authority to direct several hundred thousand workers into armaments production. If it did not, Vichy could be expected to pressure the German authorities to agree to return French workers from Germany. And this pointed to a larger danger: that the German economy would be disadvantaged without any corresponding production gains in France. At the same time, the Germans were too desperate for production results simply to reject the offer. Accordingly, the assessment concluded on a cautious note, recommending that Berlin seek ‘to fundamentally reduce’ Bichelonne’s programme before accepting it.7 The pessimistic assessment by Speer’s staff was no exception. Throughout the second half of 1943, the occupation authorities manifested a good deal of scepticism regarding the prospects of increased production from French industry. At a meeting of German armaments

5

6 7

BAL R 3/1821, Bichelonne (MPI) to Michel (MbF), 15 July 1943. Also see BA-MA RW 24/ 31, ‘Aktenvermerk über die Besprechung bei Minister Bichelonne (Produktionsministerium) am 1.7.43’, 5 July 1943. AN AJ 72/1926, Bichelonne (MPI) to Stülpnagel (MbF), 26 July 1943. BAL R 3/1821, Chef des Rü- und Be Fr to Michel (MbF), 30 July 1943.

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officials in Paris in November there was much talk of rampant shortages of coal and energy among other matériels. The presiding officer warned the participants that French industry would have to live from ‘hand to mouth’ over the coming winter. Although he hoped that ‘much could be achieved’ through improvisation, it was taken for granted that shortages would greatly hamper production.8 Improvisation, in any case, depended on French goodwill, which appeared to be far from assured. In September, the armaments team for Paris-East reported on the ‘strong reservations of [French] factory directors’ towards working for the Germans. ‘More than before’, the report added, ‘were formal objections as well as hesitation advanced when it came to accepting new [German] contracts’. The armaments team attributed the attitude of factory directors to a combination of Allied propaganda and the vanishing belief in a German victory. The following month, the armaments team for Paris centre remarked that French industrialists increasingly feared for their personal security if they worked for the Germans; several of them had received miniature coffins from the resistance with their names inscribed on them. More generally, the team discerned a growing unwillingness among French industrialists to cooperate with the Germans that manifested itself in a return of ‘individualist attitudes’. Faced with the ‘difficulties associated with a planned economy’, the ‘Fr[ench] industrialist. . .allows himself all too quickly to become discouraged and to gradually abandon the initiative’.9 By the second half of 1943, it seemed, neither Vichy authorities nor French industrialists could be relied upon to work effectively for the Germans. Notwithstanding the scepticism of German officials in France, Speer had no choice but to invite Bichelonne to Berlin for a series of meetings in mid-September 1943.10 At the first meeting, Speer indicated that the German government was prepared to accept Bichelonne’s plan subject to several conditions. Speer wanted the French to concentrate on consumer goods and some military equipment, thereby freeing capacity in Germany for armaments production. Reflecting the scepticism of his own officials, Speer also insisted on ‘a guarantee’ that French industries would

8

9

10

BA-MA RW 24/32, Rü und Be Stabes, ‘Protokoll über die Sitzung mit den Rüstungskommandeuren und Aussenstellenleitern, ab 18.15 Uhr auch mit den Länderbeauftragten, am 1. November 1943 im Kinosaal des Hotel Astorias’, Paris, 9 November 1943. BA-MA RW 24/93, Rü Kdo Paris Ost, ‘Kriegstagebuch für die Zeit vom 1.7. – 30.9.1943’, 30 September 1943; and ‘Lagebericht für Monat September 1943’; and RW 24/102, Rü Kdo Paris-Mitte, ‘Lagebericht’, 18 October 1943. AN AJ 72/1926, German embassy to Bichelonne, 9 September 1943, containing Speer to Bichelonne, 9 September 1943.

The Speer–Bichelonne agreement

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fulfil their production programmes under the prescribed terms and time limits. Although Bichelonne welcomed the prospect of a wave of German contracts, he resisted the idea of a ‘general guarantee’, maintaining that the issue ‘should be treated case by case for each contract [and] for each production good’. Speer accepted Bichelonne’s argument without protest, implicitly reconfirming the reality – already well established for the automobile industry – that the terms of industrial collaboration would be determined at the industry and factory levels. In return for what his own staff viewed as a doubtful promise of French cooperation, Speer offered to protect the workforce of all factories working for the Germans against Sauckel’s labour drafts. Interestingly, both sides acknowledged that the Comités d’organisation constituted a vital element in the overall plan. By 1943, the German authorities viewed the COs with considerable distrust, convinced that for many of them the priority was on maintaining the business activities of all their member companies rather than increasing output for the Germans. Yet the Germans also realized that they could not bypass the COs, since the latter were often the best placed to know how individual industries and sub-industries operated in practice. For Bichelonne, the COs offered a means to retain some say in industrial collaboration as the MPI lacked the authority and resources to oversee production in the different industries. As a result, there was simply no getting around the COs. Problems at the local level, Bichelonne remarked to Speer, ‘will be resolved by each Comité d’organisation’.11 In subsequent meetings with German officials (but not Speer), Bichelonne discussed a variety of subjects: the goods that French industry would make; supplies of raw matériels; labour needs; and the designation of S-Betriebe. As so often, the two sides preferred to avoid details, skating over rather than tackling critical issues. In a revealing comment, one German official assured Bichelonne that a ‘total confidence’ between the French and Germans would overcome any difficulties.12 Not surprisingly, considerable confusion existed concerning the basic terms of the agreement. On the question of raw matériel supplies, the French delegation left Berlin with the impression that the Germans would make good 11

12

AN AJ 72/1926, ‘Procès-verbal de la conférence tenue à Berlin le vendredi 17 septembre 1943 dans le bureau de Monsieur le Ministre Speer’, undated; and ‘Compte-rendu sommaire des entretiens de Berlin entre M. Bichelonne et M. le Ministre Speer’, 20 September 1943. Ibid., ‘Procès-verbal de la conférence tenue le vendredi 17 septembre en fin de matinée, dans le bureau de M. le Staatsrat Schieber’, 24 September 1943; and ‘Procès-verbal de la conférence tenue à Berlin (Wannsee) le vendredi 17 septembre après-midi’, 27 September 1943.

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The extent and limits of industrial collaboration: 1943–1944

most shortages, while the Germans continued to hope that sizeable quantities could be squeezed out of France. Overall, then, the Speer–Bichelonne agreement contained little that was new. To be sure, the agreement did help to rein in Sauckel and thus protect French workers. Thanks to an expansive definition, the number of factories designated as S-Betriebe rose quickly from 3,301 (employing 720,000 workers) in December 1943 to some 13,000 (employing 1.4 million workers) in March 1944. Much to Sauckel’s fury, moreover, more than a few of these factories contributed little if anything to the German war effort.13 Yet in terms of the workings of industrial collaboration, the Speer–Bichelonne agreement largely confirmed existing trends. One trend was the decentralization of authority: the agreement provided a framework whose detailed contents would be worked out at the industry and company levels. Another and related trend was the dependence of the Germans on the French. Speer himself highlighted this point in his emphasis on goodwill and cooperation. As he expounded to Bichelonne: We are aware of the difficulties and [that] optimism is needed to overcome them. We can implement the programme and achieve success. I believe that one should not go too much into the details but instead should get to work. What is decisive is the will! We don’t want overly precise written commitments. We want to see through working where the difficulties lie. . .Difficulties can be overcome through effective cooperation. We have the desire for this cooperation and when it is realized [then] France will make a fundamental contribution [to the common effort] and we will be grateful when this has occurred. . .I want you to promise that you will carry out your tasks [and I don’t need] detailed written commitments.14

Speer’s comments certainly echoed Nazi ideology: determination and sense of purpose would triumph over matériel realities. But they also reflected the reality of German dependence on French willingness to cooperate. If this reality had always existed, it was arguably truer in 1943–4 than before. With the balance of economic/industrial power shifting massively in favour of its enemies and with its armies retreating on almost all fronts, Germany desperately needed French industry to do

13

14

Radtke-Delacor, ‘Verlängerte Werkback im Westen’, 342–3. For the definition, see AN F 12/9963, ministre du travail (secrétaire-général à la main-d’oeuvre) to directeurs régionaux de la main-d’oeuvre, ‘Classements des usines comme Entreprises “S”’, no. 1.152, 4 February 1944. For Sauckel’s frustration, see Bernd Zielinski, ‘L’exploitation de la main-d’oeuvre française par l’Allemagne et la politique de collaboration (1940–1944)’ in B. Garnier and J. Quellien, eds., La main-d’oeuvre française exploitée par le IIIe Reich (Caen, 2003), 62–5. BAL R 3/1821, ‘Notiz über die Schlussbesprechungen anlässlich des Besuches von Minister Bichelonne bei Minister Speer am 17.9’, 20 September 1943.

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more. At the same time, as Speer’s talk of ‘difficulties’ indicates, an economy of growing scarcity and poverty posed immense challenges – challenges that the Germans by themselves could not meet. To prevent production from grinding to a halt required the cooperation of French industrialists and workers who alone possessed the local expertise and knowledge.15 The Ford truck programme: an uncertain start, April–July 1943 As the previous chapter showed, the round of meetings in the spring of 1943 between French and German officials produced a tentative accord. With strong backing from Lehideux and the COA, Ford SAF managed to remain independent of Ford-Werke in return for its promise to cooperate wholeheartedly in the European truck programme. The programme called on Ford SAF to deliver 6,000 engines (plus various parts) per month by the end of 1943, with output rising from 2,000 in the second quarter of the year, to 4,000 in the third quarter and to 6,000 in the last quarter.16 To be sure, several participants harboured doubts about the programme’s feasibility, which is understandable given that important questions remained unanswered. Where were the considerable quantities of raw matériels and labour to be found? How could the production targets for 1943 be reconciled with the idea that Ford SAF needed a transitional period of several months to shift from making French trucks to German trucks? Yet, however vague it might be, the accord reached between French and German officials did mean that work on the truck programme could begin in earnest. Much of the initiative now lay on the French side. Neither the COA nor Ford SAF, however, appeared particularly committed to the truck programme. In early April 1943, an internal COA memorandum openly expressed its disbelief that the German authorities would succeed in according the Ford programme priority; and without this priority, the likelihood of receiving adequate supplies of matériel and manpower was practically nil. Revealingly, the memorandum went on to outline a truck production programme for the French automobile industry as a whole for 1943 which excluded Ford. Although admitting that a ‘measure of prudence’ was necessary regarding the Ford programme, the message 15 16

On the importance of local expertise in production, see Charles F. Sabel, Work and Politics: The Division of Labour in Industry (Cambridge, 1982). NARA T 77/1254, ‘Protokoll über die Besprechung am 2. April 1943 im Deutschen Beschaffungsamt’, undated.

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The extent and limits of industrial collaboration: 1943–1944

was clear: Ford SAF would produce little if anything for the remainder of the year.17 Not surprisingly, COA officials were more circumspect in their dealings with the Germans. In May, L’Epine, one of the COA’s experts assigned to Ford SAF, expressed to Ford-Werke’s representative his reservations about the production schedule. Considerable delays would be needed before the company could meet its targets. But in private, COA officials were far more outspoken. Thus, at the beginning of July a COA document dismissed the Ford truck programme as ‘a considerable waste of time’. Recent experience, it continued, indicated that any potential results would be completely disproportionate to the effort required.18 To some extent, the COA’s bleak assessment was well founded. In the current economic situation the question of priority was absolutely crucial. Without a privileged access to scarce supplies, the programme was illusory. Initially, things looked promising. In May 1943, the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug requested that the needs of the Ford programme have first call on the resources of the French automobile industry, which encompassed both the major automobile companies and their various suppliers. In reply, Speer’s armaments staff in France assured the committee that it would pursue the programme ‘with all its energy and [that it] would also do everything imaginable in support’. The various armaments teams were accordingly instructed to do all they could to help Ford SAF.19 Yet, in reality, the situation was more confused. Only two days after its positive reply to the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug, armaments officials in France demoted the Ford programme to second on the priority list, behind Wehrmacht orders for replacement parts.20 A more general problem was that the priority applied solely to the automobile industry. The frontiers between industries and sub-industries were often porous, especially in the case of suppliers, many of whom worked for companies in more than one industry. In this context, Ford SAF’s priority risked losing much of its value if it could not be extended beyond the automobile industry. As one armaments team caustically observed in May 1943, the Ford truck programme was strangely silent on the critical issue of suppliers and sub-suppliers.21

17 18 19

20 21

AN 3W/229, ‘Note pour Monsieur Lehideux’, 8 April 1943. AN 3W/228, ‘Memento pour Monsieur Lehideux’, 1 July 1943; and 3W/227, L’Epine to Tannen, 5 May 1943. BA-MA RW 24/30, ‘Kriegstagbuch des Rü Stabes Frankreich für die Zeit vom 1.5. bis 30.6.43’, 24–30 May 1943. For the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug, see AN 3W/227, unsigned note from Rü Stab Frankreich, 12 May 1943; and 3W/228, Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstab Frankreich, circular, 25 May 1943. AN 3W/228, Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstab Frankreich, circular, 27 May 1943. NARA T 77/1264, Kriegstagebuch, Rü Kdo, Paris-West, 24–30 May 1943.

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But perhaps an even greater problem was that Speer’s armaments staff never managed to gain complete control of the process of placing German contracts with French companies. Imposing central control over the industrial exploitation of France had been a major aim of Speer’s reorganization of the German economic administration in 1942 and again in 1943. Yet these efforts enjoyed only partial success. During 1943–4 German agencies (army, navy, air force, Organisation Todt) and companies would continue to place orders with French companies, ignoring the strictures to operate through Speer’s staff. Each contract was deemed as urgent as the next, with the inevitable result being that scarce resources were diverted away from the Ford programme. In June 1943, for example, the COA learnt that the French automobile company Sauer had recently accepted a contract from military authorities in Vienna, notwithstanding the understanding that its capacity would be put at Ford SAF’s disposal. Similarly, the automobile company Berliet informed the COA the same month that it had nothing to offer Ford SAF, having recently received a German order for 2,500 tractors.22 Ironically, the Speer–Bichelonne agreement likely exacerbated this problem by encouraging an increase of German contracts with French companies. Yet, even before the autumn of 1943, the COA realized that Ford SAF’s priority was more notional than real. The responsibility for ensuring that the Ford programme received priority, however, did not belong to the German authorities alone. At the meetings in April 1943, Lehideux had promised that the COA would do all in its power to privilege Ford SAF’s needs. There is evidence that the COA made some effort to prod French automobile companies to contribute to Ford-Werke’s truck programme. Responding to the COA’s request for information, Ford SAF in April 1943 drew up a list of monthly output that it needed from the automobile industry as a whole, which included 2,000 gear-boxes, 2,000 rear axles, 1,500 parts of various sorts and 1,000 transmissions.23 Armed with this list, the COA approached various companies, indicating to Renault, for example, that it attached considerable importance to the Ford programme. In the case of Citroën, Lehideux directly instructed the company to make gear-boxes, setting a target of 4,000 for the third quarter of 1943. Interestingly, the COA simply attached this task to Citroën’s existing production programme, providing no indication of where the additional machines and

22

23

See AN 3W/227, ‘Fernschreiben an Herrn Obersleutnant Kentler’, Tannen, 22 June 1943; and 3W/228, Berliet to COA, 11 June 1943. For the COA, see AN 3W/229, ‘La répartition des commandes allemandes et le problème de la concentration industrielle’, undated but 1943. AN 3W/228, Ford SAF to COA, 29 April 1943.

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The extent and limits of industrial collaboration: 1943–1944

raw matériels were to come from. Not surprisingly, Citroën would soon report delays in meeting its assigned schedule.24 Another sign of Lehideux’s efforts to mobilize the French automobile industry behind the Ford programme was his appointment of Dollfus to head the COA’s advisory committee made up of leading company directors. If the appointment testified to Ford SAF’s prominent place within the industry, it also amounted to a statement of support for the company.25 The most noteworthy element of the COA’s efforts on behalf of Ford SAF, however, was their limited nature. With rare exceptions, the COA did not insist when automobile companies refused to help Ford SAF, readily accepting the claim that they had nothing to offer. The COA would continue to solicit automobile companies during much of 1943, but its requests appear to have been largely pro forma, aimed not at producing results but at confirming the futility of the endeavour. COA officials certainly wasted little time in informing the Germans of the fruitlessness of their efforts. Just as significantly, the COA sought to shift the blame for its lack of success, insisting that it was up to the occupation officials to take the measures needed to make Ford SAF’s priority a reality. At the same time, COA officials never once asked German authorities to cooperate in applying pressure on French automobile companies. Admittedly, such a request would have contradicted one of the Lehideux principles, namely that the COA alone should be responsible for the French automobile industry. Yet enforcing Ford SAF’s priority also presented a potential opportunity for Lehideux to consolidate his authority over the automobile industry during a critical period when the COA’s influence was being challenged. That Lehideux made almost no attempt to exploit this opportunity is telling. Whatever the reality might have been for the Germans, for Lehideux at least ensuring the success of the Ford programme was clearly not a priority. The COA’s perfunctory approach to Ford-Werke’s truck programme was also evident in its attitude towards Ford SAF’s requests for resources. During the spring of 1943, German and French officials as well as representatives of Ford-Werke and Ford SAF met several times to discuss the latter’s requirements for manpower, matériels and machines. Ford SAF consistently presented imposing demands: in mid-May, the company insisted that it needed 1,900 additional workers (among them 1,600

24

25

For gear-boxes, see AN 3W/234, L’Epine to Lehideux, 5 May 1943; and 3W/228, Lehideux to Citroën, 10 May 1943; for delays, see 3W/228, Citroën to Ford SAF, 13 July 1943; and Ford SAF to Citroën, 10 February 1944. For Renault, see AN 3W/228, Norroy (COA) to Renault, 27 May 1943. Loubet and Hatzfeld, Les 7 vies de Poissy, 43.

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skilled workers) to start up production, a figure that amounted to almost three-quarters of its current workforce and one the Germans deemed to be completely unrealistic in the present situation. The COA predictably endorsed Ford SAF’s demands.26 An even more striking example concerns machine tool hours. To convert Ford SAF’s factories from making French trucks to making German trucks (and truck parts) required a certain amount of retooling of existing machines, not to mention the acquisition of new ones. Retooling machines, however, demanded machine toolists, who were a skilled category in very short supply. Before long, Ford SAF and Ford-Werke were bickering about how many machine toolists and machine tool hours were needed. Whereas the Germans maintained that 100,000–150,000 hours would be sufficient, Ford SAF estimated its needs at 300,000–350,000 hours, which was enough to keep 400 machine toolists busy working nine hours a day for four months. Challenged by the German authorities, Dollfus admitted that his estimate was ‘notably too high’.27 Yet this admission in no way deterred Lehideux from fully backing Ford SAF’s initial demand. In doing so, Lehideux pursued his strategy of shifting responsibility for the Ford programme’s failure to the Germans. Meanwhile, the greater the number of machine tool hours needed the more dependent became the programme on the French automobile industry. Since Ford SAF itself had only about sixty machine toolists available, it would have to look elsewhere if the conversion process had any chance of being completed. Earlier, in April 1943, Lehideux had assured Schmidt that the COA could get at least 120,000 hours from other automobile companies by temporarily transferring machine toolists to Ford SAF. But the COA did little to fulfil this promise, and as early as May 1943 Lehideux told Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug officials that the French automobile industry could provide almost nothing. Instead, in typical fashion he insisted that the Germans must find machine toolists for Ford SAF.28 Ford SAF appeared to be no more committed to the truck programme than the COA. From the beginning, Dollfus viewed the entire subject as one more attempt by Ford-Werke to take over his company. The tentative accord arrived at in April 1943 to maintain Ford SAF’s independence assuaged but did not eliminate his suspicions. Fending off any attempt by 26

27

28

BA-MA RW 24/108, Rü Kdo Paris-West, Kriegstagebuch, 12 and 21 May 1943. For meetings, see AN 3W/227, ‘Note relative à une conférence du 30 avril 1943’; and ibid., ‘Visite à Paris-Seine du 24 juin 1943’. AN 3W/228, Dollfus to Kentler, 17 May 1943. Soon, Ford SAF would increase its estimate to 700,000 hours. See AN 3W/229, ‘Copie de la note addressée par M. Schnellbächer à M. Behr’, 4 August 1943. AN 3W/234, Lehideux to Kentler, 17 May 1943.

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The extent and limits of industrial collaboration: 1943–1944

Ford-Werke to interfere in Ford SAF’s activities thus remained a prominent goal.29 To be sure, Ford SAF had promised to cooperate fully in the truck programme; but it was determined to cooperate on its own terms. For Dollfus, this meant securing the best financial conditions possible. Once again, it is worth emphasizing that Dollfus was not opposed in principle to producing for the Germans. In May 1943, for example, he pleaded with the COA to be allowed to sell French trucks to the German authorities rather than to French customers because the former paid more.30 In any case, Ford-Werke’s truck programme proved to be a financial boon for the company. Although the programme entailed considerable expenses, Ford SAF received a 30 per cent advance from the Germans, which amounted to 175 million FF; with backing from Major Tannen, its enemy assets administrator, the company was soon pressing the occupation authorities to increase the advance to 50 per cent. If the success of this pressure is unknown, German officials did offer to reimburse Ford SAF for all expenses involved in converting its production capacity. Similarly, Ford-Werke agreed to guarantee the company against any losses it might incur. Dollfus also managed to negotiate a substantial rise in the price of parts shipped to the Ford companies in Belgium and Holland, favourably resolving a long-standing issue of dispute with FordWerke.31 The French government, meanwhile, also provided financing. Consistent with Vichy’s general policy of encouraging French companies to accept as many German contracts as possible, Bichelonne in May instructed Ford SAF to contribute to the truck programme, offering in return significant aid. Soon afterwards, Ford SAF received a credit of 60 million FF, which Dollfus viewed as a first instalment.32 Flushed with cash, Ford SAF was under considerably less pressure to throw itself wholeheartedly into the truck programme. Indeed, with its potential losses covered, the company could afford to procrastinate. In addition to financial factors, the desire to avoid centralizing production provided another incentive to adopt a leisurely pace. To recall, during the meetings in April 1943, Schmidt had repeatedly insisted on the importance of concentrating engine production in one factory in order to ensure sufficient quality and quantity. Dollfus had resisted this demand, citing 29 30 31 32

AP, Ford SAF, DOS 2008 RE-30422, Ford SAF, ‘Rapport sur la vie de Ford S.A.F. pendant la guerre (1er Septembre 1939–1er Novembre 1944)’. AN 3W/227, Dollfus to COA, 21 May 1943. BFRC, ACC 606, Box 2, ‘Ford S.A.F. Board Meeting Held on 2nd June 1943’, undated. AN 3W/228, ‘Memento’, 21 May 1943. For Bichelonne, see ibid., Ford SAF to Secrétariat d’état à la production industrielle’, 23 April 1943; and Bichelonne’s response, 5 May 1943.

An uncertain start, April–July 1943

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the menace of air bombardment if production was centred in one site. The bombing of Ford SAF’s Bordeaux plant in May 1943, despite causing minimal damage, only heightened his awareness of the dangers involved.33 If the Poissy plant was subject to renewed Allied air raids, Ford SAF risked emerging from the war without its chief productive facilities. Thus, while Dollfus continued quietly to repair the Poissy plant, he insisted that it would be the height of folly to concentrate engine production there. Tellingly, he counselled Tannen in May 1943, it was wiser to disperse production among several factories even if this meant that output was ‘a bit reduced’.34 Dollfus had little trouble in resisting the pressure from Ford-Werke to concentrate engine production at Poissy. After all, it was the occupation authorities who had ordered Ford SAF to disperse its capacity following the March–April 1942 air raids. German officials, however, were interested in finding another site for making engines. In May 1943, Lehideux told Dollfus that finding an appropriate location in the Paris region would be extremely difficult and would result in additional delays getting the truck programme underway.35 Yet, as Lehideux almost certainly realized, it was precisely these reasons that made the project attractive to Dollfus. Accordingly, rather than opposing the Germans head on, Ford SAF made a show of working with them in the search for a new site. The upshot was a lengthy series of consultations and meetings regarding various possibilities, all of which consumed considerable time without leading to any concrete results. Indeed, as late as January 1944, German armaments officials were considering confiscating a location at La Courneuve, on the outskirts of Paris.36 In the meantime, the Germans had no choice but to allow Ford SAF to continue to disperse its productive capacity among several factories. Afterwards, Dollfus claimed that decentralization had spared Ford SAF from further Allied air raids.37 Whether this factor 33

34

35 36

37

For the Bordeaux bombing, see the list attached to NARA T 77/1253, ‘Niederschrift über die Sitzung des Wiederaufbauausschusses beim Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstab Frankreich am 8.6.1944’, 8 June 1944. By 1943, Ford SAF’s Bordeaux operation was of minor importance. See NARA T 77/1263, Rü Kdo Bordeaux, ‘Vorblatt zum Kriegstagebuch vom 1.1.1943–31.3.1943’, 23 March 1943. AN 3W/234, Dollfus to Tannen, 18 May 1943. For ongoing efforts to repair Poissy, see the file in ADY 222W/926 and especially Commissariat à la Reconstruction to Ford SAF, 30 September 1943. AN 3W/234, Lehideux to Dollfus, 25 May 1943. BA-MA RW 24/108, Rü Kdo Paris-West, Kriegstagebuch, 21–30 June 1943; and RW 24/31, Rüstung- und Beschaffungsstabes Frankreich, ‘Beitrag zum Wochenbericht der Gruppe 1’, 5 July 1943. For La Courneuve, see NARA T 77/1263, Rü Kdo Paris-West, Kriegstagebuch, 24–5 January 1943. BFRC, ACC 606, Box 2, ‘Report of the Board of Directors on the Trade Year 1943’, Ford SAF, 5 April 1945.

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influenced the Allies in their selection of bombing targets is unclear. But what is clear is that the dispersal of Ford SAF’s production offered a convenient excuse for prolonged delays and disappointing results. If neither the COA nor Ford SAF could be said to be enthusiastic about Ford-Werke’s truck programme, this attitude was not rooted in any political commitment to resisting the occupiers. Rather, neither perceived wholehearted cooperation to be in its immediate interests. By 1943, Lehideux and Dollfus sought to avoid major disruptions to the French automobile industry and to Ford SAF – disruptions that a vigorous pursuit of the truck programme risked bringing about. That said, Lehideux and Dollfus could not openly oppose the Germans as this would likely provoke retaliatory measures ranging from the arrest of individuals to the despatch of workers and machines to Germany. And so the two allies and friends adopted a two-pronged strategy. One prong consisted of trying to reduce German expectations concerning the scope of the truck programme; the lower the expectations, the less would be the disappointment with the results. Dollfus, for example, repeatedly suggested to Tannen that production targets would have to be cut and the schedule prolonged.38 The second and related prong was to procrastinate, exploiting the very real difficulties as an excuse for doing little if anything. Not surprisingly, the Germans quickly grew frustrated with the COA and Ford SAF’s tactics. As early as June 1943, the armaments team in regular and direct contact with Ford SAF strongly recommended that the company be placed under German direction if any progress with Ford-Werke’s programme were to be achieved.39 If the seeming inability to start the programme provoked irritation, so too did Ford SAF’s output levels. In June 1943, the company was notably behind on its production schedule for French trucks, having delivered to the Germans only a little over half of the 1,314 it had been contracted to provide.40 By then, the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug had decided to take matters into its own hands: at the end of May, it appointed Carl Wiskott, a long-time manager at Opel (GM), as a special delegate charged with energizing the truck programme. Wasting no time, Wiskott immediately and peremptorily informed Lehideux of his intention to bypass the COA and to deal directly with Ford SAF in order to speed things up. Indeed, the same day Wiskott sent a letter to Ford SAF containing twenty-nine questions covering a wide range of subjects,

38 39 40

For example, see AN 3W/234, Dollfus to Tannen, 18 May 1943. BA-MA RW 24/108, Rü Kdo Paris-West, 16 June 1943. AN 3W/228, ‘Memorandum’, Ford SAF, 21 June 1943; 3W/234, ‘Année 1943. Livraisons faîtes aux autorités occupantes’, COA, 7 March 1944; and BA-MA RW 24/ 108, Rü Kdo Paris-West, 8 June 1943.

An uncertain start, April–July 1943

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including the make-up of its workforce, the number and types of its machines, its various suppliers and its most pressing requirements. Wiskott demanded not only a rapid response to his questionnaire but also that it contain precise figures. He was uninterested, he tersely remarked, ‘in information of a general nature or in fantastical numbers’. Following a personal visit to Dollfus’ offices in Poissy two days later to prod Ford SAF into action, Wiskott waited another week before complaining that he had not yet received answers to his questions. Evidently, the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug’s delegate was determined to impose a new pace on developments.41 Predictably, Lehideux responded with unconcealed anger at Wiskott’s activities. In a lengthy letter to Schaaf on 1 June, he expressed surprise that Wiskott had sent a questionnaire without consulting him in advance. Lehideux contended that this violated the April 1943 protocol which stipulated that Ford-Werke and Ford SAF would cooperate with one another ‘en bonne harmonie’ under the joint control of the COA and the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug. Maintaining that the COA had made every effort to advance the Ford programme, including assigning its own technicians to Ford SAF, Lehideux denounced Wiskott’s appointment as ‘incomprehensible and anti-business’. Wiskott, he explained, was completely ignorant of conditions in the French automobile industry and his meddling meant restarting the programme from ‘zero’, which would result in a further delay of several months. Lehideux characteristically framed the stakes in terms of the future of industrial collaboration. Proclaiming his continued commitment to close cooperation with the Germans as well as his own ‘appetite for responsibility’, Lehideux asserted that ‘no reorganization can succeed if it is not assured of a continuity of effort and direction’. Concluding on a threatening note, Lehideux told Schaaf that the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug must decide if it wanted him to continue on the path of Franco-German collaboration.42 Lehideux’s rebuke had no effect on Wiskott who continued his efforts to jump-start Ford-Werke’s truck programme. In June 1943, he visited Ford SAF’s various factories, drawing up a lengthy list of complaints that left few actors untouched. Wiskott charged Ford SAF with gross incompetence in almost all areas of production, including the rational use of machines and labour, relations with its sub-suppliers and quality control.

41

42

For Wiskott’s appointment, see BA-MA RW 24/30, Rü Stabes Frankreich, Kriegstagebuch, 28 May 1943. For the questionnaire, see AN 3W/227, Wiskott to Lehideux, 29 May 1943; 3W/228, Wiskott to Ford SAF, 29 May 1943; and 3W/228, Wiskott to Ford SAF, 6 June 1943. AN 3W/228, Lehideux to Schaaf, 1 June 1943.

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The extent and limits of industrial collaboration: 1943–1944

Meanwhile, he deplored what he described as the torpor and technical ignorance of German officials assigned to Ford SAF, Tannen included. Even Ford-Werke came in for criticism. Wiskott accused Schmidt of condoning the chaos supposedly reigning at Ford SAF in order to force the occupation authorities to get rid of Dollfus, thereby allowing FordWerke’s director to ‘become the dictator and thus the king of Ford in Europe’. If the present state of affairs persisted, he reported the same month, the truck programme would be ‘unrealizable’.43 Wiskott’s report arrived at a moment when the German authorities in both Paris and Berlin were reassessing the wisdom of placing confidence in the COA and Ford SAF. Mention has already been made of the armaments team’s recommendation to place the company directly under German control. Perhaps more revealing is the fact that hard questions were being asked about Lehideux. In June 1943, the German embassy in Paris felt it necessary to defend the latter’s continued commitment to collaboration. To buttress its case, the embassy not only pointed to Thoenissen’s warm endorsement of Lehideux, but also maintained that the COA’s chief was too closely identified with collaboration to change course. Since the beginning of the Occupation, the embassy argued, Lehideux ‘had made many concessions to Germany, making his conversion to opposition (Dissidenz) appear to be effectively impossible’.44 That the German embassy could only conceive of Lehideux’s position in dichotomous terms (either collaboration or opposition) is noteworthy; it left no room for another and more ambiguous possibility lying somewhere between ‘limited cooperation’ and ‘limited non-cooperation’ – a possibility that arguably better captured both the COA and Ford SAF’s response to the European truck programme. But for now, the more important point is that some Germans at least had begun to question Lehideux’s commitment to industrial collaboration and, by extension, to the truck programme. Taking stock: the July 1943 meetings Wiskott’s damning report, coming at a time of growing doubts about Lehideux’s and Ford SAF’s participation in Ford-Werke’s truck programme, prompted Schaaf to hold a round of meetings with key French

43

44

Leβmann, ‘Ford Paris im Zugriff von Ford Köln 1943’, 227–9. Leβmann’s valuable article is partly based on the wartime records of the Verband der deutschen Automobilindustrie (VDA). Unfortunately, these records appear to have been lost during the VDA’s move from Frankfurt to Berlin following Germany’s reunification. AN 3W/220, Paris embassy to AA (Berlin), 26 June 1943.

Taking stock: the July 1943 meetings

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and German actors in Paris in early July 1943. Optimism concerning the programme’s immediate prospects was in short supply among several of the participants. Speaking to Ford-Werke’s board of directors at the beginning of the month, Schmidt reported that the integration of the different European companies into the German war economy was ‘developing satisfactorily’, praising in particular Ford Holland (Amsterdam) and Belgium (Antwerp and Luttich). With Ford SAF, by contrast, progress did not ‘correspond to expectations’, a situation he attributed to several factors including shortages of labour as well as competing priorities among the occupation officials. Schmidt warned that Ford-Werke would be blamed for the ‘difficulties of the [truck] programme’ by the Wehrmacht and the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug. Ford-Werke, accordingly, must take steps to ensure that it did not become a ‘scapegoat’ for failure. For Schmidt, this meant demonstrating that the company was doing all it could to make the programme work and that the problems stemmed from others – on both the German and French sides. Yet, if Schmidt broached the possibility of failure, he did not abandon the possibility that Ford SAF might be prodded into making some contribution. As he concluded: [Ford-Werke] has in any case made it clear that there is no point in discussing the question of responsibility but rather that it is more important to establish what needs to be done in order to change the situation and to limit the deficit of production to a minimum. Ford-Werke is determined now to work in this sense with the competent authorities.45

The COA also reviewed its position in light of the meetings organized by Schaaf. In an internal memorandum, COA officials identified three problems afflicting the truck programme: the shortage of machine toolists; the absence of clear priorities; and lingering questions regarding the quality of Ford SAF’s output. The memorandum left no doubt that the COA intended to maintain its strategy of underscoring the extent of its own efforts as well as those of Ford SAF while blaming Ford-Werke and the German authorities for most of the problems. Only on the issue of quality did it appear to be flexible. Ford SAF, the memorandum admitted, must show greater ‘will’ on this score, even if it added that Ford-Werke’s standards were unrealistically high. Significantly, COA officials argued that the truck programme should be maintained, but only in considerably reduced form. Rather than aiming at 2,000 engines/month, the memorandum recommended an initial target of 1,000/month, rising eventually 45

BAL R 87/6205, ‘Protokoll über die Beiratssitzung der Ford-Werke AG am Mittwoch, dem 1. Juli 1943 um 11 Uhr’, undated.

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The extent and limits of industrial collaboration: 1943–1944

to perhaps 1,200/month. Lehideux was thus advised to seek what amounted to a 50 per cent reduction of Ford SAF’s contribution to the truck programme.46 The first encounter between French and German officials occurred at the COA’s premises on 2 July. Opening the proceedings, Wiskott chastised Ford SAF for its inadequate efforts in all spheres of activity, though he surprisingly exempted Ricq (the COA’s technician appointed to the company) from criticism. Getting down to specifics, he rejected Ford SAF’s estimate for machine tool hours as grossly inflated – a rejection reinforced by the recent jump in the figure from 300,000–350,000 to 720,000. Schaaf supported Wiskott on this point, citing the experience of the German automobile industry which suggested that far fewer hours were required to convert production. Interestingly, Lehideux traded his typically amenable demeanour for a less cooperative stance. When asked what French automobile companies could provide in terms of machine toolists and machine tool hours, he replied that he had no idea of the industry’s capacity, which amounted to a startling admission of ignorance. Similarly, Lehideux offered little help on the issue of transferring workers to Ford SAF, arguing that no additional labour could be found in France and that the Germans should consider returning French workers sent to Germany. Reflecting the advice of his advisors, Lehideux ended the meeting with the suggestion that the truck programme be scaled back, aiming at a maximum output of 1,200 engines/month by the end of the year.47 Not surprisingly, the meeting the following day opened with a lengthy exchange regarding the truck programme’s feasibility. Alfons Streit, representing Ford-Werke, insisted that an output of 2,000 engines/month could be achieved with Ford SAF’s current park of machines. Echoing Schaaf’s remarks the day before, Streit noted that Ford-Werke managed to produce 50 per cent more than Ford SAF with the same number of machines. Effectively conceding the point, Ricq claimed that the problem was not the number of machines but the supply of skilled labour and raw matériels. Ricq also underscored the issue of standards, reiterating that Ford-Werke was overly demanding. Although Streit replied that these standards posed no problems for other Ford factories in Europe, he agreed that Ford-Werke would be more flexible on the issue, at least temporarily. Following a comment from Wiskott that a ‘complete clarity’ did not exist regarding Ford SAF’s use of suppliers and sub-suppliers, the participants debated the extent of the company’s efforts to advance the truck programme, with the Germans generally complaining that 46 47

AN 3W/228, ‘Memento pour Monsieur Lehideux’, 1 July 1943. AN 3W/228, ‘Compte-rendu de la Conférence du 2 juillet 1943 au C.O.A.’, undated.

Taking stock: the July 1943 meetings

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insufficient progress had been made and the French countering that everything possible was being done. After considerable back-and-forth, Ricq asked Streit directly if he believed that Ford SAF and the COA had badly used their resources. After some havering, Streit answered no, allowing Ricq to assert that Ford SAF was beyond reproach.48 The aim of COA officials was not simply to defend Ford SAF but also to lower German expectations. With this goal in mind, Amaury L’Epine, who earlier had been one of the COA’s technicians posted to Ford SAF, announced that neither Lehideux nor Dollfus had ever endorsed the programme’s monthly production targets for engines and parts. If Lehideux remained silent, Dollfus reacted more cautiously, suggesting that the current target of 6,000 engines during the first trimester of 1944 was simply impossible and that a figure of 1,200–1,400/month would be more reasonable. Pretending to be taken aback, Schaaf exclaimed that he did not understand why Dollfus was talking of reducing the programme, before adding that any proposed reductions would have to come from Ford-Werke. A leading Ford-Werke official in France, H. W. Löckmann, rejected any idea of altering the programme established during the April 1943 meetings. Instead, Löckmann directed the discussions back to the practical problems facing Ford SAF, most notably shortages of labour, matériels and machines. After further exchanges, everyone agreed that greater cooperation was needed to mobilize the resources of the French automobile industry as a whole behind FordWerke’s programme. Careful to avoid details, Lehideux declared that success in an ‘endeavour so difficult’ would depend on ‘an honest collaboration’ between the COA and the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug.49 The following day, delegates from Ford-Werke and Ford SAF met with Wiskott to consider practical measures. On the issue of labour, it was decided that the COA would identify where workers could be found after which German armaments officials would be responsible for arranging their transfer to Ford SAF. Although this approach possessed at least one basic weakness, namely the COA’s professed ignorance of conditions within the French automobile industry, the participants assumed that something similar would apply for the supply of machines, machine toolists and raw matériels. On the fraught issue of the programme’s size, the participants eschewed any clear-cut conclusions. Instead, they merely agreed that Ford SAF’s projected output over the coming months (based as it was on current results) was unacceptable.50 48 50

AN 3W/228, ‘Compte-rendu de la réunion du 3 juillet 1943’, undated. 49 Ibid. AN 3W/228, ‘Procès-verbal définitif sur le résultat de la réunion chez Ford SAF, le 5 juillet’, 8 July 1943.

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The extent and limits of industrial collaboration: 1943–1944

In his valuable article on Ford-Werke’s attempt to take over Ford SAF, the historian Peter Leβmann argued that the July 1943 meetings amounted to an admission of failure, after which the Germans effectively abandoned the Ford truck programme.51 The situation, however, was arguably more complicated. That the Germans were discouraged is beyond question. Following the first meeting with the French, Speer’s personal representative in France remarked that ‘the impression is gaining ground that [Ford-Werke’s] programme exists only on paper and that in reality it is impracticable’.52 Three days later, Schaaf remarked that German officials in France had painted an over-optimistic view of Ford SAF’s productive potential and that the truck programme appeared to be heading towards failure. Yet the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug’s chief nevertheless felt that the programme should be maintained for ‘tactical reasons’. That Schaaf thereby hoped to get some production from Ford SAF is evident from his argument that the Germans needed to take a more hands-on approach in the running of the company. He therefore recommended that Schmidt replace Tannen as the enemy assets commissioner at Ford SAF with full authority to oversee the truck programme.53 Everyone (including Schmidt) presumably agreed with this change, for the appointment followed within days. Justifying his decision to Lehideux, Schaaf contended that, despite its professions, Ford SAF was not overcoming difficulties ‘with the necessary effort and consistency’. Referring to the February 1943 Luxembourg accord, in which it was agreed that Ford SAF would come under German control if its performance was judged unsatisfactory, he maintained that the time had come to get rid of Dollfus. As for the choice of Schmidt, Schaaf added somewhat wryly that most people would view it as a favour that the occupiers had designated as commissioner ‘the head of the German subsidiary of an enemy [business] group’.54 Schaaf’s letter had little chance of appeasing Lehideux. Indeed, the latter had already expressed his ‘stupefaction’ on learning of Schmidt’s appointment. In a letter to Schaaf, Lehideux complained that he had not been consulted, which he predictably presented as a violation of the Luxembourg accord, before going on to affirm that any attempt to exclude the COA from an active role in the Ford-Werke programme gainsaid what had supposedly been agreed to at the meetings in early July. Similarly, 51 52 53 54

Leβmann, ‘Ford Paris im Zugriff von Ford Köln 1943’, 231–3. BA-MA RW 24/31, ‘Aktenvermerk über Besprechung betreffend Ford S.A.F. – Programm am 2.7. 1943’. BA-MA RW 24/31, ‘Aktenvermerk über Besprechung am 5. Juli 1943 beim Rü-Be-Stab’, 5 July 1943. AN 3W/228, Schaaf to Lehideux, 9 July 1943.

Germany and the Ford programme: July–November 1943

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Lehideux emphasized that he could never accept that a foreign company (Ford-Werke) could become the ‘real boss’ of a company belonging to the COA. As always, he insisted that larger stakes were involved, threatening to withdraw the COA’s collaboration if Schmidt were appointed Ford SAF’s enemy assets commissioner.55 When Schaaf refused to reconsider, however, Lehideux backed down somewhat, grudgingly accepting Schmidt’s appointment while maintaining that the COA remained a vital intermediary between Ford-Werke on the one hand and Ford SAF and the French automobile industry on the other. The danger, he explained, was that the two companies would place orders pell-mell with French suppliers and sub-suppliers, creating chaos. Echoing Schaaf’s wry tone, he commented that this would ‘not be a very business-like way of working’.56 By July 1943, the fate of Ford-Werke’s truck programme appeared uncertain. Despite their doubts, Ford-Werke and the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug remained interested in the programme, even if privately they reduced significantly their expectations. Although neither Ford SAF nor the COA appeared enthusiastic about the programme, both had to be careful in light of German suspicions that they were not doing enough. Both sides tacitly recognized that Ford SAF’s production targets were overly ambitious. But this left open the question of what Ford SAF’s contribution would be to the truck programme. No less uncertain was the meaning of Schmidt’s appointment as enemy assets commissioner. If German officials clearly viewed it as a means to galvanize their French counterparts, Dollfus and Lehideux could be expected to do everything they could to fend off this renewed threat to Ford SAF’s independence and to the COA’s authority. German efforts to reanimate the Ford programme: July–November 1943 Rather than abandon Ford-Werke’s truck programme, the Germans sought to reanimate it in the summer and autumn of 1943. Writing to Lehideux at the end of July, Schaaf framed the principal problem in terms of disagreements between Ford SAF and Ford-Werke on technical issues. In addition to insisting that such disagreements were a normal part of the production process and could easily be resolved by an exchange of experts, Schaaf issued a broader appeal for collaboration between the two men and their two organizations: 55 56

AN 3W/227, Lehideux to Schaaf, 7 July 1943. AN 3W/227, Lehideux to Schaaf, 9 July 1943.

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The extent and limits of industrial collaboration: 1943–1944

Nothing is more trying than to resolve the difficulties which appear between two parallel industries, which is the case with Ford SAF and with Ford Cologne[,] and I believe that you, like me, have better things to do than to be constantly caught up in this conflict. I really cannot believe that the quarrel separating two companies that are related is more important for you than the national problems with which you and I must occupy ourselves.

Schaaf also reiterated that Ford SAF’s needs had priority within the French automobile industry, asking for Lehideux’s cooperation in translating this principle into practical measures.57 While Schaaf sought to reassure Lehideux, German officials in France redoubled their efforts on behalf of Ford-Werke’s truck programme. Wiskott, who remained as the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug’s special delegate, embarked on a new round of direct meetings with various French automobile companies to consider how they might contribute.58 Meanwhile, at a conference in late August, Schaaf reminded armaments officials that Speer had insisted on increasing French truck production and that Ford-Werke’s programme took precedence. Over the next several days, the Germans discussed among themselves and with COA officials how to ensure that Ford SAF received the supplies of labour and matériels that it required.59 At the local level, armaments teams were kept busy scouring France for available machine tools and workers as well as for sub-suppliers that could work for Ford SAF. In early September 1943, for example, Speer’s armaments staff reported that fifty-four leading sub-suppliers had been identified and attempts undertaken to integrate them into the Ford programme.60 To facilitate these endeavours, Schmidt replaced Tannen, who was thought to be too sympathetic to Ford SAF, with Major Herbert Beckers as his representative as enemy assets administrator.61 This renewed effort, however, quickly ran into familiar difficulties. In his talks with German officials in France, Schaaf had pointed to shortages of steel as a particularly pressing problem. With no German sources

57 58 59

60

61

AN 3W/228, Schaaf to Lehideux, 29 July 1943. BFRC, FMC, ACC 713, Box 7, Wiskott to Becker, 12 October 1943 (English translation); and AN 3W/228, Ford-Werke to COA, 22 July 1943. BA-MA RW 24/31, ‘Besprechung am 27.8.43, 8 Uhr vormittag, bein Major Graf’, 1 September 1943; also see in the same file the report on a meeting with the Heereswaffenamt, 30 August 1943. BA-MA RW 24/93, Rü Kdo Paris-Ost, ‘Wochenabschnitt vom 11.7. – 17.7.1943’; RW 24/31, Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstabes Frankreich, ‘Aktenvermerk’, 6 September 1943; and NARA T 77/1263, Rü Kdo Paris-West, Kriegstagebuch, 24 July 1943. BAL R 87/9335, MbF to RkBfV, 19 October 1943; and BA-MA RW 24/109, Rü Kdo Paris-West, Kriegstagebuch, 24 August 1943.

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available, Schaaf could only hope that French companies would somehow find adequate quantities – an extremely dubious hope by 1943.62 The Germans were markedly less sanguine regarding machines tools and manpower. Although they continued to accuse Ford SAF of exaggerating its need for machine tool hours, German officials nevertheless evaluated the company’s needs to be around 175,000 hours, which amounted to 500 machine toolists working forty hours/week for almost nine weeks.63 As for manpower, in August 1943 Ford SAF claimed that it urgently needed 2,863 additional workers, which included 263 machine toolists and 728 skilled workers. Speer’s officials believed this figure to be inflated, but they also admitted that Ford SAF was short of workers, especially skilled workers. The armaments team for Paris-West thus estimated Ford SAF’s immediate needs at 1,820 (skilled and unskilled) workers. Exacerbating matters were labour shortages among Ford SAF’s numerous suppliers and sub-suppliers.64 Given the paucity of skilled and unskilled labour in France at the time, it was simply impossible to meet these demands. Instructed in July to locate machine toolists for Ford SAF, the armaments team for Paris-East could only identify twelve. Several months later, the armaments teams for the Paris region were collectively ordered to supply Ford SAF with 1,000 workers and its suppliers with another 500. Commenting on the order in its war diary, the team for ParisCentre tersely remarked that ‘it is certain that the Ford programme will not be 100 per cent fulfilled’.65 Another and related difficulty concerned the non-cooperative attitude of the French automobile industry as a whole. At the July 1943 meetings, Schaaf had reiterated the importance of mobilizing the productive capacity and resources of other French companies behind Ford-Werke’s programme. With this goal in mind, in early September German armaments officials organized a meeting with representatives of leading French companies at which the latter promised to provide the ‘necessary support’

62 63

64

65

BA-MA RW 24/101, Rü Kdo Paris-Mitte, Kriegstagebuch, 20 August – 5 September 1943. AN 3W/229, ‘Copie de la note adressée par M. Schnellbächer à M. Behr’, 4 August 1943. A German visit to Ford SAF’s Bourges factory in September 1943 revealed that the shortage of machine toolists meant that only 200 of its 500 machines were working. See BA-MA RW 24/109, Rü Kdo Paris-West, 13 September 1943. AN 3W/228, Tannen to Graf (Rüstungsobermann in Frankreich), 10 August 1943; NARA T 77/1263, Rü Kdo Paris-West, Kriegstagebuch, 7 August 1943; and BA-MA RW 24/31, Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstabes Frankreich, ‘Aktenvermerk’, 14 September 1943. NARA T 77/1264, Rü Kdo Paris-Ost, ‘Wochenabschnitt vom 18.7. – 24.7.1943’, undated; and BA-MA RW 24/102, Rü Kdo Paris-Mitte, Kriegstagebuch, 10–24 October 1943.

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to Ford SAF. But this promise was largely honoured in the breach. Renault, for example, had initially agreed to transfer an unspecified number of workers to Ford SAF as well as to make parts for rear axles, only to renege on the agreement: Ford SAF, Renault now insisted, would have to supply it with workers, machines and matériels. Similarly, Citroën had contracted to make gear-boxes but by early 1944 the accumulated delays were so great that Ford SAF asked for the return of the unfinished parts it had supplied as part of the terms – a request that prompted Citroën to respond snidely that most parts were of such poor quality as to be unusable.66 With some justification, Dollfus could complain to a FordWerke official in September 1943 that ‘roughly speaking, we have received no help from the French Automobile Industry’.67 German officials in France had no means of compelling companies such as Renault and Citroën to contribute to Ford-Werke’s truck programme. In some way, this powerlessness reflected the hands-off approach that the Nazi regime adopted towards (non-Jewish owned) companies both in Germany and in much of occupied Europe.68 But it was also rooted in the administrative chaos that continued to reign in France in the industrial realm. Throughout 1943, a confusingly large number of German organizations (Wehrmacht, army, air force, Organisation Todt, etc.) as well as German companies placed orders directly with French firms, viewing one another more as rivals for scarce capacity and resources than as allies committed to a common cause. Thus, if Renault and Citroën could leave Ford SAF in the lurch without any fear of sanction, it was because they either possessed or were in the process of acquiring German contracts. Ironically, during the summer and autumn of 1943, German armaments officials in France unwittingly aggravated the chaos in the industrial realm to the detriment of Ford-Werke’s programme. In response to mounting German frustration with the delays at Ford SAF, COA officials in early August proposed that the Germans could ‘catch up’ to their schedule by increasing the truck production of other French automobile companies. Although well aware that the major French companies had little spare capacity, given that most already possessed outstanding German contracts, the COA nevertheless contended that Citroën could make 2,600 3.5-ton trucks per trimester, Renault 3,800 3.5-ton trucks and Berliet and 66 67 68

For Renault, see AN 3W/228, ‘Commandes de ponts arrère de Ford à Renault’, undated; and ibid., Ford to Citroën, 10 February 1944, and response, 21 February 1944. AN 3W/229, Dollfus to Löckmann (Ford-Werke), 5 October 1943. The letter is translated into English. On this point, see Buchheim, ‘Unternehmen in Deutschland und NS-Regime 1933– 1945’.

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Saurer together 1,000 5-ton trucks. The COA’s intentions are not difficult to divine.69 In underscoring the potential support of French companies, the COA hoped to appease the Germans while at the same time preventing the industry from being turned into a mere auxiliary of Ford-Werke’s programme. Its motives aside, the COA had no trouble in interesting the Germans. In late August 1943, Wiskott met once again with the representatives of various French companies, asking whether they could boost their production of trucks in the short term, rather than helping Ford SAF. Renault, Citroën and Berliet all answered that they could do so, though adding that they would require considerable supplies of labour and matériel. All three companies also mentioned delays, which Renault estimated at nine months and Berliet at six months.70 That French automobile companies responded favourably (albeit cautiously) to Wiskott’s inquiry is hardly surprising: they had little desire to subordinate their production programmes to Ford SAF’s needs. Citroën, for example, had reacted violently to Dollfus’ suggestion that it should become a ‘manufacturer’ (façonnier) for Ford SAF.71 More surprising, however, is the German response, which was to plunge forward. By early September 1943, German officials had drawn up a tentative truck production programme for the French automobile industry. Running through to October 1944, the programme called for Ford SAF to make 24,000 trucks, Renault 12,000, Citroën 7,100, Berliet 2,980 and Saurer 1,500, for a total of over 47,000 trucks.72 In early December 1943, the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug handed an updated programme to the COA covering 1944 as a whole. Omitting Ford SAF’s contribution, the new programme foresaw the production of some 25,000 trucks, with Renault and Citroën to deliver 19,600 3.5-half-ton trucks, Berliet and Saurer to deliver 4,480 4.5-half-ton trucks and Peugeot to deliver 1,165 2-ton trucks.73

69

70

71 72 73

AN 3W/227, Norroy (COA) to Kentler (Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug representative in Paris), 4 August 1943. For evidence that the COA knew these figures were unrealistic, see AN 3W/229, untitled note, 10 June 1943. For example, see AN 3W/228, ‘Compte-rendu de la reunion du 26 août 1943 à 17 heures dans le bureau du Major von Guillaume à l’Hôtel Astoria (Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsamt)’, which concerns Renault; and ibid., ‘Compte-rendu de la reunion du 26 août au Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsamt avec les Usines Citroën’, both dated 27 August 1943. AN 3W/228, Dollfus to Lehideux, 25 September 1943. For the programme, see BA-MA RW 24/101, Rü Kdo Paris-Mitte, Kriegstagebuch, 30 August – 5 September 1943. The updated programme is included in AN 3W/229, ‘Note pour Messieurs Champonier [and] Norroy’, L’Epine, 7 December 1943.

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These targets were entirely unrealistic in the straitened economic circumstances of 1943–4. If the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug had doubts about the feasibility of Ford-Werke’s programme, expanding it to encompass other companies was certainly odd. With good reason, the armaments team for Paris-Centre commented on the new programme that production results would ‘in reality be considerably lower’.74 But even more remarkable is the fact that the German authorities pretended that the new programme would have no effect on the original one. Armaments teams were thus instructed to push French automobile companies to the ‘limits of their capacity’ to produce trucks while at the same time making sure that Ford-Werke’s programme was ‘not affected’.75 But this was nonsense. The expanded truck programme effectively stripped Ford SAF’s priority of any meaning it might have had. The possibility that companies might help Ford SAF entirely vanished. More generally, it sounded the death-knell for the initial plan to wind down the production of other automobile companies, thereby freeing capacity and resources for Ford SAF. Rather than a more organized exploitation of the French automobile industry, the enlarged truck programme was almost certain to achieve the opposite. Why did the Germans create another programme at the very moment that they sought to invigorate Ford-Werke’s programme? One reason stemmed from the disorganized nature of the German economic administration in France. Despite his best efforts, Speer never succeeded in forging the industrial dictatorship that he sought either in Germany or in occupied Europe. Other power centres remained. Even within Speer’s staff the lines of authority were confused. In October 1943, the armaments team for Paris-West, which was supposedly responsible for overseeing Ford SAF’s activities, complained that it remained excluded from the planning for the Ford-Werke programme: it knew almost nothing about the programme’s overall goal or even its own tasks.76 In this situation, a single coherent strategy on the part of the Germans was always unlikely. That said, deliberate calculation also factored into the decision to expand the truck programme: an expanded programme requiring significant increases in manpower would place Speer’s staff in a better position to counter Sauckel’s insistent demands to deport French workers to Germany.77 But if the decision was deliberately calculated, it was a 74 75 76 77

NARA T 77/1264, Rü Kdo Paris-Mitte, ‘Lagebericht’, no. 625/43, 18 October 1943. BA-MA RW 24/101, Rü Kdo Paris-Mitte, Kriegstagebuch, 23–9 August 1943. NARA T 77/1263, Rü Kdo Paris-West to Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstab Frankreich, 11 October 1943. On this point, see BA-MA RW 24/31, ‘Aktenvermerk’ regarding a meeting on 13 August 1943, dated 14 August 1943.

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calculation born of desperation. While the Wehrmacht urgently needed trucks, the prospects of getting them in significant numbers from FordWerke’s programme appeared increasingly uncertain. And so armaments officials turned to other companies in the hope that they might be able to provide something in the near future. Although the contending priorities and competition for resources between the various automobile companies risked creating chaos, in the short term at least the strategy was perhaps no more risky than putting all of one’s eggs in the Ford SAF basket. The response of the COA and of Ford SAF Despite the increasing sense of urgency on the German side, the COA continued to procrastinate. In August, it curtly informed the Germans that it would take six to eight months before production targets could be met, a time-frame that was made conditional on the supply of considerable manpower to Ford SAF and its suppliers. Meanwhile, still bitter over the appointment of Schmidt as foreign assets administrator for Ford SAF, Lehideux continued to insist that the company could not be blamed for the lengthening delays. Ford SAF’s directors, he wrote Schaaf in July, have committed ‘no mistakes nor serious acts of negligence’, adding that ‘on the contrary I must admit that they have expended very large efforts and have furnished a considerable activity in order to surmount the difficulties which confront them, particularly in the area of supplies’. The principal cause of the tension between Ford SAF and Ford-Werke, Lehideux continued, were the unreasonable demands and bad faith of the latter – a problem, he remarked, that Schmidt’s appointment would only exacerbate. Notwithstanding Schaaf’s pleas for cooperation, Lehideux held to this line. Thus, in August he informed Schaaf that it was up to the Germans alone to supply Ford SAF with the machines and machine tools it required.78 Interestingly, the COA privately expressed doubts about Ford SAF’s good faith. In an internal memorandum in November, one COA official reported that Ford SAF’s failure to respond to queries about its activities had become ‘systematic’.79 For Lehideux, however, the COA’s task was not to prod Ford SAF to contribute more to Ford-Werke’s programme but to defend the company against German criticism. By the autumn of 1943, in any case, Lehideux’s attention was firmly riveted on the post-occupation period, which he believed to be close at 78 79

AN 3W/227, COA (Norroy) to Kentler, 4 August 1943; 3W/228, Lehideux to Schaaf, 22 July 1943; and Lehideux to Schaaf, 9 August 1943. AN 3W/234, ‘Note pour Monsieur Lehideux’, Charles de Bailliencourt, 10 November 1943.

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hand. Indeed, at the end of the year, he drew up a peace-time ‘construction programme’ to run for five years and which foresaw hefty increases in the overall production of trucks in particular. Thus, while the programme called for the production of automobiles to rise progressively from 55,000 to 250,000, with the final figure representing an increase of 25 per cent over that of 1938, the output of ‘industrial vehicles’ (chiefly trucks) would grow from 85,000 to 120,000, an increase of over 500 per cent.80 For Lehideux, accordingly, it was important that all the major automobile companies, and not just Ford SAF, continue to produce trucks for the remainder of the Occupation if afterwards the programme were to be rapidly implemented. The COA thus had no interest in privileging Ford-Werke’s truck programme. Ford SAF seems to have played a slightly more subtle game than the COA. There is some evidence that Ford SAF sought to mobilize the French automobile industry to contribute to Ford-Werke’s programme. In addition to urging the COA to intervene on its behalf, Ford SAF pressured individual companies to fulfil their obligations. In November 1943, for example, Dollfus criticized the directors of Citroën for refusing to accept Ford-Werke’s demands regarding norms for certain parts for gear-boxes – a criticism not without irony given Ford SAF’s ongoing disputes with Ford-Werke on precisely this issue.81 It is difficult to gauge to what extent Ford SAF’s efforts constituted a stratagem to deflect responsibility for its own disappointing results. What is clear, however, is that Ford SAF echoed the COA in insisting that others were to blame for problems and delays. Writing to a Ford-Werke official in October 1943, Dollfus again complained that Ford SAF had received no help from the French automobile industry. As for German promises to supply matériels and manpower, he remarked that ‘nothing has been done to help Ford SAF or rather that if efforts have been made to help Ford SAF, these efforts have achieved nothing’. Not surprisingly, Dollfus was particularly critical of Wiskott’s continuing activities on behalf of the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug, lecturing to Speer’s staff that they were counter-productive as well as a violation of existing agreements.82 80

81 82

Archives historique du Crédit Agricole, DEEF 59895–2, ‘Exposé de M. Lehideux, Directeur responsible du Comité d’organisation de l’automobile et du cycle, devant le Conseil Général des Transports (11 Novembre 1943)’, 18 December 1943; and BNF, Lehideux, ‘La construction automobile en France. Possibilités, caractéristiques, évolutions’, 22 December 1943. AN 3W/228, Dollfus to Citroën, 22 November 1943; and Dollfus to Lehideux, 25 September 1943. AN 3W/228, Dollfus to Löckmann (Ford-Werke), 5 October 1943; and BA-MA RW 24/ 32, Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstabes Frankreich, ‘Aktenvermerk’ on meeting with Dollfus on 28 October 1943, dated 29 October 1943.

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Another indication of Ford SAF’s limited commitment to the Ford programme is the company’s effort to increase its stocks of raw matériels. After the Liberation, Raoul Desombiaux, a high-ranking official in the COA’s raw matériels section, claimed that while French companies during the Occupation generally inflated their raw matériel requests by 10 per cent, Ford SAF did so by 80 per cent. This claim is certainly questionable. Indeed, Desombiaux admitted that Ford SAF’s practice aroused the suspicion of the German authorities, who could compare the company’s demands with those of Ford-Werke which employed similar production methods – and thus had similar needs.83 Equally pertinent, Ford SAF was under German observation. Throughout 1943, a large number of Germans (from Ford-Werke, from the armaments administration and from the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug) visited the company’s various factories, sometimes for extended periods. Indeed, one Ford SAF official remembered that during 1943 ‘there were German controllers in every one of its decentralized plants’ and that ‘all decisions on personnel and matériels had to go through German authorities’. Needless to say, this German presence made it difficult to hide large amounts of matériels.84 That said – and despite the post-war statements of German armaments officials that the amount of supplies was carefully calculated in each case – it does seem that Ford SAF succeeded in squirreling away sizeable quantities of raw matériels. According to an undated COA report, at the end of March 1944 Ford SAF possessed 2,210,452 tons of (unspecified) raw matériel stocks, which represented a jump of almost 150 per cent from the end of 1940. Only two automobile companies, SIMCA and Peugeot, showed a comparable or greater increase. Although the two dates span almost the entire occupation period, it is not unreasonable to assume that the growth in Ford SAF’s stocks occurred primarily during 1943–4 when the Germans were desperately trying to animate the Ford-Werke programme.85 If so, Ford SAF appears to have seized this opportunity to begin preparing for the post-war period by building its stocks, which would facilitate a faster conversion to peacetime production when the time came. Such a strategy necessarily came at the expense of current production. If Ford SAF was surreptitiously increasing its stocks of raw matériels during 1943, it also sought to free itself from German oversight. At a

83 84 85

AN 3W/221, Raoul Desombiaux deposition, 31 May 1945. BFRC, FMC, ACC 880, Box 6, file: FMC – France – Interviews, ‘Interview with Marcel Cola – Sales Manager – Ford (France) July 13, 1960’. For stocks, see AN 3W/221, untitled and undated note. For German armaments officials, see the deposition of André Kronefeld, 16 April 1945, in ibid.

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meeting with German armaments officials in early November 1943, Dollfus proposed that Ford SAF alone be made responsible for inspecting its products. Not surprisingly, the delegates of Ford-Werke opposed the proposal.86 Unwilling to drop the matter, several days later Dollfus wrote to Streit, Ford-Werke’s representative in France, to insist that German technicians be removed from his factories, arguing that the quality of Ford SAF’s products was beyond reproach. No doubt tongue-in-cheek, he even suggested that the technicians would be better employed at FordWerke since a large number of the various parts it had recently delivered to Ford SAF were supposedly defective. But Dollfus did not stop here. In its tone and content, the letter amounted to a categorical rejection of FordWerke’s position on almost every issue concerning the truck programme. Claiming to speak as one Ford man to another, Dollfus maintained that Ford-Werke’s quality problems demonstrated that he had always been right about the need for flexibility in terms of manufacturing norms as well as about the disadvantages of centralizing engine production in one plant. The message was clear: Ford SAF was in no way responsible for the problems afflicting Ford-Werke’s truck programme and should therefore be left alone to operate as it deemed best.87 The imposition of Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen By the autumn of 1943, the German authorities in France felt increasingly frustrated. Despite their efforts to reanimate Ford-Werke’s truck programme undertaken in the wake of the July meetings, progress remained unsatisfactory. To be sure, the programme was far from a complete failure. According to German reports, during the third quarter of 1943, Ford SAF produced 2,501 engines, which represented just over 60 per cent of the production target (4,000 engines) set for the period. This partial success, however, appeared to be fleeting. For the last quarter of the year, engine production would be 1,991 engines, a decline of 20 per cent; worse still, this total represented only one third of the expected output which was due to increase by 50 per cent to 6,000 engines.88 Somewhat awkwardly for 86

87

88

BA-MA RW 24/32, Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstabes Frankreich, ‘Aktenvermerk’, 1 November 1943. For Ford-Werke’s complaints about quality, see AN 3W/228, Streit (Ford-Werke) to Dollfus, 18 October 1943. AN 3W/228, Dollfus to Streit, 9 November 1943. The continued Allied air raids against French automobile factories during 1943 no doubt contributed to Dollfus’ determination not to centralize engine production in one site. Peugeot’s plant at Monbéliard was bombed in July and those of Citroën in Paris in September. BA-MA RW 24/109, Rü Kdo Paris-West, ‘Überblick über die Berichtszeit vom 1.7. – 30.9.1943’; and RW 24/110, Rü Kdo Paris-West, ‘Überblick über die Berichtszeit vom 1.10. – 31.12.1943’.

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Dollfus, the German numbers belied his claim in October 1943 that Ford SAF was making 850 engines/month and would soon attain a rate of 1,000/month. But Dollfus was not about to get into an argument about competing numbers. Instead, he presented the fact that Ford SAF was producing anything at all as a success – as tangible evidence that the company could continue to function effectively despite the extremely difficult conditions which existed.89 Dollfus’ claims, however, fell on deaf ears. The Germans suspected that the Ford programme was heading for failure and believed that the French – and Ford SAF especially – were to blame. No one was more convinced of this than Wiskott, the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug’s delegate. A key moment came in early October 1943 when Becker, the enemy assets administrator at Ford SAF, sent a report to Ford-Werke which blamed the German authorities for many of the difficulties with the truck programme. Quickly apprised of the report, Wiskott wrote a letter to Becker in which he identified the essential problem as incompetence on Ford SAF’s part. If Ford SAF had difficulties with its suppliers and subsuppliers, it was largely because it had neglected to appoint ‘competent liaison officers between Hiring, Planning, Purchasing and Production Departments [of Ford SAF] on the one hand, and the contractors concerned on the other’. Compounding this problem was the COA’s failure to fulfil its promise, supposedly made in July, to loan three of its officials to act as ‘purchasing specialists’ for the company. Ford SAF thus urgently needed to acquire more ‘staff and employees’ in order to reorganize its operations. Ending on a stirring note, Wiskott insisted that the Ford programme constituted a ‘first rate patriotic duty’ for all the Germans concerned ‘and [that] this justifies every attempt and every step which can, by some way or another, help us to reach the goal’.90 Wiskott, however, had not said his last word. Two days after his first letter to Becker, he penned another and much longer one in which he fulminated against Ford SAF. Beginning where he had left off, Wiskott expressed astonishment at the disorganized nature of Ford SAF’s activities, particularly its purchasing department, which, despite repeated German complaints, remained incapable of performing the tasks expected of it. The incompetence of the purchasing department handicapped Ford SAF’s relations not only with potential suppliers and sub-suppliers but

89

90

AN 3W/228, Dollfus to Löckmann (Ford-Werke), 5 October 1943. Dollfus also made this argument to Ford SAF’s board. See BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 2, ‘Ford S.A.F. Minutes of the Board Meeting Held on November 16th, 1943’, undated. BFRC, FMC, ACC 713, Box 7, file: Poissy – Report on Ford SAF 1938–45, Wiskott to Becker, 10 October 1943 (English translation).

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also with other automobile companies. The result was to exacerbate what Wiskott perceived to be the long-standing ‘ill-feeling’ of French companies towards ‘Ford-Matford methods’. Clearly frustrated, he condemned the continued absence of an effective department as ‘nothing else but sabotage’.91 If anything, Wiskott was even more exasperated by Becker’s criticism of the German authorities and, by implication, of himself. The Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug, he maintained, had done everything possible to help Ford SAF. During the second and third quarters of 1943, for example, it had supplied the company with considerable amounts of iron and steel, even diverting scarce contingents from Renault. More generally, Wiskott rejected the claim that the priority accorded to the Ford programme was meaningless, maintaining that Ford SAF had never submitted a specific request for contingents intended for other companies. He made a similar point regarding manpower: not once during the last six months had Ford SAF asked that particular tool-makers be requisitioned to work in its factories. Wiskott’s arguments pointed to the confusion that reigned on basic issues of initiative and authority. From the German standpoint, it was up to the French to identify sources of matériels and manpower, which German officials would then arrange to have transferred to Ford SAF. For both the COA and Ford SAF, however, the task of locating supplies belonged to the Germans. For our purposes, however, the most interesting aspect of Wiskott’s critique was his unfavourable comparison of Ford SAF’s efforts with those of other French companies. How was it, he asked, that Peugeot had succeeded in finding 60,000 machine tool hours during the last six months whereas Ford SAF found almost none? But this question was merely the preface to a more sweeping indictment: To conclude, I wish to tell you something else which I observed personally, particularly at the time when I was in charge of the whole of the French vehicle programme: The [sic] activity and the cleverness of nearly all the French automobile manufacturers to iron out matters in silence when Ford S.A.F. would be sending out S.O.S’S. [sic] is remarkable and should be considered. Because it is not true that the Frenchman is not willing [to work for the Germans]. Each day brings proof of the contrary. All this extolling on the part of Ford S.A.F. to keep away from you their own mistakes is as poor, compared to the work accomplished by the French automobile manufacturers. . . ‘There is something rotten in the state of Denmark’ and the old saying ‘God helps those who help themselves’, Mr Dollfus should have applied it to himself last

91

Ibid., Wiskott to Becker, 12 October 1943 (English translation). Emphasis in original.

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June. I do not see why you should have given him such a good alibi. . .by your statement in regard to the deficiency of the German organization.

Wiskott did not ignore the various handicaps afflicting the French economy in 1943. Nevertheless, he was convinced that responsibility for the disappointing results of the Ford-Werke programme lay principally with Ford SAF and with Dollfus. Just as significantly, he intimated that Ford SAF’s incompetence was at least in part deliberate – that the company was sabotaging the truck programme.92 Wiskott’s indictment of Ford SAF provoked a series of meetings of German officials in Paris in mid-October. At the first meeting, Becker contritely sought to dampen Wiskott’s anger by maintaining that his criticisms were not his own but those of Dollfus; at the next meeting, however, Becker forcefully reiterated Ford SAF’s catalogue of complaints, thereby confirming Wiskott’s suspicion that he had become Dollfus’ mouthpiece. With tensions rising, it was decided to bypass Becker and organize an encounter between Wiskott and Dollfus at the end of the month. Whatever the expectations might have been, the results proved thoroughly discouraging as the two men simply talked past one another. While Wiskott defended his efforts to invigorate Ford SAF and the Ford-Werke programme, Dollfus insisted on the preservation of his company’s independence which, he insisted, was guaranteed by the agreements signed between the French and German authorities. Once again, it seemed, Ford-Werke’s truck programme had reached an impasse.93 It was at this moment of renewed deadlock that the fates of the FordWerke programme and of the Speer–Bichelonne accords converged. The accords called for the creation of S-Betriebe, specially designated factories whose workers would be excluded from Sauckel’s labour drafts. Potentially, however, the significance of the S-Betriebe system extended well beyond labour supplies: it offered a means of imposing priorities on French industrial production by deliberately favouring some sectors and even companies while neglecting others – something the occupation authorities had long demanded but hitherto failed to achieve. For these reasons, German officials in November 1943 looked to the S-Betriebe designation as a possible answer to their problems with the Ford-Werke programme. The result was that Ford SAF was soon named an S-Betriebe. At the same time, the value of this measure depended in large part on its exclusiveness. The more S-Betriebe there were, the more difficult it would 92 93

Ibid. BA-MA RW 24/32, ‘Aktenvermerk’ regarding a meeting on 14 October 1943; ‘Aktenvermerk’ regarding a meeting on 15 October 1943; and ‘Aktenvermerk’ regarding a meeting on 28 October 1943.

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become to translate this status into concrete benefits for Ford SAF in terms of priority. And here the pertinent point is that by the end of 1943 virtually all French automobile companies were S-Betriebe, rendering the distinction effectively meaningless.94 German efforts to break the impasse with the Ford-Werke programme, however, did not centre solely on the designation of S-Betriebe. The Speer– Bichelonne accords also foresaw the extension of Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen in France. As discussed in the previous chapter, a German Patenfirma would be appointed to oversee a single French company while a Leitenfirma would oversee several French companies. At the beginning of November 1943, at the height of the crisis created by Wiskott’s letters, German armaments officials in Paris met to consider the overall situation created by the fact that the hoped-for production increases by French companies had ‘failed to occur’. Agreement was quickly arrived at on the need for armaments teams to be more effective in their interactions with individual companies. Given the immense difficulties afflicting the French economy, the armaments teams would have to be flexible and inventive; the imperative was ‘to improvise’ and to avoid ‘bureaucracy’ (Bürokratismus). They would, in other words, have to disregard formal rules and regulations in the quest to stimulate production. But it was also decided to exploit as fully as possible the system of Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen. As one official remarked, this measure imposed itself precisely because armaments teams lacked the resources to supervise the ‘technical’ aspects of production in the ‘required detailed manner’. Only German companies from the same industry, it was presumed, possessed the practical knowledge to oversee the efforts of French companies to fulfil their contractual obligations.95 Armaments teams were expected to work closely with officials from the Paten and Leitenfirmen, but they could not substitute for the latter. Several days later, German officials announced that Patenfirmen had been assigned to several automobile companies, prominent among them Ford SAF. And for the latter, the Germans named Ford-Werke.96 Recourse to Patenfirmen in the French automobile industry, however, created its own problems and controversies. While Vichy authorities sought to work with the Germans to ensure that the process of assigning Patenfirms provoked as little disruption as possible, Lehideux and the

94 95

96

AN 19830589/6, MPI to Comité des petites et moyennes entreprises, February 1944; and 3W/229, MPI note, no. 8891, 24 December 1943. NARA T 77/1263, Rü Kdo Paris-West, ‘Aktenvermerk über die Besprechung der Rüstungskommandeure beim Rü-Be-Stab Frankreich am 1.11.43’, 2 November 1943; also see T 77/1264, Rü Kdo Paris-Mitte, ‘Lagebericht’, no. 686/43, 18 November 1943. AN 3W/233, Rüstungsobmann in Frankreich to Ford SAF, 4 November 1943.

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COA viscerally opposed the measure.97 As usual, Lehideux complained that the Germans had failed to consult the COA when taking the decisions – a failure that supposedly violated the agreements between French and German officials. Also present was the suspicion that German companies would exploit their position as Patenfirma to take control of French companies. But the COA’s opposition appeared to be motivated by the belief that the system of Patenfirmen would disrupt the overall production programme drawn up by the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug because the German companies involved would pursue their own interests; the result would be to favour one or two French companies at the expense of the others. In effect, the COA feared that the Germans would succeed in imposing production priorities on the French automobile industry and, still more the point, in according priority to the Ford-Werke programme.98 True to form, Lehideux threatened to end his active support of industrial collaboration if the occupation authorities did not renounce their plans regarding Patenfirmen. This time, however, the Germans refused to back down. In response to their complaints, the COA was told not only that Bichelonne had given his prior approval but also that Speer himself had issued a ‘formal decision’ that could not be reversed. German officials did offer Lehideux a fig leaf, promising to consult with the COA on any future appointments of Patenfirmen; but this promise was largely honoured in the breach. It is worth underscoring that the Germans bypassed the COA, dealing directly with Bichelonne, and that they ignored Lehideux’s threats of non-cooperation. By the closing months of 1943, any remaining confidence in Lehideux had evaporated and German armaments officials were determined to forge ahead.99 Although Lehideux failed to sway the Germans, his fears proved to be misplaced as the Patenfirmen quickly showed themselves to be little threat. As noted in the previous chapter, Speer’s officials had initially defined the powers of the Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen in limited terms. This remained the situation despite the planned-for increase in the number of such companies as a consequence of the Speer–Bichelonne accords. Thus, instructions drawn up in October 1943 for German companies acting as Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen emphasized their role as advisors 97 98

99

For Vichy authorities, see AN 19830589/6, MPI to General Stud (Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsamt in Frankreich), 15 November 1943. AN 19830589/6, COA, ‘Désignation de “Patenfirma” par les autorités d’occupation’, 12 November 1943; and 3W/233, ‘Memento. Arguments contre le parrainage dans l’automobile’, 2 November 1943. See AN 3W/233, ‘Compte-rendu de notre visite à M. Bellier le 6 novembre 1943 au sujet de “Patenfirma”’, L’Epine, 8 November 1943; and ‘Projet: Réflextions sur les Patenfirmen’, 12 December 1943.

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and facilitators. They could appoint particular agents (Firmenbeaufträgter) to French companies but their duties were largely confined to those of liaison. No doubt the lack of authority attached to the Patenfirmen helps to explain why some German companies refused the offer, calculating that the status brought no real benefits.100 Before long, moreover, the armaments teams were complaining about the system of Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen. Although members of the two groups (armaments officials and delegates of German companies) were supposed to work closely together, the responsibilities of each remained uncertain, hampering effective cooperation. It was not enough that everyone ‘share information’, the armaments team for Paris-West argued in October; what was needed were well-defined tasks.101 The rapid multiplication of Leitenfirmen and especially Patenfirmen did nothing to help matters. At the end of 1943, another armaments team reported that the principal result had been a notable rise in paperwork at the expense of direct contact with French companies.102 But the real problem with the Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen was that they could not fulfil their purpose – that of providing a close-up, hands-on oversight of French companies working for the Germans. The delegates of the German companies possessed neither the authority nor the resources to do so. Such oversight would have required that German Patenfirmen or Leitenfirmen take over the running of French companies, something that had been excluded from the beginning and that would have been so disruptive as to be counterproductive. The armaments teams had never been able to exercise such a level of oversight on French companies, and they were justifiably sceptical that German companies would be any more successful. In the end, the internal affairs of French companies largely amounted to terra incognita for the Germans both before and after the Speer–Bichelonne accords. But it is not merely the case that the system of Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen did nothing to solve the basic problem of oversight. If anything, it exacerbated matters by stoking the suspicions of French industrialists. ‘The signs appear to be multiplying’, remarked one report in October 1943, that ‘Fr[ench factory directors see in the naming of a Patenfirma the tutelage and control of their own factories, with the result that their own initiative and interest in cooperation sinks.’ That these suspicions proved to be largely unfounded is less important than their 100

101 102

BA-MA RW 35/787, untitled instructions dated 15 October 1943. For an example of refusal, see BAL R 3/3276, Zahnradfabrik Friedrichshafen AG to Länderbeauftragte für Frankreich des Hauptausschusses Panzerwagen und Zugmaschinen, 26 October 1943. NARA T 77/1263, Rü Kdo Paris-West to Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstab Frankreich, 20 October 1943. NARA T 77/1264, Rü Kdo Paris-Ost, ‘Vierjährlicher Überblick’, 31 December 1943.

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immediate effect, which was to dampen the ‘desire (Lust und Liebe) to cooperate’ with the Germans.103 This point is critical because, now more than ever, the occupation authorities desperately needed French goodwill. In the context of late 1943, with the French economy suffering from massive shortages of almost all factors of production as well as of transport, the ability to get anything done depended more and more on the initiative of individual companies. The emphasis placed on improvisation – on débrouillardise – applied not only to the Germans but even more so to the French. It was, above all, French companies who would have to improvise to keep production going; and it was they who would have to find ways (legal and other) to overcome the many obstacles facing them. Just as importantly, the Germans could not command this effort, most obviously because they lacked the resources but also because such an effort lay beyond accurate observation and evaluation. Neither the armaments teams nor the delegates of Patenfirmen could really know whether a French company was doing all it could. As a result, the Germans had no choice but to rely on French goodwill at the same time that the system of Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen risked jeopardizing what remained of this goodwill. Ford-Werke as Ford SAF’s Patenfirma If Ford-Werke became Ford SAF’s Patenfirma in early November 1943, it was initially unclear what this would mean in concrete terms. In midNovember, the German armaments administration in France informed Johannes Stahlberg, its ‘industrial commissioner’ with Ford SAF, that his services were no longer needed as Ford-Werke had become the company’s ‘sponsor’ (marraine); the fact that Stahlberg had initially come from Ford-Werke does not appear to have mattered.104 In any event, instead of appointing someone to replace Stahlberg, Ford-Werke contented itself with an attempt to strengthen the authority of Becker, the enemy assets administrator with Ford SAF. Accordingly, at a general meeting of Ford SAF shareholders that month Becker declared that, as joint-director of enemy property (the absent Schmidt of Ford-Werke was the other), he would have to approve all decisions taken. As Dollfus informed a board meeting later the same day, Becker had become the ‘assistant director’ of Ford SAF.105 103 104 105

BA-MA RW 24/110, Rü Kdo Paris-West, Kriegstagebuch, 12 October 1943. AN 3W/228, Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstab Frankreich, untitled note, 16 November 1943. BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 2, ‘Minutes of the Ordinary General Meeting of Shareholders Held on November 16th, 1943’; and ‘Ford S.A.F. Minutes of the Board Meeting Held on November 16th, 1943’.

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It soon became apparent, however, that this change did not amount to much. One reason is that Becker had already shown himself to be sympathetic to Ford SAF’s difficulties as presented by Dollfus. It was therefore unlikely that he would overrule the latter.106 But there is another reason why the imposition of a Patenfirma meant little: FordWerke’s attitude. In early 1944, German armaments officials in France would complain that the Patenfirmen system, rather than facilitating collaboration between French and German companies, often aggravated tensions by underscoring conflicts of interest.107 Interestingly, however, Ford SAF and Ford-Werke were an exception as tensions between the two companies abated during late 1943 and early 1944. The reason appears to have been Ford-Werke’s lack of interest in exploiting whatever potential for greater control its Patenfirma status offered. After the war, Schmidt claimed that Ford-Werke had refused the proposal for ‘custodianship’ of Ford SAF. If, strictly speaking, this claim is false since Ford-Werke was appointed Patenfirma, it does point to a more basic truth: that well before the end of 1943 Ford-Werke had abandoned its earlier ambitions to integrate Ford SAF into its European empire. Instead, its goal became to distance itself from Ford SAF in order to avoid being blamed for the perceived failure of the truck programme. This is not to say that Schmidt did not expect Ford SAF to make some contribution to the programme. But it did mean that Ford-Werke would seek to limit any direct involvement with Ford SAF – and thus any responsibility for its results.108 But even if Ford-Werke had still been interested in taking over Ford SAF, it would likely not have succeeded. One reason is that the German authorities did not conceive of the Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen system as a means to control French companies. As a result, any German official (whether Becker or someone sent directly by Ford-Werke) would have lacked the power to intervene in the running of Ford SAF. German armaments officials did try to tighten the reins over Ford SAF: in November 1943, they appointed a special delegate to the company charged with overseeing its participation in the truck programme and in December they replaced Becker with someone more independent of

106 107 108

Wiskott continued to criticize both Ford SAF and Becker. See BFRC, FMC, ACC 713, Box 7, file: Poissy – Report on Ford S.A.F. 1938–45, Wiskott to Becker, 1 December 1943. AN AJ 40/603, ‘Vermerk’, Wi I/2 – Feindvermögen, 17 February 1944. For Schmidt, see BFRC, Ford-Werke, NARA 0001184-193, R. H. Schmidt to Lord Perry, 28 May 1945. Revealingly, Ford-Werke refused categorically to send Ford SAF any workers. See BA-MA RW 24/32, Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstab Frankreich, ‘Beitrag zum Wochenbericht’, 22 November 1943.

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Dollfus.109 Yet none of this mattered: Ford SAF would remain free of German control for the remainder of the Occupation. Ford SAF, however, owed its continued independence to more than the limited scope of the Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen system. In the end, Ford SAF remained independent because the Germans never found a way to reconcile their dependence on the willing cooperation of French companies with their need for sufficient control to ensure that this cooperation was forthcoming. In overseeing the application of German contracts by French companies, armaments teams were supposed to provide a measure of control; but they lacked the resources and expertise to do so. A major purpose of Speer’s two reorganizations of the economic administration in France was to strengthen German control by devolving responsibility to German industries and companies which, by working closely with their French counterparts, would ensure that French companies gave their maximum effort. But as the case of Ford SAF indicates, the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug was simply unable to fulfil this mission. As a result, the German authorities turned to the Patenfirmen and Leitenfirmen system. Yet, short of seizing direct control of a company, which was not a practical possibility, assigning a Patenfirma to a French company did nothing to reduce German dependence on French cooperation.110 The simple fact is that in the political-economic context of occupied France it was extremely difficult to compel a company to work wholeheartedly for the German war effort if the company believed that to do so was not in its best interests. Assessing Ford SAF’s contribution to the Ford programme The German historian Peter Leβmann concluded that the Ford-Werke programme had failed even before the imposition of a Patenfirma because it offered no advantages to Ford SAF.111 His assessment needs to be nuanced. Ford SAF did contribute to the Ford-Werke programme, producing 2,501 engines in the third quarter of 1943 (slightly over 60 per cent of targeted production) and 1,991 engines in the fourth quarter (33 per cent of targeted production). Although at the end of the year the armaments team

109

110

111

BA-MA RW 24/32, Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstab Frankreich, ‘Beitrag zum Wochenbericht in der Zeit vom 21.11–5.12.1943’; and BFRC, Ford-Werke, BAL 5734, MbF to RkBfV, 11 January 1944. The case of Volkswagen, which became the Patenfirma for Peugeot in November 1943, reinforces this point. See Hans Mommsen and Manfred Grieger, Das Volkswagenwerk und seine Arbeiter im Dritten Reich (Düsseldorf, 1996), 650–76; and Leβmann, ‘Industriebeziehungen zwischen Deutschland und Frankreich während der deutschen Besatzung, 1940–1944’. Leβmann, ‘Ford Paris im Zugriff von Ford Köln 1943’, 233.

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for Paris-West anticipated a sharp decline in Ford SAF’s output, it later reported that the company had produced 2,922 engines during the first quarter of 1944.112 If this figure fell far short of the 6,000 engines foreseen in the initial programme, it is worth recalling that almost no one on the French or German side believed that this goal was feasible. During the opening months of 1944, production continued even if it fluctuated. According to German figures, in March 1944 Ford SAF produced 271 trucks, 922 engines and 1,019 rear axles; in April 389 trucks, 730 engines and 900 rear axles; and in May 84 trucks and 164 engines (no figures for rear axles were provided). Although in mid-May 1944 the Germans feared that the Ford programme was about ‘to come to a standstill’, in June 1944 Ford SAF still managed to produce 220 trucks and 302 engines.113 Assuming German figures to be accurate, Ford SAF made a substantial contribution to the Ford-Werke programme during late 1943 and into the first half of 1944, though one that fell far short of production targets. What are we to make of this contribution in light of Lehideux and Dollfus’ later claims that Ford SAF sabotaged the German war effort by deliberately under-producing? Throughout the Occupation, Ford SAF operated under an element of constraint: it could not simply refuse all cooperation with the Germans without risking severe sanctions, including the arrest of its directors and even the seizure of its equipment and workforce. The fact that the French government – and the MPI in particular – appeared to have thrown what little authority it retained behind the Ford-Werke programme also ruled out complete non-cooperation. Ford SAF thus had little choice but to contribute something to the truck programme. But the company also had more positive incentives for cooperating. Financially, in addition to price increases for its products, Ford SAF received sizeable advances from both the German and French authorities.114 Although Dollfus would later complain that neither Vichy 112

113

114

NARA T 77/1263, Rü Kdo Paris-West, ‘Ubersicht über den Ausstoss der Rü- und auftragsbetreuten Firmen des Rüstungskommandos P.-West’, undated; and ibid., Rü Kdo Paris-West, ‘Uberblick über die Berichtzeit vom 1.1. – 31.3.1944’, undated. The figures are drawn from BA-MA RW 24/34, Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstab Frankreich, ‘Halbmonatsbericht für die Zeit vom 16–30.1944’, 10 May 1944; NARA T 77/1263, Rü Kdo Paris-West, ‘Lagebericht für Mon. Mai 1944’, 18 June 1944; and ‘Lagebericht für Monat Juni 1944’, 18 July 1944. For a production standstill, see NARA T 77/1252, Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstab Frankreich, ‘Halbmonatsbericht für die Zeit vom 1.-15.5.1944’, 20 May 1944. A French report in April 1944 claimed that Ford SAF was making 200 trucks/week but made no mention of engines. See AN F12/9971, ‘France. Industrie’, no. 25.381, 25 April 1944. In early 1944, Ford SAF appears to have received an additional advance of 15 million francs to help it defray the costs of decentralization. See ADY 222W/296, Délégué régional du Commissaire à la reconstruction to Commissaire à la reconstruction D.T. R.I.C. R-21, 16 February 1944.

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nor the Germans had kept all their financial promises, it appears that considerable money flowed into Ford SAF’s coffers throughout 1943 and 1944. Indeed, as late as May 1944, the company accepted a new German contract for parts for 3-ton trucks worth over 12 million RM.115 Another incentive for participating in the Ford-Werke programme was that it helped Ford SAF to prepare for the post-war period, which by early 1944 appeared to belong to the near- or medium- rather than to the longterm future. Most obviously, the truck programme helped to keep Ford SAF’s factories running (and earning healthy profits) at a time when the French economy was being ground down by massive shortages. No less importantly, however, the programme confirmed Ford SAF’s status as a major player in the French automobile industry – a status that the company would seek to build upon after the Liberation. At the same time, several factors worked to dampen Ford SAF’s interest in participating in the Ford-Werke programme. The overall military situation constituted one such factor. As the possibility of a German defeat grew during 1943–4, the company could not avoid questioning the wisdom of continued collaboration with the occupiers. Allied bombers, moreover, continued to attack French companies, most notably Renault and Peugeot, which suggested that the Allies would judge the wartime activities of the automobile industry as a whole with a stern eye. After 1942, Ford SAF escaped further air raids, no doubt partly because of the dispersal of its productive facilities in several sites. For this reason, the company would continue to resist Ford-Werke’s demands that it centralize engine production in one location, despite admitting that decentralized production was less efficient. But resisting the centralization of engine production was not simply intended as a safeguard against air bombardment; it can also be seen as part of a larger divergence of interests between Ford SAF and the Germans. In this context, a wholehearted commitment to the FordWerke programme made no sense. Indeed, Ford SAF had a clear-cut interest in limiting its contribution to the Ford programme – especially if this could be done without provoking the wrath of the Germans. Another factor limiting Ford SAF’s interest in the Ford-Werke programme was the emphasis on making engines and parts for German trucks. From the beginning, Ford SAF strove to continue to produce its own French trucks, even if on a reduced scale. Dollfus justified this position by pointing to the value of keeping workers and machinery 115

NARA T 77/1252, Stabsoffizier des Heeres, ‘Halbmonatsbericht für die Zeit vom 15.15.5.1944’, 20 May 1944. For Dollfus’ complaints, see BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 2, ‘Ford S.A.F. Minutes of the Board Meeting Held on July 27th, 1944’. Despite the complaints, Ford SAF finished 1943 with a surplus of almost 37 million francs.

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employed during the transition from French to German production. Yet this was not the only or even the chief motive. In producing French trucks, Ford SAF sought to preserve both its favourable position in the domestic market and its special expertise in this area. Trucks, to recall, figured prominently in Lehideux’s five-year ‘production programme’ for the post-war period. Dollfus had consulted closely with Lehideux on post-war planning, and he could reasonably expect Ford SAF to be given a major role in the programme. But to exploit this opportunity, the company would need to maintain and hone its skills in producing French trucks. That these skills were in some ways unique is suggested by the ongoing wrangling between Ford SAF and Ford-Werke over the specifications to be used for various parts. Working to its own specifications – that is to say, producing French trucks and truck parts – was not only what Ford SAF knew best but what it believed it would be called upon to do when the Germans were gone. Until then, however, Ford SAF resisted German demands that it shift rapidly to making engines and parts for Ford-Werke trucks. Although precise numbers are not available, it does appear that Ford SAF continued to produce French trucks well into 1943, despite earlier promises to stop doing so. This production, moreover, came at the expense of the Ford-Werke programme, partly because it translated into fewer German trucks and partly because the Wehrmacht continued to shun Ford SAF trucks for quality reasons.116 All told, then, Ford SAF’s interests pointed in different directions. If the realities of occupation made it necessary to participate in the Ford-Werke programme, good reasons existed to limit this cooperation. But does this mean that Ford SAF deliberately under-produced? Assessing this claim is not easy. The extant records are incomplete, and for obvious reasons wartime documents, whether from Ford SAF or the COA, make no mention of sabotaging production. Nevertheless, it is possible to build a circumstantial case that Ford SAF deliberately contributed less than it might have to the Ford-Werke programme. Just as importantly, however, this under-production did not constitute resistance. If Ford SAF under-produced, the obvious question is how. One possibility is what might be called direct sabotage – intentional acts to hamper production by damaging or destroying machine tools and machines, parts and semi- and finished goods. Although no evidence of direct sabotage at Ford SAF has been found in German or French police reports, there is the

116

Leβmann, ‘Ford Paris im Zugriff von Ford Köln 1943’, 231.

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intriguing case of Eugène Hug, who for several months worked at Ford’s Poissy plant during 1940–1. In his memoirs, Hug recounts the numerous ways he sabotaged production by tampering with various vehicle parts and mechanisms before assembly. To cite but one example: You could do it in the assembly process by fucking up the bolts. Instead of using a dynamometer to measure the tightening force, you used a pipe wrench, over tightening the crankshaft bolts until you heard a crack in them. Two or three bolts treated like this would make the crankshaft dance, creating such a loud noise that the engine would have to be pulled.117

Hug left his job at Ford SAF in April 1941, though it is certainly possible that other workers continued to sabotage production in clandestine fashion. This conclusion might seem all the more plausible in light of the company’s persistent quality problems. If Ford SAF’s trucks were sub-standard, perhaps one explanation for why is direct sabotage. There are strong reasons to believe, however, that direct sabotage was an extremely rare phenomenon not only at Ford SAF but across French industry. The occupation authorities were hyper-sensitive to this danger. Indeed, several factors combined to create a presumption of sabotage, among them: inflated fears of Resistance and especially communist influence among workers; the acute awareness that the French people in general resented the occupiers; and a conspiratorial mind-set that was not confined to the various security forces. In the early years of the Occupation, German reports spoke of ‘passive resistance’ among French workers and industrialists, by which was meant a general lack of enthusiasm for collaborating with the occupiers. During 1943–4, one finds more and more references to the risks of economic and industrial sabotage. An MbF survey for the last quarter of 1943, for example, remarked that ‘practical work in production policy is increasingly hampered by enemy propaganda and terror actions’.118 In February 1944 another report spoke of ‘precise plans’ to destroy machine tools as well as ‘critical production’ (Engpaβfertigungen). That communist leaflets increasingly urged workers to sabotage production no doubt further fuelled the fears of the Germans.119 By March–April 1944, German armaments officials were urgently discussing the need to assign security teams to important

117 118 119

Eugène Hug et Pierre Rigoulot, Le croque-rave libertaire. Mémoires (1898–1980) d’un ouvrier du Pays de Montbéliard (Paris, 1980), 179–84. MbF, ‘Lagebericht über Verwaltung und Wirtschaft Oct./Dez. 1943’, 27 January 1944, emphasis in original. Accessed online at www.ihtp.cnrs.fr/prefets/. BA-MA RW 24/11, Wehrwirtschaftsstab West, Gruppe 1c, ‘Monatsbericht Januar 1944’, 15 February 1944. For communist leaflets, see the file entitled ‘Juillet 1943. Activité communiste. Copie de tracts’ in ADY 1W/9.

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French factories, even if manpower shortages meant that they could ‘guard’ only 10 per cent or so of the factories so identified.120 Yet, despite their sensitivity to the dangers of sabotage, the Germans discovered little concrete evidence of its existence. This was partly a definitional issue. The German authorities defined sabotage in expansive terms that encompassed a variety of actions that took place well outside of factory walls: cutting telephone and electrical cables as well as railway lines, setting fire to German (and French) government installations, attacking occupation personnel and stealing German goods, including tobacco.121 This definition meant that direct sabotage of production was only one type in a larger category of actions that German reports typically labelled as sabotage. Further reducing the number of potential cases is the broad nature of the definition of sabotage within factories, which the Germans conceived of as ‘any expression [by workers] of anti-Germanism’, a conception which included writing graffiti, distributing tracts and attending unauthorized meetings, regardless of the agenda.122 But problems remain even if one limits the meaning of sabotage to the deliberate damage or destruction of matériel and machines. Distinguishing between intentional acts and accidents often proved difficult in practice.123 Accidents, moreover, were almost certainly on the rise if only because of the mounting fatigue of French workers due to longer hours and declining food supplies. Ultimately, the presumption of sabotage could not hide the reality that proof was often lacking, which helps to explain why the Germans tended to discuss the phenomenon in general as opposed to detailed terms. Indeed, it is striking how rarely German (and French) reports cited concrete evidence of direct sabotage in factories. If this is partly because direct sabotage sometimes left no trace, it is even more so because cases were rare. But even if direct sabotage occurred more frequently than appears, it would have been a marginal phenomenon. For it to be otherwise, sabotage would need to be systematic – it would have to take place on a large scale 120

121 122 123

NARA T 77/1263, Rü Kdo Paris-West, ‘Aktennotiz über die Besprechung in Kino-Saal des Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstabes Frankreich betr. Werkschutz’, 1 March 1944; and T 77/1252, Rüstungs- und Beschaffungskommission Frankreich, ‘Niederschrift über die Sitzung der Rüstungs- und Beschaffungskommission am 14. April 1944’, no. 0013/44, 22 April 1944. The French police employed a similarly expansive definition. See the files on wartime sabotage cases in APP BA 2306 and ADY 1W/178. SHGR, Louis Renault, 21, Rüstungsinspektion A (Paris und Nordwestfrankreich), ‘Avis. Betr. Sabotageabwehr’, 29 July 1941. For a discussion of this issue in another context, see Talbot C. Imlay, ‘Mind the Gap: The Perception and Reality of Communist Sabotage of French War Production during the Phony War, 1939–40’, Past and Present, 189 (2005), 193–207.

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and over a prolonged period. Such an endeavour, however, is highly implausible in the context of wartime France. Who would organize and direct it? How would individuals or groups of workers know when to act and when not to? Perhaps most importantly, how could such an elaborate plot be kept secret from both the German and French police? Someone would be bound to talk, even if inadvertently. It is true that the Germans (and French) lacked the manpower to police most factories. But this does not mean that they were completely ignorant about what was going on. A string of suspected sabotage actions at the Peugeot works in Sochaux between November 1943 and March 1944 did not go undetected, provoking increased surveillance as well as repressive measures by the Germans.124 In the case of Ford SAF, several German officials were assigned to its factories while others made frequent visits. The armaments team for Paris-West, which was responsible for overseeing the Ford programme, regularly reported on the numerous difficulties that Ford SAF encountered during 1943–4. Conspicuously absent from the list was direct sabotage. Even Wiskott, the Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeug’s delegate, who was no friend of Ford SAF and who accused Dollfus of sabotage (by which he meant gross incompetence), never maintained that matériel was being wilfully damaged or destroyed. If any evidence or even suspicion of direct sabotage had existed, he would certainly have cited it in his indictment.125 All in all, it seems unlikely that direct sabotage significantly affected Ford SAF’s participation in Ford-Werke’s truck programme. More intriguing, however, is what might be called indirect sabotage – that Ford SAF (and perhaps other automobile companies) deliberately restrained its efforts, producing less than it could have. In early 1944, a Free French report claimed that this phenomenon, which it called ‘administrative sabotage’, was rife in the automobile industry among others.126 Assessing this claim, however, poses similar problems to those concerning direct sabotage. Hardly surprisingly, company records contain no contemporary evidence of plans or orders for under-production. The absence of a ‘smoking gun’, in turn, underscores the related issues of feasibility and plausibility. To have a notable impact on output, deliberate under-production has to 124

125 126

Marcot, ‘La direction de Peugeot sous l’Occupation’, 37–40; and Loubet, La maison Peugeot, 251. It is worth noting that Peugeot’s deliveries to the Germans appear to have held up relatively well during 1943. See AN 3W/234, COA, ‘Année 1943. Livraisons faîtes aux autorités occupantes’, 7 March 1944. Equally revealing, Schmidt of Ford-Werke never accused Ford SAF of direct sabotage despite constant complaints about the quality of its products. AN F/1a/3769, Comité français de libération nationale, Commissariat à l’intérieur, ‘Les sabotages industrielles’, 12 February 1944.

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occur on a significant and prolonged scale; it cannot simply be episodic. But if so, how was it organized and directed? Who under-performed: specific groups of workers or all workers; managers and directors; or everyone? What did these people do or not do? And, once again, could such a conspiracy to under-produce be kept hidden from the suspicious eyes of the Germans? The claim of under-production, however, poses additional problems. One problem concerns the standard of comparison. After the Liberation, Dollfus and Lehideux both contended that the most suitable standard were production figures before France’s defeat, with the sizeable gap between the pre- and post-defeat figures seemingly demonstrating the reality of under-production. But this comparison makes no sense. Cut off from most of its external ties and subject to crippling German exactions as well as to Allied blockade, the French economy during the Occupation was a shrunken (and shrinking) version of its pre-defeat self. It has been estimated that France’s GDP dropped from 107 (100=1938) in 1939 to 60 in 1943 and to 50 in 1944. If one adds what Hein Klemann calls ‘educated guesses’ for clandestine production, the drop in GDP is less marked (80 in 1943 and 66 in 1944), but still significant.127 To be sure, these are aggregate figures and wartime production levels obviously varied across industries and individual companies. But the basic point remains true: neither Ford SAF nor the French automobile industry as a whole could have maintained its earlier output during the Occupation. Even with the best of intentions, shortages of all types had a deleterious impact on production. Just as pertinently, Ford-Werke’s truck programme came at a time when the French economy was in an accelerated decline. The problem, then, is what standard of comparison to use. How does one determine the production levels that Ford SAF might have achieved – but did not – during the Occupation and especially during 1943–4? Production levels must have been lower than pre-defeat ones, but how much lower? Any figures chosen risk appearing arbitrary. This difficulty is compounded by the multiplicity of factors influencing production. Even if one could agree on figures for potential wartime production, it is extremely difficult to distinguish intentional acts from unintentional obstacles.128 As German reports make unambiguously clear, during 1943–4 French companies suffered from growing shortages of almost 127 128

Klemann and Kudryashov, Occupied Economies, 325, 331. Marcot recognizes this difficulty but then largely ignores unintentional obstacles in arguing that Peugeot manifested ‘bad will’ towards the Germans during the Occupation. See Marcot, ‘La direction de Peugeot sous l’Occupation’, 32.

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everything: manpower, matériels, transport, energy. At the end of 1943, the armaments team for Paris-West wrote that Ford SAF urgently needed almost 1,100 additional workers. But an even greater handicap were electricity and coal shortages, which affected all factories. During the last quarter of the year, supplies of both fell every month, culminating in a forced two-week closure of factories for Christmas. Temporary closures continued into the first quarter of 1944, though for shorter periods, while weekend activity grew increasingly limited.129 In December 1943, for instance, the lack of raw matériels forced the Ford SAF factory at Bourges to work only every other day and with a reduced workforce.130 If these shortages directly afflicted Ford SAF and other companies, they also had an indirect impact through their crippling effects on suppliers and sub-suppliers, many of whose output slowed to a halt. In February and March 1944, almost every day brought news that yet another of Ford SAF’s suppliers had ceased production. Even before D-Day the German armaments staff in France concluded that the Ford-Werke programme had ‘come to a standstill’ due to shortages.131 Another factor affecting production and over which Ford SAF had limited influence concerned the morale of its workforce. Mention has already been made of fatigue and under-nourishment as causes of workplace accidents. But accidents aside, these factors doubtlessly also lowered the productivity of workers. As with other companies, Ford SAF found itself compelled to provide subsidized food to its workers in workplace canteens since official rations were neither sufficient nor consistently available.132 But these measures proved inadequate, as is evident from the growing discontent of workers due to the widening gap between wages and the cost of living, especially for food and fuel. Despite pressure from Vichy, the Germans generally resisted wage hikes in order to depress French living standards, partly in the hope of rendering the prospect of

129

130 131

132

NARA T 77/1263, Rü Kdo Paris-West, ‘Überblick über die Berichtszeit vom 1.10. – 31.12.1943’, undated; and ibid., Rü Kdo Paris-West, ‘Überblick über die Berichtszeit vom 1.1. – 31.3.1944’, undated. AN F/1a/3769, CFLN, Commissariat à l’intérieur, ‘Conditions du travail dans les usines françaises’, 19 February 1944. BA-MA RW 24/111, Rü Kdo Paris-West, Kriegstagebuch, 14 February and 14 March 1944; and NARA T 77/1252, Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstabes Frankreich, ‘Halbmonatsbericht vom 1.-15.5.1944’, 20 May 1944. AP, Ford SAF, DOS 2008 RE-30422, Ford SAF, ‘Rapport sur la vie de Ford S.A.F. pendant la guerre (1er Septembre 1939 – 1er Novembre 1944)’, undated, 15–16. For the growth of canteens in general, see Grenard, La France du marché noir (1940–1949), 113– 14. For Vichy’s inability to assure adequate food supplies, see Fabrice Grenard, ‘Les implications politiques du ravitaillement en France sous l’Occupation’, Vingtième Siècle, 94 (2007), 199–215.

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working in Germany more attractive.133 One result was mounting unrest which included strike action. In October 1943, 600 workers at Ford SAF’s Ivry factory remained idle for thirty-five minutes to protest inadequate wages.134 The following month saw work stoppages at Ford SAF’s other factories, including a more generalized one affecting all companies on the anniversary of the 1918 armistice. To underscore their grievances, a delegation of Ford SAF workers delivered petitions to the mayor of Poissy demanding more food.135 Although impossible to measure, the deteriorating working and living conditions sapped the ability and probably also the incentive of workers to work as diligently and industriously as before. In an influential article, two prominent French historians, Patrick Fridenson and Jean-Louis Robert, suggested that this unrest on the part of workers constituted deliberate under-production (freinage).136 But this conclusion is questionable given the difficulties involved in distinguishing the intended from the unintended effects of deteriorating conditions. Work stoppages aside, which were rare and brief events, we do not know if workers deliberately worked less than they could have. If the petitions of Ford SAF workers for more food had received a positive response, would productivity have increased? In the end, assessing the claims of deliberate under-production poses considerable challenges. Taken together, the methodological pitfalls and the dearth of sources provide a recipe for frustration. Yet this is not to say that the exercise is futile. It is possible to argue that Ford SAF did, in fact, contribute less to Ford-Werke’s truck programme than it could. One component of the argument concerns Ford SAF’s interests during 1943–4: as indicated at the beginning of the section, the company had good reasons to limit its contribution. Another component consists of the political-economic situation in France at the time. Put simply, the mounting crisis provoked by the generalized impoverishment of matériel, labour and transport made it possible for Ford SAF to under-produce with little fear of being detected. Here, what economists call information theory can be helpful in understanding the dynamics involved. Information theory focuses on principal–agent relations. The principal is the actor who contracts an agent to furnish some good or service in return for a recompense. 133

134 135 136

On salaries, see Arne Radtke, ‘La politique salariale de Vichy’ in Denis Peschanski and Jean-Louis Robert, eds., Les ouvriers en France pendant la Seconde Guerre Mondiale (Paris, 1992), 265–75. BA-MA RW 24/110, Rü Kdo Paris-West, Kriegstagebuch, 29 October 1943. See ADY 1W/10, ‘Note’, no. 2621, 11 November 1943; and 1W/11, ‘Synthèse’, 3 December 1943. Fridenson and Robert, ‘Les ouvriers dans la France de la Seconde Guerre Mondiale. Un bilan’, 142–7.

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At the most basic level, the theory posits tensions due to asymmetric information: the agent possesses knowledge about his commitment to fulfilling his contractual obligations (for example, how much and what kind of effort he will expend) to which the principal is not privy. Accordingly, the principal strives to design contracts that will reduce this asymmetry, most often by including conditions regarding the quantity and quality of goods or services provided by the agent.137 If asymmetric information is a constant in contractual relations, the asymmetry is arguably greater in crisis situations as was the case of wartime France. The increase in shortages, bottlenecks and disruptions all placed an imperative on the débrouillardise of French companies – on their ability to adapt and to improvise, to be creative and cunning.138 It was companies who possessed the supply networks, the knowledge of local conditions and the general know-how that was essential to overcome the many obstacles to production. From this perspective, the economic crisis potentially empowered companies such as Ford SAF while also disempowering the Germans. More than ever, the latter suffered from information asymmetries: the occupiers needed French companies to do everything they could to keep producing and yet found themselves increasingly unable to measure, let alone verify, the extent to which they did so. Unable to impose an effective system of oversight, the Germans were forced to rely on positive incentives in the form of high profits and hefty advances. But if such measures proved effective during the first two years of the Occupation, the case of Ford SAF suggests that they became less so by 1943–4. Indeed, they proved counter-productive by reducing the need for Ford SAF to participate wholeheartedly in the truck programme. The growing economic crisis afflicting France thus increased not only Ford SAF’s interest in limiting its contribution to Ford-Werke’s truck programme but also its ability to do so. Ford SAF had to produce enough to keep its factories running and to appease the German (and French) authorities, but no more. It had no incentive to expend extraordinary efforts to locate alternative supplies and suppliers, to push its workforce or even to improve the quality of its products. Given this situation, one can reasonably conclude that Ford SAF deliberately under-produced during 1943–4. To be sure, concrete proof is lacking, though there are some indications that the company’s efforts to mobilize the help of the French 137 138

Macho-Stadler and Pérez-Castrillo, An Introduction to the Economics of Information; and Przeworski, States and Markets, 55–75. See the comments on the ‘système D’ in de Rochebrune and Hazéra, Les patrons sous l’Occupation, I, 76–86.

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automobile industry, for example, were largely pro forma. But concrete proof is arguably unnecessary. To conclude that Ford SAF did not underproduce for the truck programme is to argue that it acted contrary to its business interests – that it was politically committed to industrial collaboration whatever the costs. Yet there is nothing in its wartime behaviour to suggest that this was so. And this raises another important point: if Ford SAF did underproduce its conduct did not constitute resistance. Ford SAF’s decisions and activities were never motivated by any principled opposition to the occupiers or by a desire to undermine the German war economy. During the early years of the Occupation, the company had eagerly accepted German contracts. Dollfus did not object to working for the Germans but rather to what he perceived to be Ford-Werke’s ambitions. If German officials in Paris would guarantee Ford SAF’s independence then Dollfus would collaborate with them, even if he sought to do so on the most favourable terms possible. What changed during 1943–4 were not Dollfus’ political convictions but his understanding of Ford SAF’s interests. This change, together with the opportunities provided by an increasingly chaotic economic situation, made it both sensible and feasible to under-produce. In this sense and this sense alone is it possible to argue that Ford SAF sabotaged the German war economy. Another and related point is in order. Under-production in the sense described above was likely not limited to Ford SAF. There is every reason to believe that the dynamics of information asymmetries affected other French companies as well during the Occupation and especially during its final phase. This point is worth highlighting given the argument, prominent in the historiography on German businesses during the Nazi period, that the room for manoeuvre of companies shrunk during the war. In this view, German companies, facing mounting pressure from the authorities, became instruments of the Nazi regime’s destructive and hopeless war effort.139 Nazi Germany was perhaps a special case due to the regime’s growing ruthlessness at home. Yet it is also true that the regime could not realistically take over and operate most companies and factories, which meant that it remained dependent on the willing cooperation of industrialists – a dependence that provided the latter with some leverage and liberty.140 But whatever the situation in Nazi Germany, in occupied

139

140

For an interesting exchange on this subject, see Hayes, ‘Corporate Freedom of Action in Nazi Germany’, as well as the response by Buchheim and Scherner, in the Bulletin of the German Historical Institute, 45 (2009), 29–50. An important exception in Germany (as well as occupied France) were Jewish-owned companies.

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France at least it is possible that the room for manoeuvre of companies grew during the war. If so, the politics of industrial collaboration were far less one-sided than is sometimes depicted. The Germans themselves appear to have recognized this reality, if somewhat belatedly. In early 1944, the German authorities announced their intentions to confiscate heavy machinery from French automobile factories and to send it to Germany. Lehideux protested vociferously but was ignored, indicating that the Germans had lost all confidence in him. But the announcement also amounted to a repudiation by the Germans of industrial collaboration.141 After four years of effort, the Germans were moving towards the conclusion that the exploitation of the French automobile industry could be best achieved without French companies.

141

See the lengthy file in AN 198305896/6 as well as the smaller file in F12/9961.

6

From Liberation to disappearance: 1944–1953

In the later summer of 1944, Paris and its environs were liberated, bringing to an end over four years of German occupation. If the mood was generally festive, darker clouds could be detected. Parts of France remained occupied while in the liberated areas the heavy toll of war and occupation was all too apparent. Politically, the situation was extremely uncertain: not only did the French remain divided between Pétainistes and Gaullists among others, but the reemerging political parties were already competing fiercely to place their stamp on the post-war regime. No less importantly, the ongoing process of retribution for wartime activities was bound to aggravate existing wounds while creating new ones. Many people, meanwhile, lived in outright misery. In January 1944, the individual food ration had stood at just over 1,000 calories per day, which constituted about one half the required ration for ‘normal consumers’; it was also the lowest ration in occupied Europe with the exception of Italy.1 The disruptive effects of active warfare on French soil during the summer and autumn exacerbated matters, leaving more people with less food. As for the French economy, it lay crippled. According to one post-war estimate, the index of industrial production for 1944 in the metal-working industries, which included the automobile industry, dropped to 25 (1938=100).2 During the summer months in particular, production in many factories grinded to an absolute halt. But if France’s overall situation was grim in the wake of Liberation that of Ford SAF appeared far more promising. Overall, the company had had a good war. In addition to making sizeable profits, Ford SAF had safeguarded its independence and had improved its overall position within the French automobile industry. Maurice Dollfus, who remained its director, had good reasons to be confident about the future. Yet, less than a decade 1 2

Hans-Erich Volkmann, ‘Landwirtschaft und Ernährung in Hitlers Europa 1939–45’, Militärgeschichtliche Mitteilungen, 35 (1984), 31. Institut national de la statistique et des études économiques, Mouvement économique en France de 1938 à 1948 (Paris, 1950), 211.

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later, Ford SAF would disappear from France, having been sold by Ford Dearborn to a rival company. Ironically, Ford SAF proved to be far more skilled in navigating the rapids of wartime occupation than it did in meeting the challenges of post-war reconstruction. No less ironically, many of the problems that infuriated the German occupation authorities would also frustrate officials from Ford Dearborn. Unlike the Germans, however, the Americans had the option of washing their hands of Ford SAF. A bright future In October 1944, Ford SAF held its first board meeting since the Liberation. Opening the proceedings, Dollfus happily reported that German oversight was now over and that all German decrees ‘should be considered. . .purely and simply as null and void’. At the end of the meeting the board praised Dollfus for his success in overcoming the hazards of occupation and war: thanks to the Chairman’s devotedness and will-power the Company, which could have collapsed during the past four years, was today still full of energy and in possession of all its assets and this in spite of the fact that it had to suffer ups and downs that no other industrial concerns in France had to undergo to such a degree. . .no other had to suffer bombings as well as constant attempts of seizure, absorption and even spoliation to which it had continually been subjected to through the occupation period.3

More importantly, the French authorities appeared to agree with the board’s assessment. In the autumn of 1944, there were encouraging signs that Ford SAF would not be held accountable for its contribution to the German war effort. As Dollfus informed the annual meeting in October 1944, while a ‘weeding (épuration) committee’ had been agreed to in the factories, no Liberation committee had been formed to contest control of the company. True, in September Dollfus had been arrested for collaboration; but he was almost immediately released and would remain unbothered thereafter. A group of French historians have attributed Dollfus’ release to American influence. ‘The fact of belonging to an American company’, they write, ‘serve[d] as a passport after the war.’ Tellingly, Ford SAF was one of only two major automobile companies (the other being Citroën) that escaped post-war investigation by the French authorities.4 3 4

BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 2, ‘Ford S.A.F. Minutes of the Board Meeting Held on October 19, 1944’. Patrick Fridenson, Jean-François Grevet and Patrick Veyret, ‘L’épuration dans l’industrie automobile’ in Marc Bergère, ed., L’épuration économique en France à la Libération (Rennes, 2008), 236, 243, 253.

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It is far from clear, however, that the Americans played a decisive role in Ford SAF’s fate in the immediate wake of the Liberation. It is true, as we shall see, that in late 1944 Ford SAF began to repair tank engines for the US army, work that perhaps prodded the French authorities to leave the company alone. But this work was part of a larger Anglo-American initiative to exploit French industrial capacity for the Allied war effort; among the companies receiving sizeable contracts, moreover, was Renault, which was investigated and punished (nationalized) for its wartime activities.5 More importantly, the American authorities’ attitude towards Ford SAF was ambivalent. In late 1942, the Treasury department had launched an investigation into Ford SAF following a despatch from the American consul general in Algiers regarding the creation of Ford Afrique. The result was a lengthy and damning report completed in May 1943 that pointed to Ford Dearborn’s tacit complicity in Ford SAF’s collaboration with the Germans.6 Henry Morgenthau, the Treasury secretary, submitted a summary to Roosevelt, who initially appeared eager to pursue the matter. Soon afterwards, however, the report was effectively shelved, no doubt because by 1943 Ford Dearborn had become a major producer of military matériel and because the administration did not want to jeopardize war production. Yet, despite the decision not to prosecute Ford Dearborn, Ford SAF remained the subject of suspicion. A justice department report thus described Dollfus as a ‘frank collaborationist with the Germans’.7 Arguably more important than American influence in Ford SAF’s favourable treatment by the French authorities was the ambiguity surrounding its wartime activities. To recall from the introduction, Lehideux had been arrested a month before Dollfus on the same charge of collaboration, and he would remain imprisoned until July 1946. From the beginning, Lehideux insisted that he should be viewed as a resister rather than a collaborator, maintaining that the French automobile industry under his direction had sabotaged the German war effort by deliberately under-producing. Ford SAF’s participation in Ford-Werke’s European truck programme during 1943–4, moreover, constituted a critical

5

6 7

In September 1944, the British and American governments set up the Weir-Green mission to investigate French manufacturing capacity that might be used to help the Allies. A copy of the Weir-Green mission report may be found in NARA, RG 84, Box 2, folder 850, WeirGreen report. For Renault, see Loubet, Histoire de l’automobile française, 224. The report is in NARA, RG 131, Box 135, folder Ford SAF et al. For Roosevelt’s initial interest, see Franklin D. Roosevelt Presidential Library, Hyde Park, New York, Henry Morgenthau Jr Diaries, vol. 636, 25 May 1943; and vol. 638, 28 May 1943. For the justice department, see NARA, RG 60, Box 4, file 146–24–39, memorandum by David Bookstaver, 5 August 1943.

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component of his defence. But Lehideux was not alone in defending Ford SAF. In the autumn of 1944, Baron Petiet, the pre-defeat head of the automobile industry, wrote to the French authorities that during the Occupation Dollfus ‘had conducted himself principally as a Frenchman whose vigilant resistance against the enemy manifested itself without weakness’.8 Meanwhile, other automobile companies also maintained that they had deliberately under-produced, which no doubt helps to explain why almost all of them (with the notable exception of Renault) emerged largely unscathed from the experience of épuration following the Liberation.9 In this content, sufficient uncertainty existed from the beginning about the nature of Ford SAF’s contribution to the German war effort to protect the company against accusations of collaboration. Ford SAF, in any case, had other reasons to be optimistic in the autumn of 1944. Much to Dollfus’ relief, its physical assets were almost completely intact. In the weeks preceding the Liberation, the occupation authorities had begun to requisition heavy machinery as well as large quantities of matériel from French automobile companies. Ford SAF managed to keep not only the vast majority of its machines, but also considerable stocks of raw matériels, partly because the Germans evacuated the Paris region in such precipitous fashion. During the fighting itself, the factory at Poissy was shelled twice but sustained little damage. At one point, Poissy was threatened by nearby German military forces who, enraged by the assassination of a soldier, appeared bent on recapturing and destroying the factory. Thanks to the determined efforts of the French Forces of the Interior, which included large numbers of Ford SAF workers, the Germans were forced to retreat.10 Elsewhere, the buildings of Ford SAF’s Ivry factory were ‘blasted’ by German bombing but the all-important machines and machine tools were saved. The factories at La Courneuve and Le Bourget suffered only minimal damage while those at Bourges and Neuilly were unharmed. Earlier in the war, the Poissy factory had been damaged in Allied air raids. Repairs, however, had begun almost immediately after the raids, and in the autumn of 1944 Dollfus was confident that the remaining work would be quickly completed. Overall, as Ford SAF’s board announced in its annual report for 1944, ‘spared in its vital parts, [the company] found itself after the Liberation endowed with a particularly valuable production potential’.11 8 9 10 11

Loubet and Hatzfeld, Les 7 vies de Poissy, 47. Ibid., 248. The authors note that in the automobile industry the confiscation of ‘illicit’ wartime profits was rare and the sums involved insignificant. SHGN 75 E/1435, Brigade de Poissy, ‘Rapport’, 5 September 1944. BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 5, Ford SAF, ‘Report of the Board of Directors on Trade Year 1944’; and ACC 606, Box 2, ‘Ford S.A.F. Minutes of the Board Meeting Held on October 19, 1944’.

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From Liberation to disappearance: 1944–1953

The pressing task was to put the potential to work. As with almost all factories in France, the chaos created by the Liberation forced Ford SAF to shut down completely. In November 1944, the local police reported that the company hoped to restart production in January or February 1945. In a matter weeks, Poissy was up and running again.12 A critical factor in Ford SAF’s fast post-war start was the help it received from the American army. Although the latter thwarted Ford SAF’s hopes of requisitioning machines from Ford-Werke’s complex in Cologne, which fell within the American occupation zone, it did allow the company to sell surplus American army trucks and tractors.13 This measure provided Ford SAF with an important source of revenue at a time when its financial situation was difficult due partly to the non-payment of German contracts. But an even greater boost came in the form of a US army contract to repair tank engines. Armed with this contract, Ford SAF successfully pressured the French authorities not only to make the repair of its Poissy factory a priority, but also to supply scarce raw matériels.14 The result was that production began to pick up in 1945. According to Dollfus, in January the company produced 282 trucks and another 322 in February; for the first seven months of the year it made 2,940 vehicles and assembled another 1,388 using imported parts, for a profit of 2 million francs.15 Ford SAF’s ability to restart production so quickly during 1944–5 was by no means the only sign of its bright future. Far more important was the substantial support it received from Ford Dearborn that went well beyond the supply of parts for trucks. As always, Dollfus had ambitious plans for the future. In the immediate wake of the Liberation he strove to centralize production at Poissy. Having received permission in November 1944 from the French authorities to do so, Dollfus quickly closed the dispersed factories established in the wake of the 1942 air raids and had their 12 13 14

15

SHGN 75 E/1436, Brigade de Poissy, ‘Rapport de synthèse du mois de novembre 1944’ and ‘Rapport de synthèse du mois de novembre 1944’, both undated. For Ford SAF’s hopes to seize machines from Ford-Werke in the spring of 1945, see the file in AN 19830589/6. ADY 222W/926, Ford SAF to DIME, 3 December 1944; Ford SAF to Commissariat à la reconstruction, 6 December 1944; and Délégué régional du Ministère de la reconstruction to M. le ministre, 22 December 1944. Centre des archives du monde du travail, Roubaix 65 AQ N 114, press cutting from ‘Agence quotidienne d’informations économiques’, 14 June 1946, which reports on Ford SAF’s prospects. Also see the board meetings of 4 January 1945, 16 March 1945, 6 September 1945 and 1 March 1946, all in BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 2. Given Dollfus’ penchant for exaggerating current production, it is worth noting French governmental reports confirm his figures, although it is possible that the latter merely echoed Ford SAF’s claims. For example, see AN 1983–598/17, ‘Véhicules automobiles. Production du mois de Février 1945’, undated.

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machines and tools transferred to Poissy.16 Meanwhile, he proposed a major expansion of Poissy’s capacity, drawing up plans which included the purchase of new machines and the building of a foundry which would make the company less dependent on imported parts.17 Beyond Poissy, Dollfus had hopes of reanimating the Ford Afrique project, convinced as he was that North Africa offered a growing market. These projects, however, required considerable financing, perhaps as much as 500 million francs, which Ford SAF alone could not provide. And so in December 1944, Dollfus travelled to the United States to convince Ford Dearborn to recommit itself to its French adventure. In Dearborn, Dollfus found a receptive audience. Despite some concerns about France’s immediate political and economic prospects, the Americans concluded that the post-war French automobile industry represented a favourable opportunity. As a report in early 1946 concluded, ‘all the elements are present to warrant confidence in the future of the French automobile industry. No effort should be neglected, no assistance should be refused to give it the means to fight its way to a prompt return to prosperity.’18 As an initial sign of confidence, Ford Dearborn promised to supply Ford SAF with parts for 9,000 trucks, the overwhelming majority of which would be assembled at Poissy. Given the French army’s demand for these vehicles, Ford SAF could expect to sell them quickly and profitably. More significantly, Ford Dearborn agreed to under-write a French bank loan for up to 150 million francs in order to tide over Ford SAF while a larger financial operation was organized. In May 1946, Ford SAF’s board decided to double the company’s current capital of 262 million francs by issuing additional shares; when the flotation occurred the following year, it yielded 393 million francs. As was clear from the beginning, moreover, the success of the financial operation depended in good part on Ford Dearborn’s backing, without which the shares would have found fewer takers.19 In the straitened financial situation of post-war France, American backing was an invaluable asset for Ford SAF – and one that other French automobile companies did not possess. Another indication of its bright future was the role that the French authorities assigned to Ford SAF in their plans for reconstructing the 16 17 18 19

For the recentralization of Ford SAF’s productive capacity, see ADY 222W/926, MPI to M. le commissaire à la production, undated but November 1944. See the extensive dossier in ADY 222/926, which includes Ford SAF to ministère de la reconstruction et de l’urbanisme, 27 June 1946. BFRC, FMC, ACC 713, Box 7, ‘Report on the Automobile Industry in France, January – February 1946’, iv. BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 2, Ford SAF, ‘Minutes of the Board Meeting Held on May 9th, 1946’; and ACC 1940, Box 2, ‘Notes on Ford S.A.F.’, 5 November 1947.

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automobile industry. In the wake of the Liberation, the Ministry of Industrial Production (MPI) assumed authority over the industry, replacing the COA. Almost immediately the MPI drew up a five-year expansion plan that called for the production of 1,750,000 vehicles by 1950. Named after a high-ranking ministry official, the Pons plan had as its starting point the belief that the automobile industry desperately needed to be rationalized by lowering the number of producers and of vehicle types and by reducing the amount of matériels needed to produce a vehicle. This belief, it is worth noting, was one that Lehideux had fully shared as head of the COA; indeed, in late 1943 he had proposed his own five-year construction plan for the post-war period which foresaw continued efforts to rationalize the automobile industry.20 Beginning where Lehideux left off, the Pons plan divided the industry into several groups, with each group responsible for making particular types of cars and trucks. The groups would be accorded scarce raw matériels in proportion to their needs as defined by the plan. Noteworthy is the fact that Ford SAF constituted its own group charged with producing 3.5-ton trucks as well as powerful cars (10–12 horsepower).21 Nothing better illustrates the striking transformation of Ford SAF’s place within the industry. During most of the inter-war period, such a position would have been inconceivable: it was of middlingrank at best and subject to discrimination as a foreign company. By 1945, it was widely recognized as a leading member of the industry. Admittedly, Ford SAF was not yet on a par with the Big Three, two of which also formed their own groups (the exception being Peugeot which was grouped with three smaller companies); thus, while Ford SAF was given a five-year production target of 116,000 vehicles, the targets for Renault, Citroën and the Peugeot-led group were all in the 300,000 range.22 Nevertheless, with the Pons plan, Ford SAF had clearly been promoted into the top ranks of the French automobile industry. Ironically, Ford SAF would use its prominent role within the automobile industry to oppose the Pons plan. Its position is explained by the company’s visceral dislike of state intervention in the industry – a dislike shared by the other automobile companies with the exception of the nationalized Renault

20 21

22

See chapter 5. CCFA, Min. de la production industrielle, ‘Étude d’un programme de remise en route et de réorganisation de l’industrie automobile française’, 15 December 1944. Also see JeanFrançois Grevet, ‘Au coeur de la révolution automobile, l’industrie française du poids lourd du Plan Pons au regroupement Berliet-Saviem. Marchés, industries et état en France 1944–1974’, thèse d’histoire, Université Charles-De Gaulle Lille III, 2005, 57–65. BFRC, FMC, ACC 713, Box 7, ‘Étude du marché faite pour la Guaranty Trust Company of New York’, undated, 128.

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works. Due to the concerted resistance of the automobile industry, the Pons plan was soon shelved. Uncertain how to proceed, the government in 1946 created the Commission de modernisation de l’automobile (CMA), a mixed government–industry body; prominent among its members was Dollfus. From his perch in the CMA Dollfus worked to steer the commission towards a renunciation of state intervention in the automobile industry. Writing in January 1947 to Jean Monnet, the head of France’s planning commissariat, Dollfus maintained that the state had no role in the running of industry, aside from that of ensuring sufficient supplies of various raw matériels. More precisely, he argued that the question of what type of vehicles to build should be left to the groups themselves, which supposedly could now be reduced to four companies: the Big Three plus Ford SAF. ‘For the study and choice of types’, Dollfus insisted, ‘the initiative should be left to the constructors which, a priori, are best qualified to judge what they are capable [of making].’23 Dollfus was no doubt pleased with the CMA’s final report in December 1948, which faithfully reflected the automobile industry’s views. The report, notes Jean-François Grevet, marked ‘the abandonment of dirigiste solutions to rationalize production and to concentrate authority [within] the industry’.24 Dollfus’ hostility to state intervention is ironic in light of the occupation period. Ford SAF’s success in fending off the threats to its independence from Ford-Werke was due in no small part to the help it received from the COA, which was a quasi-state organization. It is unlikely that the company would have survived if left to its own devices. But perhaps an even greater reason for irony concerns the post-war period. The defeat of more ‘dirigiste solutions’ for the automobile industry does not appear to have benefited Ford SAF. Only five years after the end of the war Ford SAF’s seemingly bright future had dimmed. Although the company’s difficulties were not all of its own making, some certainly were. To survive and prosper in France and in the French market, it had always needed state support. From this perspective, a more dirigiste approach by the French state towards the automobile industry after 1945 was arguably in Ford SAF’s best interests. Darkening clouds By 1948, Ford SAF’s situation appeared far less promising than it had in the wake of Liberation. Some of its problems stemmed from France’s 23

24

AN 19830589/17, Ford SAF (Dollfus) to DIME, 21 February 1947, which includes a copy of the letter to Monnet, 21 February 1947. Also see Loubet, Histoire de l’automobile française, 222. Grevet, ‘Au coeur de la révolution automobile’, 79.

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overall economic situation in the immediate post-war period. Wartime shortages did not end with the war, greatly handicapping recovery. In the spring of 1945, the French authorities thus asked automobile companies to reduce their production levels by 30 per cent due to shortages of steel and coal.25 More generally, the government extended wartime rationing into the post-war period while also seeking to import scarce matériels from abroad. Imports, however, required hard currency that was unavailable, and so French companies came under pressure to export their products to foreign markets where they often faced stiff foreign competition, resulting in losses. No less problematic were the high levels of post-war inflation. During 1946, prices rose by 80 per cent; following a four-month halt at the beginning of 1947, they rose by another 50 per cent during the rest of the year and by another 25 per cent in 1948. If inflation made exports more attractive, it made imports more expensive, further reducing the available supplies of matériels while also fuelling an active black market. For companies, this situation made short- and medium-term planning extremely difficult.26 Ford SAF complained, however, that it suffered from deliberate discrimination. In the autumn of 1947, Dollfus accused the French authorities of reneging on their earlier promise to supply Ford SAF with sufficient raw matériels to produce 9,000 trucks – the counterpart to Ford Dearborn’s own promise to supply the needed parts. Rather than receiving more raw matériels, Ford SAF saw its overall share drop from 13 per cent to 7.5 per cent. The problem, Dollfus continued, was that in calculating Ford SAF’s needs, the authorities used production figures for 1937–8 as a base; but at that time Poissy did not exist. ‘The existence of the Ford factory [at Poissy] has never been taken into account despite our incessant protests.’ Soon afterwards, Dollfus claimed that the other major French automobile companies were able to produce at 80 per cent of their capacity, while Ford SAF was at 30 per cent due to shortages of raw matériels. If Ford SAF did not receive additional contingents of raw matériels, Dollfus threatened, this would mean ‘purely and simply the closure of our factories’.27 It is difficult to determine whether the accusations of discrimination were justified. A context characterized by shortages and rationing almost 25 26

27

AN 19830589/17, MPI, ‘Note pour monsieur le secrétaire général à la production industrielle’, 5 May 1945. For inflation, see Alessandra Casella and Barry Eichengreen, ‘Halting Inflation in France and Italy after World War II’, National Bureau of Economic Research, Working Paper no. 3852, September 1991, 4–5. AN 19830589/17, Ford SAF (Dollfus) to DIME, 6 October 1947, with accompanying note; Ford SAF (Dollfus) to ministère de l’industrie et du commerce, 19 January 1948, with accompanying note; and Ford SAF (Dollfus) to DIME, 13 December 1947.

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certainly encouraged charges of unfair treatment as companies desperately sought to get a larger slice of a limited pie. If Ford SAF’s accusations were partly a stratagem, it was one that enjoyed occasional success: in response to Dollfus’ pleas, for example, the French authorities in the spring of 1948 agreed to a special delivery of truck tyres.28 The French authorities, in any case, questioned the validity of Dollfus’ accusations, noting that Ford SAF had not only received a fair share of raw matériels but also that it was deliberately over-shooting production targets for trucks in a bid to receive larger contingents.29 None of this, however, proves that Ford SAF’s accusations were unfounded. It is possible that the French authorities played favourites in terms of rationing, though the available sources are too sketchy to permit clear-cut conclusions.30 But perhaps the more important point is that following the Liberation, Ford SAF quickly found itself as just one French automobile company among others. Forced to compete for attention, it lacked privileged access to the French authorities that Lehideux and the COA had provided during the Occupation. But some of Ford SAF’s difficulties were clearly of its own making. One prominent difficulty concerned its choice of vehicle types. Early on, the French authorities demanded that Ford SAF produce trucks with diesel engines, making the allocation of raw matériels contingent on it doing so. But the company had far more freedom when it came to passenger cars. Before pre-war rearmament altered its calculations, Ford SAF had intended to offer a small, 4-cylinder car that could be sold at a moderate price. After the war, it abandoned this project. During his visit to Dearborn in early 1945, Dollfus saw studies for a larger car, which the Americans were no longer interested in as it was judged too small in size for the American market. Dollfus was thus able to purchase its rights for $200,000. Introduced in France in 1948 as the Vedette, the car almost immediately proved ill-suited for the post-war French market. In developing the Vedette, Dollfus had wagered on the appeal of the American way of life: it was equipped with an 8-cylinder engine and a ‘ravishing design’ so as to exude comfort and prosperity, two qualities associated with the United States in the eyes of many Europeans at the time. Yet, whether or not French consumers wanted the American way of life, they could not afford it. The Vedette was simply too large, too expensive and

28 29 30

AN 19830589/17, DIME to M. le directeur des industries chimiques, 17 April 1948. Ibid., sous-secrétaire d’état à l’industrie et au commerce to Ford SAF, 12 May 1948. Jean-Louis Loubet notes that Renault received over one half of the Marshall plan money allocated to the French automobile industry. See his ‘L’industrie automobile française: un cas originel?’, Histoire, économie et société, 18 (1999), 430.

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too much of a gas-guzzler to attract significant numbers of customers.31 ‘We couldn’t sell it’ recalled one employee.32 What makes this misreading of the French market all the more egregious is that it was Ford SAF’s alone. As Jean-Louis Loubet has shown in the case of Peugeot and Citroën, both companies quickly recognized that the future belonged to small and economical vehicles produced in large quantities and offered at affordable prices.33 It was a business model that Henry Ford himself would likely have endorsed. Unfortunately for Ford SAF, the Vedette also drew attention to the company’s long-standing problems with quality-control and production goals. From the outset, the car suffered from a series of defects that the company appeared unable to rectify. Concerned about the situation, Ford Dearborn believed that there was an ‘outstanding need for the strengthening of the organization on the technical side’ at Ford SAF. Much like Ford-Werke during the war, Ford Dearborn proposed to intervene directly in the running of Ford SAF by appointing American technical advisors ‘who would be specifically responsible for the coordination and supervision of the functions of engineering, manufacturing, purchasing, production, planning, and inspection’. Ford Dearborn also asked that Ford SAF ship a Vedette and a truck engine to the United States, where American technicians would work to eliminate the ‘bugs’. Not surprisingly, Dollfus resisted this renewed threat to Ford SAF’s autonomy, but he could not prevent the imposition of an American technical director in early 1949 who would ‘concentrate on the [company’s] manufacturing problems’.34 Ford SAF’s difficulties, meanwhile, contributed to dampening the output of the Vedette, which not only gave the lie to the company’s optimistic projections, but also weakened its declining position within the French automobile industry. In 1948, Ford SAF had accounted for a mere 4.5 per cent of total French car production, as compared to 18 per cent for Peugeot, 31 per cent for Renault and 35 per cent for Citroën.35 The introduction of the Vedette did not alter this situation as production stagnated, barely rising from roughly seventy vehicles 31 32 33 34 35

Loubet and Hatzfeld, ‘Ford in France, 1916–1952’, II, 336–9; and Loubet, Histoire de l’automobile française, 251–3. BFRC, FMC, ACC 880, Box 6, ‘Interview with Jonas Gutzeit, Cologne, July 20, 1960’, Mira Wilkins. Jean-Louis Loubet, ‘Les grands constructeurs privés et la reconstruction. Citroën et Peugeot 1944–1951’, Histoire, économie et société, 9 (1990), 453–7. BFRC, FMC, ACC 714, Box 16, ‘Memorandum. General Summary of Position, Ford S.A.F., with Recommendations’, 22 November 1948. AN 19830589/17, Ministère de l’industrie et du commerce, ‘Répartition de la production de l’année 1948. Voitures particulières’, 11 February 1949.

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per day in 1949 to eighty-three in 1952. By then Renault was producing ten times as many cars.36 Disappointing production, in turn, aggravated Ford SAF’s financial situation. An examination of the books by an American chartered accounting firm had warned in June 1946 that ‘the current position. . .is not favourable’.37 Though doubling its shares in 1947 was meant to secure the company’s medium-term financial future, this soon proved to be insufficient. At the end of 1948, Ford Dearborn estimated that Ford SAF required 1.5 billion francs in 1949 (or roughly $5 million US) to ‘put the Company on a firm cash basis’; in the absence of considerable additional financing, it ‘will undoubtedly end up in receivership’. If the Americans attributed this situation to France’s unstable economy and to its high inflation in particular, they also blamed the company’s poor internal management since the end of the war. At the same time, Ford Dearborn was not yet prepared to abandon Ford SAF. Accordingly, it responded favourably to Dollfus’ pleas for help: during 1949 a three-part financial plan was worked out in which 500 million francs would come from a five-year loan, 500 million from a bond issue and a final 500 million from a share increase. For the plan to be feasible, Ford Dearborn was compelled to provide an implicit guarantee for the various parts of the plan as well as a sizeable dollop of cash.38 But while indispensable, financial help from Ford Dearborn came grudgingly. Unlike in 1945, this time the Americans supported Ford SAF without any enthusiasm. Indeed, Ford Dearborn hesitated to invest more money into the company and only reluctantly decided that it had no choice. The potential costs of bankruptcy – both financial and reputational – were deemed too great. As one report concluded: whether we like it or not, there is only one course open, and that is the provision of sufficient support to Ford S.A.F. to insure its becoming a sound and profit-making member of the Ford scheme of things. We might as well accept this conclusion with good grace, and then immediately and realistically get on with the job of doing all those things which are required to be done to Ford S.A.F., including providing the company with that minimum of capital essential to its continued operation.39

In reality, however, this conclusion was accepted with anything but good grace. Frustrated with Ford SAF’s renewed demand for aid, Ford 36 37 38 39

Figures are extrapolated from Loubet and Hatzfeld, Les 7 vies de Poissy, 70; and Loubet, Histoire de l’automobile française, 269. BFRC, FMC, ACC 435, Box 1, Report by Haskins & Sells, 1 June 1946. BFRC, FMC, ACC 1940, Box 2, ‘Notes on Ford S.A.F., Poissy, France’, 6 December 1948. BFRC, FMC, ACC 714, Box 16, ‘Memorandum. General Summary of Position, Ford S.A.F., with Recommendations’, 22 November 1948, emphasis in original.

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Dearborn embarked on a reassessment of its French operations that would be dominated by two complementary impressions. The first, as Mira Wilkins and Frank Hill wrote, was the growing suspicion that ‘you can’t do business in France’.40 In Ford Dearborn’s eyes, France’s overall political and economic state no longer appeared promising but highly risky. The second impression, which quickly crystallized into a certainty, was that Ford SAF was unsound: as one report tersely concluded, the company ‘has never been basically successful’. Ford Dearborn estimated that between 1933 and 1946 it had invested over $4 million in Ford SAF, receiving only one dividend payment in 1938. As a result, the Americans began to discuss the possibility of cutting their losses by ‘merging’ (selling) Ford SAF to another company.41 Discussions on a possible merger were held in February and March 1948 with Peugeot while Henry Ford II was in Europe. Although these talks petered out, they did indicate Ford Dearborn’s dissatisfaction with the status quo in France.42 Significantly, Ford Dearborn decided to reorganize its international operations precisely at the moment it was reassessing its stake in France. In 1949, the Ford International Company was created as a subsidiary of Ford Dearborn; the following year the new company acquired direct ownership of all existing Ford companies in Europe. Although this had little direct effect on Ford SAF, since Ford Dearborn already owned a controlling interest, the indirect consequences would quickly be felt. Behind the creation of Ford International was the desire to re-impose more centralized control on the various Ford companies – a control that the realities of war and occupation had done much to loosen. This desire was bound to spark transatlantic tensions. For Ford SAF, the priority had always been on ensuring its autonomy, making it all but certain that the company would resist stronger direction from Ford Dearborn. Resistance from the French, however, would likely exacerbate Ford Dearborn’s frustration, reinforcing the arguments in favour of pulling out of France altogether. Still, in 1949, the future remained somewhat open. However reluctantly, Ford Dearborn agreed to help refinance Ford SAF. The immediate goal was to turn Ford SAF into ‘a sound and profit-making member of the Ford scheme of things’.43 If this meant providing technical help, it also included new leadership. Turning sixty-five in 1949, Dollfus expressed a desire to retire, a step welcomed by the Americans who were determined 40 41 42

Wilkins and Hill, American Business Abroad, 393. Ibid., 343; and BFRC, FMC, ACC 1940, Box 2, ‘Notes on Ford S.A.F., Poissy, France’, 6 December 1948. BFRC, FMC, ACC 536, Box 46, Howard report, 5 April 1948. 43 Ibid.

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to choose a ‘competent successor’. As one internal document explained: ‘It is needless to point out that no single factor, particularly at this critical juncture of the company’s history, will have a greater bearing on the success and profitability of Ford S.A.F. than the new management.’44 Early in 1949, Ford Dearborn appointed an American official as director and co-manager who, with Dollfus, would ensure the transition to new management. But this was meant to be temporary. Ford SAF would need a permanent director and he would have to be French. Reenter Lehideux Despite its dissatisfaction with his performance, Ford Dearborn allowed Dollfus a large say in who would replace him. And Dollfus chose Lehideux. In September 1949, Dollfus informed Ford SAF’s board of directors of his decision to retire at the end of the year and recommended Lehideux as his successor. Reaffirming his decision to the company’s general assembly two days later, he added that ‘I don’t think I could make a better choice’ than Lehideux as general director and president.45 Dollfus did not elaborate on the reasons for his choice of Lehideux, but wartime events almost certainly influenced his thinking. During the Occupation, Lehideux had staunchly defended Ford SAF’s independence, developing in the process close ties with Dollfus. As for Ford Dearborn, they had no reason to object to Lehideux’s appointment. Lehideux, after all, possessed considerable first-hand knowledge of the French automobile industry as well as valuable connections within the wider world of French industry and finance. That Lehideux agreed to accept the position is hardly surprising. During the early post-war years, his future had been in suspense as the investigation into his activities under Vichy proceeded. Only with the final dismissal of the case in 1949 could he begin to rebuild his career. Dollfus’ timely offer, moreover, provided an opportunity to get back into the French automobile industry, which had long been his passion. But Lehideux was nothing if not ambitious. The task of turning Ford SAF into ‘a sound and profit-making member of the Ford scheme of things’ was never likely to satisfy him. Although sources are scarce, some sense of Lehideux’s ambitions for Ford SAF can be gleaned from a thesis his son Patrick wrote in the early 1950s on Ford as an international company. The 44 45

BFRC, FMC, ACC 714, Box 16, ‘Memorandum. General Summary of Position, Ford S.A.F., with Recommendations’, 22 November 1948. BFRC, FMC, ACC 1940, Box 2, ‘President’s Speech. General Assembly Held September 23, 1949’.

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thesis began by insisting that Ford SAF was not simply a French company but part of an international business enterprise; its potential and problems therefore had to be considered in global terms. More concretely, it proposed a union of Ford’s European companies in which the most important activities – research, design, production, marketing and sales – would be closely coordinated between members. Lehideux-père’s wartime goal of forging a European automobile industry clearly remained alive, but for now it would be limited to Ford. The thesis, meanwhile, presented the project as a possible precursor to, and model for, a European economic union in which private industry rather than governments took the lead. Such a union would also solve many of Ford SAF’s immediate problems, not least its financial woes, since resources would be pooled. More generally, by ‘coordinating’ their individual efforts, the various Ford companies in Europe would be able to standardize production methods and products, improve overall quality and lower prices, all of which would boost sales and profits. The Fordist dream of mass-produced and affordable automobiles would finally be realized. No less importantly perhaps, a Ford Europe would not mean the end of Ford SAF – or of Lehideux’s authority. ‘There will be a need for a certain direction’, wrote Lehideux’s son, which Ford SAF was best placed to provide.46 If Patrick Lehideux’s thesis reflected even partly his father’s views, then a clash between Ford SAF and Ford Dearborn was all but certain. Doubtful about the soundness of their French operations, the Americans were more interested in limiting than in expanding their stake in France. Yet, regardless of Lehideux’s longer-term ambitions, his appointment quickly stirred tensions. As early as February 1950, the French police reported that a ‘certain malaise’ reigned at Poissy for which Lehideux was held largely responsible.47 Once appointed, Lehideux replaced the heads of various departments with close confidants, including Jean-Marie Ricq who had been the COA’s ‘controller’ at Ford SAF in 1943; in the process, he let go of numerous long-serving staff members. Even more disruptive was his decision to lay off 180 workers as a cost-cutting measure. Under Dollfus, the company had cultivated good relations with the trade unions, a practice that Lehideux’s unilateral actions completely ignored. The immediate result was a general strike at Poissy accompanied by the occupation of the factory as well as by verbal and even physical violence against Ricq and others. Interestingly, tracts printed by the strikers sought to discredit Lehideux by pointing to his service under Vichy, equating Lehideux’s authoritarian style with that of the Pétain regime; just as interestingly, the 46 47

Patrick Lehideux, Ford entreprise internationale (Paris, 1953), 121, 106–39. APP F5, Ford (Société), untitled report, 18 February 1950.

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tracts did not accuse him of being a collaborator. In any event, Lehideux was forced to rescind the lay-offs but the strike had nevertheless profoundly poisoned labour relations within Ford SAF.48 Lehideux’s cost-cutting efforts no doubt pleased Ford Dearborn, but the adverse publicity surrounding the 1950 strike and factory occupation almost certainly did not. But even more troubling was Lehideux’s imperious approach. Soon after his appointment, Lehideux embarked on an expansion programme of the Poissy works. Although the programme was relatively modest in scope, it required funds that Ford SAF did not have, highlighting anew the company’s perennial financial difficulties. In November 1950, Lehideux voyaged to Dearborn to discuss a loan guarantee. Clearly unhappy, the Americans proposed to send their own experts to oversee Ford SAF’s financial and manufacturing processes and demanded to be consulted beforehand on all matters involving additional spending. Although Lehideux agreed to consider both measures, back in France he was far less conciliatory. He agreed to solicit the views of Ford Dearborn in future but nevertheless maintained that any ‘decision at the end depends upon the President’ – i.e., himself. As for American experts, Lehideux argued that their presence would undermine the morale of company employees and the confidence of French financial markets. As something of a sop, he offered to send one of his officials to Dearborn to observe American methods. True to his wartime form, Lehideux threatened to end his collaboration with Ford SAF by resigning if Ford Dearborn persisted in plans to assign its own experts.49 Lehideux quickly discovered, however, that his threats had less effect on Ford Dearborn than they had had on the German occupation authorities. In a blistering response in early 1951, Ford Dearborn called Lehideux to order. As the majority shareholder, the Americans insisted on being closely involved in all decisions regarding ‘important matters’. It was simply unacceptable, the letter explained, that Ford SAF ‘should be operated merely in accordance with its views. . .and that when the Company became financially embarrassed, we should be ready to invest additional capital or lend our credit in support of its efforts to refinance’. In equally blunt fashion, Ford Dearborn expressed its belief that Ford SAF was markedly under-performing compared to other Ford companies abroad and that its wayward ways were largely to blame. The letter reminded Lehideux that

48

49

For the tract, see ADY 1W/491, Syndicats des métaux de Poissy, ‘Les Usines Ford sont arrêtées’, undated. For the strike see documents in this file as well as BFRC, FMC, ACC 880, Box 6, ‘Interview with Jonas Gutzeit, Cologne, July 20, 1960’, Mira Wilkins. BFRC, FMC, ACC 1940, Box 4, Lehideux to E. R. Breech (Ford Motor Co.), 16 December 1950.

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he had been hired to rein in Ford SAF, a reminder that contained an implicit threat: if Lehideux did not succeed in this task then he would become dispensable. In the meantime, Ford Dearborn made its approval of any loan guarantee conditional on a ‘modus operandi to govern the relationship between your Company and ours, in view of our positions as members of your Board of Directors, and as representatives of the holders of a majority of the capital stock’. Ford Dearborn had answered Lehideux’s ultimatum with one of its own.50 Confronted with Ford Dearborn’s hard line, Lehideux had no choice but to back down and accept its terms. Over the next two years, however, Ford SAF’s performance did not improve, a situation that Ford Dearborn increasingly blamed on Lehideux. A report in September 1952 offered ‘severe criticism’ of ‘Lehideux’s unrealistic policies, lack of cooperation with the U.S., exaggerated ego and sloppy international administration’. Equally damning, the consortium of French banks which had extended considerable loans to Ford SAF had lost all confidence in Lehideux and had intimated that they would ‘welcome an immediate change in management and would particularly welcome assumption of almost dictatorial powers, on a temporary or permanent basis, by someone sent over from the Ford U.S. organization.’ Ford Dearborn was also assured that the French authorities would not oppose the appointment of an American.51 With almost no one left to support him, Lehideux’s days were clearly numbered. In 1953, Lehideux resigned and Ford Dearborn sent two officials, Walter McKee and Francis Reith, to run Ford SAF. The end of Ford SAF Reith, who became Ford SAF’s general director, sought to reassure employees that the company’s future as part of Ford’s European empire was secure. Ford SAF’s precarious situation, he announced in the spring of 1953, demands ‘all our care’. Ending the year on a promising note, he declared that Ford SAF had made steady progress. ‘We started off from a very low position, much lower than many of you no doubt can imagine. We have not yet reached the top and the slope is steep and the bag is heavy. But we are on the right path.’52 In reality, however, the opposite was closer to the truth. The unhappy experience with Lehideux had finally convinced Ford Dearborn that its French operations were not worth saving. The two 50 51 52

Ibid., Ford Dearborn (unsigned) to Lehideux, 24 January 1951. BFRC, FMC, ACC 1940, Box 2, N. A. Bogdan to A. J. Wieland, 8 September 1952. BNF, Bulletin d’information. Publication réservée au Personnel de la Société Ford (S.S.F.), no. 17, March–April 1953, and no. 21, December 1953.

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Americans were therefore instructed to cut costs and personnel in order to improve the balance sheet so that the company would be more attractive to potential suitors. The initial idea was to merge Ford SAF with Citroën, Renault or Panhard, but none of these possibilities worked out. After lengthy negotiations, in 1954 Ford Dearborn concluded a deal with SIMCA, the Italian-owned company. In exchange for a minority share position with SIMCA, the Americans transferred their majority ownership of Ford SAF.53 Poissy would thus remain in operation but Ford had withdrawn from France.

53

Loubet and Hatzfeld, ‘Ford in France, 1916–1952’, 352–4.

Conclusion

This book has had two subjects. One is the story of Ford SAF, especially during the wartime period from 1940 to 1944. In many ways, this is a straightforward business history that examines the company’s activities in the larger political context of wartime occupation. The emphasis is on Ford SAF’s perceived interests as well as on how the evolution of these interests influenced decisions regarding the company’s productive efforts on behalf of the Germans. The second subject concerns the politics of industrial collaboration in occupied France. This is a much larger subject and one that shifts attention away from a focus on Ford SAF. Several of the preceding chapters thus contain extended discussions on German and French policy in particular in which Ford SAF recedes from view. Combining these two subjects in one book admittedly posed challenges, chiefly due to the two-way relationship between them. Attention to the politics of industrial collaboration provides much-needed context for Ford SAF’s wartime activities. From the beginning, the company’s history was embedded in the larger political-economic history of occupied France. Ford SAF’s productive potential attracted the attention not just of the German occupation authorities but also of Ford-Werke, significantly augmenting the stakes involved in the company’s performance. At the same time, Ford SAF’s wartime history helps to highlight some of the underlying dynamics at work in the industrial realm. If, in the end, the book falls short of seamlessly integrating the two subjects, we hope at least that each subject has received its proper due. Ford SAF and the ironies of history In examining the history of Ford SAF from its founding in the 1920s to its sale in the 1950s, several ironies emerge. One concerns national identity. Although majority owned by Ford Dearborn, for much of the inter-war period Ford SAF sought to downplay its American connection. At a time of growing economic nationalism, which manifested itself in discriminatory measures such as tariffs, Ford SAF strove to present itself as a French 264

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company. Its efforts met with little success until the late 1930s, when the needs of rearmament prompted the French government to set aside its protectionist impulses and to award sizeable contracts to Ford SAF for trucks as well as for airplane engines and cannon. In producing war matériel for France, Ford SAF became a de facto French company. With France’s military defeat and occupation, Ford SAF was once again threatened with discrimination, this time from the Germans who viewed it as a foreign and (after December 1941) as an enemy company. Thanks to the determined support of Lehideux and the COA, however, the Germans agreed to treat Ford SAF as a French company for most of the Occupation. This status not only allowed Ford SAF to contribute to the German war effort but also helped it to emerge as a leading member of the French automobile industry. The company even enjoyed a say in planning the automobile industry’s future. During the post-war period, Ford SAF’s American identity returned to prominence, partly because growing financial and manufacturing difficulties made the company dependent on Ford Dearborn. This dependence proved fatal when the latter decided to cut its losses and withdraw from France. In the end, Ford SAF, the affiliate of an American multinational, was most successful when it could pass as a French company. Another irony concerns Ford SAF’s place in Ford’s European empire. Ford SAF owed its existence to Ford Dearborn, which kept a firm hand on its foreign affiliates during the inter-war years. From the beginning, Ford SAF endeavoured to win greater autonomy. A key element in its ambitions was the plant at Poissy begun in the late 1930s. With Poissy, Ford SAF would no longer be a company that assembled vehicles, dependent on the import of parts from the Ford empire; instead, it would be a manufacturer whose network of suppliers and sub-suppliers was chiefly French. In Ford SAF’s bid for autonomy, rearmament proved to be extremely beneficial. Hefty advances from the French government provided much-needed financing for the construction of Poissy. No less importantly, rearmament generated tensions between Ford SAF and Ford Dearborn as the Americans did not disguise their reservations regarding the making of war matériel. War and occupation drove the two further apart: by mid-1942, Ford SAF was effectively cut off from Ford Dearborn. But if Ford SAF was now autonomous vis-à-vis Ford Dearborn, the company faced a new threat from Ford-Werke. Seizing the opportunity presented by the Wehrmacht’s military successes, Ford’s German affiliate sought not only to exploit Poissy’s productive capacity but also to establish its long-term control over Ford’s continental empire. With the COA’s backing, Ford SAF succeeded in maintaining its independence from Ford-Werke. The company, however, would fail to

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preserve its hard-won autonomy during the post-war period when, faced with growing difficulties, it fell back into Ford Dearborn’s orbit. Throughout its existence Ford SAF strove to reduce its ties to Ford Dearborn, but managed to do so only under the emergency conditions of rearmament, war and occupation, and only at the price of dependence on French authorities. A final irony regards Ford SAF’s intended market. The company was created to assemble vehicles for the French civilian market, the idea being that Ford would enjoy a competitive advantage in terms of quality and price. During most of the inter-war period, however, Ford SAF struggled to carve out a place for itself in the French market: profits and sales were disappointing and the company remained a minor player in the industry. The onset of French rearmament prompted Ford SAF to abandon the civilian market in favour of the military market – a market in which the government was a monopoly consumer and in which Ford SAF faced little competition from other automobile companies, most of which were also involved in rearmament. This situation continued during the Occupation, only now Ford SAF contributed to the German rather than the French war effort. But regardless of whether the customer was French or German, producing war matériel for the state proved to be a major boon for the company. With the end of the war, Ford SAF reverted to making vehicles chiefly for the French civilian market. Significantly, it once again failed in the attempt as production, sales and profits quickly fell. Before long, the company had lost its status as a major player in the French automobile industry. Rather than the embodiment of American free market enterprise, Ford SAF is best seen as a dependant of wartime state capitalism. The limits of industrial collaboration If Ford SAF’s history stretching from the 1920s to the 1950s contains several ironies, the book’s focus is on the politics of wartime industrial collaboration. From the beginning, the German occupiers set out to harness France’s industrial potential to their war effort. For a long time, the dominant impression was that the Germans had enjoyed considerable success in this endeavour. Much of French industry worked for the occupiers. In the case of the automobile industry, the Germans received some 85 per cent of its output. In recent years, however, scholars have challenged the idea of German success, emphasizing that overall production in France (and in Western Europe) dropped sharply under occupation. Jonas Scherner’s work on wartime import statistics indicates that France’s industrial contribution to Germany fell by some 40 per cent between 1942 and 1944, a drop surpassed only by Belgium (48 per cent) among the

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major occupied economies.1 If the Germans captured a large part of the productive pie, it was a pie that had considerably shrunk. Following Scherner, the key question is not how much the Germans took but why they failed to exploit more thoroughly the industrial potential of occupied Europe and of France in particular. A number of factors explain Germany’s limited success, among them: the effects of the British blockade; the crippling shortages of raw matériels, especially coal and steel; and the conflicting priorities between different occupation authorities. But while these were all significant, the history of Ford SAF suggests that macro-level analyses can be usefully complemented by a more microlevel approach. Roughly speaking, the course of Ford SAF’s output during the Occupation mirrored that of France as whole: a steady rise after 1940 which peaked in 1942 (in Ford SAF’s case in the early months of 1942 before the British air raids), followed by a sharp decline during 1943–4. Although Ford SAF was merely one company among many working for the Germans, its experience offers insights into the larger subject of industrial collaboration in occupied France. One insight concerns the room for manoeuvre of French companies. As the case of Ford SAF suggests, French companies enjoyed considerable freedom. Although they could not realistically refuse to work for the Germans, the terms under which they did so were negotiable. Generally speaking, in their dealing with French companies the Germans applied a contractual model that relied not on coercion but on incentives (most notably attractive profits) to stimulate business activity. Several reasons account for this choice but prominent among them was the fact that the Germans lacked the personnel and expertise to take over and run French factories. In this sense, they were dependent on the goodwill of French industrialists and workers. While this is perhaps self-evident, the experience of Ford SAF suggests a less obvious point: that the room for manoeuvre of French companies increased during the Occupation. The deepening economic crisis, characterized by massive shortages of almost all factors of production, placed increasing emphasis on the flexibility, adaptability and resourcefulness of French companies. They alone possessed the knowledge and practical skills needed to overcome the numerous obstacles to production. At the same time, the ability of the Germans to verify the activities of French companies declined; they had little means of determining whether French companies were working wholeheartedly – were manifesting the débrouillardise so essential in a situation of economic crisis. This growing information asymmetry

1

Scherner, ‘Der deutsche Importboom während des Zweiten Weltkriegs’, 112–13.

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between the German authorities and French companies empowered the latter, providing them with a substantial say in determining the extent to which they worked for the Germans. The increasing room for manoeuvre of French companies during the Occupation points to another insight: their declining interest in industrial collaboration. Significantly, there appears to be a growing consensus among French business historians that numerous French companies resisted the Germans, chiefly by deliberately under-producing. Laurent Dingli, François Marcot and Jean-Louis Loubet have advanced this argument either for the automobile industry as a whole or for particular companies.2 For the most part, the argument is based on a comparison of production figures before and after France’s defeat, with the sharp drop during the Occupation years supposedly indicating intent. Such a comparison, however, is flawed: France’s economy as a whole shrivelled after 1940, which meant that automobile companies could not have attained pre-defeat output levels even with the best of intentions. Yet this does not necessarily mean the argument of under-production should be rejected. As chapter 5 explains, a circumstantial case can be made that Ford SAF did not participate wholeheartedly in Ford-Werke’s European truck production programme during 1943–4. Benefiting from sizeable German and French advances and well aware that the Allies would hold it accountable for aiding the occupiers, Ford SAF had good reasons to scale back its effort. The Germans, meanwhile, were in no position to assess the company’s activities, making it possible for Ford SAF to under-produce with little fear of getting caught. All told, by 1943 Ford SAF had no compelling interest to participate wholeheartedly in the truck programme. Given this situation, it is reasonable to conclude that the company did sabotage the German war effort by deliberately under-producing. That said, this under-production should not be viewed as resistance. Ford SAF was never opposed in principle to producing for the Germans. All indications are that the company worked full-out for the occupiers during 1940–2, producing as many trucks as it could. Afterwards, it was not so much that Ford SAF’s politics altered as it was that the larger political-economic context of the war had evolved, altering the company’s understanding of its interests and possibilities. Admittedly, it is always hazardous to generalize from one case. Ford SAF was only one company among many in occupied France. At the same time, there is no reason to believe that it perceived its interests in a fundamentally different manner from that of other French companies. It 2

Dingli, Louis Renault; Loubet, La Maison Peugeot; and Marcot, ‘La direction de Peugeot sous l’Occupation’.

The limits of industrial collaboration

269

does not appear that Ford SAF was particularly imprudent or partisan. And if Ford SAF was unexceptional in this sense then it is unlikely that its experience was unique. If the Germans failed to exploit French industry more thoroughly, one reason is because French companies deliberately under-produced. And what is true of French companies is perhaps also true of companies elsewhere in occupied Europe. As Adam Tooze has shown, it was not simply that the conquest of Western Europe did not pay; it was also that Nazi Germany’s war of expansion mobilized a global coalition against it whose industrial strength dwarfed that of continental Europe.3 If Germany had any hope of prevailing, it needed the wholehearted cooperation of firms such as Ford SAF. This the occupiers did not obtain during the critical final phase of the Occupation in 1943–44.

3

Tooze, The Wages of Destruction, 411–25.

Appendix A: Ford operations in France 1929 – June 1946 (all figures in French francs, bracketed years represent losses)

270

Ford SAF

Sales

Costs

Other revenue

Commercial expenses

Other charges

Net

Dividends received

1929 1930 1931 (1932) (1933) 1934 (1935) 1936 1937 (1938) (1939) 1940 1941 1942 1943 1944 1945 June 1946

266,988,592.69 290,737,308.69 230,581,464.78 200,175,428.49 160,618,752.28 170,532,461.75 230,377,191.33 293,391,730.76 449,871,518.88 395,513,847.33 261,496,609.11 406,531,960.77 1,075,087,518.69 502,229,736.30 592,854,374.79 630,023,321.80 1,591,077,483.15 2,258,303,429.00

210,423,568.09 232,932,048.94 191,370,199.91 186,842,153.99 150,774,585.07 143,389,638.73 209,487,379.75 264,306,101.34 407,265,917.58 370,646,720.57 240,376,203.81 366,481,696.17 932,438,307.70 447,968,484.04 503,529,430.07 512,507,881.16 1,308,009,087.06 1,979,135,429.26

686,813.48 4,724,129.67 4,134,033.77 3,432,484.00 2,410,576.36 2,302,312.68 11,792,946.56 9,824,614.67 14,175,771.61 14,257,611.54 7,124,602.53 11,496,248.69 5,299,424.47 6,787,038.00 2,976,762.52 14,664,447.04 21,798,612.04 6,124,521.35

14,376,750.52 21,040,732.46 24,536,103.42 22,783,390.72 24,110,973.39 18,686,286.24 27,978,245.44 30,000,600.69 34,954,008.03 35,973,147.37 33,209,026.38 39,780,584.34 79,110,984.18 52,205,979.30 49,001,961.34 69,237,752.82 117,088,001.07 79,703,437.25

8,879,005.81 7,377,510.93 3,701,529.58 543,143.60 8,916,138.62 6,146,046.97 10,766,182.44 4,542,490.91 14,423,733.74 4,406,609.03 4,490,178.84 6,547,375.87 46,297,326.53 6,447,760.54 41,678,743.54 62,942,134.86 187,779,007.06 28,657,963.84

33,996,081.75 34,111,145.03 15,107,665.74 −6,560,766.82 −20,772,368.44 4,612,802.49 −6,061,669.74 4,367,152.49 7,403,631.14 −1,255,018.10 −9,454,197.39 5,218,553.08 22,540,324.75 2,394,550.42 1,621,002.36 0 0 176,931,120.00

– – – – – – – – – 708,882.69 – – – – – – – –

Source: BFRC, FMC, ACC 507, Box 71, undated but 1946, Table from FMC, ‘Manuf & Assembly, Poissy 1945–1946, France Analysis of Ford Investment, Sales, Costs, Profits, etc, ’46’.

Appendix B: Ford SAF’s production during the Occupation

Trucks

5-ton trucks July–Dec. 1940 1941 Jan.–2 Apr. 1942 2 Apr.–15 June 1942

3-ton trucks

1-ton trucks

Trucks (unspecified)

a

1,080 1,536a 210a

2,106 830a

No productionc

No productionc

a

55

Total 1,080a 3,697a 1,040a

a

No productionc

15 June–Aug. 1942 Sept.–Dec. 1942 Jan.–June 1943 Jan.–Mar. 1944 Apr.–June 1944

No productionc

No productionc

645b 1,487b

645b 1,487b

724b 821a 693a

724b 821a 693a

Engines and parts (deliveries versus programme) Engines July–Dec. 1940 1941 Jan.–June 1942 Sept.–Dec. 1942 Jan.–Feb. 1943 July–Sept. 1943 Oct.–Dec. 1943

272

a

924 /1,600 4,109a/3,700 812a/2,200 584b 580b 2,501a/4,000 1,991a/6,000

Rear axles a

935 /1,600 4,173a/3,700 800a/2,200

Parts 1,600a/1,600 4,000a/4,000 2,200a/2,200 2,281b 1,460b

Appendix B

273

(cont.) Engines Jan.–Mar. 1944 Apr.–June 1944 a

Rear axles

Parts

a

2,922 1,196a

Delivered to the Germans Produced c Poissy was knocked out of production due to RAF bombing on 2 April 1942. Production resumed on 15 June 1942. Sources: AN AJ 40/610, ‘Bericht des stellvertretenden Verwalters für die Firma Ford Société Anonyme Française. . .über die Gesellschaft nach dem Stand von Juli 1942’, 6 August 1942; AN 3W/227, Ford SAF to COA (L’Epine), 5 March 1943; AN 3W/228, Ford SAF, memorandum, 21 June 1943; various reports from Rü Kdo Paris-West in NARA T 77/1263; and BFRC, FMC, ACC 606, Box 2, Ford SAF minutes of board meeting of 30 September 1942. b

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Index

Albert, Heinrich, 86, 88–90, 96, 99, 111–14 Amsterdam, 53, 87, 137, 211 Antwerp, 137, 211 Anvers, 53, 87 Barckhausen, Franz, 119–21, 125, 158–61, 163 Barnaud, Jacques, 133 Becker, Herbert, 216, 225–7 Belin, René, 66–7, 71 Berliet, 25, 186, 203, 218–19 Beschaffungsamt, 125, 127, 158, 162 Bichelonne, Jean, 130–2, 149–50, 167–9, 195, 206, 229 Black, Edwin, 18 Boldorf, Marcel, 4, 161 Bonnet, Georges, 34–5, 39 Bormann, Martin, 105, 152 Bouthillier, Yves, 67 Burrin, Philippe, 7 Chadeau, Emmanuel, 8 Chambre syndicale des constructeurs d’automobiles (CSCA), 28–9, 34–6 Chapman, Herrick, 40, 45 Citroën, 2, 21, 23, 24, 26, 28, 33–4, 36, 37, 62, 186, 203, 204, 218–19, 247, 252, 256, 263 Citroën, André, 27, 33–4, 35 Comité d’organisation de l’automobile et du cycle (COA), 1–2, 64–5, 73–81, 94–7, 98, 103, 133–6, 150, 166, 169–71, 176–9, 183–5, 187–9, 190, 192–3, 201–2, 203–5, 208–10, 211–15, 218–19, 221–4, 225, 226, 228–9, 236, 252 Commission de modernisation de l’automobile (CMA), 253 Conseil de l’automobile, 169 Dagenham, Ford Motor Company (England) Ltd, 25–6, 30

Daladier, Edouard, 39, 40, 41 Dautry, Raoul, 42 De Grazia, Victoria, 16 Dingli, Laurent, 3, 8, 268 Dollfus, Maurice, 21, 22–3, 26, 29–38, 39, 40–9, 82–4, 86, 87, 90–100, 103, 108, 113–14, 133, 136–8, 140, 141–7, 150, 170, 174–85, 188–9, 192, 196, 204, 205–8, 210, 213, 214–15, 218, 222, 223–5, 226–7, 231–2, 234–6, 240, 244, 246, 247–51, 253, 254–6, 258–9 Eismann, Gaël, 14 European Automobile Committee (EAC), 64, 79, 80 Firmenbeaufträgter, 230 Ford Afrique, 136–7, 248, 251 Ford AG, 84–6 Ford Dearborn, 21, 23, 26, 31, 32, 42, 43, 45–7, 83, 84, 85–6, 90, 92–4, 96, 99, 112–14, 139, 146–7, 247, 248, 251, 256–9, 260, 261–3 Ford Société anonyme française (Ford SAF), 1–3, 4–6, 16–19, 21–49, 58, 60, 65, 81–4, 90–4, 136–40, 146–8, 150, 156, 169, 246–59 Bombing, 21, 140–2, 146, 207 Plants Asnières, 29, 30, 39, 41, 46, 47, 48, 54, 82–3, 84, 87, 91, 137 Bordeaux, 44, 46, 48, 82, 137, 207 Bourges, 143–4, 241, 249 La Courneuve, 181, 207, 249 Le Bourget, 249 Neuilly, 249 Poissy, 5, 21, 39, 40–4, 46, 47, 48–9, 81–3, 88, 99, 137, 138, 139–45, 177, 181, 207, 249, 250–1, 260–1, 263, 265 sale, 262–3

289

290

Index

Ford Société anonyme française (cont.) strikes, 37 under-production, 9–11, 195, 196, 236–45, 268 Ford, Edsel, 21, 22, 23, 29, 31, 33, 34, 35, 37, 38, 41, 43, 45, 46, 47, 48, 92, 93, 146 Ford, Henry, 23, 30, 32, 39, 42, 43–4, 85, 256 Ford, Henry II, 258 FordAir, 44, 46, 47, 49 Fordism, 16–17, 18 Ford-Werke, 2, 5, 18, 30, 58, 84–7, 137, 183, 184, 250, 265 European truck program, 171–4, 181–2, 185–93, 201–24, 233–6 relations with Ford SAF, 18–19, 84, 87–100, 111–14, 174–81, 228–9, 231–3 Four Year Plan, 54, 57, 60, 104, 113, 151 Fridenson, Patrick, 25, 242 Funk, Walter, 56, 57, 59 Gamelin, Maurice, 39 Generalbevollmächtigten für das Kraftfahrwesen (GBK), 60–5, 75–6, 79, 80–1, 83–4, 87, 88, 94–8, 109, 112, 117, 124, 134, 147, 172 Germany occupation policy, 51–4, 122–9, 156–66 treatment of enemy assets, 104–11, 150–1 Göring, Hermann, 54–60, 61, 63, 67, 104, 106, 107, 112, 156–7, 162 Grevet, Jean-François, 253 Hatry, Gilbert, 8 Hauptausschuss Kraftfahrzeuge, 124, 135, 158, 175, 187 Hill, Frank, 258 Hispano-Suiza, 42, 45, 46, 48–9 Hitler, Adolf, 15, 39, 43, 51, 52, 55, 59, 70, 85, 103–4, 115, 122, 123, 124, 128, 154–5, 156, 162, 172 Hug, Eugène, 236–7 Industrie Beauftragter (IB), 98 Jackson, Julian, 129, 167 Joly, Hervé, 4 Klautke, Egbert, 17 Klemann, Hein, 240 Kuisel, Richard, 65–6, 71 La Chambre, Guy, 39–40, 42, 44–5 Lacroix-Riz, Annie, 28, 72

Länder-Beauftragte, 164 Laval, Pierre, 68, 121, 126, 129–31, 133–4 Lehideux, François, 1–2, 17, 37, 57, 65, 73–81, 94–9, 103, 116, 121, 130, 133–6, 143, 150, 169–71, 176–9, 183, 187–93, 203–4, 205, 207–10, 212, 213, 214–15, 221–2, 228–9, 240, 245, 248–9, 252, 259–62 Leitenfirma, 164, 228 L’Epine, Amaury, 75, 183–5, 202, 213 Leβmann, Peter, 214, 233 Lindner, Stephen, 58, 109, 155 Loubet, Jean-Louis, 8, 29, 256, 268 Luxembourg accord, 175–81, 183–4, 214 Marcot, François, 7–8, 268 Margairaz, Michel, 130 Matford, 31–2, 34–5, 37–8, 43, 46, 47, 146, 226 Strasbourg, 31, 32, 36, 38, 44, 46, 48 Mathis, Émile, 31–3, 34, 35, 37, 38, 136 Mayer, Michael, 14 Merlin (engines), 14, 43, 44 Michel, Elmar, 117–18, 164 Militärbefehlshaber in Frankreich (MbF), 14, 15, 54, 56–7, 64, 72, 73, 108–9, 110–11, 115–18, 121, 122–5, 127, 133, 142, 143, 155–6, 157, 158, 162–3, 237 Milward, Alan, 11, 194, 195 Ministère de la Production industrielle (MPI), 66–9, 70–3, 75, 131, 132, 135, 143, 145, 166, 167–9, 180, 199, 234, 252 Monnet, Jean, 253 Morgenthau, Henry, 248 Nolan, Mary, 16 Norguet, René, 131–2, 169 Oberkommando der Wehrmacht (OKW), 52–3, 58–9, 115, 125, 126 Office central de répartition des produits industriels (OCRPI), 71, 76 Opel (General Motors), 87, 106, 153, 155, 172–3 Organisation Todt, 147 Patenfirma, 164, 228–33 Paxton, Robert, 13 Perry, Percival, 22–3, 25, 29–31, 32, 33, 34, 38 Pétain, Philippe, 50, 74, 129, 167 Petiet, Baron Charles, 28–9, 74, 249

Index Peugeot, 2, 8, 21, 24, 26, 27–8, 37, 147, 174, 186, 219, 223, 235, 239, 252, 256, 258 Pons plan, 252–3 Popular Front, 36–8, 42, 76 Radtke-Delacor, Arne, 54, 195 Reich, Simon, 18 Reichskommissariat für die Behandlung feindlichen Vermögens (RkBfV), 58, 59, 60, 107, 114, 151, 152 Renault, 2, 8–9, 21, 23, 24, 26, 28, 37, 53, 62, 73–4, 140, 142, 180, 186, 203, 218, 226, 235, 249, 252, 256, 257, 263 Renault, Louis, 2, 17, 28, 29, 37, 74 Reynaud, Paul, 44–5, 50 Ricq, Jean-Marie, 183–5, 188, 212–13, 260 Robert, Jean-Louis, 242 Roger, Philippe, 27 Rousso, Henry, 130 Rüstungs- und Beschaffungsstab Frankreich (Rü Stabes Frankreich), 162–3 Rüstungskommando, 15 Sanders, Paul, 138 Sauckel, Fritz, 15, 16, 128–9, 130, 158, 160, 167, 194, 200 S-Betriebe, 194, 200, 227–8 Schaaf, Wilhelm, 124, 172, 178, 179, 190, 191–3, 209, 210–17, 221 Scherner, Jonas, 12, 266–7 Schmidt, Robert, 84, 87–9, 91, 92, 94–8, 99, 113–14, 173–5, 178–9, 181–3, 187–90, 206, 211, 214–15, 216, 232 Schweitzer, Sylvie, 27

291 SIMCA, 29, 223, 263 Sorensen, Charles, 23, 31, 32–3, 36, 38, 40, 41, 43–4, 45, 47, 48 Speer, Albert, 15, 16, 122–9, 135, 156–66, 167, 168, 172–3, 194–201, 203–4, 216–17, 220, 229, 233 Speer–Bichelonne accords (agreement), 194–201, 203, 227, 228, 229, 230 Stahlberg, Johannes, 98, 231 Tannen, Major H., 145, 181, 182–3, 185, 189, 206, 207, 208, 210, 214, 216 Thoenissen, Max, 61, 63–5, 77, 80, 81, 83, 84, 87, 89, 94–100, 112–13, 119–21, 127, 136, 162, 168, 177–81, 210 Thomas, General Georg, 52–3, 100, 115, 123 Tooze, Adam, 11–12, 52, 159, 269 United States Treatment of enemy assets, 107–8, 248 Vedettte, 255–7 Vichy, 13–14, 166–7 economic policy, 4, 17, 65–73, 129–33, 167–9, 194, 197, 206, 228, 241 von Schell, Adolf, 61 Vuillemin, Joseph, 39–40 Wilkens, Mira, 258 Wiskott, Carl, 208–10, 212–13, 216, 219, 222, 225–7, 239 Zentralauftragsstelle (ZASt), 54, 125, 127 Zentrale Planung, 123