Love Wanted

For every 100 men of marriageable age in Germany today, there are 166 women. The figure, a consequence of war, simply means that a lot of German soldiers did not come home. It also means that many others came back like the anonymous German who appeared in a news picture last week, as a grim symbol of postwar German life. He hobbled along on one leg, while his buddy carried his new artificial limb in his rucksack (see cut).

Many of Germany's women have given up the hope of ever finding a man of their own. But in a blunt sort of way, German women have kept trying for the man--permanent or temporary, in or out of wedlock. Ever since the war, advertisements for "Marriage, Social Life, Acquaintances" have been a common sight on the billboards in every German city. Under the heading Werbe Dienst (Advertising Service) appear such frank appeals as these:

"Good-looking, lively 26-year-old widow with cozy apartment. Seeks lonely younger man to occupy evenings."

"Unmarried gentleman wants acquaintance with nice young lady who can say yes to life. Purpose: enrichment of weekends in romantically situated weekend house."*

"I'll Never Forget . . ." One recent advertiser, Gerhardt Stumm, a plump, 31-year-old salesman, paid extra (minimum rate: about 50-c- a week) to get a picture of the Bavarian Alps in his "love-wanted" ad. It ran: "What fraulein would like to go on a two-week holiday to Bavaria by automobile, all expenses paid? Congenial and well-to-do gentleman seeks blonde at least five feet tall, not older than 23. She must not wear glasses." Stumm received 13 replies. He picked a slight (111-lb 5ft. 3-in.), dark-haired girl who wanted a holiday "awfully much." Later, Stumm reported that he had had a fine time. The girl had turned out to be quite a skier. Where was she now?" "I don't know. We said goodbye and she went back to work."

Not all the billboard romances were so ephemeral. Martha Koch described herself as a "handsome, vivacious blonde," a typist for the American Military Government, who had tired of American men. When she appeared at the little cafe for her first meeting with the "well-situated and sophisticated" young man whose answer she had selected, she proved to be neither handsome nor vivacious nor blonde. She was thin, tired, brunette and nervous. But the young man was nervous too. Neither well-situated nor particularly sophisticated, he had just returned from five years in a Russian P.W. camp, had landed a lowly clerical job.

They talked in the cafe for three hours. That evening she pressed his baggy pants, darned his socks and turned the collar on his shirt. A few months later they were married. "I'll never forget that first day in the cafe," she said last week. "I was scared to death that whoever the gentleman was, he would be angry because I had lied. Fortunately, Werner had lied, too . . ."

The Sordid Patches. In Berlin, where the Red blockade has thrown thousands out of jobs, most of the women advertisers ask for good providers. Sexy innuendos have proved less effective than ads like this: "War widow in her early forties. Delicate constitution, three children, seeks acquaintance with amiable, responsible gentleman. Object: marriage."

But inevitably, the billboards have their sordid patches. One recent ad read: "Well-situated, well-educated lady, 45 years old, is looking for cultivated girl friend who must be blonde with full figure."

Last week, a gang of burglars attested to the value of the "love for sale" ads by breaking into the Anzeigen Zentrale, one of Stuttgart's largest billboard agencies. They not only rifled the safe but stole a batch of applicants' letters. "I wonder," mused Agency Boss Erwin Schaeuffele, "whether the burglars won't succeed in winning some of my lady applicants. Many of them are pretty desperate, you know."

*Similar practices are not unknown in the U.S. In 1863, Horace Greeley denounced the New York Herald's James Gordon Bennett for running "personals." Sample: "Mischievous Lizzy and Mary wish to form the acquaintance of two lively gentlemen . . . They must be of high society; none need answer unless sincere." The tony Saturday Review of Literature still carries such coy invitations as: "Will clever Cleopatra correspond with mature, amiable Antony?"

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