Read Ebook {PDF EPUB} The Extraordinary Life of Josef Ganz The Jewish Engineer Behind Hitler's by Paul Schilper The Extraordinary Life of Josef Ganz (EN) The astonishing biography of Josef Ganz, a Jewish designer from , who in May 1931 created a revolutionary small car: the Maikäfer (German for May bug). Seven years later Hitler introduced the Volkswagen. He not only ‘took’ the concept of Ganz’s family car, he even used the same nickname. To this day the VW Beetle or Bug is considered one of the most important of all automobile designs. It incorporated many of the features of Ganz’s original Maikäfer, yet until recently Ganz received no recognition for his pioneering work. The Nazis did all they could to keep the Jewish godfather of the German compact car out of the history books. Now Paul Schilperoord sets the record straight. In a biography that reads like a spy thriller, he tells how Ganz was imprisoned by the , until an influential friend with connections to Göring helped secure his release. Soon afterwards he was forced to flee while Porsche created the Volkswagen for Hitler using many of his groundbreaking ideas. Ganz was hunted by the Nazis even beyond Germany’s borders and narrowly escaped assassination. After the war he moved to Australia, where he died in 1967. This biography is a great read for anyone interested in World War II, Jewish history, the evolution of car design or simply the life stories of extraordinary individuals. Author: Paul Schilperoord Translation: Liz Waters Publisher: René van Praag Publishers (RVPP) Language: English 6 x 10 inch | 352 pages | hardcover + paperback | 150+ color and B&W photos & illustrations ISBN: 978-1-61412-201-2 1st print: December 2011 | 2nd print: February 2012. This highly readable book convincingly argues Ganz’s influence on the Beetle. Book Report: A less-than-professional opinion of Paul Schilperoord’s The Extraordinary Life of Josef Ganz: The Jewish Engineer Behind Hitler’s Volkswagen. It was all fun and games until the death threats started. The local newspaper is so thin that in a downpour it wouldn’t keep you dry very long. You could swat a yellowjacket with it, but the result would just be one pissed off yellowjacket. You could have it read by the time you walk back from the end of your driveway. For this last reason I’ve resorted to the online version while I wait for my coffee to reach sippin’ temperature. By the time I’m actually sipping, I’m usually caught up on local events and have moved on to the broadsheets. But one Friday morning couple of weeks ago I had downed two and a half cups, hot, and was in high dudgeon by the time I clicked “submit” in the “readers’ comments” section of the local site. I had been reading about a group of local cyclists who were harassed by a driver. There’s much more to the story; but this sort of thing happens from time to time, and those of you who know me as an avid cyclist will not be surprised to learn that it is always of great personal concern to me. The thing that got me so fired up was not so much the article itself, nor the general tenor of the others’ comments. It was simply the fact that the comments were so damned predictable. “Bikers” should ride on the sidewalks. (Unsafe anywhere, and actually illegal in town.) They look like a bunch of morons in their brightly-colored spandex. (As if camouflage or golf attire were haute couture .) They need to register, pay taxes, and pass a test. (I figure, for every car trip I’m not taking, I should get a refund on the taxes I’ve already paid because — surprise, surprise! — I’m a driver too!) They’re arrogant. (So?) In my response, I addressed these points and more. I was a staunch defender of my rights. I waxed eloquent (in my own mind, at least) upon my conviction that the freedoms we claim to value so highly in this country should include the simple act of being able to ride a bicycle without cowering in fear. As long as I’m law abiding and courteous, I asserted, I expect the same from drivers. If this is too much to expect from the citizens of this town, this state, this country — and if I’m someday struck and killed by an angry or careless driver — then you can bury me with what’s left of my bike. I clicked “submit,” closed my laptop, and drove up to Asheville with my wife for the weekend. I’m fully aware that my first mistake was reading the asinine comments in the first place. Anyone in need of even further evidence of our collective inability to conduct a considerate, civilized, and intelligent sharing of differing opinions need only visit any online “community” whose individual members are permitted to hide behind the anonymity of a “username.” Joining the fray, of course, made me no better than the rest of them — even if my opinions on the matter happen to be the correct ones to have. Checking the browser on my smartphone for responses once we got to Asheville was probably not a good idea either. The overall gist was that numerous readers seemed all too eager not only to oblige me in my burial wishes, but to expedite the necessity thereof. One even cut to the chase and promised not to bother himself with washing my blood from the pavement. Another ventured to guess that I must be “one of them Subaru- driving liberals,” proving himself to be perceptive, if nothing else. I’ll never know if there were any who came to my defense because I’d had enough. I surrendered. I shut my phone off for the remainder of the weekend and tried not to think about it. Of course I have this luxury. And I don’t know that you could really call these anonymous taunts “death threats.” Something tells me that none of us would be so self-righteously bold sitting around a table, sharing a meal and a beer. But Josef Ganz knew about death threats in a very real, very threatening way. He did not have the luxury of shrugging it off as silliness and getting on with his life. Newly released in January was the English translation of Paul Schilperoord’s 2009 book, The Extraordinary Life of Josef Ganz: The Jewish Engineer Behind Hitler’s Volkswagen. Of course you can guess where the author is going from the title alone. But that doesn’t take anything away from the telling. Tradition tells us that ’s design team, at Hitler’s direction, came up with what would become the . This book does nothing to dispute that, per se. But Schilperoord’s years of research into how, exactly, that design came about led him to a man who died in 1967 in Australia — broke, broken, and mostly forgotten. The narrative of Ganz’s life is, as stated, quite extraordinary. Ganz’s heyday — short-lived as it was — was in Germany in the early 1930’s. As early as 1922, the newly-minted engineer was calling for a small car with an air-cooled, rear-mounted, horizontally-opposed engine and swing-axle suspension. Much of his impetus came from a sense of national pride. A decorated German naval veteran of World War One, Ganz feared that his country’s automotive industry was getting left behind by American pioneers such as Henry Ford. He saw a lack of innovation, as the same stodgy automakers continued to manufacture the same underwhelming designs, which were only affordable to the elite few. Clearly, what was needed to get Germany back on its feet was a massive program to produce a reliable, economical, and affordable “people’s car.” I’ll save you the math: 1922 was ninety years ago, almost three decades before the first came ashore in the United States, and over eighty years before the last of the original Volkswagens rolled of the line in Mexico. Josef Ganz’s challenges to convention were easily ignored until he became editor-in-chief at Motor-Kritik, one of the most influential automotive publications at the time. Not only was he in a strong position to advocate tirelessly for his ideal “people’s car” (the term Volkswagen , in the generic sense, was bandied about with ever-greater frequency), but he and his staff pulled no punches in their often brutally honest critiques of the latest designs coming from the established German automakers. There were a few — like BMW, Daimler-Benz, and Adler — who recognized the inspired genius for what he was, and each employed Ganz as a technical consultant while his work at Motor-Kritik continued. At Adler, he was given free reign the create a prototype for a Volkswagen, which Ganz called the “Maikäfer” (or “May Bug”). True to his ethos, it was an air-cooled, rear-engined, swing-axle design. It never went into production, but he drove it as his personal car for years. The Maikäfer, 1931. Later, Ganz utilized several of his many patents in design work for Standard Fahrzeugfabrik to create the , which actually did have a successful production run — for two years, at any rate. Like the Maikäfer, the Superior adhered (for the most part, as it was not a one- man effort) to Ganz’s requirements. It is also interesting to note the striking similarities between this car and a certain, slightly later design — from a very well-known engineer — that would become an international icon and be manufactured in record-setting numbers. Standard Superior, 1933. Hitler himself admired the Jew-designed Standard Superior at a major international motor show in Berlin in 1933. And herein lies one of the biggest ironies of the story: Hitler and Ganz — at least from a technological standpoint — wanted the exact same thing. Both men advocated for a mass-produced, reliable, and easy-to-maintain means of personal transportation affordable to the average German worker. To meet this last criterion, the car would have to cost less than 1,000 Reichsmarks. The Superior, at 1,590 RM, wasn’t quite there. But it was the closest thing yet. With technical know-how and Motor-Kritik as his mouthpiece, Ganz had a way of drawing attention to himself. Which, of course, was exactly what he was trying to do. But as sound and logical as the message was, some were threatened by the messenger. The problem was that Josef Ganz was influential and persistent, controversial yet respected, aggressive yet well-liked. And Jewish. In other words, short of being a gay gypsy, he couldn’t have been more of a threat to the Nazi’s twisted ideals for an industrial savior. Ganz apparently chose to ignore the more sinister implications of Hitler’s rise to power until this was all but impossible. It started with the lawsuits and countersuits that would dog Ganz until the very end of his days. Really, I can’t help but think that at a time of quickening technical innovation, trying to pinpoint exactly who thought up any given idea first, and what, exactly, constituted a patent infringement played out like a dizzying, cross- border version of “who’s your daddy?” Then there was the behind-the-scenes collusion among the more established players that led to the quashing of the stillborn Maikäfer, as well as the premature demise of the Standard Superior. Then, as anti-Semitism became official government policy, were the arrests on trumped-up charges, antipathy in the courts, visits from the Gestapo, and one occasion where a would-be assassin was driven away by Ganz’s loyal German Shepherd. The police couldn’t have cared less. Gradually, starting with BMW, his consulting contracts were unceremoniously terminated. And due to new restrictions on press access, Ganz was first stripped of his editor-in-chief role at Motor-Kritik , and then forbidden to publish anything, anywhere, at all. Finally, by 1935, Ganz had fled Germany, never to return. Borders offered little protection from his persecutors. The lawsuits were par for the course; but there were also the Gestapo, as well as visa troubles, that forced Ganz to stay on the move — , , the Soviet Union, Denmark, . At one point he even held a diplomatic passport from Honduras — though he’d never even been there. But if any place could be called home in the years that followed, it was Switzerland. At least there he was able to find consulting or engineering gigs from time to time. There was also some promise, with the support of the Swiss government, of putting a version of Ganz’s Maikäfer into serial production in Switzerland, and possibly under contract in France and Poland as well. But like shit, war happens . Perhaps it’s not so strange that the book offers few details about what occupied Ganz during the actual fighting. After all, I can’t imagine that those dark years in a nominally neutral country with little direct interest in weapons development were exactly ripe for technological advancement. Perhaps the author faced a dearth of documentation pertaining to his subject during this period because there simply wasn’t any. The end of the war offered little relief to our hero. The complex web of lawsuits continued unabated, many of which seemed the product of little more than spiteful nastiness on the part of Ganz’s detractors. His health began to suffer from the stress. And though the twenty-year relationship with his girlfriend survived exile and a world war, the strain would eventually prove too much. So in 1951, Ganz decided he’d had enough. He boarded a ship — alone — bound for Australia, determined to create a new life for himself. For the next several years he would do some engineering work for various companies, mainly GM’s Holden subsidiary. But the overall picture that Schilperoord paints is that of a broken, deflated man. Ganz’s health continued to decline, and he suffered a series of heart attacks that left him disabled. Towards the very end there was a degree of renewed interest in his contributions on the part of Heinz Nordhoff, the iconic director of Volkswagen, as well as the Australian press. But when Ganz finally died in 1967 he had little money and even less recognition. The scope of this book seems to transcend any one genre. Primarily it’s a biography, but it would also be at home on the history shelf. One could even call it a real life thriller, with its page-turning plot twists, international intrigue, and nail-biting brushes with peril. There is even the role of the evil arch-nemesis, played by one Paul Ehrhardt — an erstwhile colleague of Ganz’s who became an agent for the Nazi Sicherheitsdienst (SD), led the smear campaign against him, and pursued him far beyond Germany’s borders. Pathetic weasel that he was, Ehrhardt reminded me of the bad guy in that cheesy action movie you’re loath to admit you paid good money to see, the guy that keeps coming back — the guy that just won’t die, already! So it’s really no surprise that we find him consulting with the Tatra company in lawsuits that followed Ganz all the way to Australia, years after the war. Only Ehrhardt’s own death in 1961 put a stop the nonsense. If this were Hollywood, though, we’d fully expect a sequel in which he rises from the grave in a tattered Nazi uniform, with dirt caked under his fingernails and a worm-eaten briefcase full of legal papers. If I’m going to play the role of critic, then I suppose I’ve got to come up with some criticism. Right off the bat, I thought an index would have been nice. I’m a slow reader, and I read for details. Schilperoord’s research and footnotes are obviously extensive. He throws a lot of details at you. This doesn’t make the translation any less readable, but many times I had the urge to refer back to a (nonexistent) index when I couldn’t remember where I’d seen a certain character come up before. A broader issue I had was with the assertion the author makes, on page four of the introduction, that “it is no exaggeration to say that the immensely popular VW Beetle would never have existed without Josef Ganz.” Don’t get me wrong. I always admire the chutzpah of anyone who dares to challenge conventional wisdom (which could apply to both Ganz and Schilperoord, but here I mean the author) and therefore I tend to lend a sympathetic ear to such arguments. Schilperoord no doubt is far more the scholar on the subject than I am. But judging the book solely on the merits of this assertion, I feel that it falls short of the mark. There were to simply too many fingers in the Volkswagen pie to attribute the result to one single man. To call this Ganz’s baby would be to ignore not only Porsche’s efforts, but that of other eminent designers such as Hans Ledwinka, Béla Barényi, or Edmund Rumpler. Without question, Ganz was one of a select few with both the influence and the ingenuity to do this thing; without question, the Nazis and the established German automakers did their very best, for years, to ensure that Ganz got as little credit as possible. After reading this book, and understanding the undoubtedly huge impact Ganz made on the automotive industry at the time, it is only natural to ask if the Volkswagen would have happened without him. But would it not be valid to ask the same question with regards to Porsche — or Hitler himself for that matter? I think it is instructive to compare what Porsche was working on in 1938, versus what Ganz was doing over the border in Switzerland. Both designs were with air-cooled, rear-mounted engines and swing-axles. But I believe photos tell a bit more of the story: Ganz driving prototype for Swiss version of Volkswagen, 1937 KdF-Wagen, 1938. We can speculate all day long about what might have been if Ganz’s environment were more accommodating, if history were on his side, and if he could have seen his ideas come to fruition with the full government support that Porsche enjoyed. Sensationalist claims aside, this book is informative, interesting, and highly readable. All of the previous histories of the marque seem incomplete without this story told. On a personal level, reading this book — and, specifically, examining the dozens of photographs contained therein — led to the sudden realization that I’m missing something. Something that each of my esteemed heroes of the Volkswagen pantheon had. Something that I do not currently have but could easily cultivate. Ganz had one. Porsche had one. Even that legendary rocket scientist-cum-hippie Volkswagen mechanic and author John Muir had one. Josef Ganz Ferdinand Porsche John Muir. Few people would henceforth wear one in the style of Ganz. Just as there have been very, very few children born since 1945 named Adolf, the style was summarily retired after the man who made it infamous slaughtered millions and died by his own cowardly hand. But beyond that, I figure, as long as I am in compliance with the grooming standards outlined in the employee manual (as well as in Chapter 1, Section 25.0, “Personal Appearance and Uniform Requirements” of the Flight Operations Manual) I’m free to do as I please in that regard. It would be a hell of a lot easier than getting an engineering degree; which, in turn, would be a hell of a lot easier than selling the whole idea to my wife. So this might be one mojo I’ll have to manage without. 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Name: The Extraordinary Life of Josef Ganz: The Jewish Engineer Behind Hitler's Volkswagen Autor: Paul Schilperoord Categoria: Libros,Ciencias, tecnología y medicina,Transporte y automóviles Tamaño del archivo: 18 MB Tipos de archivo: PDF Document Idioma: Español Archivos de estado: AVAILABLE. Gratis The Extraordinary Life of Josef Ganz: The Jewish Engineer Behind Hitler's Volkswagen de Paul Schilperoord PDF [ePub Mobi] Gratis. 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Eric a johnson, karlheinz reuband what we knew what we knew Iori yagami legaz the friendship community cinema asiatico dal 5 all11 aprile sabato 5 aprile vita di pi in onda alle ore 1025 e alle ore 005 su sky cinema family canale 306 emperor in onda alle ore 2115 su raimovie hansel e gretel in onda alle ore 030 su rai4 pietà in onda alle ore 050 su sky cinema cult canale 314 moebius in onda all120 su rai3 prima visione tv piscina senzacqua in onda alle ore 245 su rai3 domenica. The Extraordinary Life of Josef Ganz : The Jewish Engineer Behind Hitler's Volkswagen by Paul Schilperoord (2011, Hardcover) С самой низкой ценой, совершенно новый, неиспользованный, неоткрытый, неповрежденный товар в оригинальной упаковке (если товар поставляется в упаковке). Упаковка должна быть такой же, как упаковка этого товара в розничных магазинах, за исключением тех случаев, когда товар является изделием ручной работы или был упакован производителем в упаковку не для розничной продажи, например в коробку без маркировки или в пластиковый пакет. См. подробные сведения с дополнительным описанием товара. The Extraordinary Life of Josef Ganz: The Jewish Engineer Behind Hitler's Volkswagen by Paul Schilperoord. Most Popular on DRB: Send us your topic ideas, suggestions, etc. The Jewish Engineer Behind Hitler’s Volkswagen. Finally, the full story behind emergence of Volkswagen, "Hitler's pet project" We welcome back our contributing writer Paul Schilperoord, whose book “The Extraordinary Life of Josef Ganz – The Jewish Engineer Behind Hitler’s Volkswagen” has just been released in the US and Canada. “The Extraordinary Life of Josef Ganz” tells the astonishing story of Josef Ganz, a Jewish engineer from Frankfurt, who in May 1931 created a revolutionary small car: the Maikäfer (German for May Bug). Seven years later Hitler introduced the Volkswagen. The Nazis not only “took” the concept of Ganz’s family car—their production model even ended up bearing the same nickname. In this biography, which reads like a thriller, Schilperoord tells how Ganz was arrested by the Gestapo, then fled Germany, and was hunted by the Nazis beyond Germany’s borders, narrowly escaping assassination. We are going to highlight a few examples from the book. Most of the hundreds of stunning photos in the book have never been published before and come from Ganz’s original photo archive, which Schilperoord discovered from sources in Canada and Australia. Josef Ganz was born in in the summer of 1898 and grew up in . Already as a child Josef Ganz displayed his engineering abilities. By the age of 12 he was granted his first patent for a safety device for electric streetcars. After serving in WWI Ganz moved to Germany, where he studied Mechanical Engineering. In 1923, as a student, Ganz started development of an innovative little car with a mid-mounted engine, independent wheel suspension, and a streamlined body. After a terrible motorcycle accident, in which Ganz almost list his right leg, developments of this Ganz-Klein-Wagen came to a temporary halt. (1923 prospectus for the Ganz-Klein-Wagen with a mid-mounted engine and streamlined body) Josef Ganz was a heavy critic of the old-fashioned cars produced in the 1920s, which he considered to be ‘devil’s carts’ with their solid axles, high centres of gravity, and inefficient drive trains. As a freelance journalist he started contributing articles to motoring magazines in which he urged the automotive industry to employ more state-of-the-art technology. This resulted into the appointment of Ganz as editor-in-chief of motoring magazine Klein-Motor-Sport . Ganz used this publication as a platform to promote innovative car design and the Volkswagen in particular. Because of his critical writing Ganz made no friends with the conservative car builders, but his magazine became highly influential. In 1929 Ganz changed the title into the more appropriate Motor-Kritik . (front cover fragment of Klein-Motor-Sport propagating a streamlined, mid-engined car, 1928) May Bug prototype. In 1930, the motorcycle company from gave Ganz the opportunity to build a first prototype of his Volkswagen. The prototype featured a central backbone chassis with a mid-mounted engine, independent all-round suspension with swing axles, and simple, open, beetle- shaped bodywork. Production plans, however, were halted when a consortium of leading German car manufacturers blocked a law-change proposal to let holders of a motorcycle-driving license operate such a small car. (Josef Ganz test-driving the 1930 Ardie-Ganz Volkswagen prototype) The remarkable construction attracted the attention of car manufacturer Adler from Frankfurt, which employed Ganz as a consulting engineer and offered him their facilities to build a new and improved prototype. Ganz completed this car in May 1931 and nicknamed his new brainchild the Maikäfer (May Bug). To comply with the conventional buying public, Ganz gave the car a more conventional looking, low-slung body with a fake radiator at the front. (Josef Ganz in the May-Bug prototype, 1931) Porsche test-drives the May Bug. Just as had happened at Ardie, industrial forces blocked further development of the May Bug at Adler, but Ganz was allowed to keep the prototype. He used the May Bug as a technology demonstrator and took countless engineers and journalists on test-drives, proving the worth of his Volkswagen concept. This included such people as Ferdinand Porsche, who tested the May Bug before designing a similar vehicle for the Zündapp motorcycle company. In the summer of 1931 the May Bug was transported by truck to , where it was severely tested by the board of directors and engineers of Mercedes-Benz. This resulted in the development of a Beetle-like car with a rear-mounted 4-cylinder boxer engine, designed with the assistance of Josef Ganz. He had by then been employed as a consultant engineer by both Mercedes-Benz and BMW. (the 1931 Beetle-like Mercedes-Benz 120H prototype with a rear-mounted engine) May Bug becomes Superior. The May Bug had set off a bomb in the industry. Manufacturers that had previously fought Ganz and his Motor-Kritik to silence this critical voice now started adopting his revolutionary ideas. The race was one for who would be the first to create a successful rear-engined, lightweight, streamlined Volkswagen. Ganz, however, was the first to market a Volkswagen, backed by the motorcycle manufacturer Standard Fahrzeugfabrik from Ludwigsburg. Using Ganz’s many patents they developed the Standard Superior, a production version of the May Bug with enclosed Beetle-like bodywork, which was introduced at the Berlin motor show in February 1933. Hitler had been appointed as Chancellor of Germany less than two weeks prior, and in this new capacity opened the motor show. He praised the work of the German engineers and during his tour of the exhibits expressed serious interest in the Standard Superior and the idea of a Volkswagen to motorize the German people. One of the first new laws introduced by his office was that holders of a motorcycle-driving license could operate small cars like the Standard Superior. A Standard Superior was even tested by the National Socialist Motor Corps and a favourable report appeared in the official army magazine. (standard Superior as displayed at the 1933 Berlin motor show) Then things took an unfavourable turn. The Gestapo falsely accused Josef Ganz of blackmailing the automotive industry and arrested him in Berlin in May 1933. Ganz was imprisoned for a month and was only released thanks to highly influential friends. Although he was released from prison, the Gestapo forced Ganz out of his positions as editor-in-chief of Motor-Kritik , and as consulting engineer at BMW and Mercedes-Benz. The Standard Superior meanwhile was claiming successes in trials and car races. A new and improved version was introduced in September 1933, and marketed as the ‘fastest and cheapest German Volkswagen.’ (brochure for the Standard Superior, 1933) Hitler assigns Porsche. Hitler by then was determined to support the development of a Volkswagen for the German people. Having found no cooperation amongst the big car manufacturers, an independent development consortium was created, led by Ferdinand Porsche. As a Jew, Josef Ganz was an impossible choice. Porsche was now set the task to design a people’s car for 1,000 Reichsmark – a maximum selling price propagated by Ganz in Motor- Kritik . The Nazis made sure that any Jewish connections to the Volkswagen were erased from history. They banned Ganz from publishing, as well as the entire German press from publishing anything about him. Overnight the name Josef Ganz disappeared from the German motoring scene. Swiss Volkswagen. Just three months later, during the frightful Night of the Long Knives, the Gestapo appeared at Ganz’s home in Frankfurt to arrest and most probably assassinate him. Ganz was saved from this horrific fate by extraordinary luck: he was on holiday in Switzerland to calm his nerves. He was later warned by a friend not to return to Germany. He only made one daring secret trip to salvage his archives from Frankfurt. After wondering around Europe for almost a year, Josef Ganz settled in Zurich in Switzerland. There he demonstrated the May Bug prototype and a Standard Superior before Swiss government officials and landed a contract to develop a ‘Swiss Volkswagen’ with state funding – exactly as Porsche was doing in Germany. The first prototypes of the Swiss Volkswagen were finished in 1937 and closely resembled Ganz’s original sketches from 1923. Production plans in Switzerland, France, and Poland came to an abrupt halt after the German army invaded Poland in 1939. Europe was at war. (Josef Ganz in one of the Swiss Volkswagen prototypes in 1937) Sanctuary in Australia. Josef Ganz survived the war in Switzerland, but faced many problems with a Swiss company trying to lay claims to his Volkswagen design, and Gestapo officers after his blood. These and other events resulted in lengthy court cases after the war. The Swiss Volkswagen was only produced in small numbers, as was a French variation called the Julien MM5. Leaving all of his problems in Europe behind, Josef Ganz emigrated to Australia in 1951. He found employment as an engineer at General Motors – Holden until health problems forced him into retirement. He suffered multiple heart attacks and practically became an invalid, spending his days at home working on his memoirs. Josef Ganz died in obscurity on July 26, 1967. (Josef Ganz in Australia, around 1965) Check out more info on author's and publisher's websites. Here is the link to buy this book from Amazon.