“Two things are infinite. The universe and human stupidity…and, I’m not so sure about the universe.” - Albert Einstein
Even though he was arguably the most brilliant man in modern history, Einstein was cynical – perhaps wisely so. He had lived to see human disasters so predictably epic (the Holocaust, nuclear bombs, etc.), they would have jaded most anyone.
A modern case in point took place just a year and a half ago, in January 2022. Then, fully 100,000 Russian troops, countless armored attack vehicles and rockets had massed on the border of Ukraine. Despite that, Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Ryabkov loudly proclaimed, "There are no plans or intentions to attack Ukraine. There is no reason to fear some kind of escalatory scenario."
Honestly? Really? Just how much optimism in the face of the obvious can humans have? Barely a month later, on February 24, 2022, Russia invaded Ukraine, sending in legions of troops and tanks....
In 1930, maybe it wasn’t as overt. Even though Germany had been trounced in World War I and the Treaty of Versailles strictly prohibited them rearming, they had clearly been amassing weapons and building an army and military stockpiles.
Word of Germany’s actions had leaked out. The name Adolf Hitler was being bandied about. Even so, global inaction.
One of Germany’s spectacles traveling the world was the airship Graf Zeppelin, named after German flight pioneer Ferdinand von Zeppelin. Though allegedly “non-partisan,” by 1933, the massive airships became global propaganda machines for the Nazi party with Hitler’s iconic swastikas emblazoned on the tail.
Even with indicators of looming discord, many in the US dismissed the threat. That included the Postal Service – then called the US Post Office Department (USPOD).
With Air Mail being the most exciting and enticing form of postal communication, the massive hydrogen airships of Germany were particularly compelling. In the late ‘20s, they were soaring around Europe and, by 1930, trans-Atlantic travel to South and North America was in the works. The airships would eventually make 136 such international trips.
The USPOD saw an opportunity to make money. For that first Trans-Atlantic flight, they agreed to produce three postage stamps commemorating the epic journey from Friedrichshafen to Rio De Janeiro to New York City. The “Zepps,” as the US stamps would become known, became the talk of the collecting world. I mentioned them in last week’s column.
The USPOD would only garner a meager six percent of the revenue of mail that actually traveled aboard the airship. That was nothing. The real money to be made was in selling unused stamps to collectors in the US. Of that, the USPOD would get 100 percent of the proceeds. To make the stamps more enticing, of the one million slated to be printed, it was announced any unsold after two months would be destroyed.
Owners of the airships also needed income. In 1930, the cost of a round-trip ticket was $9,900 – the equivalent of $185,000 today. Yet, the ship could only hold 20 passengers, not enough to cover all costs. So, they too agreed to the US stamp deal. Issued in denominations of 65-cents; $1.30 and $2.60, the USPOD and Graf Zeppelin owners foresaw significant potential profits.
There was one problem.
1930 was deep in the Great Depression. Families could barely afford staples such as a loaf of bread (5-cents) or a dozen eggs (18-cents). To spend $4.25 (the equivalent of $80 today) on three stamps that would never actually be used was absurd.
Collectors were equally jaded by stamps seemingly created to foster artificial demand. Consequently, sales were not robust. A paltry seven percent of the stamps printed were sold. The remaining sheets of Zepps were dutifully destroyed. As collectors know, rarity creates value.
Once the economy recovered, collector interest and demand for the surviving stamps grew. By the 1960s, it soared. When stamp investing hit its zenith in the 1980s, a single set of the three Zepp stamps could fetch the absurd price of $10,000.
Today, cooler heads prevail. Good sets now regularly sell for $2,000. Exceptional, never-hinged sets might bring $4,000 to $6,000. Used examples bring less. That’s curious. After all, postally cancelled specimens, particularly those still on envelopes that traveled aboard the Graf Zeppelin airship almost a century ago, are most enticing. I predict they’ll continue to soar.
For more collecting information and advice, log on to: http://prexford.com/.