with ten horizontal positions, created 600 punch hole possibilities per card. Each column, depending upon how it was punched, represented a biographical characteristic. These 600 punch holes, arrayed in their endless combinations, yielded thousands of demographic permutations. Even still, Dehomag officials wondered whether all the data the Reich needed could be accommodated on the 60-column cards they were using. Dehomag declared in a company newsletter that it was willing to move to an 80-column format for the census, if required "for political reasons." 17 Soon the Reich could begin the identification process—who was Aryan and who was a Jew.
Population statistics had crossed the fiery border from a science of anonymous masses to the investigation of individuals.
IN MID-SEPTEMBER , 1933, 6,000 brown cardboard boxes began unceremoniously arriving at the cavernous Alexanderplatz census complex in Berlin. Each box was stuffed with questionnaires manually filled out by pen and pencil, but soon to be processed by an unprecedented automated praxis. As supervisors emptied their precious cargo at the Prussian Statistical Office, each questionnaire—one per household—was initialed by an intake clerk, stacked, and then transferred downstairs. "Downstairs" led to Dehomag's massive 22,000-square-foot hall, just one floor below, specifically rented for the project. 18
Messengers shuttling stacks of questionnaires from the Statistical Office to Dehomag bounded down the right-hand side of an enclosed stairwell. As they descended the short flight, the sound of clicking became louder and louder. At the landing, they turned left and pushed through the doors. As the doors swung open, they encountered an immense high-ceilinged, hangar-like facility reverberating with the metallic music of Hollerith technology. Some 450 data punchers deployed in narrow rows of punching stations labored behind tall upright secretarial displays perfectly matched to the oversized census questionnaires. 19
Turning left again, and then another right brought the messengers to a long windowed wall lined with narrow tables. The forms were piled there. From these first tables, the forms were methodically distributed to centralized desks scattered throughout the work areas. The census forms were then loaded onto small trolleys and shuttled again, this time to individual work stations, each equipped with a device that resembled a disjointed type writer—actually an input engine. 20
A continuous "Speed Punching" operation ran two shifts, and three when needed. Each shift spanned 7.5 hours with 60 minutes allotted for "fresh air breaks" and a company-provided meal. Day and night, Dehomag staffers entered the details on 41 million Prussians at a rate of 150 cards per hour. Allowing for holidays and a statistical prediction of absenteeism, yet ever obsessed with its four-month deadline, Dehomag decreed a quota of 450,000 cards per day for its workforce. Free coffee was provided to keep people awake. A gymnast was brought in to demonstrate graceful aerobics and other techniques to relieve fatigue. Company officials bragged that the 41 million processed cards, if stacked, would tower two and a half times higher than the Zugspitze, Germany's 10,000-foot mountain peak. Dehomag intended to reach the summit on time. 21
As company officials looked down upon a floor plan of the layout, the linear rows and intersecting columns of work stations must have surely resembled a grandiose punch card itself animated into a three-dimensional bricks and mortar reality. Indeed, a company poster produced for the project showed throngs of miniscule people scrambling over a punch card sketch. 22 The surreal artwork was more than symbolic.
Once punched, the columns were imbued with personal information about the individual: county, community, gender, age, religion, mother tongue, number of children, current occupation, and second job, if any. 23
"Be Aware!" reminded huge block-lettered
Population statistics had crossed the fiery border from a science of anonymous masses to the investigation of individuals.
IN MID-SEPTEMBER , 1933, 6,000 brown cardboard boxes began unceremoniously arriving at the cavernous Alexanderplatz census complex in Berlin. Each box was stuffed with questionnaires manually filled out by pen and pencil, but soon to be processed by an unprecedented automated praxis. As supervisors emptied their precious cargo at the Prussian Statistical Office, each questionnaire—one per household—was initialed by an intake clerk, stacked, and then transferred downstairs. "Downstairs" led to Dehomag's massive 22,000-square-foot hall, just one floor below, specifically rented for the project. 18
Messengers shuttling stacks of questionnaires from the Statistical Office to Dehomag bounded down the right-hand side of an enclosed stairwell. As they descended the short flight, the sound of clicking became louder and louder. At the landing, they turned left and pushed through the doors. As the doors swung open, they encountered an immense high-ceilinged, hangar-like facility reverberating with the metallic music of Hollerith technology. Some 450 data punchers deployed in narrow rows of punching stations labored behind tall upright secretarial displays perfectly matched to the oversized census questionnaires. 19
Turning left again, and then another right brought the messengers to a long windowed wall lined with narrow tables. The forms were piled there. From these first tables, the forms were methodically distributed to centralized desks scattered throughout the work areas. The census forms were then loaded onto small trolleys and shuttled again, this time to individual work stations, each equipped with a device that resembled a disjointed type writer—actually an input engine. 20
A continuous "Speed Punching" operation ran two shifts, and three when needed. Each shift spanned 7.5 hours with 60 minutes allotted for "fresh air breaks" and a company-provided meal. Day and night, Dehomag staffers entered the details on 41 million Prussians at a rate of 150 cards per hour. Allowing for holidays and a statistical prediction of absenteeism, yet ever obsessed with its four-month deadline, Dehomag decreed a quota of 450,000 cards per day for its workforce. Free coffee was provided to keep people awake. A gymnast was brought in to demonstrate graceful aerobics and other techniques to relieve fatigue. Company officials bragged that the 41 million processed cards, if stacked, would tower two and a half times higher than the Zugspitze, Germany's 10,000-foot mountain peak. Dehomag intended to reach the summit on time. 21
As company officials looked down upon a floor plan of the layout, the linear rows and intersecting columns of work stations must have surely resembled a grandiose punch card itself animated into a three-dimensional bricks and mortar reality. Indeed, a company poster produced for the project showed throngs of miniscule people scrambling over a punch card sketch. 22 The surreal artwork was more than symbolic.
Once punched, the columns were imbued with personal information about the individual: county, community, gender, age, religion, mother tongue, number of children, current occupation, and second job, if any. 23
"Be Aware!" reminded huge block-lettered
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