Staying Young While Growing Older

By “Awake!” correspondent in the Federal Republic of Germany

DESPITE his 94 years, the man with the sparkling eyes sitting across from me looked surprisingly young and fresh. Just the right person, I thought, to read and evaluate my manuscript before I present it for publication. It was an article entitled “Staying Young While Growing Older.” But first of all I wanted to know what Wilhelm Hillmann’s secret for staying “young” was. I asked my question and waited.

“The secret of staying young?” he repeated my question, thinking about it. “Well, it’s nice that you would ask an ‘old eagle’ like me.”

I wondered about the expression “old eagle.” Later I would understand.

“First of all, I think, to stay young you need a goal in life. I already had mine as a teenager.” He paused and smiled as he said: “I didn’t realize then that my goals would change, that I wouldn’t find my real one for over 60 years. But in my teens I was fascinated with sailing ships. My goal, I decided then, was to build them when I grew up. After completing school, I worked as an apprentice on the docks in the north German port of Bremerhaven. Then in 1905 a dream came true. I was permitted to take my first sea trip​—not on just any ship—​but on the Preussen, the most famous sailing ship of that time and the largest five-masted ship ever built.”

He pushed a picture across the table for me to see. It was of the Preussen, and was very impressive.

“We were to haul saltpeter from Chile,” he continued. “It was a 68-day journey around Cape Horn. What an experience for a 19-year-old! I remember the storms​—why, the wind and the hail beat our faces almost to a pulp! And it was no easy job fighting to keep the sails under control. Once when I was working at my utmost high up among the sails, a sailor nearby shouted to me through the wind: ‘Only God can help us now.’ I answered: ‘And he will.’ Even as a youth, I never once doubted man’s dependence upon God.”

A Change in Goals

I wanted to know if my elderly friend had really grown up to build ships.

“Well, I was advised against it,” he said, “and rightly so, because at the beginning of the 20th century sailing ships were already on their way out. And I had no interest in building steamships. But what about combining my love for the sea with flying? The land planes we had at that time could not make it across the Atlantic to America. So what we needed, I thought, were flying boats, or, as they are sometimes called, seaplanes. I had a new goal.

“October 10, 1913, was a big day in my life. Clutching my pilot’s license tightly, I now had what later would make me eligible to become an ‘old eagle.”’

That term again​—I was afraid it would need explanation, and I asked for it.

“Well, in 1934 a flying association called ‘Old Eagles’ was formed,” he explained. “Any pilot who had gotten his license before the beginning of World War I could join. I had made it by less than a year.

“Meanwhile an Englishman​—later knighted as Sir Thomas Sopwith—​had built a single-hull flying boat. So I went to England, learned to fly seaplanes there and then returned home as Germany’s very first flying-boat pilot. Now I could begin building my own.

“Soon the German government became interested in buying one of Sopwith’s flying boats, but it was to be done secretly. So a private citizen, Captain von Pustau, ordered the plane and sent me to England to watch over its construction.

“When the plane was finished, one of Captain von Pustau’s ‘friends’​—actually a government inspector in disguise—​came to accept delivery. I was asked to take him on a trial flight. After we were airborne, he directed me to fly over Portsmouth. Now this was normally forbidden, because Portsmouth was an important naval port. But he was determined. I gave in.

“The next morning von Pustau rushed into my hotel, almost incoherent: ‘Hillmann, get packed​—your flight over Portsmouth—​they’re going to arrest us for espionage!’ He crammed my hand full of pound notes and disappeared. I wondered, what now?

‘The police restricted me to my hotel. Several days passed. I began planning to slip away secretly at night The plane was ours; it had been paid for. And at my speed​—it could fly 110 kilometers an houra—​they’d never catch me.

“Meanwhile, my former flight instructor in England​—we had become good friends—​intervened in my behalf and got the matter settled. I left for Germany immediately. Not yet 30, I could now get on with the business of living the full life I hoped still lay ahead. And then​—WAR!”

Flying During and After the War

“As a fighter pilot during the 1914-1918 war, I learned its horrors firsthand. One experience made a lasting impression. In an air battle the famous French ace Védrines shot me down. As soon as he saw that my plane was disabled, however, he flew away, rather than coming in for the kill. I made a crash landing and lay unconscious beneath the wreckage. The French troops, nearby in their foxholes, made no attempt to prevent my friends from rescuing me.

“How grateful I was to God to still be alive! But the consideration Védrines and the French troops had shown impressed me, too. Why were we trying to kill one another? War seemed so unnatural. I decided that from then on I would do all I could to promote German-French friendship.

“This became still another goal, after the one of building seaplanes. Years later I was rewarded for what I did in this new endeavor by being made an honorary citizen of Paris. Yet, even this was not the goal that would later change my life​—that was still to come.”

Time was slipping by and my manuscript had gotten no farther than the table between us. But who could blame me for letting myself get sidetracked? “Did your war experiences make you want to stop flying?” I asked.

“No, you can’t keep an ‘old eagle’ grounded. In fact, every year I go to southern France, where I still enjoy the thrill of glider flying”

“At 94 years of age?” I exclaimed.

“You asked what kept me young,” he responded. “I have always tried to live for the future and not fret about the past. This has helped keep me young. Besides, we all have our close calls in life in one way or another. Like the one I had in 1926​—and all because of a parachute.”

I laid down a picture of him in an old airplane, reminiscent of long-past days. And I listened.

“It was a foggy January morning and I had gone to renew my pilot’s license. The weather report said the ceiling was at 180 meters.b But at 360 meters I was still surrounded by heavy fog. Suddenly my plane began to act up; I was losing control.

“Now in those days not all planes had parachutes. But fortunately this one did. Upon jumping from the plane the parachute would be triggered open by a 25-meter-long cord, one end of which was fastened to the parachute and the other end to the plane. I remember praying to God, asking: ‘Should I jump or not?’

“As if in answer, an idea flashed through my mind. I sent the plane into a steep dive and pulled it out at 150 meters. As it jerked up, I heard a loud cracking noise. Ice had formed on the wings and was now breaking off. This had caused the trouble. I landed safely. Just at that moment an airport official walked past, looked at the plane and shouted: ‘Who the devil forgot to tie the parachute cord to the plane?’ Now if I had jumped, this ‘old eagle’ would have been a ‘dead duck’ for sure!”

It was gratifying to me to see that he had not permitted old age to rob him of his sense of humor.

In a Concentration Camp​—Almost

“During the Nazi regime I was chief engineer at Weser-Flug, an airplane factory in Bremen. Although in charge of over 5,000 workers, I refused to join the Nazi party. I could not go along with Hitler’s policies. This almost got me into serious trouble.

“In 1939 Weser-Flug sent me to Berlin to oversee the construction of a second factory. It was to be on the site of Tempelhof airport, the airport that was later to become world famous in the 1948-49 Berlin Airlift. The Nazi foremen assigned to work under my direction wanted to build a large platform adjoining one of the central buildings, where Hitler could deliver his talks when in Berlin. Seeing no need for this, I struck it from the plans. ‘We don’t need a stage to build airplanes,’ I told them.

“For this and other ‘misdemeanors’ I soon ended up in court. But my superior at Weser-Flug came to my rescue, telling Göring: ‘Take Hillmann and you can forget about Tempelhof.’ So I was released and was able to build the airport to completion, more or less the way it can still be seen today.”

The End​—and Yet the Beginning

“The war was over. I was 59 years old, without work, unable to build either ships or airplanes. Youth, with all its goals and dreams, had come and gone​—and all so quickly! But the thought of not working was unacceptable. I needed to feel that I could still be a useful member of society.

“For nine difficult postwar years I searched before finding a suitable job in a city quite some distance away. Already 68, I kept the job until I turned 81. At that time my career ended. But something far grander was due to begin, a goal I could never have even imagined possible before this.

[Picture on page 8]

The famous five-masted sailing ship “Preussen,” on which Hillmann sailed around Cape Horn

[Picture on page 9]

The “Old Eagle” with one of his earlier planes. At 94 he still flies gliders every year