The Legacy of the Nutcracker Sweet

L.A. Times Archives

Dec. 16, 1999 12 AM PT

From Washington Post

“Nutcracker!” the PR guy shouted. He aimed his camera.

Herr Christian Steinbach beamed. He was wearing lederhosen and a brilliant yellow Bavarian folk jacket, and had his arm around customer Bonnee Cooley.

Cooley beamed too. She gave Steinbach a little squeeze. He responded with a big squeeze: “What I receive, I give double back!”

Herr Steinbach, 78, is revered as “King of the Nutcrackers.” A nutcracker is a colorful wooden doll that can come in various incarnations--Merlin, Captain Hook, Maid Marian, George Washington, Moses, Santa Claus, you name it. Steinbach’s family started making them in Germany in 1832, and he’s the fifth generation to carry on the business.

Collectors are ravenous for them. Cooley has 74. Her Merlin the Magician, a limited edition that came out in 1991 for $185, is now worth maybe $5,000.

“So when did you make the Happy Wanderer?” she asked Steinbach as he autographed her King Cole the other evening at the C Gallery II store in Gainesville, Va., not far from Washington.

“Thirty years ago,” the master replied. Head bent, he was concentrating on his signature--getting just the right felt-tip flair. Then he took a ruler and drew an arrow through a little heart that his assistant had stamped on the base.

Cooley watched breathlessly. “He was my very first Steinbach,” she said.

“Nutcracker!” the PR guy shouted, again and again.

It was his version of “Say ‘Cheese!’ ” But nobody seemed to need this explained. Getting your picture shot with Steinbach was part of the deal, along with the signatures, each of which adds maybe $50 to the nutcracker’s value. In some cases, Steinbach makes small repairs on the spot, regluing a head, rummaging in his bag for a new nose.

He’s been visiting U.S. stores nearly three months now, a duty he’s been performing for years.

“Every day for three months!” Steinbach explained. “This time, I go first to the West Coast, San Francisco, Portland, Seattle. I’ll return to Germany two days before Christmas.

“It is work, and you must like this work. Not for fun! I do it for my workers in my two factories, one in [the former] West Germany, and one in East Germany, which was occupied by the Russians and we got it back in the reunification. I have 320 workers, and they are crying for work. They trust me to bring back orders.”

His workers are loyal: “We have not this ‘hire and fire.’ In Germany, we have not a job, we have a profession. We have all professional workers, all well trained.” Three years of training, he said, then an exam, then a seven-year apprenticeship.

“They are all proud to work in our factories,” Steinbach said.

The nutcracker tradition was already 200 years old when Tchaikovsky’s “Nutcracker Suite” debuted in 1892. In German folklore, a nutcracker brings good luck and happiness, according to one of the PR guy’s press releases. “The legacy states that a nutcracker represents power and strength and serves like a trusting dog that guards your family from evil spirits and danger. [It] shows its teeth to all the bad things in the world.”

You ain’t going to be cracking any nuts with it, though. These nutcrackers--about 17 inches high and costing up to $260 new--are now officially art objects.

“I’m an enterprising young woman,” said freelance writer Susan Dunn, eyeing Steinbach enthusiastically. “I’m going to ask him if he wants me to sell nutcrackers on the Internet.”

He didn’t, but she did get to sit on his lap for a picture. He told her this: “A nutcracker shall crack all the problems upcoming in your life. If you have problems, consult with your nutcracker first.”

United Airlines pilot Dave Wasulko buys a nutcracker every year for his wife. “I have 22 of them,” he said, “for 22 years of marital bliss. This is No. 23.”

Carl Schwan, an accounting consultant, told Steinbach that he was of German extraction--first son of the first son, back 16 generations. “I go to Munich and I always feel a little different than in other countries,” he said.

“He feels at home,” added his wife, Bonnie, a real estate agent. Each year, she brings out their 30 Steinbach nutcrackers: “They’re like old friends.”

“Nutcracker!” the PR guy shouted, and the Schwans grouped with the old master for their photo.

“He draws a real good crowd,” said store co-owner Jim Kirby, serving champagne and lemon tarts to customers. “Collectors just flock to him.”

One reason the line in the store was so long was because Steinbach joked around with almost everyone, and told many stories, though it was hard to follow them exactly because his English isn’t all that great.

One story concerned an American GI who elicited “a lot of jokes” from German locals because “he was unshaved, but in America, is always growing bigger and better!”

“Everything is bigger in America,” chuckled IBM retiree Ronald Kirchoff, who has visited both of Steinbach’s factories and plans to attend the big annual February toy fair in Nuremberg. Kirchoff and his wife, Anne, sat at the table with Steinbach as he signed their nutcrackers, including an Oil Sheik and Miss Clara (with German beer mug).

The Kirchoffs have collected Steinbach nutcrackers for 15 years, they said. “We have 400 of ‘em,” Ron confided.

“Nutcracker!” the PR guy shouted.

Steinbach made sure Anne had a guy on each arm. “Ladies in the middle!” he joked. “Because the good man on the left side, the bad man on the right.”

Kirby had handed out 97 numbers to individuals or couples, most with several nutcrackers to be signed. After the store closed at 8 p.m., Steinbach stayed on, signing, until Kirby made him take a dinner break. Then the old master returned and worked till he was finished at 1 a.m.

Not everyone could wait. Retirees Maxine and Harold Stambaugh, who had wanted to be there when he signed their Scrooge, finally had to depart without meeting Steinbach.

On the darkened sidewalk outside the store, Harold, who recently had a leg operation, stopped and gazed down at the curb.

“No knees,” he said, lamenting a condition that even the old master could not have repaired.

“Hold on, honey,” said Maxine.

She offered her arm, and they walked slowly into the night.