Kleingroßdorf, as already mentioned, is originally a Transylvanian Saxon community. Historically, it was in constant tension with the next largest Saxon settlement, from which the village's affairs are now administratively directed.
There, at the unloved old rival's town, not only do the administrative lines converge, but, as we shall see (or perhaps not, since both places sometimes find themselves in the dark without warning), so do entirely different lines: namely, power lines. These lines sometimes lack, purely physically, what was once abundant socially and economically between the competing neighboring settlements: voltage.
“Nu avem curent – We have no electricity!” is a recurring cry in the WhatsApp groups with which the residents of Kleingroßdorf keep themselves informed about bear sightings, neighborhood meetings, charity bazaars and road closures.
The power outage is something to be accepted, like the weather. Sometimes, but by no means always, it's even related to it. Between mountains and hills, thunderstorms roll through the populated valleys like a ball in a pinball machine, bumping from bumper to bumper, sometimes here, sometimes there, seemingly never wanting to leave, always roaring and flashing.
Hey, sometimes LED lights that were never switched on flicker on and on; the slumbering computer awakens to a brief, spectacular life, only to give up the ghost forever; one or another stove with glowing induction cooktops starts acting on its own as if by magic – it's good to be home then.
There, in his own home, the moderately knowledgeable person, who once barely scraped by with a failing grade in physics class, encounters a phenomenon time and again, even without extreme weather conditions, that he, spoiled as he is by Schuko plugs and fuse boxes, had not known before: The power can not only fail completely, but also partially, and at the same time even become excessive, depending on the circuit and phase in the house.
Recurring fluctuations in tension trigger recurring mood swings. Some are a job for an electrician, if you can find one; others for a therapist, good ones of which are also not easy to find. In both cases, you can reliably separate the bad ones from the good ones as soon as they say: "Don't take it so seriously, it's just a phase."
In Kleingroßdorf, people often ask themselves: "What's going on here?" The answer, like all the hardware stores in the area, can be found in the big city.
The mayor of the large city has what she considers a brilliant idea. Dr. Carl Wolff, a Transylvanian Saxon of roughly equal importance to herself, the long-serving mayor, was born 175 years ago. This must be properly commemorated.
The following information about the Great City, its mayor, and Dr. Carl Wolff should be presented in this order before the brilliant idea triggers a short circuit:
The big city is a stone's throw away from Kleingroßdorf, a bit further than the immediate neighboring settlement – you could even throw a dead cat as far as its town sign if necessary. To dispose of the carcass in the big city, you'd have to drive it there.
The Big City is as big as anything can get around here: 170,000 inhabitants and growing rapidly. It overshadows Kleingroßdorf and its neighboring town in every respect, and has many more Lidl supermarkets, practically on every corner; even malls, shopping centers with electric car charging stations bearing the Tesla logo. Electricity is plentiful in the Big City.
The large city, like our charming little village, has a Transylvanian Saxon founding history. In its town hall, a Saxon woman even holds a leading position. As mayor, she continues a post-Ceaușescu tradition that ultimately catapulted her equally Saxon predecessor to the highest office in the land, from the town hall of the large city to Cotroceni Palace in Bucharest, the official residence of the Romanian president.
Saxons are still as rare among the inhabitants of the city as needles in a haystack. Nevertheless, their leaders, repeatedly confirmed in elections by the Romanian majority, have determined what happens in the city and its surroundings for more than two decades.
The mayor is holding a facsimile. It is a share certificate of the "Electricity Corporation" of the Great City, Series D, No. 116, face value 5,000 Lei, co-signed by Dr. Carl Wolff, issued on February 3, 1927, just over two years before his death. At the time of his signature, Dr. Carl Wolff was almost 80 years old.
"The transfer of this share can only take place with the approval of the board of directors," the document states. The mayor smiles. Those were the days!
Wolff played a key role in shaping it. The publicist, politician, economist, and bank director recognized shortly before the turn of the 20th century that electricity was the future. At his instigation, one of Europe's first hydroelectric power plants was built in a valley near the city. It went into operation in 1896 and supplied the city and its satellite villages – including Kleingroßdorf – with electricity. An electric tramway for the city followed somewhat later.
"Colossal," thought the mayor, letting the paper fall. She rummaged through her inbox. Hadn't she found something from the "Carl Wolff Society," the local business club, along with the facsimile? Ah yes, that's right! The proposal suggested naming a street after Dr. Carl Wolff. Why not, the mayor thought. "He was a great man of Saxony, after all!"
Nearly 20 kilometers from the mayor's office, in Kleingroßdorf, a young Sachs, a craftsman with a strong sense of diligence, says about the short circuit in the ceiling light: "I don't think it's the lamp."
He exposes the switch's wiring and shakes his head at the work of his predecessors. The circuit diagrams of the perpetrators of this disaster offer no further insight. "They're all wrong. I'm going to put this on hold for now, before I have more time to check everything." Young Sachs will return, that's a promise. You can count on it.
Lights out, spotlight on: The mayor has called a press conference. Dr. Carl Wolff is getting a street named after him! For now, it's called Strada Spartacus. As is widely known, the name Spartacus stands for unrest that is difficult to control.
That's why the mayor forgot to ask the residents of the street for their opinion on the name change. They are vehemently opposed. After all, they would have to have their personal documents changed to the new address, as well as all utility contracts for their residence, including, of course, their electricity connection.
The mayor caves, Spartacus triumphs. "Dr. Carl Wolff waits," headlines the local section of the "Allgemeine Deutsche Zeitung" about the failed renaming project.
How true. The man has plenty of time, an eternity. And the generators he purchased in 1901 for the power plant near Kleingroßdorf weren't modernized to three-phase current until 1925/26. They're still connected to the grid. That explains a lot. Anyone who has faithfully served since the beginning of the 20th century is entitled to a period of reduced performance now and then.
The electrician is coming tomorrow. Whether that will help, no one knows. But it's a nice gesture.