A War, a Manuscript, and a Monkey

In June of 1940, Paris was unraveling.

The Nazis had breached the Maginot Line. The French government was collapsing. Trains were no longer running. Roads were jammed with families fleeing south. And in one small apartment in Montmartre, a Jewish couple — Hans and Margret Rey — were frantically assembling two bicycles from spare parts.

They didn’t have much time. German troops were expected to enter the city within days. But they had no car, no driver, and no illusions about what would happen to German-born Jews under Nazi rule.

So they packed what they could. A few clothes. Food. Some documents. And a manuscript — a children’s book draft featuring a mischievous monkey named Fifi.

They pedaled south out of Paris just two days before the Nazis arrived.

Hans and Margret Rey had met in Hamburg but reconnected years later in Brazil, where Hans had gone to escape the growing anti-Semitism in Europe. Margret had also fled Germany. They married in 1935 and eventually moved to Paris, a city they both loved and hoped would offer stability. It was in Paris that Hans began sketching a little monkey character. Margret encouraged him to develop it further. They collaborated on early drafts of children's stories, blending her wit with his whimsical artwork.

Life in Paris was creative and full of promise — until the war came. First, Germany invaded Poland. Then Denmark and Norway. Then the Netherlands and Belgium. France fell next.

By the time German tanks rolled into Paris, Hans and Margret were on the road.

They didn’t leave in a car because there were no cars left. Gasoline was scarce. Trains were no longer running. Thousands had already fled, and what was left was chaos. So Hans, who was handy with tools, used spare parts to build two bicycles by hand.

It took them four days to escape the city. Four days of riding through the Loire Valley in the June heat, with thousands of other refugees clogging the roads — civilians, soldiers, families with children and carts and livestock. At night, they slept wherever they could. In barns. Under trees. On the side of the road.

They carried their belongings in bags slung over their backs and strapped to the bikes — including the monkey manuscript.

At one point, they were stopped by French officials who suspected they might be spies. After all, they were German nationals, traveling during a time of war, carrying almost no possessions — except a folder full of drawings of a monkey getting into trouble. It was absurd enough to be convincing. They were allowed to pass.

Eventually, they reached the southwestern town of Bayonne. From there, they crossed into Spain and made their way to Lisbon, Portugal — a neutral country and one of the few remaining doors out of Europe. They stayed briefly in Brazil again before finally boarding a steamship to New York. By the time they arrived in October 1940, they had narrowly escaped the largest war the world had ever known.

They arrived with no wealth to speak of. No home. No safety net. But they had each other — and they had the monkey.

In New York, they connected with editors at Houghton Mifflin. The publishing house loved the story but asked for one change: Fifi had to go. He was renamed Curious George.

The book was published in 1941 and became an instant success. It would go on to become one of the most enduring children’s books of the 20th century, selling millions of copies worldwide, translated into dozens of languages, and spawning cartoons, films, and merchandising.

But behind the glossy illustrations and charming monkey is a story that’s not about curiosity — it’s about clarity. And survival.

We like to imagine that when big disruptions happen — recessions, layoffs, illness, geopolitical unrest — we’ll see them coming. That we’ll have time to prepare. That the world will give us a heads-up.

But it rarely works that way.

The Reys didn’t leave Paris because they were alarmists. They left because they understood a simple, sobering truth: the line between stability and chaos is thinner than we think. And when that line breaks, it’s not the people with the most resources who move — it’s the people who are already prepared to.

Financial planning is often framed as optimization: How do we grow our money faster? How do we pay less in taxes? How do we maximize returns?

But there’s another layer — one that’s quieter, but far more important. Good planning isn’t just about growing wealth. It’s about protecting your ability to adapt when life doesn't go to plan. It’s about resilience. Flexibility. Margin. The ability to make decisions under pressure without losing yourself in the process.

The Reys had no control over the war. But they did have control over what they prioritized: their health, their mobility, and their creative work. And that’s what saved them.

Their story is a reminder that the unexpected doesn’t care how hard you’ve worked, how smart you are, or what your portfolio looks like. It shows up anyway. The real question is: Will you be able to move when it does?

Because when things fall apart, what you’ve already built — the reserves, the habits, the plan — becomes the bridge between survival and catastrophe.

The Reys built that bridge one bike part at a time. And they carried a monkey across it.