When the war ended, testimonies of the prisoners from the Mauthausen complex of work camps in Austria would detail more than sixty different techniques that were used to murder prisoners. For certain, the capacity of the human mind to imagine evil was stretched to the very limit in this human hell. Mauthausen was created to exploit the work capacity of the inferior human being to serve the Reich. And as soon as a prisoner reached the point that they could no longer work, they became candidates for one of those sixty lethal techniques.
Like any camp, there were jobs that provided prisoners with a small glimmer of hope to survive at least for a few months. There were also jobs that no one survived more than a month or two. For the poor souls who were sent to the quarries and worked outside in the cold and freezing conditions, death was always knocking on the doorpost. For those inside the munitions factories or outsourced to local farms, there was a far greater chance of making it six or seven months. That was pretty much the longest anyone could last before exhaustion or hunger took its final toll. The most fortunate were the few who secured jobs as attendants or menial laborers inside the Reich Chancellery building. For them, the chance of survival rose exponentially.
Jan Gruber thought that nothing could be worse than Auschwitz. But upon arrival at Mauthausen, he began to hear rumors that this place could actually be worse. However, his luck seemed to turn when it was announced that camp Commandant Franz Ziereis was searching for a tailor, as he was preparing for the arrival and inspection of his camp by Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler later that week. Jan, whose father owned one of the best-known tailor shops in Amsterdam, had the great fortune of being a talented tailor, and he was given the task of repairing the commandant’s overcoat and uniform in preparation for the arrival of Himmler’s VIP delegation. Having been taught by his father from a very young age every possible skill a tailor would ever need, Jan was more than qualified to fulfill all of the camp commandant’s requests.
Jan recognized immediately that this was an important job. He only prayed that it was something that he could hold onto for the long term. Despite working nonstop from the crack of dawn until sundown, the tailor from Amsterdam recognized his fortune each day. From a small window by his workspace, he could see the expressions on the faces of the crews who went and returned from the slave labor sites. Even the new arrivals looked like walking corpses. The toll that even one day in the quarries took on them was unimaginable. And though Jan had now seen many Jews shot at point-blank range, he couldn’t comprehend the death toll that was amassing at the quarries.
The tailor’s office was stationed in the administration building in a six-by-six-foot makeshift closet. It was equipped with a box of tools and supplies and a wooden table and a chair. A framed poster of the Fuhrer adorned the wall, angrily watching over anyone who entered. Jan was most pleased that the chair had a comfortable back. This eased the pain that shot down his left leg from his sciatica. He was used to tight quarters and was content to be left alone for most of the day. Several of the other workers in the Chancellery were positioned outside of his closet. From time to time, when no guards were around, Jan would eavesdrop on the conversations. Most of it was useless chatter, but occasionally he would pick up bits of worthwhile information. He learned which guards had the shortest tempers, who might reward a worker with an extra food ration for exemplary work, and who would shoot you in the head for no reason at all. While Jan was never offered a formal briefing on the rules of the camp, he learned very quickly. Never speak to a guard. Never look a Nazi in the eye. Always rise, remove your cap, and stare straight at the ground whenever one of those bastards entered the room. And always continue working. No matter what, never let them see you taking a moment’s break from your work.
One day Jan witnessed dramatically the heavy price to pay for “insubordination.” A Nazi bureaucrat entered the outer office space. All the prisoners immediately rose to their feet. One of the prisoners, a Pole named Shmuel, somehow lost his wits and was unable to stifle a cough while the Nazi was barking instructions. The Nazi was so disturbed that a Jew would have the audacity to cough as he spoke that he immediately grabbed his whip and beat Shmuel within an inch of his life. The blood from Shmuel’s back splattered across papers and furniture, onto the wall, and all over the Nazi’s boots and clothing. After what seemed like an eternity, the Nazi casually brushed some of the blood off of his sleeve and walked out. Shmuel survived for one more day. By lunchtime the next day, there was a newcomer sitting at Shmuel’s former workspace. Despite Shmuel’s tragic end, the replacement knew how fortunate he was to have garnered an inside job. He also knew the importance of standing at attention and stifling any involuntary bodily noises.
Jan had become pretty good at following the rules. The guards appreciated him because his work was of the highest quality. They trusted him with their precious uniforms. They also appreciated that he would tailor for them the clothes they stole from the storehouse. There were always worthwhile items to take from the suitcases of new arrivals or local townspeople. Jan survived well on extra scraps of food that were thrown his way as payment. He was once given an entire loaf of bread that he surreptitiously shared with the inmates in the office. It was important that the others did not resent him for being rewarded when they were not. He could not risk having anyone holding a grudge against him. As long as he had some value to those around him, they would do their best to protect him. They would warn him when guards were approaching and would share information that could possibly save his life.
In addition to the added food and comfortable work assignment, Jan loved doing the same work he did before deportation. Stitching and sewing reminded him of the days he spent in the backroom of his father’s store. He had spent each day listening to music and thinking about football and girls. He enjoyed the time he spent with his father. Tailoring brought with it a flood of happy memories, and Jan often got lost in the past while he worked. It was surreal to be tailoring the clothes of the people slaughtering his former customers. It took quite a bit of imagination and willpower to make sense of his daily workload. Nevertheless, any memory that brought his mind back to his father’s old store was welcome.
On one occasion, Jan was recalling a conversation he once had with a customer and became lost in thought. In his mind, he was back in the old shop, presenting a repaired garment to a wealthy local Jew. He was so engrossed in the past that he made the unforgivable mistake of taking his eye off the outer door. To his misfortune, he missed the entrance of the same guard who had murdered Shmuel with his whip. Oblivious to everyone else in the room who stood at attention, caps removed, eyes focused on their feet, Jan was suddenly wrenched from his daze by powerful hands. He was yanked violently by the neck and thrown powerfully against the wall. As Jan stumbled to his feet, the guard grabbed Jan’s cloth-cutting knife. He angrily ordered Jan to place his right foot on the table and remove his shoe. Moments later, the guard walked out of the office, leaving Jan crumpled on the floor with his severed pinkie toe lying on the floor beside him.