Chapter 8

January – November 1919

Beyond aiding the understaffed army, the Freikorps served another purpose: it provided me with both companionship and another patriotic mission. This time we set out to overthrow the recent Communist takeover of Bavaria. Ernst Röhm led our division of thirty thousand men. Captain Röhm, holder of the Iron Cross, First Class—for distinguished service—stopped at nothing when it came to accomplishing a mission. That he liked boys rather than girls did not trouble me.

Led by Röhm, we overthrew the Bavarian Communist government, while at the same time, Germany’s politics shifted yet again. A new constitution was adopted. The seat of government was moved to the town of Weimar, where the government’s shaky legs began to stabilize. With their monarchies overthrown, the fifteen separate German states initiated democratic freedoms that raised hopes. There was also a tectonic shift in German mores. It was this swing in values that gave Anna and Marta an opportunity to change my life.

*

One Sunday afternoon, in early September, Marta, Anna, and I set out to picnic in a nearby park. The women prepared a lunch of assorted sandwiches. My job was to carry the blanket, wine, and glasses without breaking anything.

“Friedrich, be a dear and open the Riesling,” Anna said.

As I turned the corkscrew, Marta blurted out, “My boss is looking for someone your size to be a bouncer at the nightclub.”

I wasn’t certain what a bouncer was. After Marta explained, I asked, “All your boss wants me to do is stand there and look tough? And he will pay me to do that?”

“It’s more than that. Your job is to keep drunks from entering. We can’t have customers harassed or disturbances distracting our shows. Sometimes that means a physical confrontation.”

“Mixing it up is not an issue for me.”

“I didn’t think so,” said Marta. Then her pale skin turned crimson. “There is something else you should know. Things can get pretty weird inside the clubs.”

“What are you talking about?”

Marta explained. “The new Weimar government is not self-righteous about sex. It has overturned Emperor Wilhelm’s moral pigeonholes. With the new republic, the genie has been let out of the bottle, so to speak. My boss wants to capitalize on it.”

“In what way?”

“You’re aware that my boss closed his underground nightclub to open a cabaret.” I nodded. “Well, he opened two more clubs: one for gays and one for others. Straights are welcomed at both.”

“Whoa! You are going too fast for me. What are others? For that matter, what are straights?”

Anna pointed to herself and then me. “You and I are straights. Male/female.”

“Others,” said Marta, “are everyone else. Lesbians. Homosexual men. Transvestites. Men who like midgets, and those interested in people with disabilities.”

I could not credit what I was hearing. “You’re talking about a nation of perverts.”

“On the contrary,” said Marta, “we are talking about freedom of expression. So,” she glanced at Anna, “are you going to take the job?”

“You skipped over how things might get out of hand inside the club.”

“It’s not complicated, Friedrich,” Anna interrupted. “You keep the peace in the club. That’s the job. Period. From my perspective, that is better than gallivanting around the country in a private army committing indiscriminate violence. For which, I might add, you receive no pay and run the risk of getting killed.”

“Let’s get something straight,” I replied. “The Freikorps protects our women and children. Our purpose is to bring stability to our country.”

Anna crossed her arms. “Is that so? Rosa Luxemburg was a woman. I was the duty nurse when they brought her decomposed body to Charité. She remained in the Landwehr Canal for five months after your comrades killed her. You can imagine how hard it was to identify her. Your Freikorps didn’t protect her, now, did they?”

“Are you questioning that the leaders of the Communist Revolution had to be removed?”

Anna turned stone cold. “You accomplished that. The streets are quiet. Now I want your answer, Friedrich. Take the position or leave our flat.”

The picnic was a setup. They both knew I had no choice.

*

Marta’s boss, Max Klinghofer, owned a grand space that he took from foreclosure during the war. The space needed little in the way of renovation. The Nightingale Party Hall was filled each night not only with Berliners, but also with patrons from all over Europe and even the United States.

When we first met, Max sized me up. “Marta said you were big, but I didn’t expect you to be this tall . . . or this broad. I like it. Can you handle yourself?”

“Let’s just say I don’t shy away from a fight.”

“Are you always the winner?”

“So far.”

Max was anything but intimidating. He was as wide as he was tall. He waddled when he walked. He reminded me of a King Penguin with a perpetual cigar stuffed in one side of his mouth. In the brief time I worked there, he presented as a confirmed bachelor, with no entanglements. Later, I came to know better.

“The job is simple,” he said. “Don’t let anybody into the club you don’t think belongs here. From time to time, check to make sure there’s no trouble inside, and all will be good.”

*

Besides the Nightingale, Max launched two more clubs: one for homosexual men and lesbian women, and one for transvestites named Club Sei Dir Selbst (Club Be Yourself). Max’s timing was perfect. Berliners had long been repressed. In the aftermath of the war, their latent inhibitions erupted. Business was terrific.

Berlin’s sexual revolution attracted partygoers from all over the world. I saw gowned men whom I swore were women, and what I thought were tuxedoed men were lesbians. I often moved around the club to keep the peace. My sheer size was usually enough to maintain or restore equanimity. But there were times when I needed to use my bare fists or the brass knuckles Max had provided me. I kept a Billy in my back pocket as a final recourse.

“I could not expect a better job,” Max said one evening after a few weeks. “There has been no real trouble since you’ve been at the door. Even inside, people either see you or know you’re around, and they mind their manners. Take this.”

He handed me a wad of cash. I laid the stack on the table. “What’s this for? There’s no need to pay me extra for doing my job.”

Max chortled. “Son, if I give you money, it’s for a reason. Since you’ve been here, the Nightingale has been more profitable. That’s not a coincidence.”

The club was also profitable for me in ways I did not expect. People slipped marks into my palm to jump the line or for the preferred seating I could arrange. Female patrons, even when accompanied by male escorts, slipped me money to join them at their table once the club had filled and the doors closed. I stopped counting the number of times a woman’s hand would caress my knee when I took a seat next to her.

*

On June 28, 1919, six months after I left Pasewalk, we signed the Treaty of Versailles. The treaty was meant to cripple us. It did.

“This is going to hobble us for generations,” I told Anna on our Sunday off.

“No one wants another war. The treaty prevents us from rearming. What’s wrong with that?” she answered.

“Did you bother to read the terms? We have to accept total blame for the war. We have to pay the Allies for its entire cost, regardless of which side caused the damage. We have to limit the size of our military. Our navy is decimated. They took thirteen percent of Germany’s land that includes one tenth of our population. That’s close to seven million Germans. Anna, imagine. Seven million Germans have lost their homeland! On top of that, they’ve stripped away our colonies around the world. They left nothing untouched!”

Anna remained unfazed. “Everyone knows that politicians are politicians.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“They’re words. Do you really believe they will ram all those terms down our throat? You’ll see. As time goes on, everything will return to normal.”

I had thought the two of us had found a way to coexist, but it was clear we had values that could not be reconciled. There was more. Anna, in her early forties, wanted security and comfort. I figured I was in my early to mid-twenties. I worked nights; she worked days. And then there were the girls at the club. As Anna and I drifted apart, my fidelity weakened. I was not made of stone. I protected the beautiful women who worked in the clubs. Many of them wanted to show their appreciation. In time I learned that if I had a turn with a girl, it gave her status. Other than Marta, who was too close to home, I took my pick.

Why not? Anna and I stopped being intimate. Did Anna “know” about the others? Of course she did. Deep down, women often “know,” even when they don’t want to admit knowing, allowing them to continue relationships they should end.

As long as I wasn’t blatant about my escapades, I believed things could continue. From my vantage point, there was no need to change. I continued to save money and have fun on the side. I knew Marta had a soft spot for me, and, if I didn’t get involved with her, I trusted she would remain silent.

But in my heart, I knew this could not go on indefinitely.