Chapter 17

January 28, 1922

The Wolf/Esser trial for assaulting Ballerstedt was expected to be brief. The facts were not in dispute. A witness described the attack. I sat in the back of the courtroom to avoid drawing attention. The last thing I wanted was for one of Ballerstedt’s followers to point an accusatory finger that would land me in the dock as well . . . with the inevitable police check into my background.

Ballerstedt was the prosecution’s last witness. The man made a sympathetic figure. He suffered a severe head wound during the war that cost him an eye. His recent beating left his left arm hanging in a sling; aided by a cane, he shuffled with a pronounced limp. Watching him hobble into the witness box was painful. I cowered in my seat.

After stating his name and training as an electrical engineer, Ballerstedt described founding the Bavarian League.

“And what is the purpose of this party, Herr Ballerstedt?” asked the prosecutor.

“To promote measures that would strengthen our state of Bavaria while supporting the integrity of the Weimar Republic.”

“Does your party wish to bring harm to the chancellor and the government in Berlin?”

“Absolutely not. We support the government.”

Wolf jumped out of his seat and shouted. “That is a lie! You support an independent Bavaria. You bring dishonor to all Germans.”

The judge smacked his gavel. “You are in contempt, Herr Hitler. One more outburst and you will be removed from the court.”

The prosecutor continued. “Can you describe what happened on September 14 of last year?”

“The beating was severe. I don’t remember much.”

“Are the men who beat you in this courtroom?”

“I will never forget them.” With a shaky hand, Ballerstedt pointed to Wolf and Esser. “Those are the two.”

“Did you say or do anything to incite the defendants to jump up on the stage?”

Ballerstedt struggled to make his crooked frame straighter. “I said nothing. Their attack was premeditated. They knew they were going to assault me before they entered the Löwenbräukeller.”

“How can you be certain of this, Herr Ballerstedt?”

“Because their thugs took seats in the front row. They had someone planted in the back to turn the lights off to ensure that mayhem occurred.”

Wolf jumped out of his seat again. “That is a lie. Your people turned off the lights thinking it would calm everyone down. It did the opposite.”

Again, the judge banged his gavel. “Herr Hitler, I am warning you for the last time. Sit down or you will be sent to a cell.”

When the prosecutor finished, Wolf’s attorney opted not to question Ballerstedt. There was no advantage to have him repeat incriminating statements or draw additional sympathy from the judge.

The defense was simple. Hermann Esser would not take the stand. Wolf was the celebrity. Everyone wanted to hear him speak. He would use the proceedings as a platform to the public through the press.

Speak he did . . . for two-and-a-half hours. He restated why Germany was in such a deplorable state, why inflation was out of control, why the Versailles Treaty had to be discarded, why Germany was at the mercy of the usurious bankers, that the Jews were behind it all, and concluded with the Communist threat to take over both Berlin and Bavaria. Wolf mesmerized all in the court—including the judge—but not Ballerstedt. All the while Wolf pontificated, Ballerstedt leaned on his cane with a sardonic smile. Every so often, he would nod or chuckle as a man would who appreciated a good performance.

When Wolf ended his soliloquy, Ballerstedt requested the judge’s permission to question Wolf. The judge acceded. Ballerstedt was known for his eloquence. I cringed at what might happen next.

Wolf had trouble making eye contact with Ballerstedt.

“Herr Hitler.” Ballerstedt pointed his cane at Wolf. “Do you agree that out of the world’s nearly two billion people, there are sixty million Germans in this country, not to mention tens of millions of Germans worldwide?”

“There may be,” Wolf answered, his voice hoarse from his long speech. “I am not a statistician.”

“Do you also agree that it is estimated there are thirteen million Jews on the planet? A bit more than half of one percent?”

“Whatever the number,” Wolf motioned to dismiss it, “it is too many.”

“Yet you attribute incredible financial and intellectual feats to this mere handful of people.” Ballerstedt shook his head in feigned disbelief. “If what you say is true, Herr Hitler, then one Jew is equal to ten Aryans. No, let me correct that: one Jew is equal to one hundred Aryans. Is that the reason you are so afraid of them?”

Wolf was dumbstruck. Speechless. He sat frozen, while Ballerstedt’s supporters laughed and jeered. Ballerstedt turned to the spectators and waved his cane, enjoying the moment. Even the judge turned away to conceal a grin, making no effort to bring order to the court. Wolf glared at Ballerstedt. If looks could kill, Ballerstedt was a dead man.

Finally, the judge called the court to order. He found Wolf and Hermann Esser guilty. Each received a three-month jail sentence, with two months off for “presumed” good behavior.

*

Wolf and Esser’s appeals were unsuccessful. Five months later, on June 24, 1922, both reported to Stadelheim Prison. As he entered the jail, Wolf said, “Two thousand years ago, the mob of Jerusalem dragged a man to execution in just this way.”

This statement should have been laughable. But this was Adolf Hitler, believing that Providence had picked him to save Germany. Others heard that same thing and believed he meant it.

When I heard this, I heard the voice of Dr. Edmund Robert Forster.

1922

While in Stadelheim Prison, Wolf was not idle. He wrote an inventory of speeches to be used in a whirlwind speaking tour upon his release. By mid-October we had thousands of additional members.

In October, the town of Coburg was in the grip of our deadly enemy: the Marxists. The Bolsheviks had the audacity to stage an event called “German Day.” We made plans to disrupt their “day.” Wolf believed that confronting the Marxists would energize party members.

The party leaders met at headquarters on October 11. Rosenberg waved the morning edition of our newspaper, the Völkischer Beobachter.

On Saturday, October 14, at 8 a.m., a special train for members of the NSDAP will depart from the Munich train station for Coburg. All members of the SA, as well as other male party members, are requested to take part in the trip . . . Quarters in Coburg will be taken care of . . . Local groups are to bring along their flags. The meeting will be an unforgettable memory for every participant.

The core group—Wolf, Emil, Max Amann, Rosenberg, Frick, Frank, Hess, Esser, and me—sat around a large table with two recent recruits: Ernst Hanfstaengl and Hermann Göring.

Hanfstaengl, nicknamed “Putzi,” was Wolf’s Harvard-schooled Nazi. His mother was American. His maternal grandfather was one of the Union generals who carried Lincoln’s coffin. Though schooled in the prestigious Ivy League institution, Putzi was German through-and-through. He ran the family fine arts publishing business in New York during the Great War. After the war, he returned to Munich where he was captivated by Wolf’s speeches and contributed much-needed dollars to the cause. This bought him into the party’s inner circle.

Hermann Göring was the prize. Descended from a well-to-do family, a decorated pilot, he won every possible war award including Prussia’s highest, the coveted Pour le Mérite. His twenty-two air victories were far short of the eighty achieved by the legendary Red Baron, Captain Baron Manfred von Richthofen. Yet his prowess qualified him to take over Richthofen’s squadron, “The Flying Circus,” when the Red Baron was shot down and killed. Göring received national attention when he refused to turn his squadron’s aircraft over to the victors after the war ended. Following his example, many of his pilots crashed their aircraft rather than obey the order to surrender.

Within months of joining the party, Wolf put Göring in charge of the Sturmabteilung—the SA—as Oberster, SA-Führer. In short order, Göring had them whipped into an effective fighting force.

“How many fighters have signed up for the train?” Wolf asked.

“Close to seven hundred so far, but there will be more,” answered Amann. “We don’t have enough money to buy a horse let alone transport a veritable army to Coburg by rail. Thank God our fighters will pay for the trip themselves.”

“Don’t forget the forty-two-piece band,” added Rosenberg.

*

As the train pulled in, Coburg’s police captain, flanked by twenty officers, waited for us at the end of the platform. Wolf and I hopped off the train and walked toward the cluster of police, each equipped with a baton and a holstered sidearm.

The captain, hands on his hips, his jaw thrust forward, said, “There will be no parade, Herr Hitler. No band. No flags.”

He rocked back on his heels, expecting us to leave with our tails between our legs. I still remember his shocked look, along with that of his men, when I gave the signal for Göring to unload our troops. It took nearly half an hour for the eight hundred SA men, sporting striking swastika armbands, to form ranks behind the band. Once assembled, our columns hoisted their banners on high and waited for Wolf’s command.

“Captain,” I said, “those men say there will be a parade, with our band and our flags.” The police captain was ashen . . . and speechless.

Wolf said softly. “Perhaps you and your men would like to return to other duties, captain?”

Without a word, the captain touched the brim of his hat, ordered his men to about-face. They broke ranks to get as far away as quickly as possible.

We marched in formation toward the town center only to be greeted by Marxists hurling rocks and bottles at us. When they attacked our columns brandishing knives and wielding billy clubs, we broke ranks and went after them. They were overmatched. SA troopers captured the streets and drove the Reds from Coburg. By the end of the day we were in control. Wolf was invited to address the town board meeting with the Duke and Duchess of Coburg in attendance. At the end of the speech, they joined the party and became donors.

Years later, the Coburg men received a special badge that read: “Mit Hitler in Coburg.”

*

On October 29, 1922, thirteen days after Coburg, Benito Mussolini led twenty-five thousand Black Shirts in a march on Rome. The National Fascist Party of Mussolini had seized Italy.

This event was not lost on us. Indeed we often spoke of Mussolini’s Putsch. We were simply waiting for the right moment to launch our own.

Twelve months later, when one dollar bought more than four trillion marks, Wolf judged that the time had come to seize the local government of Bavaria in Munich, and then march onto Berlin and national power, under the dictatorship of Adolf Hitler.

October 1922 – November 1923

During the months that followed Coburg, one new member distinguished himself with great organizational skills: party member Number 14,303—Heinrich Himmler—who was installed to lead the newly formed Schutzstaffel (SS). This handful of men functioned as a unit within the SA, specifically charged with protecting Hitler. Their motto was Meine Ehre Heißt Treue—My Honor is Loyalty.

We put great stock in early memberships. A low membership number in the NSDAP carried prestige. Once the SS came into existence, Wolf, of course, was Number 1. He offered me Number 2 but I declined. I needed to maintain my low profile. So Emil Maurice was issued SS Card Number 2. Himmler became SS Number 168 with the minor rank of SS-Führer (SS leader).

The victorious Allies were most helpful for our party’s growth. For example, the Treaty of Versailles required Germany to deliver two hundred thousand telephone poles to France and Belgium each year. When Germany failed to send the poles on time, French and Belgian troops occupied the Ruhr Valley. The Ruhr was the heartbeat of our industries. To counter this seizure our leaders urged the factories to shut down in a show of passive resistance. This caused millions more to go hungry and transformed inflation into hyperinflation. As the economy tumbled, our party rose.