Chapter 18

November 7, 1923

We met in General Ludendorff’s house. Seated around the table were Frick, Amann, Himmler, Göring, Röhm, Rosenberg, Hess, Hanfstaengl, and Emil. I sat next to Wolf. While the general lent us his house from time to time, he never sat with us. The night before the Putsch was no exception.

I leaned over to Emil and whispered, “Where’s Hermann Esser? He should be here.”

Emil rolled his eyes. “He sent word he’s sick in bed.”

“Scheisse! What a shit!”

“Call him a coward. That would be more accurate,” said Emil.

Wolf tapped the table to get our attention. “The triumvirate will have no choice but to join us.” Wolf referred to Hans Ritter von Seisser, Otto Hermann von Lossow, and Gustav von Kahr. Using the fear of another “Red Threat,” Kahr seized control of the government after the Reichswehr had snuffed out an earlier Communist rebellion. He enlisted Lossow, who was the local Reichswehr commander, and Seisser, who headed the state police, and together, the three ruled Bavaria.

“My informants tell me that Kahr, Lossow, and Seisser plan to march on Berlin to take over the government,” Göring said. “It appears that Mussolini impressed them as much as us. There is no time to waste. We must move now!”

We were ready. Since going to Berlin three years earlier to study Kapp’s Putsch, we worked and reworked the details to avoid his mistakes. We counted on Frick, who headed the political division of the Munich Police, to neutralize the local polizisten. Satisfied that everyone knew their role, Wolf made the announcement, “The hour has come.”

November 8, 1923

Three thousand of Munich’s elite assembled to hear Generalkommissar Gustav von Kahr speak in the Bürgerbräukeller. Perched alongside him on the dais were Lossow and Seisser. Soon after Kahr began, Wolf, Göring, Hess, Amann, Rosenberg, Hanfstaengl, Emil, and I entered the hall. We milled around the rear with steins in our hands. At 8:25 p.m., a messenger informed Wolf that our SA men were assembled outside.

Nine minutes later, one hundred elite SS troopers stormed through the back doors. As they took positions around the room, Wolf hopped onto a table and fired shots from his Browning revolver into the ceiling. In seconds our machine guns were set up, sweeping left and right, creating an arc of fear.

Men dove to the floor. Some crawled under tables. Earsplitting screams and shouting filled the room.

“Silence!” Wolf thundered.

Forming a phalanx around Wolf, we moved toward the stage where Kahr, Seisser, and Lossow glowered down at us.

Wolf leapt onto the platform. “The National Revolution has begun! This hall is surrounded. No one may leave. The Reichswehr and the police have joined the swastika flag! The Bavarian Government is deposed! The Reich government is deposed!”

While Wolf spoke, Hess secured a temporary holding room offstage. Wolf waggled his Browning at Kahr, Seisser, and Lossow. As they marched to this makeshift cell, Wolf turned back to the crowd. “General Ludendorff, our great wartime leader, will arrive any minute to join our putsch. He will take over the Reichswehr. Lossow will be the minister of War and Seisser will be the minister of Police. Kahr will retain some sort of power.”

Wolf left the stage and burst into the holding room. He jammed documents in front of Kahr, Seisser, and Lossow.

“Sign these.”

Had the trio signed, they would have transferred legal command of Bavaria to us. But they stalled. Lossow raised numerous objections. I heard him whisper to Kahr, “Let’s play out this comedy.” And they did, using every excuse to delay.

As planned, Röhm attended a rally at the Löewenbräukeller. When he received word that the putsch was on, he interrupted the speaker to announce the revolution. Cheers erupted. Then Röhm loaded men onto trucks to join us at the Bürgerbräukeller. As they headed toward us, Wolf sent orders for Röhm to split into three forces: one would continue to the Bürgerbräukeller, another should hurry to the St. Annaplatz monastery to retrieve a cache of arms, and the third group was to seize General Lossow’s headquarters in the War Ministry located on Schoenfeldstrasse.

Each force succeeded in reaching its destination. While we waited inside, Himmler secured our building with a makeshift barrier topped with barbed wire.

Finally, General Ludendorff arrived sporting a hunting jacket and felt hat. When the former wartime commander entered the room, Seisser and Lossow jumped to attention. The general urged the three men to agree to Wolf’s terms. “The step has been taken,” Ludendorff said. “We can no longer turn back. Our action is already inscribed on the pages of world history.”

Ludendorff’s appearance seemed to cap our victory.

Fifty-four minutes after the Putsch began, Kahr, Seisser, and Lossow acceded to our demands. We were exuberant. Munich was ours . . . now on to Berlin!

At 10:30 p.m., two hours after the putsch launched, we received our first bad news: army engineers offered strong resistance to two hundred and fifty storm troopers. Wolf needed to intervene if we were to avoid firing on German soldiers. But to do so, he had to leave the building. Taking most of the troops with us, Wolf asked General Ludendorff to remain in charge of the hall and make certain that the deposed triad—Kahr, Seisser, and Lossow—stayed put.

“Wolf,” I said as we headed through the door, “do you think it’s wise to leave the general without enough backup troops?” What I wanted to say, but dared not, was, “How can you leave this old man in charge?” I knew through the soles of my shoes that this was a mistake.

Wolf stopped in his tracks. “How can anyone disobey General Ludendorff? But if you’re so concerned, I’ll leave a few more troopers behind.”

That was Wolf’s first blunder of the night. As soon as we left, the three begged to return to their respective posts. They entreated Ludendorff to accept their parole, promising to do no harm. The foolish old man accepted and allowed them to leave. That was the beginning of the end of our putsch. Once free, Kahr set out to organize the police to resist us.

Believing the three Bavarian leaders had remained confined at the Bürgerbräukeller, Wolf arrived at the confrontation and convinced the army engineers to let our troopers proceed. We then continued our march through the streets of Munich, gathering more and more followers. In those first hours, we met no resistance.

At daybreak, buoyed by our seeming success, Ludendorff joined Wolf at the front of the growing columns of putschists. We headed toward the Ludwig Bridge where a wall of police with drawn guns ordered us to halt.

Wolf called out, “We don’t want any martyrs,” and continued forward. But the police lines held. They cocked their rifles. We went forward. They dropped to a shooting crouch.

I leaped forward, hands raised. “Don’t fire! General Ludendorff is with us.”

The police lowered their guns. When they did, Wolf raised his hand to move forward. “The city is ours. Let’s finish this march.”

Göring, Amann, Ludendorff, Hess, Emil, and I were in the front line with Hitler as we marched toward Odeonsplatz. Behind us were rank and file SA troopers, followed by hundreds of Great War veterans sporting medals on their chests. Some held weapons. Behind them was a ragtag group of local supporters and students. By now we numbered two thousand strong.

Someone yelled “Heil Hitler!” Suddenly shots rang out; I crouched to make a smaller target. Who fired first? It was impossible to tell. Though it seemed longer, the battle lasted only minutes. Ludendorff ignored bullets whizzing by and continued to march forward. By some miracle, he passed through the police lines unscathed.

Göring was not so lucky. A deflected bullet bounced off the cobblestone and shrapnel punctured his thigh. He fell to the street. He crawled to safety behind one of the two massive stone lions that guarded the front of the former Kaiser’s residence. Two SA men then dragged him from there to safety.

Despite being fired upon, Wolf continued to march with men on either side of him, their arms interlocked. Scheubner, the man on Wolf’s left, fell gravely shot. As Scheubner crumpled to the ground, his bodyweight yanked Hitler to the cobblestone, wrenching his left shoulder out of its socket.

When Wolf went down, I raced over as bullets strafed the air or kicked up fragments of cobblestone. He cried out in agony as I tugged him to his feet and then pulled him through the streets. Along the way I saw that Ulrich Graff, one of Wolf’s bodyguards, lay bleeding. There was no time to stop.

Even though he expected our putsch to succeed, Wolf planned an escape valve. A yellow Fiat was to be waiting at a prescribed spot. As I dragged Wolf there, I prayed the driver had not bolted at the sound of gunfire. But there he was. Wolf writhed in agony as I folded him into the car.

Before they sped off, Wolf said through clenched teeth, “This is the end, Friedrich. I am putting Rosenberg in charge of the party. Max Amann will be his deputy.”

“We have to get out of here!” The driver cried, putting the car in gear.

“This is not the end. The party will survive,” I said.

“There’s time to talk later, Friedrich. Get out of Munich; you’re vulnerable here. Run!” I waited until the car turned the corner and then scrambled away before the police caught up with me. I later learned that, besides the wounded, sixteen of our men died, along with three police.

Wolf was driven to Putzi Hanfstaengl’s house. There, growing increasingly depressed, wracked with constant pain from his dislocated arm that would not be put back into its socket for days, he threatened suicide. Helene Hanfstaengl, Putzi’s wife, talked him out of it.

When the police finally located Hitler, they arrested him on the spot. Röhm, Amann, Hess, and Emil were also apprehended. Göring, though severely wounded, escaped out of the country. Over time, more of the leadership was arrested, including Frick. Others, such as Himmler and me, escaped.

*

My first instinct was to discount Wolf’s warning, remain in Munich, and help put the pieces of the party back together. I intended to hide out in the apartment above our headquarters, but when I reached the corner of our street, police were there, demolishing our newspaper, the Völkischer Beobachter.

I backtracked and circled around toward Wolf’s apartment building on Thierschstrasse. Wolf’s landladies knew me. I was certain they would let me stay until things quieted down. Rather than go there straightaway, I slid into the fruit store across the street from number 41 to observe the building while taking my time to fill a sack with apples. Just when I thought it would be safe to proceed, cars screeched to a halt and a half-dozen police charged into Wolf’s building.

“Is there a back door?” I asked the proprietor.

The shop owner pointed without asking any questions.

“Danke.”

I threw him some coins, clutched my sack of apples, and ducked out the back, climbed a fence, and headed for the only place I might find refuge: Berlin.