Chapter 45

August 6, 1932

For two hours, I trailed within earshot of Wolf and General Schleicher as they ambled through a nature park in Furstenberg, about eighty-five kilometers north of Berlin. The dynamic was curious: Hitler talked and Schleicher nodded . . . without agreeing to anything.

Wolf stated the obvious. “We are the largest party in the Reichstag. Momentum is on our side. With Papen as chancellor, we will never have a place at the table of great industrial countries.”

Schleicher strolled with his hands clasped behind his back. When Wolf waited for him to say something, all Schleicher did was nod.

Wolf took this as an assent and continued what was tantamount to a monologue. “Papen will fail the same as Brüning. The country needs a strong man with large public support.” They faced each other next to a large boulder. “For these reasons, I must be made chancellor now. Do we have a deal?”

Schleicher pumped Wolf’s hand twice and scurried away without uttering a word.

The moment we were alone, Wolf turned ebullient. “Friedrich, we must return to Munich at once. When I become chancellor, I will order a plaque installed to commemorate what occurred on this very spot.”

I didn’t believe anything “historic” just happened, but I held my peace.

*

Two days after I returned to Berlin, Wolf called, raving and ranting. His words were barely intelligible. A shattering noise clanked through the phone; something had been smashed to smithereens.

I shouted into the mouthpiece. “Adolf! Control yourself. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

He was carrying on a tirade with himself. Most of it was gibberish. After what I imagined to be more than a couple of broken dishes followed by a tension-releasing whoosh of air, he said in a calmer voice, “Schleicher called. Hindenburg refused to make me chancellor. The old bastard told Schleicher, ‘It is my irrevocable will that this Bohemian corporal will never sit in the chancellor’s chair of Bismarck!’”

“Wolf, I don’t know what to . . .”

He interrupted. “It’s not Hindenburg. Schleicher is behind this. He will rue the day he did this to me. Mark my words. His days are numbered.”

“Wolf, calm down. We’re almost there. No party can govern without you in a coalition. They have to come to you.”

A few days later, they did.

August 13, 1932

President Hindenburg called a meeting in his office. Wolf brought Frick and me, along with Ernest Röhm. He hoped that Röhm’s military background would put Hindenburg more at ease. Papen was present along with Hindenburg’s son, Oskar, and Schleicher, the master schemer. The eighty-five-year-old former field marshal leaned on his cane throughout the meeting, refusing to sit, which forced us all to stand as well.

“I am told, Herr Hitler, that you refuse to join Papen’s coalition. We held the elections you wanted. Chancellor Papen lifted the ban on the SA and SS as agreed upon. Now, you must honor your word.”

“Your Excellency, those elections expressed the will of the German people. I would back Papen had he gained the support of any other major party. But not even his old Catholic Centre Party supports him. There is no reason for him to continue as chancellor or for me to join a coalition to try to keep him in office.”

Hindenburg glowered at Hitler. “Your broken word aside, I am unwilling to turn total control of the government over to anyone who has no intention of sharing authority with any other party. And . . . there are still questions regarding your party’s excesses against people of different political beliefs. Particularly toward the Jews.”

The much-decorated veteran of both the Austro-Prussian War of 1866 and the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-71, who, as general field marshal, commanded the German armies at the end of the Great War, was a direct descendant of Martin Luther and now as the Reich president of Germany, remained an imposing figure. Every inch the aristocrat, General Field Marshal Paul Ludwig Hans Anton von Beneckendorff und von Hindenburg lashed out at the former Austrian corporal—and there was nothing Hitler could do but stand there with hands clenched behind his back, and take it.

There was ample reason to chastise Hitler. Just three days earlier, on August 10, five SA men stormed into the house of an out-of-work Communist miner—Conrad Pietzruch—who lived in the town of Potempa. Potempa was in Silesia, near the Polish border. For no apparent reason, they tortured and stomped Pietzruch to death in front of his mother, but not before they castrated him. This atrocity was fresh in everyone’s mind. I was sickened every time I thought about it.

Hindenburg continued. “It is well known, Herr Hitler, that you cannot control your minions. Your followers ignore our laws day after day. They disregard the rights of our citizens.” He banged his cane on the floor. “You must renounce violence and cooperate with other Reich leaders! I urge you to take the position of vice chancellor under Papen.”

It was plain that the old man, after all the political chess moves, the campaigning, the ups and downs of elections, the failed putsch and more, now offered a path that could lead Hitler to the chancellorship in the future. Anticipation was in the air . . . but Hitler simply stood there saying nothing.

“Herr Hitler,” Hindenburg said in a clear voice, “I need an answer. Are you prepared to collaborate with the Papen cabinet?”

Hitler shook his head. “That is out of the question.”

“Does that mean you will go into opposition?”

“You give me no alternative.”

When we left, Röhm said, “You must be frustrated by their refusal to give you the chancellorship.”

“Ernst, in the end, we will prevail. Papen’s days are numbered.”

“When that happens, what can you do to change Hindenburg’s mind?”

“Remain independent and avoid all coalitions. For now, I want you to furlough your troops for two weeks. The streets must be made quiet again.”

Just like that, calm was restored to Berlin. But it was short-lived.

August 17, 1932

We returned to Obersalzberg empty-handed, exhausted, and hoping to snatch much-needed rest. Four days after meeting with Hindenburg, I found Wolf in his study. “There are American reporters here to see you.”

The day before, Trude, Eva, and I joined Wolf for an afternoon picnic. We laughed, we hiked, we napped, and for a few hours, Wolf and I managed to put aside our disappointments.

The arrival of the Americans thrust us back into the real world.

“You know I don’t like reporters. They never get the story right. They make things up.”

“These are distinguished reporters, Wolf. There are millions of Germans abroad who support you. They want to read about you in their local papers or hear reports over the radio.”

This got his attention. “One of them is on the radio?”

“H. V. Kaltenborn is acknowledged as one of the best radio commentators in America. I used to listen to him when I was in New York.”

I ushered the three men into Wolf’s study: Kaltenborn, Karl von Wiegand, and Louis Lochner.

After introductions, H. V. Kaltenborn challenged Wolf with the first question. “Herr Hitler, can you explain your views on Jews entering Germany from the East? Do you treat them differently than Jews already from Germany?”

Wolf smiled patronizingly at Kaltenborn. “You Americans exclude any would-be immigrants you do not care to admit. You Americans regulate their numbers. You Americans demand that they come up to certain physical standards; that they have a certain amount of money, and you examine their political beliefs. We demand the same right. We have no concern with Jews of other lands. Our concerns center around anti-German elements in our own country. We demand the right to deal with them as we see fit.”

Karl von Wiegand, of the Hearst papers, asked the next question. “If in the end, the electoral path does not lead to the power you seek, would you consider a march on Berlin as Mussolini marched on Rome?”

“You’re German, aren’t you?” asked Wolf.

“I was born here, if that’s what you mean.”

“You don’t consider yourself German first?”

“I am not the one being interviewed, Herr Hitler. Would you march on Berlin?”

“No! While the parliamentary system has failed, we cannot substitute brute force. A government must have the support of the people. You cannot establish a dictatorship in a vacuum.”

“Then you do intend to be a dictator?”

“Yes. A dictatorship is justified if the people declare their confidence in one man and ask him to lead.”

August 28, 1932

The summer-long camp experiences for the BDM came to an end, which gave Trude and me time together. By the last weekend in August, the cast was off her right hand and her left shoulder had healed.

“Let’s do something different,” said Trude.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Let’s go sailing.”

“Do you think you should?”

“I feel strong. Better than ever.”

I scuffed the ground like a shy kid.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how to sail.”

“I’ll teach you. Schwielowsee Lake is the most beautiful in all of Germany. It’s an hour away. Near Potsdam. Let’s spend the night and make a wonderful weekend of it.”

We grabbed what we needed, bought train tickets, and settled into our seats, tucking a small travel case on the rack above our heads. Soon we passed lush farmland and rolling hills.

The rhythmic clacking of the wheels was peaceful. My eyes closed. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I thought of nothing . . . until Trude asked, “Is your Wolf satisfied with Eva? He doesn’t act like a man in love.”

I opened my eyes. “Wolf is so secretive about his personal life. I’m surprised she shared those thoughts with you.”

“Eva has no one to talk to. She has kept the relationship away from her parents. When you and Hitler were gone, we were together day and night. We shared secrets and what was in our hearts . . . that’s what girls do.”

I sat straighter. “Did she put you up to asking me about Wolf?”

“She would be embarrassed if she knew I told you. She’s madly in love with him, you know, but he does not return her feelings. He barely gives her the time of day. Even when they’re together, he’s busy doing work.”

“You saw how he doted on her when we went on that picnic.”

“One picnic doesn’t make a romance, Friedrich. He needs to pay more attention to her. He’s breaking her heart.”

We found a small hotel near the train station, left our lone bag in the room, and set out to stroll around picturesque Schwielowsee Lake. It was out of a fairy tale, with verdant meadows and stands of trees that came to the water’s edge. We found the dock with rental sailboats, but none were available.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, “this place is so special. We can still make beautiful memories. There’s time enough to sail tomorrow.”

“It’s supposed to rain all day.” At this, Trude let go of my hand and skipped down to the end of the dock. A man in his early fifties was tying a sailboat to a metal cleat. “Excuse me,” asked Trude, “are you returning this rental boat?”

He was a small man, with a shock of steel gray hair and a wide salt-and-pepper moustache. The collar of a white shirt peeked out from under a V-neck white sweater. Lightweight, sky-blue summer pants draped over beat-up moccasins. Crinkled lines extended from the corners of his eyes. “I am afraid this is my boat.”

Trude’s face dropped. She turned back toward me when he called out. “I never need an excuse to take my boat out. If you like, I can give you a ride. Do you know how to sail?”

“I do.”

He pointed to me. “Is that your friend?”

“His name is Friedrich. I’m Trude.”

“I’m Albert.” He patted his boat. “And this is Tümmler.”

“That’s a strange name for a boat: bottlenose porpoise.”

“I really think of it as my ‘thick sailing boat.’”

Albert was quite the accomplished sailor. Trude was quick to demonstrate her knowledge of sailing and the two skippered like longtime mates around the lake. As I gained confidence that the boat would not tip over when we heeled, I released my grip on the railing and stretched out. The Tümmler skimmed along. I closed my eyes. I felt the warmth of the sun as the wind ruffled my hair.

When we neared the dock, I jumped off the boat, tying a figure eight around the mooring cleat. We thanked Albert profusely and strolled back to the hotel.

*

I asked the clerk for the room key when Trude called out, “I can’t believe it.” She waved a magazine in front of me; Albert’s name and picture were on the cover. “He’s a Jew!”

“Why does that matter? Look how gracious he was to take us for a ride on his boat.”

Her face contorted. “You, of all people, should understand.”

“I understand kindness and compassion.”

“Have you not heard one word our Führer has said about them? That we must rid our country of their infestation? That we must make our German blood pure again?”

I pointed to the desk. “The clerk doesn’t need to hear this.”

Trude followed me into a reading alcove, still clutching the magazine. We sat surrounded by shelves filled with books.

“Trude, I’ve been with Wolf since the beginning. When he announced his twenty-five-point program, I told him I could not accept the part about the Jews. Do you know what he said? As long as I believed in the overall program, I didn’t have to believe in every single point.”

“He said that?”

“He did, and did you know that every one of the party’s inner circle has Jews they favor? It may be a mother-in-law, a former girlfriend, or a favorite professor. Hess. Himmler. They both have theirs. To this day, Wolf talks about Dr. Bloch, the man who treated his mother for cancer, in glowing terms.”

“Who is yours?”

“I have a friend in Berlin. He’s more like an uncle than a friend. He owns the Nightingale Cabaret. Max Klinghofer. He’s been so very kind to me. And I’ve worked with many Jews in the film industry over the years.”

“And you’re saying that it is okay for us to like a Jew?” She covered her mouth in disbelief. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything.”

She wagged the magazine and pointed to the cover. “I have to admit, he was kindly. But, still,” she wrinkled her nose, “he is a Jew.”

“Did he say or do anything that would cause you to think he could harm Germany?”

“You could tell he had a gentle soul,” she admitted.

“And he is very smart, too.”

“How do you know?”

“You see his name?”

“Yes.”

“Well, ten years ago, Albert Einstein won the Nobel Prize in physics.”

Her only response was to shrug and change the subject.