Chapter 55
March 28, 1933
“You look like shit,” I told Max when we sat down for lunch at a nearby café. “Are you well?”
“I didn’t get much sleep. My cousin called last night from New York. He told me to listen to a radio broadcast from Madison Square Garden. I was up ’til 4 a.m.”
“How is Longie?”
Max shrugged. “You never have to worry about Longie. He’s got his fingers in lots of pies. He’s living the life.”
Living the life was an understatement. I heard that Longie had been dating the famous actress, Jean Harlow. “You started this conversation about not getting enough sleep because of something at Madison Square Garden. Was it a champion boxing match?”
“It’s a different kind of fight,” answered Max. “It’s Jews fighting back.”
“Is Max Baer one of the fighters?”
Max huffed in exasperation. “Friedrich, sometimes you can be a knucklehead.”
“What did I say? Max Baer is a great Jewish boxer.”
“I am talking about the way the Nazis treat Jews. Longie said that more than fifty-five thousand people, mostly Jews, crammed inside and outside Madison Square Garden. Speaker after speaker called for a worldwide boycott against German products. New York’s Governor Al Smith spoke. Senator Robert Wagner spoke. Heads of labor unions, and many rabbis, too.”
“How can a bunch of speeches there affect what is going on here?”
“First of all, it wasn’t just at Madison Square Garden. Longie said they held simultaneous rallies in seventy cities across the United States. More than a million poured into the streets. They demanded a stop to the anti-Semitic persecution in Germany. But it’s not just speeches. Their goal is to boycott German products in order to put pressure here. If that comes to pass, Herr Hitler will hear about it.”
“Max, I hope they don’t do that. It will have serious repercussions here.”
“You think Hitler will retaliate against us?”
“Hitler may or may not, but it’s Goebbels you need to worry about. He won’t let it pass. Goebbels looks for any excuse to stir the pot.”
Max puffed on his ever-present cigar. “My old friend, Joseph. How is the weasel?”
“Thrilled to be a minister in the cabinet, if you really want to know.” I turned serious. “If your purpose is to let me know that Jews around the world are raising their voices against Hitler and the Nazis, then consider the message delivered.”
“Friedrich, these protests are not only about discrimination against Jews. They are about closing down newspapers that have opinions contrary to the government. And that so-called detention camp in Dachau for political dissidents is a violation of human rights. They are even protesting the Reichstag Fire. They believe the Nazis set the fire to get Hindenburg to end civil liberties.”
“That shouldn’t concern them. No Jews have been sent there because of their faith.”
“You don’t get it,” said Max. “Jews fight for other people’s rights, too.”
I did not tell Max about the legislation Wilhelm Frick was drafting that would eliminate all Jews from the civil service, as well as the medical and legal professions. There was no sense adding to his worries now. Besides, I hoped to mitigate those laws with a plan of my own.
March 31, 1933
Two days later, not trusting the phones, I rushed to Kitty’s place. I found her sitting on the piano bench.
“You picked quite a night to show up without an appointment, Friedrich. Fridays are our busiest night. Every girl is taken.”
“This is not a social visit, Kitty. You need to get Max over here, now.”
“His place is jammed on the weekends, too. He’ll never leave, no matter what I say.”
“Make up any excuse you want but get him here fast!”
“Whatever it is, can’t it wait?” She ran her hand along the top of the lacquered key cover. “But as long as you’re here, why not play a few tunes.”
“You don’t get it, Kitty. Goebbels has readied a retaliatory one-day boycott of Jewish businesses across Germany. Tomorrow, SA and SS men will be stationed in front of every Jewish business. They will paint yellow stars on doors and windows and hold signs asking all Germans to avoid patronizing them. I’m afraid Max will do something stupid and get hurt.”
Kitty bit her lower lip, bounced off the piano bench, and grabbed the pearl-encrusted phone receiver. She used an empty cigarette holder to dial and asked for Max. “Max, would you be a dear and leave work a little early tonight? I want to share a friend with you.”
I could only imagine what Max said.
“No, dear, it is not Angelika. It’s a 1928 Chateau Mouton Rothschild. A client brought a bottle and I immediately thought of sharing it with you.”
She drummed her finger on the countertop, barely listening to his response.
She shook her head. “It can’t wait until tomorrow night. I already opened it so it could breathe. It’s got a great bouquet. It won’t be the same tomorrow. I need you here as soon as you can free yourself.”
She hung up. “He could never turn down a good bottle of wine. He’ll be here in a couple of hours.”
*
Saturday morning, Goebbels posted Brownshirts in front of Jewish-owned businesses, department stores, and professional offices. They held signs: “Don’t Buy from Jews” or “Jews Are Our Misfortune.” As Göring instructed, when violence occurred against Jews, the police did not intervene. But to Goebbels’ dismay, many Germans ignored the boycott and patronized Jewish shops. The other good news was that Kitty kept Max occupied. Nothing of note happened at his club.
One who did not fare well was Nathan Hurwitz who, along with his father Moshe, ran the tailor shop where I bought suits over the years. Before reaching Kitty, I stopped at their shop. I caught Nathan as he locked the front door. His father had already left for Friday evening services.
“I appreciate the warning, Friedrich, but Goebbels’s goons can’t scare us. Not for one minute. We have been open every business day for forty-five years. Tomorrow will be no different.”
“If something happens, I won’t be able to help you, Nathan.”
“What can happen? Paint can be removed. Customers can walk around them. We’ll be fine.” But when Nathan saw the yellow Star of David painted across his door and two SA men planted on either side of the entranceway, he was unable to restrain himself. Moshe, Nathan’s father, called to tell me what happened.
“I told him to ignore the SA men when he got to the shop,” said his father, “but he couldn’t.”
I expected the worst. “What did he do?”
“He tried to chase them away with an umbrella. He was no match for the two of them, with their rubber truncheons.”
“How badly was he hurt?”
“I don’t know. They took him away and locked him up. Can you make a call?”
I told him I would . . . but I didn’t. If I called Goebbels, I was afraid that Nathan would simply disappear.
Nathan would return a few months later, walking with a decided limp. As he was instructed when released, he never spoke a word of what they did to him.
*
Just when I thought that nothing more could happen in the month of March, which already hosted the election; the Enabling Act; the arrest of Bulgarian Communists alleged to be Marinus van der Lubbe’s co-conspirators; the arrest of thousands of Communists; the opening of Dachau; the worldwide Jewish boycott of German goods; the Nazi boycott in response; and Frick crafting restrictive laws against the Jews that would soon be enacted, Emil Maurice resurfaced.
I was getting ready for bed when the telephone rang. It was Emil. I had not heard his voice in five years. “Where are you?” I asked.
“Here, in Berlin. Can I come over to see you?”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know how late it is? How about tomorrow?”
“Please, Friedrich. I need to see you tonight. It’s a matter of life and death.”
“Always the drama, Emil,” I said, half asleep. I gave him the address. Twenty minutes later, Emil was at my door. He looked heavier than before, but retained his swarthy good looks.
The once confident Emil looked terrified and stammered, “I had no place else to turn. They’re going to kill me.” Then he pushed past me.
“Kill you? You must be imagining things. Sit down. Do you want some water? What is this about?”
He spoke so rapidly I could hardly follow. “Have you heard about this so-called ‘felony treachery’ charge? They blame me for suing the Boss in labor court. It was not my fault that the party owed me back wages.”
“What are you talking about? Who is blaming you?”
“Himmler and Heydrich. They’re seeking revenge for something that happened more than five years ago! Can you imagine? I was there at the beginning. I hold card number 2 in the SS. I’m an Alte Kämpfer. But none of that matters to them. They want me dead. I did nothing wrong, I tell you. Nothing.”
Himmler and Heydrich used this vague “felony treachery” term to arrest and detain people based on past conduct against the party. They were free to punish whomever they wanted. Emil made their list.
“The party members were upset that you sued Hitler.”
“He wronged me.”
“You should have let that go. And what about the mess with the letters to Judge Buch?”
“That was then. None of that matters now, Friedrich. The Boss got what he wanted. He’s the chancellor now. Why can’t they leave me alone? Do you have anything to drink?”
I pointed to a side table with a bottle of scotch.
He poured generous portions and handed one to me. “Can you stop them?”
“I don’t care for either of those two . . . and they know it. However, it would not be a good idea for me to call them on your behalf.”
Broken, he downed his drink. After a moment he brightened. “Then get me an audience with the Boss. Once he sees me, he’ll order them to leave me alone.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea, Emil? You embarrassed him carrying on with Geli. You sued him. Do you really want to take a chance to see Wolf now?”
Emil opened both his hands. “What choice do I have? I’m dead if I don’t. He’s my only hope, Friedrich. He’s forgiven others in the past. You remember how he took Esser back. Please. Arrange five minutes with him for me. That’s all I need.”
Wolf was too busy to see Emil right away, so Emil stayed in my spare bedroom. As long as Emil was with me, Himmler and Heydrich wouldn’t touch him. Feeling safer as the days passed, Emil began to relax.
“Remember that brothel I stayed in years ago?” Emil asked a few days later. “Is it still there?”
“Pension Schmidt? The girls are more beautiful than ever.”
One phone call and Kitty made certain that Emil was treated well.
*
In mid-April Wolf consented to meet with Emil. When Emil returned to my flat, he was the old Emil, full of swagger, and with a cold bottle of champagne.
“I told you Wolf protects those of us from the early days. Actually, he did more than that.” Emil shoved a letter in my hand. “Read this.”
I unfolded it.
I am agreeable to the appointment of Emil Maurice to the Munich City Council.
Adolf Hitler April 13, 1933
“Welcome back, Emil.” We hugged.
“Do you know who used to be on the Munich City Council?” Before I could answer, Emil blurted, “Our old friend, Hermann Esser.”
“I still can’t forgive that son of a bitch for pretending to be sick when the putsch started.”
“Give up on it, Friedrich. The Boss forgave him long ago . . . and now he forgives me.”
*
It was clear that Wolf was a very strange duck. One side of him was a pitiless, relentless, ruthless enemy. The other was unending loyalty to old comrades. Anyone with him on or before the ’23 Putsch could count on his favor forever. It was the same with old girlfriends. For example, years later, he arranged a promotion in the SS for Maria Reiter’s second husband. And while he loved children, he had no desire to father any.
But Hitler’s hatred and heartlessness toward the Jews was simply unfathomable. He was determined to drive all five hundred thousand out of Germany. Far from a secret, this was his proclaimed agenda from the beginning. And yet, there came a time when I saw him reach out to protect his Jewish family doctor, Eduard Bloch.
Try as I might over the years, I could never piece together the puzzle pieces that explained Hitler’s complexities.