Chapter 60

Time has a way of distorting what Wolf and the party accomplished. Then, as well as now, it was incorrect to say that we “seized” power. Ours was a quiet revolution. We followed the provisions of the Constitution, stood for election after election, and became the dominant party in a democracy. We made backroom deals as was done in any democracy . . . even while we openly promised to end democratic rule as soon as we came to power. Unlike the American and French Revolutions, we accomplished our revolution in 1933 without firing a shot at the government. Hitler and his dictatorship moved a Germany mired in the muck of an untenable treaty toward a country keen on retaking a position it once held among the great nations of the world.

But our continued success depended on quieting the disenchanted within our own ranks.

The SA now numbered nearly four million men . . . but there was no role for them in the new Germany. The SA’s original raison d’etre—harassing opposing political parties—had been eliminated. Röhm’s aspirations to replace the Reichswehr with his SA and assume Minister of Defense Werner von Blomberg’s position more than infuriated the Reichswehr. In December 1933, Hitler attempted to placate Röhm by making him a minister without portfolio in the cabinet. This not only failed to satisfy Röhm, it further alarmed the Reichswehr leaders.

In February 1934, Hitler continued his efforts to rein in Röhm. He forced Röhm to sign an agreement with Minister of Defense Bromberg that limited the SA’s function to that of an internal police force. Their second function was to provide pre-military training for youths—under twenty-one—as they prepared to enlist in the army. We left the meeting thinking the Röhm/Blomberg dispute had been settled only to learn that Röhm talked behind our backs.

“What that ridiculous corporal says, means nothing to us . . . if we can’t get there with him, we’ll get there without him.”

We expected Hitler to lash out. Instead, he said, “We must let the situation develop.” And it did. Weeks later, the “situation” could no longer be ignored.

April 1934

In April 1934, three events changed the direction of German history. The first was Hindenburg’s lung cancer; he had only months to live. The second, driven by the first, was that the Reichswehr would not countenance Hitler taking Hindenburg’s place without first dealing with Röhm’s threat to assimilate the army into the SA. The third was Vice Chancellor Franz von Papen’s overtures to the aristocrats in the army to make him Hindenburg’s successor as president. If successful, Papen would have the ultimate authority over Hitler.

In early April, we sought a meeting with Minister of Defense Blomberg. We needed the military’s support to secure Adolf Hitler’s elevation to dictator of Germany, once Hindenburg was no more. The meeting was held on Blomberg’s terms. Hitler, Göring, Goebbels, Hess, and I, along with Blomberg, and leaders of the Reichswehr, went on a multi-day maneuver aboard the heavy cruiser Deutschland. The Deutschland was completed in 1931 and served the Reichsmarine as a training vessel. For public consumption, Hitler and his entourage were touring the ship and interviewing the crew. But our true purpose was to come to an agreement with the Reichswehr to Hitler’s succession. The Reichswehr had its own agenda: to eliminate the threat of Röhm and his four million Brownshirts.

“Hindenburg has already expressed he would like the return of some form of monarchy after he dies,” Blomberg began once we were out at sea.

“The people will not stand for that,” said Hitler.

“Don’t be so sure,” Blomberg replied. “They want stability. They long for the security the monarchy offered them.”

“We both know that the monarchy cared only about perpetuating itself and protecting the Junkers,” answered Hitler. “Look around. We’ve turned a corner. People are working again. I have gone to extremes to protect the industrialists. They couldn’t be happier.”

“They made money under the kaiser, too.”

“General,” said Hitler, “the salt air has been invigorating. Talks with the crew have been enlightening. They make Germany proud. We all know why we are here. What will it take to gain the support of the Reichswehr for my succession to Hindenburg?”

Rather than answer, Blomberg said, “You realize that if a new Reich president does not want you to remain in office, you are finished.”

“Is that what you want? For me to go?”

“I don’t want that. Nor does the army. We believe in you. We believe in the Nazi program for conscription, rearmament, and regaining our lost lands. But there are others—Papen, for one, and we suspect Schleicher, too—that have their eyes on the presidency. While both supported you for chancellor, each expected you to fail within weeks. That might have happened, too, if it were not for the Reichstag fire.”

“The fire was not planned!” Göring blurted out.

“That doesn’t matter now, does it?” said Blomberg. “Everything you have accomplished is in jeopardy if the aristocracy persuades Hindenburg to declare martial law. They will succeed unless . . .”

“Unless what?” Hitler demanded.

“I speak for all the military organizations when I say that we don’t want martial law. We want you to lead the country. But as you know,” he drew it out, “we follow the orders of the president . . . whomever that may be. He is our commander in chief.”

“Unless what?” Hitler repeated.

“Unless Röhm is removed and you confirm the army as the sole military force of Germany. If this is not done before Hindenburg dies, we will support Papen for president. I cannot make it any plainer.”

“And if I do these things?”

“We will make certain you gain control of the government upon Hindenburg’s death.”

I caught the eye of Admiral Erich Raeder, commander of the Navy. We nodded out of respect to each other and for the momentous agreement that had just been reached. I made a mental note to chat with Raeder about the time he dismissed Reinhardt Heydrich from the Navy. One day, it might be useful to know the details.

*

After four days at sea, we docked on April 11.

“Take us to a bar,” Hitler ordered the driver waiting for us at the gangplank.

Göring, Goebbels, Hess, and I were surprised. Hitler had stopped drinking years before. He was not morally against imbibing, but he did not like the lack of control that came from drinking alcohol and would not risk damage to his image.

We found a local pub. Hitler, in civilian clothes, pulled his fedora deep down to cover his face, and hiked up the collar of his trench coat. Göring and I, two large men, had little trouble shielding him from front and back view. I asked for a dark, rear corner and handed the barkeep a fistful of money to keep the area private. We all ordered beer; Hitler ordered tea.

After drinks were delivered, I asked, “Did you expect that from Blomberg?”

“Not only did I expect it, I respect the way he isolated us on that big ship. What did he tell us? That Hindenburg will die soon? We all know that. We also know that Papen, who never wanted to be chancellor, is not hiding the fact that he wants to replace Hindenburg. If the Reichswehr supports him, Papen will make Schleicher chancellor. Together, they will reinstall those ‘Barons’ in the cabinet and guide the country back to rule by divine right. We may even see the return of Centrum—the Catholic Party.”

Hitler continued. “Papen is the next thing to a religious fanatic. He still carries rosary beads. And Röhm? If only he had waited, I could have done something for him. But no!” Hitler slammed his fist on the table. “He is desperate to get rid of Blomberg and become defense minister. Tomorrow would not be soon enough for him. Why can’t Röhm understand that this is impossible? Especially at this critical juncture. What is clear is that Röhm has put me in a corner. I can no longer have him around. He has to go.”

“How will you go about it?” Göring asked.

“Hindenburg is dying, but he’s not dead. He’ll hang on long enough for me to formulate a proper plan. In the meantime, Hermann, you need to make preparations to become my right hand.”

Hess winced. This was the role he coveted, but his strength lay in Hitler’s fondness for him—not in his ability.

“I am already president of the Reichstag and minister of Prussia,” Göring stated. “I head the Gestapo. What police I don’t run, Himmler does. What else do you expect of me?”

“Make plans to give up control of the police. Give the Gestapo to Himmler.”

“What will that accomplish?”

Hitler turned sour-faced. “The mistake you made was incorporating SA men into your police departments.”

“They function only as auxiliaries,” explained Göring.

“No matter, most weren’t vetted. Himmler and Heydrich need to do that.” Then Hitler’s tone softened. “Don’t you see, Hermann, we need a strong force loyal only to me—and not Röhm—when we move against him? That means that from now on, the Gestapo will be under Himmler’s SS!”

*

The following week, Wolf stopped by my office in the Chancellery, which was not much larger than Heydrich’s closet in the Braunes Haus. “Goebbels has arranged for me to appear at a youth rally to celebrate my birthday this coming Friday. Can you go for me?”

“When we were on the Deutschland, I was reminded of how much I missed the sea. I made plans to take a short trip to Usedom, to the town of Swinemünde. The island vacation will do me good.”

“Leave Saturday. There is no one else to stand in for me. Everyone has family obligations. I need to be with Eva in Berchtesgaden. She’s been despondent of late. I can’t have that again. You would only be postponing your trip by one day.”

I was reluctant to ruin his opportunity to be with Eva, but I was concerned. “Wolf. You know I have to stay in the background.”

“I know, I know,” he said. “This will be a one-minute thank you in front of some kids. Wear a civilian suit and a hat. I will make certain there are no photographers. Please, do this for me.”

April 20, 1934

The rally was held at Lustgarten Park, an island in the center of Berlin that Hitler planned to restore for rallies. Thousands of Jungvolk gathered to celebrate Hitler’s birthday in a carnival-like atmosphere of bands, food, games of chance, and sporting contests. Both boys and girls performed calisthenics. I was directed to the pavilion where Hitler was expected to make his appearance.

I arrived—on purpose—with five minutes to spare. The youth leader guided me to the largest cake I had ever seen. It was one-meter round, covered in dark chocolate frosting. Around the rim was written: Unserem Führer Zum Geburtstag—Happy Birthday to Our Leader. I kept my head down, read the thank you from Hitler post haste, and then stepped aside as the youth leader began slicing into the cake. I said my goodbyes as a dozen smiling faces held out empty plates, anxious for their piece of cake.

I ducked under the flap of the canvas pavilion and found myself face to face with Trude Mohr, with her hands on her hips. “Hello, Friedrich. How have you been?”

“I never considered that you might be here.”

“This is a Hitler Youth Program, after all. My BDM girls are all around.”

“Someone told me that you were about to be married.”

“I’m not that lucky. At least not yet. My work keeps me going.” She studied me from head to foot. “And you?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to have a friend?” She stepped close enough for me to smell her clean soap scent.

I stepped back. “I’m too busy for anyone who doesn’t like my friends.”

Her face contorted. “Still tolerating those lousy Jews, Friedrich? How is that little fat, greasy friend of yours?” Hate seethed from her pores.

A wave of fury washed over me. I was angry with myself for taking up with her in the first place. I wheeled and left without another word.

*

Trude Mohr left me in a foul mood. Rather than return to my office, I detoured to my apartment to send any lingering trace of Trude and what she represented down the shower drain. I was toweling myself off when there was a knock on the door.

“You’re wet,” said Emil Maurice.

“What in the world are you doing here in the middle of the day? And for your information, wet is what happens when you take a shower.”

He stepped inside. “Anyone with you?” I shook my head. “You’ve got to help me. I couldn’t trust the phones. You know how they listen. It’s Himmler, again.”

“Emil, I’m not your nursemaid. You’ve got to fight your own battles.”

“But you’re my friend.”

Without asking, Emil grabbed a bottle of scotch. He held up a glass; I shook him off.

I could not imagine what got him so riled up. “Himmler’s not trying to kill you again, is he?”

Emil downed his drink and poured another. “It’s worse. So much worse. He’s challenging my right to marry Hedwig. He wants to drum me out of the SS. Not only me. Both my brothers, too!”

That got my attention. I broke my own daytime rule and poured myself a drink. “The only way that could happen is if you violated some law or were an alcoholic. Hey, maybe that’s it. We drink too much.” I raised the glass in a mock toast.

“You know that’s not true.”

Then it dawned on me. “The only other thing it could be is that you’re part Jewish. But that can’t be . . .” I didn’t finish my sentence when I saw how my words pained him.

Emil sat down. He clutched the bottle. “I never knew.” Then he explained. “You know that Himmler requires everyone in the SS to prove they are racially pure. They check lineage back to 1750 now. It turns out that my great-grandfather, Charles Maurice Schwartzenberger, was a Jew. He founded the Thalia Theater ninety years ago in Hamburg. They’re still showing plays there.”

“That might have been the giveaway. The Jews were in the arts even then.”

“Stop making light of this, Friedrich.” He refilled his glass.

“Emil. You’ve been a card-carrying anti-Semite for . . . what is it now . . . the past fifteen years? Now it turns out you are a Jew. You have to admit that is pretty peculiar.”

“I’m NOT a Jew. Goddamn you, Friedrich. Stop kidding around!”

“That’s not how it works. It’s not what you say you are. Himmler is on solid ground. He’s based Aryan purity on America’s ‘One Drop Rule.’ From the sound of it, you’ve got more than a few drops of Jewish blood in you.”

He looked up with pleading eyes. “I don’t act like a Jew, do I?”

Emil was too upset to see the irony in the founder of the SS being turned out as a Jew. “Talking like this won’t get you anywhere. What do you want me to do?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Speak to the Boss and get Himmler off my back.”

“He’s rather busy these days, Emil. The Reichswehr is putting pressure on him to subdue Röhm. I don’t know if he would take time for something this trivial.”

Emil jumped up at this. “How can you call my future trivial? Marriage aside, how can they kick me out of the SS? Besides, I’m not the only one going through this. So is Erhard Milch. He’s Göring’s minister for Aviation.”

“And?”

“And his father, Anton, is Jewish. Göring has already intervened on his behalf to get the hounds off him. Hitler has to do the same for me.”

May 1934

“I miss the days when Bernhard Weiss ran the police,” Max said. I made it a point to visit Max soon after my encounter with Trude. While I had no particular concern, I needed to stay in touch. “I wonder what ever happened to him?”

“From what I’ve been told, Weiss left Germany.” I took a sip of water to avoid telltale eye contact. “Why do you care?”

Max leaned closer and whispered, “Since Weiss left, the police have become avaricious again.”

“I’m sorry for that.”

Max knew enough not to press the issue. “By the way,” he said, “I never thanked you for helping Kitty’s niece.”

“It would have been a travesty to sterilize Mila.”

Max put his fork down. “Most others are not so lucky to have an Obergruppenführer for an advocate.”

Something was bothering Max or he would not have mentioned my rank. “What are you trying to say, Max?”

“Just this. Why must your crowd keep everyone in a perpetual state of fear?” Though he referred to the general misconduct of the SA, he meant how they harassed the Jews.

“We are making every effort to curb those abuses. Until we succeed, it’s a tradeoff for the dysfunction we have been forced to live under since the war ended. Look at the bright side: people are working again; factories are up and running; there are no more food shortages. Have you seen the faces of our young people? They’re laughing and smiling and feeling good about their lives for the first time in years. Isn’t a bit of distress worth the good that we are doing, Max?”

“You won’t like my answer, Friedrich.”

“Try me.”

“Have you ever heard of Heinrich Heine?”

“Are you talking about Röhm’s deputy, Edmund Heines?”

“No. Heine without the s.”

“Is he one of Göring’s Gestapo? He doesn’t work for Himmler, does he? Goebbels, perhaps?” I prayed he wasn’t one of Heydrich’s secret agents in the SD.

Max shook his head. “He’s not a Nazi. He’s a Jewish writer. A poet. He wrote a play entitled Almansor.”

“Oh? What’s so special about this play?”

“I couldn’t even tell you what the play was about, but there was a line that bears repeating. One I will never forget. It goes something like this: ‘That was but a prelude. Where they burn books, they will ultimately burn people as well.’”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean. For me, it means that if a society prohibits all forms of dissent, and it only allows one party to exist—then it destroys the very fabric of its own morality. Friedrich, when a society burns books, how can people feel safe? How can they think they won’t be next?”

“Are you talking metaphorically, Max, or literally?”

“Metaphorically, I pray,” he answered. “But they’ve already taken the step to sterilize those deemed undesirable.”

“The Greeks did it. The Americans do it now. That’s how great societies cull out the weak.”

Max put his hand on mine. “I hope you don’t believe what you just said, Friedrich. We’re supposed to help the weak. Feed the weak. Nurture the weak. Because out of the weak may come the next Mozart or Einstein. How terrible if they never had a chance to be born.”

“Max, you’re talking nonsense.”

“Am I? I’m talking about an absurd conclusion to a logical thought.”

“You’re talking in riddles.”

“I’m not. If society’s goal is to improve the human race, then by logic alone sterilization is a step to its conclusion. Can’t you see that this logical thought is totally absurd?”

“Listening to you, I’m beginning to think this Heine is a Communist. Am I right? Did he write this because of the book burning last May?”

“You could say he was there in spirit. Heine wrote his play in 1821.”