26.
THE SUPER HORSES ARE OURS
AMERICAN-OCCUPIED GERMANY,
MAY 22-OCTOBER 30, 1945
The war was over, but the scheming, conniving, and fighting over Germany’s purebred horses had just begun. During the past six years, Hitler had systematically seized Europe’s finest equine specimens. Pound for pound, these four-footed treasures were among the most valuable assets captured by the Americans, and perhaps no others commanded men’s imaginations quite like these gallant and beautiful creatures.
By late May 1945, Germany was jammed with pedigreed horses. Some of these had been seized from occupied countries. Others were the tattered remnants of herds whose owners had fled west with them overland and been lucky enough to evade the Russians, survive the hardships of the trek, and make it across the German border. All of them required food and shelter.
The American army, exhausted after its long fight across Europe, now had the task of trying to reestablish a functioning government, ensure basic services for citizens, discharge German prisoners of war, and sort through a vast muddle of displaced people and property. Among all of these demands, sorting out the fate of the horses was a minor one, and yet, unlike works of art that could remain crated and stored until a resolution was found, these animals needed immediate care and attention.
In Kötzting, Reed had an urgent situation on his hands. The horses from Hostau would soon run out of feed. Even after 219 Lipizzaner had been returned to Podhajsky in Austria, more than a hundred rescued purebreds remained, with nowhere to go. Reed knew that these horses were Polish, Yugoslavian, and Russian in origin, but no one could explain precisely how they had ended up in Hostau; nor did anyone seem to have authority to negotiate a return to their rightful owners—if such owners could be found. Hoping to prevent the horses from being sold off, he tried to find uses for them, distributing those that were suitable for everyday riding to 2nd Cavalry officers. He sent five mounts to General Patton at Third Army headquarters, and still more than ninety horses remained, including the Arabians from Poland, Witez and Lotnik.
Eager to get them safely out of Kötzting, Reed sent the remaining horses to Mansbach, a captured German stud farm about two hundred miles to the northwest. There, Quinlivan, Lessing, and Kroll found well-appointed stables with roomy box stalls and green pastures. For the first time since leaving Hostau, the horses had safe, fenced pastures to graze in and room to stretch their legs. However, finding adequate food was a problem. As Lessing later explained, “We didn’t even have enough oatmeal to feed our children, yet for the horses we demanded half a ton of oats.” At least Witez and the other rescues were no longer in immediate danger, but Reed knew that if given the order, he would have to take his men off the task of looking after the horses, and if that happened, the horses would likely be sold to the highest bidder—even if that bid came from the slaughterhouse.
THE HORSES WERE SAFE for the time being. The next order of business was to determine whether their seizure had been lawful. On June 16 and 17, Reed, Stewart, and Hubert Rudofsky were called to Third Army headquarters to testify in front of the inspector general of the Third Army, Clarence C. Cook. Rudofsky’s testimony proved powerful. He explained that when he returned to Czechoslovakia from Poland in 1944, not a single horse remained at Hostau from the bloodstock that had been there before the German arrival; some had been moved to other stud farms. Most of the young horses, he presumed, had been sent out as warhorses when they reached the age of four. Rudofsky swore under oath that the horses’ pedigrees were accurate and that none of the horses belonged to Czechoslovakia. Reed and Stewart made the same assertion. Cook concluded that the horses’ capture was lawful and that the purebreds could be claimed as spoils of war.
NOW THAT THE HORSES belonged to the U.S. Army, the question of what to do with them remained. For the overtaxed American army, every aspect of caring for them was difficult, from procuring scant grain to finding trustworthy workers to care for them. Fortunately, Reed, Patton, and the other experienced cavalry officers understood that something needed to be done for these horses—and fast. But the prospect of anything happening quickly enough to help seemed remote. Ever since the Louisiana Maneuvers back in 1941, the War Department had established a firm position that horses were not a high priority. With the intense demands on the ground in Germany, and the need to ship home combat veterans as quickly as possible, the plight of the horses seemed unlikely to garner much attention.
A stroke of good fortune occurred for the horses when, in early August 1945, Colonel Fred Hamilton was appointed chief of the army’s Remount Service. Hamilton, a forty-nine-year-old Fort Riley veteran, was a passionate horse lover with a firm belief in continuing the army’s role in breeding horses. He was about to be presented with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
As soon as Hamilton took up his new position, he got word of the incredible cache of purebred horses in the hands of the American army. General Patton, who was on leave in the United States at the time, met with Hamilton, explaining that four major German military breeding farms, as well as the German Army cavalry school—where its top show horses were stabled—were in a state of near emergency. Millions of dollars’ worth of irreplaceable bloodstock were at risk. With so many other pressing concerns, Patton’s men were finding it difficult to be responsible for the horses’ security. Most were not suitable for riding or recreational purposes—they were breeding horses, the foundation upon which an army would build up its military might. Not even the world’s recent entry into the atomic age had changed these two soldiers’ view that horses were valuable military assets. As Hamilton wrote in a later report, “It should be remembered that the horse still plays a vital part in the military establishment of these…countries. They are not in a position to become highly motorized or mechanized and will doubtless continue with many horses in their military establishment. Any return of horse-breeding stock, therefore, should be looked upon as contributing to the military potential of these…countries, as well as to the military potential of Russia.” With the support of Patton and several “horse-minded senators,” including Tom Stewart’s father, Hamilton pressed to see the situation for himself and make a decision about what to do.
ON AUGUST 21, 1945, Colonel Hamilton received orders to report to Europe to inspect all horse facilities captured by the army in Germany. Hamilton’s first stop was the stud farm at Mansbach. He was impressed by the magnificent Polish Arabians that Reed and his men had captured, but he was unsure where the horses belonged. He knew little of the tragic true story of the Arabians from Janów Padlowski. Had Hamilton had access to the full story, he would have realized that there were Polish citizens who cared greatly for these horses and were hoping to secure their return to their native land. But Hamilton knew only what he had learned from the horses’ German captors—people who, it later became evident, were eager to cover up a good part of their role in Poland during the war. Added to this misinformation was the Americans’ suspicions of Russia’s intentions, and their belief that those claiming to act on behalf of Poland or Yugoslavia were actually puppets of the Bolsheviks hoping to seize the horses to build up Soviet military capacities.
By the end of his monthlong tour of Germany and Italy, Fred Hamilton had made a decision. He believed that the best of the horses should be shipped to America to be used in the army’s remount program. In his official report, he wrote, “In my opinion, if the US does not acquire shipment of this breeding stock, in the near future it will be completely lost to the horse world. The Europeans are not in a position to maintain stock; [they] must sell some of it, and certain nations to the east are eager to acquire it by any means, legal or otherwise.”
Even with Hamilton’s strong recommendation, this would be no easy task. Cargo space in ships returning from Europe was at an absolute premium. The continent was teeming with soldiers eager to return home, and then there were massive amounts of American equipment that needed shipment as well. Could Hamilton possibly convince the powers that be in the War Department to commit manpower and space to horses?
IN MANSBACH, THE SUMMER of 1945 passed peacefully for the men and horses—Quinlivan and Lessing had developed a close friendship, riding together every day. In spite of the relative calm, providing adequate care for the refined horses was not easy. No one was more aware of the challenges than Rudolf Lessing. He not only looked after the horses under the care of the 2nd Cavalry; he also made rounds in the surrounding countryside, offering help wherever it was needed. Throughout the summer of 1945, Lessing toured the surrounding area in an enormous black BMW-21 convertible coupe with two carburetors and a red leather interior, seized from the Nazis and sold to him at a nominal fee as an essential worker. It was a great car but for one problem: It was a gas-guzzler, and Lessing was allotted only thirty liters of gas per week. Every Monday, he had to wait in line to tank up at the American depot. He was fortunate, since only a select few got this provision—doctors, veterinarians, and truckers who carried essential goods.
For the first two days after filling his tank, he circulated throughout the local farm country, looking after the animals of impoverished local farmers. People were so destitute that he took to keeping a milk pail in his car so he could ask to be paid in fresh milk if the farmer had no cash. By Wednesday, Lessing’s tank of American gas would have run out, and he would need to buy gas on the black market from German truck drivers who transported the supplies that came in from America by ship—food, clothing, and chewing gum. The truck drivers drove into the woods, siphoned off gas from their large tanks, and sold it for cigarettes. This way, Lessing was able to keep on his rounds all week, which to him was vital, given the deplorable conditions for animals. People were scrounging to get by, never knowing in the morning where their dinner would come from, much less where to find food for their animals.
Often, Lessing was called out to help a draft horse get to its feet using a large sling; the gentle giants pulled coal wagons up and down large hills, and when they were not fed enough, they got tired and lay down from sheer exhaustion, and then they had trouble standing up. Rudolf would then get an urgent call asking him to come hoist a big horse back to its feet. Lessing dreamed of a future when people could once again ride horses for pleasure and sport, but every day presented so many challenges that it was hard to imagine when that time would come. For this reason, he supported passing control of the remaining horses permanently to the Americans. Witez, in his stable, seemed settled enough, but no decision had been made about his ultimate fate. After all of the efforts made to round them up, these horses would not survive the tumultuous postwar period unless a concrete plan was made for their benefit. It was becoming increasingly clear that if Hamilton couldn’t find a way to ship the horses to the United States, the army could not be responsible for their care much longer.
Throughout the summer, a stream of visitors came to Mansbach. Liselotte, the stud farm assistant from Janów in Poland who had cried on the platform as Witez departed, was relieved to find the stallion alive and well. Even Gustav Rau, who had ridden out the war at a German remount depot in northern Germany, came to visit his former charges—as a civilian, he was free to continue with his life. His role during wartime in the stud farm administration of Poland would be largely swept under the rug. Sadly, in later years, as the Polish government was able to regroup and start to press a case for a return of the horses seized by the Germans, Gustav Rau would become the chief source of misinformation about them—preventing any hope that the seized Arabians from Hostau would ever be returned to their homeland.
AS THE SUMMER OF 1945 drew to a close, the 2nd Cavalry’s role in caring for the horses was also coming to an end, as Reed passed responsibility for the horses to Colonel Hamilton. The end of the war had brought no lessening of Reed’s responsibilities. Patton had put him in charge of the newly formed constabulary force patrolling the tense border region of Germany; one of Reed’s first actions was to mount some of the MPs on horseback. He had plenty of work but more opportunity to relax than before, and his carriage, pulled by a pair of Lipizzaner coach horses, was a familiar sight around his new headquarters near Munich. After so many long, lonely months at war, his wife, Janice, had joined him in Germany. But the last few months had also seen a stream of deeply felt farewells: The men of the 2nd Cavalry had grown so close that some felt like members of his own family—none more so than the faithful young man who had saved his life three times, Jim O’Leary. On the day of O’Leary’s departure, Hank wrote a letter to the young man’s mother back in Chicago. In it, he said, “I have no sons. Had I one, I could wish nothing more but that he be a son as fine as yours.”
On September 1, Tom Stewart’s time for departure arrived. In May, Stewart had been awarded the Bronze Star for bravery, honoring his mission to Hostau. But he did not consider himself a hero. The memories of his comrades lost in the fields had affected him profoundly, deepening his natural reserve. Witez, with his velvety nose and proud expression, helped remind Stewart of the good he had accomplished. Almost two years after his departure from New York Harbor aboard the Mauretania, Tom Stewart was heading home at last, knowing he had done everything he could do on behalf of the horses.
After Stewart’s departure, the only remaining member of the 2nd Cavalry still with the horses was Lieutenant Quinlivan. On September 19, 1945, he received top-secret orders from the War Department: He had been selected to join a special delegation headed by Colonel Fred Hamilton. The group—rounded out by another cavalry officer, a horse trainer from Paramus, New Jersey, and two veterinarians—now formed the crack team known as “the horse detectives.” Their mission was to select the best of the best of the captured horses for shipment to America.
For the next three weeks, these horse experts toured the four captured German stud farms and examined the top-flight show horses belonging to the German Army equestrian team. At each stop, the team evaluated the horses’ conformation, temperament, and performance, pored over pedigrees, and scrutinized often dubious bills of sale purporting to show German ownership of horses seized from other countries. Any horse whose private ownership or unlawful seizure could be determined was excluded from the Americans’ acquisition. At each stop, the horse detectives needed to outwit Germans who, naturally, tried to hide their best stock. By the end of September, Hamilton and the horse detectives had selected 150 horses, including the Lipizzaner mare Madera, the refined gray Arabian Lotnik, and the 2nd Cavalry favorite, Witez. By his own account, Hamilton had strived to select horses neither for dollar value nor for pedigree but for qualities most suitable in the army’s breeding program. Even so, among his selections were some of the world’s most valuable racehorses, a choice that would engender no small measure of controversy. But, for the time being, Hamilton felt confident that he had picked the very best horses for the benefit of the horses, the army, and by extension, the American people.
REED RECEIVED AN ALBUM OF PHOTOS OF THE RESCUED HORSES.
KNOWING THAT THE HORSES were soon to be dispersed, Reed made a final visit to the stables at Mansbach. He was relieved to see how well cared for they were, and that they bore no traces of the harrowing last days of the war. Pleased with the Germans’ loyalty and skilled work, Reed had invited Lessing and Kroll to join the horses on the trip to America, where the veterinarians would have a chance to start a new life. Kroll, who was single, readily agreed to the offer, but when Lessing learned that his family could not accompany him, as the berths on the ship were reserved for staff, he agonized for weeks over what to do. Reed assured him that he could establish himself in America and send for his family at a later date, but after much reflection, Lessing decided to stay with his family and let the Americans and his beloved horses leave without him.
In honor of his efforts, Hank Reed presented Lessing with a letter of commendation, praising him for his outstanding service. For Reed, Lessing and Kroll had prepared a leather-bound photo album full of pictures of the horses. A majestic photograph of the Lipizzaner stallion Neapolitano Slavonia graced the cover. Across the top, carefully inscribed in Arabic script and then translated into English, was printed a simple proverb: “Oh luck of the world on back of the horses.” Hank Reed slowly turned the pages, looking through the photos of the foals, mares, riding horses, and stallions. One of the captions read, “The Lipizzaner galloping across the field at sunset, like something out of a fairytale…” Politics, prejudice, avarice, and intolerance had riven a brutal divide between the countries of these men; the grace of these horses had already started to knit them back together. The former enemies parted as friends.