“The most brilliant propagandist technique will not yield success unless one fundamental principle is borne in mind constantly. It must confine itself to few points and repeat them over and over.”
Joseph Goebbels
Meeting Herr Goebbels
Grossmutter did not obey the orders. I don’t think she obeyed an order in her life. When she heard about the command not to be affectionate, she hugged and kissed me more often, declaring in a loud voice, “You are my grandchild, and I love you.”
She was short and very stout. Her breasts were large enough to balance a plate on, which she often did. “I’m built for picnics,” she’d chuckle. She was forgiving, gentle and never mean. But she could be strong when she needed to be. Once, when the butcher sold her tough meat, she took it back, cooked, the next day, and slapped it on the counter. “We can’t eat it. Send it to Hitler. Make him eat it!” She had abundant, unruly white hair that she stuffed into a net most of the time. If it tried to escape, she let it blow free, not caring how she looked.
But Grossmutter cared about us. She saved bits of cloth, cutting up old clothes for fabric to stitch outfits for our dolls. She brought the doll clothes in her black satchel, which she’d carefully set down by the front door. After sitting down on the sofa she’d say, “I think I’ve lost my satchel. Helga, would you go and find it?” I’d bring it to her and she’d pull out a doll dress, feigning surprise, “Well, how did that get into my bag?” she’d say, and would wrap her chubby arms around me and hum while we swayed together and giggled. With Grossmutter I didn’t have to think about who was right or wrong. She was my safe harbor.
Once I listened at the kitchen door, when my Tante Alvina, who had Nazi connections, told her and Mutter that Goebbels planned to attend the opera the next Friday evening.
“And here’s a funny piece of gossip for you.” Alvina lowered her voice. “Hitler told Goebbels that the German people will only reach the point of absolute racial superiority when Wagner’s operas can be performed by all our singers stark naked.”
“That sounds like something that terrible man would say,” Grossmutter said.
“Anyway, if Helga wants to see Herr Goebbels she should stand outside the opera house just before the first act begins,”
“Hush,” Grossmutter piped up. “Who would want to see one of Hitler’s stooges?"
After they left, I admitted to Mutter I’d heard the news about Goebbels' night at the opera and begged her to take me to see him. Her answer was a firm and quick, “No.”
But I couldn’t let an opportunity like that pass by. He was like a movie star to me. I begged, and for days I offered to wash the dishes and help cook, followed by reminders of what an honor it would be for me to see the great Goebbels. Lucky for me, it was close to my birthday. So when Mutter asked what gift I’d like, I had my answer ready: “A new yellow hair bow and seeing Herr Goebbels.” She looked at me with an odd half-smile and sighed.
When I opened my birthday gifts I found a yellow hair bow. I looked at Mutter. She smiled and nodded.
I announced my wondrous news to Emma and Agatha as soon as I saw them the next day at school.
“Guess what? I get to see Herr Goebbels! I’m going to the opera house. Mutter is taking me.”
“You’re so lucky.” Agatha said. “My Mutter has nothing nice to say about him.”
“Don’t be too mad at your Mutter, Agatha,” Emma said. “She doesn’t understand the importance of Dr. Goebbels. She will change when they see how really great our leaders are.”
On the appointed evening Mutter let me dress in my best party clothes. I was overwhelmed with the excitement of being the only girl I knew who got to see Dr. Goebbels! That made me important. But it also made me more aware of my dark hair. Oh, how I wanted to have blond hair. At least for that one night! I hoped if I stood tall and straight, no one would notice.
It began to drizzle on our walk to the bus. Mutter wanted to return for an umbrella. That panicked me. “No. Please, Mutter. That will make us late.”
She stopped, bit her lip, looked at the sky and shrugged. “Let’s hurry, then.”
The bus ride seemed longer than any I’d taken. I chose to stand up all the way to keep my dress from wrinkling. It was the prettiest dress I’d every worn. Mutter had starched the skirt so it would stand out. I pictured myself as a ballet dancer. I wanted badly to announce to the seven other passengers that I was on my way to see the great Dr. Josef Goebbels. But before I could gather the courage the bus arrived at our stop.
Mutter and I waited in spitting rain on the walk outside the opera house for several minutes. With each passing second my heart beat faster, the lump in my throat grew larger, and my pretty party dress got wetter. All the audience had gone in. The street was quiet. Only Mutter and I stood waiting. Surely this had to be the most important moment of my life. There could be nothing more thrilling. Except, of course, to meet the Fuhrer himself. I wanted to jump up and down with excitement, but I knew that I’d look like a silly little girl and not a trained Jugend. Jugend! My Jugend uniform. I should have worn it! How could I have forgotten? He would never look at me now. Not only did I not have my uniform on, my dress was soaked and droopy. There wasn’t time to run home and change. If only...
At that moment four long, black cars stopped at the curb. The doors opened and several uniformed men emerged. One of them opened the back door of the third car, holding out an umbrella to shield Dr. Goebbels. He was not as tall as I thought he’d be, but he walked with great bearing and had a smart face with a fine long nose. He walked toward the front stairs with three men marching in front of him and four in back. Then he was in front of me! I was tempted to reach out and touch his coat, but my hands would not obey. I took a deep breath, held my shoulders back and raised my arm. “Heil, Hitler,” I said. I was surprised to hear my own voice. He stopped walking. I held my breath. Should I not have spoken? Maybe I’d be punished. He looked down at me, lifted his arm, and spoke the glorious words, “Heil Hitler. Then he reached for my hand, shook it and asked me my name.
For a second I forgot I had a name. But when I opened my mouth, I heard “Helga,” come out.
“I have a little girl named Helga. I have five little girls. All their names begin with the letter H in honor of Mein Fuhrer. They are Helga, Hildegard, Hedwig, Holdine, and Heidrin. Thank you for coming to greet me, Helga.”
I couldn’t breathe. Nodding my head was all I could do.
Then I watched as he and his entourage climbed the front stairs and disappeared into the lobby. This famous man had stopped to greet me. Had thanked me for coming. Had shaken hands with me, me, Helga Schlichter!! It was almost like shaking hands with God or the Fuhrer himself! That was all I had ever hoped for. And then I realized the most important thing of all to me. Dr. Goebbels had brown hair. Like mine! I loved him for that!
I looked around for Mutter and found her a few steps back in the shadows. I skipped to her, raised my arm and proudly hailed Hitler. Mutter quietly returned my greeting.
“Oh, Mutter, I’m so lucky. Did you see him shake my hand and speak to me?”
“Yes, Helga, I saw.”
“Why didn’t you stay close? He might have talked to you, too.”
“I’m glad it was a success for you,” she said, not looking at me. “Let’s start home now. You are soaked, and it’s getting late.” She placed her hand in the small of my back and guided me in the direction of the bus stop.
I woke up with a sore throat the next morning, but I kept it to myself. I knew Mutter would insist I stay home. I didn’t want to miss a chance to go to school and gloat.
After the war, I learned Goebbels remained with Hitler in his bunker to the end. Before his suicide, Hitler gave Goebbels his wristwatch as a reward for being the only senior Nazi leader who stayed with him. Magda Goebbels helped her husband poison their six children. She told Hitler, “We can’t abandon our children at a time like this. To leave them in a world without you, my Fuhrer, would be like forcing them to live in hell on the earth without sunshine.”