“What do you mean, on the surface?”
“I mean that there is much more than what is just on the surface, especially when you add this photograph to the story,” she pulls another newspaper clipping from her dark leather covered scrap book, and then continues.
“This photo was taken from the New York Times in 1938, one year after the Hindenburg disaster, and nine years after the crash of the stock market in 1929.”
I look over at her for another moment, and then take her paper keepsake from the past, from her hand.
‘The great Charles Lindbergh receives a high award from one of Germany’s top officials.’ The article reads.
‘Hermann Whilhem Goering, a high Nazi official, presented Lindbergh with a German medal of honor. Lindbergh's acceptance of the medal caused an outcry in the United States among critics of Nazism.’ The article continues.
The Nazi official presenting Lindbergh with the German Medal of Honor is none other than the strange tormentor of my life. He has been caught on film once again, as living in one of history’s ill-famed moments. I beg my body to show no outward emotion of these discoveries, that I might ask one more last question in a manner of calm.
“How could the Nazi official who gave your father the Medal of Honor, be the same man who was a stock trader in the New York Stock Exchange?” I ask in a very puzzled manner.
“That is a good question, isn’t it? Not to mention the photograph of him in attendance at the crash of the Hindenburg. Very curious, very curious indeed, but there is more Mr. Brooks, much more.”
“Look again at the newspaper article of when my father received the Medal of Honor from the German official,” she requests.
I hold up the newspaper article once again and study its contents a second time.
“Please read here, who it was that gave my father the medal,”
“It says, ‘Hermann Whilhem Goering, The founder and head of the Gestapo presented Charles Lindbergh with the German medal of honor.’ I never realized that it was the founder of the Gestapo that gave him the medal.” I am totally astounded.
“Yes, and that is one reason why my father was criticized for accepting the award. Hermann Whilhem Goering created the German concentration camps and was one of Hitler’s foremost henchmen; in fact, Hitler himself designated him as his successor in 1939. All those in the world against the Nazi party were now against my Father. From that time on, instead of looking at my Father as a national hero, people viewed my Father as the American who sympathized with Hitler and the Nazis.”
“The point is Matthew, how could Hermann Whilhem Goering, who is the founder of the German Gestapo, be the same man that was a trader at the New York Stock Exchange, the day the stock market crashed? How could that be possible?” She asks with intensity.
“It doesn’t seem possible. It can’t be possible.”
“How could Hermann Whilhem Goering, a Nazi official be photographed in the New York Stock Exchange with gavel in hand, then also be present at the crash of the Hindenburg? How Mr. Brooks, how and why?”
“Well, I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to that, Mrs. Lindbergh. What you’ve shown me is definitely a mystery and difficult to understand. Maybe the reason that it’s hard for us to understand is that we are assuming that all of these photographs contain the same man,” I speculate.
“What do you mean?” She contests.
“I mean it could be that all of these photographs contain different men with similar features and just happen to look alike,” I submit to her. I am not quite ready to let her know that I am already sold on the idea, that all of these men are definitely one and the same.
“You’ve seen the photos I’ve shown you. You tell me. Are the men in these photos just look-alikes, or do they appear to be the same man?” She asks in rebuttal.
“I’d have to say that they all look like the same man. As impossible as it seems, it looks like the same man in each photo. If there was some way to know, some way to find out for sure if this is the same man in each photograph, we might have the story of the century.”
“My father did find out for sure, Mr. Brooks,”
My eyes jerk to attention at her remark.
“What? What is it that your father found out for sure, Mrs. Lindbergh?”
“My father contacted his friends and associates that were helping him on the Hindenburg research program. He told them of the mystery of the man in the photos. He asked for their help in searching further into this mystery. He asked for their help to find out who this man really was. Was he a political spy assigned to subvert American interest in some clandestine manner? Could he be a member of some organized criminal underworld? Whatever the answer was to be, my father and his friends were determined to find the truth of this man’s identity.” She pauses for a moment.
“What did they find out?”
“Some of my father’s good friends took it upon themselves to put ads in several newspapers, along with a copy of one of my Father’s photos of this man. The ads read something like, ‘Have you seen this man?’ or ‘Do you know who this man is?’
“Several days passed without receiving any phone calls or letters about the ads. Then one evening my father was tucking my oldest brother in bed, when the phone rang. A man with a strange voice came on the line, spoke a few words, and then hung up.” Her face becomes saddened. She pauses and stares down at her feet for a few seconds.
“What was it that he said, Mrs. Lindbergh?” Still staring down at the empty floor, her eyes then motion up slowly until they meet with mine, she then continues.
“The man on the phone said. ‘Stop the newspapers. Stop searching about who we are.’ Then the man said the strangest thing. ‘The others too, would not leave our secret alone. Now they are dead forever, -instead of flesh and bone.’ ”
“My father was a determined man. When he heard this challenging threat, it made him even more determined to find out who this man was. He also began to put ads in newspapers and to send letters to some very important people. He was confident, that this man was some kind of spy or infiltrator.
My father received no response to the letters and newspaper ads until one evening, when he was sitting alone on the porch watching the stars; my mother was upstairs, putting my brother to bed. My oldest brother was almost one year of age at that time.
It was in the fall of the year and the leaves had been falling from the big maple in our yard. As my father sat there rocking in his chair, he heard something in the night. It sounded as if someone was walking through the leaves that had fallen onto the ground, moving towards the direction of the porch. All of a sudden, a man’s voice came from somewhere out in the dark.
‘I told you once before not to search for whom we are.’
“Startled, my father asked who was there, but there came only silence in return. After a few short minutes a figure of a man stepped out of the darkness and spoke again.
‘This is your last warning.
To your face, you are forewarned
If a deaf ear you turn, you must mourn
Something that is dear to you,
Something fresh and brand new,
Yes! Your child’s life will be taken, instead of you,’ ”
She recalls from memory.
“That is an incredible story, Mrs. Lindbergh, incredible!”
“Did you ever hear from the man again?”
“Charles Lindbergh was not one to be threatened or intimidated. Even though he received a threat to his only son’s life, he continued to search for the answer of this mans identity with his whole mind, body, and strength. Eight months later my brother was kidnapped, and my father began receiving ransom notes. One of the ransom notes was almost word for word, the same message my father received that night on his porch.
‘The others too, would not leave our secret alone.
Now they are dead forever, instead of flesh and bone.
To your face, you were forewarned
But a deaf ear you
turned, so you must mourn
Something that is dear to you, something fresh and brand new
Yes! Your child’s life will be taken, instead of you.’ ”
“Do you understand now, why photos of this man turned out to be very disturbing to my father?”
After hearing this, I could keep my composure no longer. I took a deep breath and then made a loud exhale, dropping my head in my hand.
“What is it? Are you all right? Would you like a glass of water? Mr. Brooks?”
“Yes I am all right, I’m OK.” I take a handkerchief from my pocket and wipe off the sweat from my brow. I look over at Mrs. Lindbergh and acknowledge the worried look upon her face. I decide to come clean, well at least confess to her some partial truth of what I know of the man in the photos.
“Mrs. Lindbergh, I have to apologize. I haven’t been totally honest with you,” I begin my confession.
“Oh, how is that Matthew?” Her blue eyes open with gentle surprise.
“The man in these photos,” I begin my confession, pausing that I might search for the right words.
“I know who he is. I’ve known about him for quite some time now.”
“You know who this man is?” Her eyes open wider, suggesting just a hint of doubt.
“Yes, I mean no. I mean, I don’t know who he is, but I have definitely seen him, several times in fact. Actually Mrs. Lindbergh, this man is the real reason I came 3,000 miles to talk to you.”
“Let me get this straight. You already know about this man? How could you possibly know about this man?”
“Well…”
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew about him?” she asks in n perplexingly astonished manner.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lindbergh, for not saying anything sooner, but I’m sure you appreciate how bizarre this situation is.
A person has to be careful whom they divulge such things to. Unless a person has seen the things you and I have seen, they might be very apprehensive of taking it very serious. In fact, they might call the gentleman in the white coats to come and put us away.”
“I guess I understand what you mean.”
“Plus the fact, that I have had a job as a journalist for only six months, I have to be careful what kind of stories I make public, if I want my career to last very long.” I explain further to her, trying to stitch back together her trust in me that may have become torn.
“Don’t worry, Matthew, I understand. It is a very unusual story. I wouldn’t blame anyone if they did not believe me.”
“I believe you Mrs. Lindbergh. I have good reason to believe you.
What would you say if I told you, I have seen this man only a few days ago?”
“I would say first of all, that it would be impossible, how could that possibly be true?” She is very skeptical.
“I know it all sounds crazy, Mrs. Lindbergh, but I assure you I am as sane as you are.”
“Well Matthew, maybe we are both crazy, who am I to judge?” She smiles.
“I swear Mrs. Lindbergh, a few days ago I came face to face with him, and it wasn’t a very pleasant meeting.”
“Why, what happened?”
“He tried to kill me.” She instantly rears back in her chair, her lips part open in shock.
“Tell me now, Matthew, how could it be the same man? In this photo here, he looks to be only in his twenties. He would have to be close to one hundred years old by now, maybe older,” she concludes, pointing to the photo of the Hindenburg disaster.
“It all sounds ridiculous, but I give you my word. Last week, on top of the Space Needle, this man tried to kill me. Well, he threatened to kill me anyway. The amazing thing about it is, he looked just as young as when this photo was taken and put in this newspaper, over seventy years ago.”
“What are you saying, Mr. Brooks?” She sounds very skeptical.
“I’m saying that, in over one hundred years he hasn’t aged a bit.”
Her head motions from side to side in disbelief. She bows her head, closes her eyes, and becomes totally still in thought. After a moment she reopens her eyes and continues.
“OK Matthew,” she almost whispers. “If in fact this is the same man, why would he threaten to kill you? What possible reason would he have to hurt you?” She asks, seemingly as if I would have no answer to such a question.
“He would hurt me for the same reason that he threatened to hurt your father, and for the same reason that he would threaten to kidnap or hurt your brother. He doesn’t want to be found out; he doesn’t want anyone to find out that he exists. He wants to stay in the dark.
When someone accidentally shines the light on him, he starts with the threats. What ever his reasons are for staying hidden, I don’t know, but to him they are good enough reasons to kill for. I don’t think he has any qualms of doing what he has to, to keep his identity a secret.
Maybe he being present, at a majority of history’s events over the period of hundreds of years is the main key in answering the question of his identity. I don’t know for sure.
One thing I am sure of. The man that has disrupted and threatened my life in the past few weeks, is the same man that brought worry and grief to your father and threatened your brother’s life.
There is one more thing that I am sure about Mrs. Lindbergh. This outlander, this traveler of history, would kill me for the same reason that he killed your older brother, Mrs. Lindbergh…” Before I can continue she interrupts me.
“I didn’t say that this man kidnapped my brother or killed my brother, Mr. Brooks. A man named Bruno Hauptmann was convicted of the crimes of kidnapping and murder and was executed for it,” she is beginning to show emotion.
“I know you didn’t say that the man in these photos was the kidnapper that killed your brother, Mrs. Lindbergh.
Wouldn’t you agree though, that when we put all the pieces of the puzzle we have together, everything points to this insidious man in these photos? Who else could it be?” I reason with her.
She quickly pulls a handkerchief from her dress pocket, in order to draw the tears that now fill her eyes.
“It’s hard to believe that a man was convicted and executed for nothing. It’s hard to admit to myself, that seventy years ago Bruno Hauptmann was innocent, and although he was innocent, he was executed for my brother’s murder.
But I know now, that this man that you and I have uncovered must be the one that threatened my father and kidnapped and murdered my brother.
I know and I believe it is the truth, but it is so painful to accept the inevitable truth, that an innocent man was executed for nothing,” she reveals to me grievously.
“I’m so sorry Mrs. Lindbergh; it must be a very painful memory for you.” I sympathize with her.
“Let me show you something that only one other close friend knows about.” Lifting up my back pack that I have brought with me, I pull out the piece of ancient looking goatskin parchment where our own threatening message has been written. After I gently unroll it to reveal its contents, I hand it over to her.
“This is a handwritten note that my friend and I receive while we were on an assignment in Montana. Look here, Mrs. Lindbergh. Read what it says here.”
She grabs the reading glasses that hang from a gold chain around her neck, puts them on and begins to read aloud.
“ ‘The others too, would not leave our secret alone.
Now they are dead forever, instead of flesh and bone.’ ”
Open-eyed with shock, she stares straight into my eyes, as she slowly removes the reading glasses from her eyes. Her mouth moves, but nothing is uttered for a moment. Then she finds the composure to speak.
“Oh my goodness Matthew, this is unbelievable. This is exactly the same words found in the ransom note given to my father, almost seventy years ago.”
“Yes, after seventy years he came up with the same exact words. Either this guy is uncreative or just very consistent, I’m not sure which.”
“So then, you and my father have bot
h been connected by the hand of this strange threatening man.” She ponders for a moment, as she looks again at the photos in her hand.
“If he followed through with his threat against my father and brother, he would no doubt make good on his threat against you too, Matthew.”
“Yes ma’am, I don’t think he makes idle threats. But don’t worry. I plan to stay one step ahead of him, and to catch him before he catches me.”
“What do we do now Mr. Brooks? I am so worried about you now.”
“The best thing you can do is stay as far away from me as you can. Hopefully he knows nothing of our meeting here today. I think I like your father’s way of handling this.”
“My father’s way?” She asks
“Yes, your father’s way. When he was threatened, he tried to shine the light on this guy even more. He put even more ads in papers and wrote to everyone that would listen about the existence of this guy. Your father just didn’t get a chance to finish the job, that’s all.
This sinister person loves to stay in the dark. I have a feeling that he has been a threat to more than just your father, brother and I. I bet you, that he has threatened quite a few people over the past years of history.” She touches her eyes with her handkerchief once again.
“I’m afraid that he will do the same thing to you that he did to my brother, Mr. Brooks.” she becomes emotional.
“Please don’t worry about me Mrs. Lindbergh. I will make it real hard for him, by keeping on the move. The more I find out about him, the more I will be able to protect myself,” I assure her.
“I’m not too sure about that, Matthew. I think you need some help.”
“Well that’s just it, Mrs. Lindbergh. I do have help. Kelly, my photographer friend is right by my side, and I have the backing of the Portland Herald. So don’t you worry, Mrs. Lindbergh. We’ll find out who this guy is, without anybody else getting hurt. You can count on that.” I exaggerate a little.
Wyatt, Richard Page 22
