“All right, what is it?”
She began chewing on her lower lip, which she did when she was looking for the right way to say something. Hans waited. “Speaking of children and their ages, you know that Lisa will be three in November.”
“I do. She’s already talking about what she wants for her birthday.”
“I know. But. . . . What would you think if we got her a little brother or sister?”
Hans reared back a little. “Wow! I didn’t see that one coming.”
“We talked about it about a year ago, remember. And you thought we ought to wait a little longer. Well, it’s been a little longer.”
He began to nod. “If that’s what you want, you know that I would be delighted to have another one. Girl or boy. If the baby is like Lisa, I’ll take either one.”
“That’s how I feel too. But I’m glad you do as well.” Then she reached out, took his hand, and placed it on her stomach.
For a moment Hans looked confused, but then suddenly his eyes widened. “Really?”
Emilee laughed with him. “I’m due in late February. Congratulations, Papa.”
August 15, 1921, 10:05 a.m.—Eckhardt residence
Emilee was seated on the floor of Alisa’s bedroom, helping her daughter build a “princess castle” from her wooden blocks. She raised her head as she heard the front door open and shut, followed by footsteps crossing the living room. “Heinz-Albert? Is that you?”
“It’s me,” Hans called to her.
“Hans?” That was not what she had expected. She got to her feet, touching Alisa gently on her shoulder. “I’ll be right back, Liebchen. Wait here.”
“But I want to see Vati.”
“Vati will come and see you in a minute,” she said firmly. “Finish the castle.”
She hurried down the hall to their bedroom. Inside, Hans was pulling off his coveralls. His heavy mechanic boots were already off. “Hans? What’s wrong?”
“I have to go. I got a call from Ernst Roehm. Adolf needs me.”
“Adolf?” Emilee felt a flash of anger. “It’s the middle of the day. You told me this morning that you have several trucks backed up waiting to be repaired.”
“Yes, we do.”
“You have to tell him that you have a full-time job. His whole life is the party, but yours is not. You can’t just drop everything and leave every time he calls.”
“Hitler’s in jail, Emilee,” he snapped. “I’m sorry. I’ll get back as quickly as I can.”
2:27 p.m.—Stadelheim Prison, Geising District, South Munich
“I’m all right, Hans. Really.” Adolf smiled ruefully. “I am treated well, though I wouldn’t say that I am living in the lap of luxury. Our cells are small, but they do have ‘en-suite facilities’”—he grinned—“an open lavatory and a wash basin with cold water only, if that qualifies. We get three meals a day, but the food mostly consists of bread, cheese, and soups washed down with a cold, watery tea, but I am eating more regularly than I normally do.”
“What happened? I didn’t know anything about this until Ernst called this morning.”
Adolf looked at the guard who stood in the corner of the visiting room. “Is it all right if we sit?” he asked.
The guard nodded. “But no touching. No passing anything between you.”
Adolf nodded and led Hans to a wooden bench. He began speaking immediately. “It all started on Friday of last week. Emil Maurice and I were meeting and discussing how to better handle the growing opposition we are facing from our enemies. As you know, early on, Ernst Roehm and Hermann Goering began recruiting men from among their army and Luftwaffe acquaintances to help us maintain order. Emil started calling them his Rollkommandos. But we had to change that name when the government said it sounded too much like a military unit and—”
“Which it is,” Hans said. “Rollkommandos are small, highly mobile military units, designed to roll quickly to locations where they are most needed.”
Adolf gave him a droll look. “I was in the army too, you know.”
“Of course.” Hans felt his face going warm.
“Anyway, the government made us choose another name because it might look like we were violating the terms of the Versailles Treaty. So we started calling them the Ordnertruppe, because they are troops who maintain order. But Emil thinks that name is too bland, too boring. But anyway, the other night he and I were talking about what to call his squads, which are now getting more organized. It was right then that Ernst Roehm knocked on my door. He showed us a handbill advertising a rally where a Herr Ballerstedt, who is an ardent Federalist, was going to speak. His speech was titled, ‘Weimar Republic: Path to National Stability.’”
Adolf pronounced the title like he had bitten into a bug. “I knew of this man. He is a silver-tongued orator of some renown who spouts the government’s propaganda and does it so effectively that it confuses the minds of the people. He would have them believe that the November criminals were not criminals at all, but rather our political saviors. Anyway, I was so incensed when I saw his topic that I reminded my two companions what I said at one of our rallies not long ago. You were there. I said, ‘If we are to succeed as a political force, the National Socialist movement must not only promulgate our own vision and philosophy, but we must also—’” He stopped, letting his words hang in the air.
Hans finished it. “‘But we must also ruthlessly prevent—by force if necessary—all meetings or speeches that distract or confuse the minds of our fellow countrymen.’”
“Yes! Exactly. So I told Emil that this was the time to prove that we mean what we say.’”
“And Emil agreed,” Hans said. That was no surprise. He didn’t particularly like Maurice. A watchmaker by trade, he was a year younger than Hans. He was a brooding man, with a temper that could instantly turn violent. It was rumored that he was bisexual, though Hans had no way of knowing if it was true. But Maurice was fiercely loyal to Adolf, and when the party had recently purchased their own automobile, Adolf had chosen Emil as one of his chauffeurs, which also meant that he was his bodyguard. That said a lot about Adolf’s trust.
“So that Sunday evening, I met Emil and a squad of his men, and together we went to the hall were Ballerstedt was scheduled to speak. It was still early, and the crowds hadn’t gathered yet.”
“But Ballerstedt was there?” Hans guessed.
A thin smile creased Adolf’s mouth. “He was, but let’s just say that Herr Ballerstedt decided not give his lecture that night.”
Hans felt a little shiver go down his spine, but he said nothing.
“Unfortunately, by the time we were done giving him a good thrashing, someone had called the police and we were arrested. As president of the party, I was charged with inciting a riot and physical assault and was taken to jail. The rest were released since the police had no evidence as to who did what. On Tuesday, I was hauled before the magistrate. He sentenced me to three months with the possibility of an early release for good behavior.” Another crooked grin. “I think the magistrate may have National Socialist ties, or at least sympathies, for Ballerstedt’s attorney was outraged that I got away with a ‘hand slap,’ as he called it.”
“When Ernst called this morning,” Hans said, “he told me that you’re already being hailed as a martyr for the cause and that the papers are saying that you are more popular than ever.”
Hitler beamed. “Ja, he told me that, too. That is very gratifying.” He straightened. “But that is not why I asked you to come. I have some items I would like to discuss with you as my director of propaganda. As you might suppose, I have much ‘free time’ on my hands here.” He laughed at his own joke. “So I have been doing a lot of thinking.”
“I should have brought a pencil and paper,” Hans said.
“They wouldn’t have let you bring them in,” Adolf replied. “But your mind i
s its own notebook, Hans. Just pay close attention. I have two things I need you to do.”
“I’m ready,” Hans said. He was deeply pleased that Adolf, contrary to Emilee’s prediction, was giving him considerable responsibility in his new position as head of propaganda.
“First, let us discuss the question of maintaining order at our meetings. Under Emil’s direction, we now no longer have a loosely organized group of ‘order troops.’ Instead, we have almost five hundred young men who are willing to crack a few heads if dissenters try to break up our rallies. And I am so pleased with them, Hans. So pleased. Regardless of the superiority in numbers that our enemies may hold, our boys fight back like a swarm of hornets and drive them from the hall as the people cheer. And this is good. And not just because we maintain order. It is good for our image.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Part of the German psyche, part of what is deeply rooted in our culture and our nature, is a deep admiration of strength and courage. Germans are strong of will, and therefore they want leaders who are strong, courageous, and fearless. They have no tolerance for weakness. So, thanks to our boys, our party is becoming known as a party of strength and invincible will. And the people love it. Many times, when a fight breaks out, instead of fleeing the hall, the audience stays to watch our boys drive the bums out, and they cheer and whistle and clap while they do so.”
“I agree.” Hans still wasn’t sure where Adolf was going with this.
“So here’s the problem that Emil and I were talking about the other night. We now have these boys organized into companies of one hundred, and they are subdivided into smaller squads. So what shall we call them? Ordnertruppe has no panache. No élan. No verve.”
Hans laughed. “Agreed. So what is Emil proposing?”
“He wants to go back to Rollkommandos, but I said no. We can’t draw the government’s attention to ourselves. So I have another proposal.” He paused for effect. “Sturmabteilung.”
Hans reared back. “Storm Detachment?”
“Yes. In everyday use, we’ll call them our storm troopers.”
“I like it. The word ‘storm’ carries the idea of power, ferocity, and lightning-like speed. But why not just officially call them Sturmtruppen?” Then, before Adolf could answer, he got it. “Oh. Because detachment is not a military word and doesn’t alarm the government.”
“Exactly.” Now Adolf was all business. “So here’s what I need you to do. Start thinking how to introduce that name to the party and get it before the people. I want the name to strike both fear and respect in people. I want people to know exactly who the storm troopers are and what they stand for. Also, we’re going to put them in uniform so they are a visible presence.”
“Good idea. I’ll sit down with Emil and we can explore some ideas.”
“Gut. Now to the other thing.” Adolf sat back, putting his hands behind his head and half closing his eyes. “Let me give you some background on this before I tell you what I’m thinking. A year or so ago, I attended a meeting here in Munich sponsored by some bourgeoisie group. It was supposedly held to celebrate the Battle of Leipzig in 1813, when the German armies defeated Napoleon. But it was a typical middle- and upper-class gathering. People dressed in their finery, their noses stuck in the air. But I went anyway, to learn what I could about how these people think.
“I must say that it was more like a yawning party than an assembly who had come to celebrate one of the great victories of the German people. And the speakers, all university professors, did nothing to relieve the tedium. Occasionally they would make some feeble, professorial joke, whereupon the people seated at the tables felt obliged to laugh politely. The main speaker was a venerable old history professor who wore a monocle. By the time three quarters of an hour had passed, the audience had fallen into a hypnotic trance, which was interrupted only when some man or woman left the hall for purposes we can guess at but cannot, in good taste, define.”
By this point, Hans was chuckling. No wonder Adolf was such an effective speaker. His ability to create an image in the mind was incredible.
“When the man finally finished, the chairman leaped to his feet and led us in a round of applause for Professor X. Then he said that there would be no discussion on the topic just addressed, for such would profane the powerful impact of the speech. And,” Adolf added impishly, “it might have proved to be an embarrassment to the professor, who himself had slept through part of his lecture.”
Hans hooted aloud.
“Instead, the chairman said, we would conclude the meeting by standing and singing a patriotic song together.” He turned to face Hans. “And this is what I wish to discuss with you. The song he selected was ‘O Highly Esteemed Germany.’”
“Ah, yes.”
“Are you familiar with that song?”
“Of course. Next to ‘Deutschland über Alles,’ it is probably the second most popular patriotic song of the Fatherland. I love the march tempo and the melody.”
“And do you know the words?”
“Uh . . . I know the chorus for sure.” He hummed a note and then began:
Hold firm! Hold firm!
Let the banner flutter!
Show the enemy
That we stand together faithfully,
That our old strength persists
When the battle cry rages against us!
Hold firm in the roaring storm!
“Very good, Hans. You have a fine voice. Now what about the verses?”
“Umm . . . let’s see. The first line of the first verse is the title of the song, I know that.”
O highly esteemed Germany,
Thou art the holy land of loyalty.
May the . . . uh . . . something, something.
“‘The brightness of thy glory,’” Adolf supplied.
“Oh, yeah. ‘May the brightness of thy glory,’ uh . . . Something about shining anew. I give up. I don’t know the verses that well.”
Adolf smiled. “Which is my point.” Then, to Hans’s surprise, he leaned back, closed his eyes, and began to sing in a rich tenor voice.
O highly esteemed Germany,
Thou art the holy land of loyalty.
May the brightness of thy glory
Shine anew forever both in the west and east.
Thou stand’st firm like thy mountains
Against thy foes’ power and deception.
And thy spirit may fly
Like the eagle that leaves his nest.
He reached over and popped Hans on the arm. “Now, the chorus. Together. Come on, sing!” Hans joined in lustily.
Hold firm! Hold firm!
Let the banner flutter!
Show the enemy
That we stand together faithfully,
That our old strength persists
When the battle cry rages against us!
Hold firm in the roaring storm!
“How about the last verse?” Adolf asked. But Hans had to shake his head. So Adolf did it solo again.
Raise your hands to the Lord!
May he forever protect
The beautiful country from every foe.
Fly high, German eagle!
German arm, be prepared
To protect and defend the precious country!
We defy every foe
And do not shun any battle.
Remember your fathers.
Motioning for Hans to join him, Adolf leaped to his feet and came to attention as he and Hans sang together. Adolf clenched his fist and punched the air with each exclamation. Hans did the same. And to their amazement, so did the guard. He had come to attention, thrown his head back, and was singing in full voice without the slightest hesitation.
Hold firm! Hold firm!
Let the banner flutter!
Show the
enemy
That we stand together faithfully,
That our old strength persists
When the battle cry rages against us!
Hold firm in the roaring storm!
As the song ended, they broke into laughter. The guard, somewhat red-faced now, spoke. “Sorry, but I love that song.”
“Ja, ja!” Adolf cried exultantly. “That’s what I mean, Hans. We cannot resist the power of music.”
He sat down and pulled Hans down beside him. The guard said nothing, even though now the two friends’ shoulders were touching. “So,” Adolf said, “let me finish my story. What happened that night was much like what happened just now. When we began to sing the first verse, you could tell that there was a lot of hesitancy. Like you, the people weren’t sure of the words. But when it came to the chorus, the voices swelled in a mighty anthem. But the second verse was even worse than the first, with people dropping out everywhere. Then another rousing chorus. When we reached the third verse, my suspicions were completely confirmed. Hardly anyone knew the words. But, oh, how they made the chorus ring.” He sighed, moved by the memory. “And what do you think happened next, Hans?”
“Uh . . . the meeting ended, I suppose.”
“Ja. And the people left in a rush. They were anxious to get out in the fresh air. They were anxious to go to the nearest bier garten and down a pint or two of ale. And many simply wandered away, headed for home or wherever else they were going. And how many of them were pondering the speech by the professor with the monocle?”
“None!” Hans said with a laugh.
“Oh,” Adolf said with a twinkle in his eye, “it was far less than that.” He grabbed Hans’s upper arm and shook it. “So tell me this. Suppose, just suppose, that you are in another meeting. A speaker—no, an orator—ignites your imagination and kindles your dreams with the power of his words until you are ablaze with excitement. Then the person conducting asks the audience to stand and sing ‘Deutschland hoch en Ehren,’ but in this case he notes that each person in the room has the words to the song printed on the back of his program. And then someone goes to the organ and a conductor comes forward with his baton. And then . . . then, in perfect unity, we all raise our voices together, our hearts and minds as one. Tell me, Hans, what would happen when the song is finished?”
Fire and Steel, Volume 3 Page 32
