Fritz Kolbe was not the only representative of the German resistance in Judge Jackson’s office. Next to him was Eugen Gerstenmaier, a leader of the Protestant Church, who had barely escaped a death sentence after the plot against Hitler. Gerstenmaier was questioned about the place of religion under Nazism. He answered by saying that the churches had been the principal center of opposition to Hitler. Fritz did not at all agree with him and had no hesitation in saying so.
What was beginning to annoy him intensely was the incredible number of German figures who claimed to have played an important role in the fight against Hitler. “Whose turn is it now?” he said to himself as he met one or another of them in the corridors of the Henkell company. He had a great deal of difficulty standing for Hans-Bernd Gisevius, who was also in Wiesbaden. He thought that this preferred informant of the Americans was a veritable impostor. He had not forgotten that Gisevius had begun his career in the Gestapo in the early years of the Nazi regime.
Berlin, July 1945
On July 17, Fritz returned to Berlin on board a US Army C-47. He finally saw Maria again, from whom he had heard nothing for three months. She was in a state of total exhaustion. She had not for a moment given up her work at the Charité hospital. It was a burdensome mission: the hospital was constantly full of the wounded, refugees dying from exhaustion, and victims of the typhus epidemic that had just broken out in the capital. Professor Sauerbruch held a high office in the administration of Berlin, in the Soviet zone. Adolphe Jung had returned to France. Maria told Fritz about what was happening in the Soviet zone: widespread rape, dismantling of factories, and systematic pillage of all property. The chaos was complete. Fritz could hardly believe his ears, he who thought that the Russians—who had not bombed German cities—would be greeted as liberators by the Germans. At that very moment he realized that the page of Nazism had finally been turned. Even if the Nazi “death squads” had not completely disappeared, the danger had changed its character and was now located in the East. On July 20, 1945, there was a celebration of the failed plot against Hitler. The press was full of praise for Count Stauffenberg and his friends. Fritz was stunned at the speed with which the wheels of history were turning.
“This new life did not seem to us worth living,” Maria said much later, recalling the year 1945. However, compared to most Berliners, Fritz and Maria were aware that they were in a privileged position. They did not need a ration card to live, and they were housed by the Americans. Allen Dulles, who had just taken charge of the OSS for all of Germany, lived close by, frequently asked after them, and provided them with CARE packages containing food. Fritz had the use of a car and—the height of luxury—was free to travel anywhere. He was not unhappy to have his friends benefit from his influence with the American occupation authorities. People came to see him to get a pass, a ration card, medicine, or a job. The question of his professional future had not yet arisen; for the moment Fritz was employed by the American military administration (OMGUS, Office of Military Government for Germany, United States), although he did not know how long that would last.
Although Fritz sometimes put on an American uniform when he traveled around town incognito, he did not shout from the rooftops that he was working for the conquerors. “Lackey of the Allies” and “traitor to the fatherland” were starting to become common insults. He was often looked at askance. Almost everywhere, Fritz seemed to be thought of as a “foreign body.” Maria’s family, in particular, regarded him with suspicion. He didn’t care, but she was deeply hurt. When Fritz Kolbe was asked what his current occupation was, he claimed that with the fall of the Foreign Ministry he wanted to make use of his skills as a former railroad employee. “I am trying to set up transportation firms,” he said. Only his close friends knew of his official mission. He was a member of the OMGUS office in charge of the settlement of refugees and displaced persons, but he also worked as an interpreter and driver for the Americans. A few months later, he was even accredited as a journalist to the Allied press service, which made it possible for him to interview major German political figures.
At bottom, the real nature of his work remained very vague. Everyone knew—and that was the essential point—that Fritz enjoyed a privileged position and that he had a long reach. He had people call him “George.” His house in the Nikolassee neighborhood became a meeting place for a swarm of friends delighted to escape from privation, if only for one evening. One would often encounter Professor Sauerbruch, Gertrud von Heimerdinger, old childhood friends, and newcomers to the “circle,” such as the industrialist Viktor Bausch and his wife Erika von Hornstein, a painter, or the popular writer Felicitas von Reznicek. Among regular visitors to the house were also a few young American OSS officers: The bon vivant Harry Hermsdorf was a liaison with Allen Dulles, and Tom Polgar, Fritz’s neighbor, spent hours playing with him with electric trains.
Fritz continued to supply pieces of information to the Americans and to draft reports for them. His area of expertise was the Social Democratic Party, in which he had a rich network of contacts, particularly in the Soviet zone. He closely observed the gradual seizure of control of the Social Democratic Party by the Communist Party in the East. In the analyses that he submitted to the OSS, he did not hesitate to assimilate the “Bolsheviks” to the Nazis. He even considered the communists “more brutal and more primitive” and regretted that it had not been possible to continue the war against the USSR.
On August 7, 1945, an accident almost cost him his life. While he was riding in an American army jeep, there was a violent collision with a truck at a Berlin intersection. Fritz suffered fractures of the skull and jaw, and several broken ribs. He spent three weeks in the hospital and needed a long convalescence before he could get back on his feet.
Wiesbaden, September 26, 1945
Fritz had barely recovered when he was again called to Wiesbaden to testify before a commission headed by DeWitt C. Poole, of the U.S. State Department, who was questioning as many of the former members of the Foreign Ministry as he could in connection with the trials that were soon to begin in Nuremberg. The young OSS officer, Peter Sichel, who was now posted to Berlin, accompanied Fritz in the jeep to Wiesbaden. During the long trip, the two men spoke mostly of sports and physical exercise. Fritz Kolbe showed off a few sports medals that he had won over the years. “It was his principal source of pride,” Peter Sichel recalled.
On September 26, 1945, Fritz was questioned in Wiesbaden by a member of the Poole commission. He spoke of his activities during the war. He explained that he had had about twenty “friends” who shared his convictions and had helped him to act. He again presented a precise description of every figure in the Foreign Ministry. He spoke at length of the clandestine organization of the traffic in strategic materials between Franco Spain and Nazi Germany. For the Americans, it was essential to have firsthand testimony to substantiate the prosecution in Nuremberg.
The OSS, however, feared for the safety of its protégé and did not want to provide too many opportunities for “George Wood” to speak publicly. Allen Dulles had tried to dissuade him from going before the Poole commission. Fritz had insisted, wishing as he did to participate in the work of justice being carried out by the Allies. But unlike others, notably Hans-Bernd Gisevius, he was not called to the witness stand at the international military tribunal, which began its proceedings in November 1945. Having been only a spy with no political responsibility, his testimony had to remain secret.
Berlin, 1946 to 1948
Even though he was relatively protected by his anonymity, Fritz Kolbe was not in a comfortable situation. His cooperation with the Americans made him particularly vulnerable in the context of the nascent cold war. In late June 1946, General Donovan sent a warning note to Allen Dulles: “The situation in Berlin has altered drastically since you left. There may be danger to some of those people who worked with you there…. There have been disappearances of many people whose names have appeared in the press as having been of assistance to the Allie
s during the war.” In his reply, Dulles explicitly raised the question of Fritz Kolbe’s future: “Certainly the possibility you suggest always exists and I understand that steps are being taken to extract ‘Wood’ of Boston-platinum fame and bring him over here for a cooling off period. I understand that he is still about the most useful man we have in Berlin but certain events have caused our people over here to feel that he is no longer safe.”
The Americans were beginning to fear that the Soviets might kidnap Kolbe. Wasn’t he as Dulles wrote, “the most useful man” for the Americans in Berlin? Fritz himself was beginning to consider living in the United States. In February 1946, he wrote to Ernst Kocherthaler that he was considering definitively giving up German citizenship and settling on the other side of the Atlantic to begin a “new life.” With his usual optimism, he hoped to find “a job in industry or in the State Department.” Eager to see his son Peter again, he thought it would be easier for him to get to South Africa from the United States. In Germany, it was impossible for him to get the foreign currency he needed for the trip.
But things were not that simple. It took three years of effort on Fritz’s part before he could go to America. His departure was delayed at first because of his divorce, the proceedings for which were still going on. But the principal difficulty lay elsewhere. In accordance with the instructions given by President Roosevelt before his death, Fritz had been given no guarantee about his future by the American authorities. Generally speaking, Germans were suspect in the eyes of the American immigration authorities. Obtaining a long-term visa came up against huge administrative difficulties. There was always a piece missing from the file. “Details are lacking on how contact with you was established, through whom and under what guise. No statement concerning George’s ideology, his reasons for entering into what is otherwise a traitorous relationship with the Allies…. Particularly important is your assessment of George’s motivation for having cooperated with the Allies, including an attestation of his sincere desire to overthrow the Nazi regime and in the end to serve his own country by contributing to the establishment of a democratic German government.” These were some of the questions to which Allen Dulles had to respond in the course of 1947.
On January 15, 1948, Dulles testified to the good faith of Fritz Kolbe in a notarized affidavit he submitted in New York. The affidavit explained that Fritz had taken “incalculable risks” in order to help the Allied cause. “Kolbe worked entirely for ideological reasons…. He refused any monetary reward for his work…. After the war was over, when Kolbe volunteered to continue to do difficult and dangerous work for us, I set aside, with General Donovan’s approval, a trust account in the amount of Sw. Fcs. 20,000. This was intended largely to protect a minor son in case any accident should befall him. I understand he has not touched this money. It was set aside for him without his having requested it…. I volunteered that I would do everything in my power to protect and assure his future…. I have no hesitation in saying that Fritz Kolbe is a brave man of high principles and a sincere believer in what this country stands for. He deserves well of us.” A few months later, in another notarized affidavit, Allen Dulles committed himself to Fritz’s financial support in the event of any difficulties.
Fritz was not yet authorized to enter the United States, but he was determined to leave Germany. In early April 1948, Fritz and Maria moved to Switzerland, where other tedious formalities awaited them. Because of the suicide of Otto Köcher, the former envoy of the Reich in Bern, the Swiss federal authorities suspected Fritz of having played a dubious role in the final days of the war. He was subjected to extensive questioning by the Swiss police before being allowed to move freely. For a few months he worked for the Commercial Development Corporation, an import-export business that his friend Ernst Kocherthaler had just established in Zurich. When his divorce from Lita Schoop became final in July, nothing further stood in the way of his departure. The atmosphere in Germany was becoming very unpleasant. The blockade of Berlin was in full swing. But the wait lasted months longer. Fritz and Maria had the time to get married in December 1948. Finally, on March 16, 1949, they took a liner for America sailing from Cuxhaven.
New York, spring 1949
Peter Sichel was in New York to greet the couple as they got off the boat. The weather was extremely hot. In their little hotel near Washington Square, without air conditioning, the atmosphere was stifling. From the outset, the “new life” of Fritz and Maria bore no resemblance to any illusions they might have had. The State Department obviously had no position to offer to this minor German official. With only limited mastery of the English language, Fritz did not feel at all as comfortable as he had hoped. In April 1949, Allen Dulles wrote to Fritz that he was looking for a job for him at Yale or the University of Michigan, “as a librarian or a research assistant.” But these leads, modest as they were, led to nothing. By the month of May, Fritz was writing to his old friend Walter Bauer to tell him that he intended to return to Germany. Bauer advised him to stay in the United States. “In your place, with your possibilities, I would not come back at the first difficulties,” he told him. Ernst Kocherthaler sent him the same message, advising him to “get hired by Standard Oil or Texaco.” But Fritz disliked American society and its appetite for unbridled consumption (“People never stop eating,” he observed scornfully).
Nevertheless, he tried his hand in business, thinking he had accumulated enough entrepreneurial skills working for the Commercial Development Corporation of his friend Ernst Kocherthaler. With the small nest egg he had put together with the help of Allen Dulles, he set up a small business selling asbestos. An old acquaintance from South Africa had suggested that they go into the business together. But his partner turned out to be a swindler, and he disappeared with Fritz’s capital of $25,000. This was too much. Fritz and Maria decided to return to Germany immediately. They had been in the United States for barely three months. In July 1949, the couple settled near Frankfurt. “His trip here did not work out as well as one might have expected,” Allen Dulles observed bluntly a few months later. As Ernst Kocherthaler said, to sum up the whole affair: “George is not a businessman type.”
Frankfurt, summer 1949
The blockade of Berlin by the Soviets had just come to an end when Fritz and Maria returned from the United States. They had been away from Germany for a year, dreaming in vain of a “new life.” They had lost a substantial part of their savings. They had no prospects for the future. In order to survive, Fritz did some sales work for his old friend Ernst Kocherthaler, who was involved in all kinds of business in Zurich. At his request, Fritz looked for markets for all kinds of products (diesel engines, reinforced concrete, steel, printing machinery). Preoccupied by material concerns, he had not yet tried to see his son, who was still in southern Africa and who was desperately waiting for his father to deign to take an interest in him. Peter Kolbe, who was in his early adolescence (he had his thirteenth birthday in April 1945), felt toward his absent father a mixture of indifference and resentment.
When he was still in the United States, Fritz had responded to a notice of an employment opportunity in the administration of the new Federal Republic. The new German government did not yet have an autonomous diplomatic service, but it had the right to open consulates or commercial offices abroad. Dozens of positions were beginning to open up. In his first letter of application on May 9, 1949, Fritz explained that he had the necessary language skills, the required experience, and a “political past” that made him fit for an assignment in the new consular services. To support his candidacy, he asked for help from Walter Bauer, who knew many people in the embryonic future German administration. Bauer for the moment had only an economic post and was based in Frankfurt.
That summer, Fritz sent out many unsolicited letters of application. He wrote to the SPD deputy Carlo Schmid (who did not have time to see him), to the administration of the Marshall Plan, to the foreign policy department of the Social Democratic Party. In his letters, he did not he
sitate to mention the fact that he had never been a member of the Nazi Party, specifying that he had maintained close “contacts” with the Americans during the war, and that he had been a part of the “other Germany.” He believed that these elements would strengthen his chances of being selected. Had he not read in a German newspaper in July 1949 that the British military governor, Sir Brian Robertson, demanded that future German diplomats be “absolutely politically clean”? Fritz Kolbe’s file was probably too clean: Not only had he never joined the NSDAP, but he had never been imprisoned for acts of resistance. Imagine his surprise when he learned that his interlocutors at the Marshall Plan “did not understand why he had not been a member of the party.” Walter Bauer went out of his way to help Fritz. But when he questioned the heads of the Frankfurt administration, they answered that pieces were missing from the file. “Could Fritz Kolbe name more ‘references’ to support his candidacy? Could he in particular provide the names of former members of the Foreign Ministry?” he was told in November 1949. Fritz Kolbe complied with the request and provided a list of people whom he hoped would speak in his favor. Among these putative “sponsors” were found Hans Schrœder (former chief of personnel of the Foreign Ministry under Ribbentrop), Count Welczeck, and Karl Ritter in person. He had to dare to use that name. The necessities of the moment required that he compromise his convictions. Fritz was convinced that Karl Ritter wished him no ill (“He changed subordinates as he changed shirts. But me he kept”). Fritz Kolbe resumed contact with him in late 1949. Ritter had just gotten out of prison after serving a sentence of four years for “war crimes” and was living in solitude in his house in Bavaria. Fritz felt that he could count on him (“We are corresponding, and he writes to me in a very friendly way”).
A Spy at the Heart of the Third Reich: The Extraordinary Story of Fritz Kolbe, America's Most Important Spy in World War II Page 24
