Fire on the Track

by Roseanne Montillo

  The Germans had a lot to prove. Since 1912, when Germany had garnered only a sixth-place overall standing at the Stockholm Olympics, German athletes had been undergoing rigorous training, Berlin dedicating many resources to their preparation. Physical education had been added to the curriculum of all German schools, which ran the classes with an injection of militarism that would become the Nazi regime’s trademark. Hitler himself, in Mein Kampf, suggested that at least two hours of every school day should be devoted to physical education, regardless of its form. Now, with the Olympics ahead, there was such tremendous pressure on German athletes to do well—how far were they willing to go to secure their places on the podium?

  When Hitler first took power, the Olympics did not align with his overall philosophy. They promoted ideals of fairness in sports regardless of religion, race, and politics (if not gender), so he was naturally against them. Soon thereafter, he informed the IOC that he didn’t care whether or not the Olympic Games would ever be held in Berlin. He had always assumed that the games were “an invention of Jews and Freemasons,” and his country would not be a host to such shenanigans. Right away, Theodor Lewald made a beeline for Joseph Goebbels’s office, where he suggested that a Berlin Olympiad could provide a massive opportunity for propaganda. Goebbels, who had been in office for only three days at the time, pondered the possibility. It would be not only a chance to show off the city and the country’s great power but also a means of fostering the myth of “Aryan” racial superiority that the regime was trying to spread.

  The concept of Aryans as a master race was fiercely promoted by the Nazis, who believed in a white race that not only was mentally superior to the rest of the population but also looked markedly different. Aryans were tall, blond, and blue-eyed; they possessed boundless courage and energy and sharp intellect. Anyone who did not fit into that description was grouped into the small, black-haired, coal-eyed community, a collection of people one had to be disdainful of at best, exterminate at worse. But Goebbels, the strongest proponent of the master race theory, was the least likely to depict it physically. A small-framed, anemic-looking man lacking any outward physical superiority or attractiveness, he prized in others that which was not evidenced in him. The tartness of his character, some argued, was perhaps due to his own physical inadequacies. But in pondering the Olympian idea and what the Games would bring to the country, the manipulative Goebbels began to realize the opportunity they presented: What better way to show off Germany’s glory than with a worldwide spectacle such as the Olympics? What a feat that would be!

  Still, when first consulting with Hitler, Goebbels decided, as an initial course of action, not to allow competition between Jews and so-called Aryans. As a further shock to the sporting community, Hitler and Goebbels ousted Lewald, who they learned was part Jewish. Lewald was not observant, but he had a paternal grandmother who was Jewish. He was replaced by Hans von Tschammer und Osten. In April 1933, the Nazis promulgated an “Aryan only” policy regarding sports, stating that not only Jews and those of Jewish origins but also Gypsies, homosexuals, and the disabled would be banned from all sporting associations in Germany.

  A growing number of people in the United States were alarmed by these new developments. Gustavus Town Kirby, AOC treasurer and former AAU president, called on the AOC and AAU members to hold off accepting the invitation to the Berlin Olympics until they received assurance from Germany that Jewish athletes would be allowed to participate and would be treated with fairness. Brundage, on the other hand, argued that the United States had no grounds for refusing to attend or for refusing to respond if they saw no indication on the part of the Germans that they were behaving unjustly toward athletes or disregarding IOC rules and regulations. Brundage’s ideas of the Olympics were similar to Pierre de Coubertin’s in many respects, and he nurtured close friendships with the Germans Lewald and Diem, as well as the IOC member Karl Ritter von Halt. Although he was besieged by demands for an American reaction to the Germans, Brundage felt that politics and sports did not mix. Nationalism, he thought, was not part of the Olympic Games, so it demanded no response from him. A more telling reason for his reluctance, though, was his private belief that this was a problem created by the Jewish population itself, not by the Nazis. The Jews, he said, were “clever enough to realize the publicity value of the sport,” and he once described them as “wolves that appear in sheep’s clothing,” intent on doing the greatest harm to the Olympic cause.

  Officials in Germany were aware that their movements were being scrutinized, particularly in the United States, and did not take the threats of a boycott quietly. The German Athletic Federation even issued a statement meant to appease those who still had doubts: “The German Committee stands squarely on the ground of the Olympic idea. There can be no question of any attempt of discrimination. On the contrary, all athletes coming to Germany in 1936 to participate in the Games can count upon being received with the heartiest hospitality, irrespective of nationality or race,” further adding that “as a principle German Jews shall not be excluded from the German teams of the Eleventh Olympiad.”

  But not all were convinced that the Germans were going to play fair. William Dodd, the US ambassador to Germany, was convinced that his compatriots were being taken in by the glossy Hitler regime. President Roosevelt had chosen Dodd, a professor of history at the University of Chicago, to serve as ambassador to Germany. Teaching, reading, writing, and researching were his passions, particularly American history with a smattering of European lore thrown in. Born in Clayton, North Carolina, in 1869, he had earned a doctorate from the University of Leipzig, where he had defended a dissertation on the life of Thomas Jefferson. In 1901, he had married Martha Johns, an intelligent and educated woman from Auburn, North Carolina, and in 1934 he had risen to the position of president of the American Historical Association. Though most Americans had known little about Dodd prior to the 1930s, his record of distinction had caught the attention of President Roosevelt, who decided to appoint him ambassador to Germany.

  On arriving in Berlin, Dodd had become convinced that Hitler and his henchmen were trying to fool the world into believing their intentions were not as harmful as perceived, and Dodd’s words and warnings earning him a reputation as an “alarmist” in Washington. But very few other people seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation.

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  Washington had no interest in becoming involved in the Olympic feud; President Roosevelt, who thought it a very unexpected situation, found himself caught between a rock and a hard place. He appreciated the point of the boycotters: one could not overlook the fact that Jewish athletes were being discriminated against and that American Jewish athletes would suffer the same injustice. But he also could not politicize the games; the argument did not rely on him. (Besides, there were economic issues to consider: if he took a stance against Germany, the Germans might take offense and spitefully refuse to repay World War I reparation bonds still owed to the United States.)

  FDR often received correspondence from the public urging him to speak up against the Germans’ blatant discrimination. But he managed to wiggle out of doing so. “The German authorities are treating the Jews shamefully and the Jews in this country are greatly excited,” he wrote to Ambassador Dodd very early in the controversy. “But this is not a governmental affair. We can do nothing except for Americans who happen to be made victims. We must protect them and whatever we can do to moderate the general persecution by unofficial and personal influence ought to be done.”

  Judge Samuel I. Rosenman, one of FDR’s Jewish advisers, was aware of the president’s position. He even consulted with American IOC member General Charles H. Sherrill over what the response from the White House should be. Sherrill, of course, had been assured that the Germans would not stray from the rules the IOC had set up, and he was intent on the Americans participating in Berlin; he didn’t believe the president should get involved in the controversy.

  On August 24, 1935, Sherrill traveled to Mun
ich to visit Adolf Hitler. He had a long history in the Foreign Service, with membership in the IOC being only one of his duties and the latest of his posts. In many ways, his views were not unlike those of Brundage: he was aware of the situation in Nazi Germany and felt he needed to try to smooth things over. It was not ethics that prompted him to get involved in the Berlin uproar but politics. (“It does not concern me one bit the way the Jews in Germany are being treated,” Sherrill once stated nonchalantly, “any more than lynching in the South of our own country.”) Which is not to say that his visit to Hitler was a friendly one. A Gallup poll had recently reported that 43 percent of Americans favored a boycott and that the number was growing steadily. Sherrill was on a mission to suggest including at least one Jewish athlete on the German Olympic team, as a “token” to show the world that the Germans were willing to make some allowances. If they did so, Sherrill argued, the Americans would not boycott the Games and the rest of the world would follow their example.

  But Hitler was not a man to be easily dissuaded. Capriciously, he retorted that any country was free to boycott. And if the IOC decided to take the Olympics away from Berlin and give the hosting privileges to another nation, Germany would go ahead and carry out “purely German Olympic Games.”

  Sherrill’s acquiescence infuriated Consul General George S. Messersmith, who was devoting far too much time to the issue. Messersmith agreed with Dodd that most of the US officials were either ignorant or working hard to appear so. Messersmith had entered the Foreign Service young, in 1913, and been appointed consul to Canada, Curaçao, and Belgium before becoming consul general of Belgium and Luxembourg and subsequently earning a post as consul general of Argentina.

  In February 1934, he was given a position in the ministry of Uruguay. As it happened, just days prior to embarking on his new job, George H. Earle, who was then in the ministry of Austria, was reassigned, and Messersmith relocated to Vienna. It seemed ideal, and though the White House was pleased with its decision, the Germans were not, as even from Vienna Messersmith would be capable of keeping an eye on their doings.

  Soon after beginning his assignment in Vienna, Messersmith believed that conditions brought up by the Nazis about the United States’ handling of the “Berlin question” would have further repercussions throughout Europe once the Olympics ended. “There are many wise and well-informed observers in Europe who believe that the holding or non-holding of the Olympics in Berlin in 1936 will play an important part in determining political developments in Europe,” he prophetically wrote. “I believe this view of the importance of the Olympic games held in Berlin in 1936 is not exaggerated.”

  An astute man, Messersmith saw the much darker underlying intentions of the Nazis and warned that they should be taken seriously, writing, “There is no longer any doubt that all persons with any strain of Jewish blood, no matter how attained, will not be permitted to compete for the Germans.” And that, he feared, would only be the beginning.

  Nonetheless, early in 1934, Germany sent out official invitations to the Olympics to fifty-three countries. Prior to accepting the invite and in order to placate those who threatened to boycott, Brundage announced that he would be traveling to Berlin to assess the situation himself. During the trip, he found that, despite reports trickling into the United States, all seemed well and in order; even before he finished the official visit he drafted an article for the Olympic News, declaring that Germany had more than fulfilled its obligations and that he was returning to the United States gratified by the experience. Later that month the AOC met and finally came to a decision: “In light of the report of Mr. Brundage and the attitudes and assurances of representatives of the German Government, we accept the invitation of the German Olympic committee to the 1936 Olympic Games.”

  Brundage was thrilled by his victory, and so were the Germans. By default, so were most of the athletes in America, especially Betty Robinson.

  Courtesy of the Library of Congress

  Betty Robinson running under the banner of the IWAC, after winning gold in the 100 meters in Amsterdam in 1928.

  Courtesy of the Library of Congress

  Betty Robinson in Evanston, Illinois, 1936, training to earn a place on the U.S. Women’s Olympic Team, and eager to get back on the track as fast as she could.

  Courtesy of Lamar University

  Mildred Ella Didrikson, also known as Babe, as a child.

  Courtesy of Lamar University

  Babe had five siblings, but she was closest with Lillie, featured in this photo (along with their younger brother, Arthur), who shared her love of running.

  Courtesy of Lamar University

  Babe attended Beaumont High School, where she developed a reputation for being difficult. The only place she felt at home was on the basketball court, after joining the Miss Royal Purples—the sole girls’ team at the school.

  Courtesy of Lamar University

  In February of 1930, Colonel Melvirne McCombs, an insurance man from Dallas, discovered Babe during one of her high school games. Impressed, he offered her a position on his team, the Dallas Golden Cyclones.

  Courtesy of Lamar University

  Babe, shortly after her wins at the Los Angeles Games in 1932.

  Courtesy of the State Historical Society of Missouri

  United States athletes traveled to Berlin on the SS Manhattan, which departed Pier 60 in New York on July 15, 1936. Along with the athletes were members of the AOC, newspaper reporters, and a handful of family members.

  Courtesy of the Western Reserve Historical Society, Cleveland, Ohio

  Stella trained to recapture gold in the 1936 Olympics in Berlin but came up just short—losing to the American phenom Helen Stephens. Stella always felt like an outsider and was forever trying to find her place in the world: Was she a man or a woman? Was she Polish or American?

  Courtesy of the Western Reserve Historical Society, Cleveland, Ohio

  Stella Walsh was born Stanisława Walasiewicz in Poland. She won gold in the 100 meter dash at the 1932 Los Angeles games. Although she had meant to run for the United States, she received a job offer from the Polish Consulate, with the understanding that she would compete for Poland.

  Courtesy of the State Historical Society of Missouri

  Helen Stephens training with her first coach, W. Burton Moore. Moore was the track coach for the Fulton High School and a recent graduate of Westminster College. He was the first to notice Helen’s running abilities and encourage them.

  Courtesy of the State Historical Society of Missouri

  Helen Stephens at the starting line of the 100 meters. Although people still weren’t sure what to make of female runners, the stadium was filled to capacity.

  Courtesy of the State Historical Society of Missouri

  Helen Stephens at the 1936 Olympics. Helen participated in the infamous Nazi Olympics, winning gold in the 100 meters and gold in the relay team. Although she hoped these would be the first of many games she would participate in, they turned out to be the last.

  Courtesy of the State Historical Society of Missouri

  Collage including Helen Stephens and several of her teammates preparing for the 1936 Berlin Olympics. The top middle photo includes Betty Robinson, while the top left features Dee Boeckmann, Betty’s friend and cabinmate from Amsterdam.

  Courtesy of the State Historical Society of Missouri

  Helen Stephens meets Adolf Hitler. Following Helen’s win in the 100 meters at the 1936 Berlin Olympics, Hitler requested a meeting with her; her powerful athletic abilities and physique had impressed him. The invitation led to one of the most peculiar encounters in sports history, which Helen relished recounting.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  REBOUND

  As the 1936 Olympics approached, women’s participation finally seemed like a done deal, although there were still those who opposed their attendance and wanted to return to the days of the past. Oddly enough, some of the most vocal detractors were women. In December 1934, an article appear
ed in the Women’s Division written by Annie Hodgen, who had witnessed the 1932 Games: “The more I saw of the Games…the more convinced I was that women had no place in them and that we must work with renewed enthusiasm to interpret our standards to all nations until we should be able to prevent the exploitation of women for such spectacles.”

  Betty read articles expressing the grievances she had been hearing since her early running days, as well as updates on German affairs, and wondered how they might influence her participation. Germany seemed so far away, the events so remote and bewildering, that she felt a sense of detachment, as if she were reading a book of fiction and the occurrences were not those of real human beings. She tried to pay the reports she read little mind, though if these events came to fruition, her dreams would be over.

  She trained and competed in local meets in the hope of gaining enough strength to participate in the qualifying trials, to be held in Providence, Rhode Island. Since she couldn’t crouch in the starting position, the only chance she had of returning to the Games was not as an individual sprinter but as part of a squad. In 1934, she volunteered for the AAU National Indoor Championships 4-by-100-meter relay team, becoming a member of a Brooklyn team as its third leg. Unlike her appearances in previous competitions, this one went unnoticed; her team finished dead last. But knowing she could compete again gave her confidence, a boost, a buoyancy she had never experienced before, though her team’s dismal results troubled her.