The Odyssey of a U-Boat Commander

by Erich Topp

  I examined an example of such a humanized housing project in Os- nabruck from an economic point of view. We planned and built a settlement of townhouses, using locally produced concrete supports and wall segments side by side with machine-produced wooden elements imported from Sweden. The houses were set in a park environment. After they had been completed and the families moved in, we carefully evaluated their living qualities compared to other kinds of housing.

  We collaborated with Professor Janssen in the area of industrial design to bring about an optimal union of function and form, for instance in the case of mass-produced articles of daily use like street lights, chairs, and parking meters. The Bauhaus taught the equality of all art forms with regard to architecture. The basic idea was that designing is neither an exclusively intellectual nor an entirely material activity, but simply an integral component of the essence of a civilized society. This view replaced the notion of art for art's sake of an earlier epoch. When designing a theater, for example, we cooperated closely with scientists and technicians who were experts in acoustics, statics, stage directing, air conditioning, and the like, while also consulting our fellow art forms of painting and sculpting.

  Gropius and his collaborators such as Mies van der Rohe, Moholy- Nagy, Klee, Kandinsky, and others were not only the last major innovators in the field of architecture and design but they also have given us a lasting philosophy of construction. It was not the founders of the Bauhaus but their less distinguished descendants who concluded a pact with the economic establishment and have since covered and cluttered the earth with mindless boxes of glass and steel. This liaison required its sacrifices and compromises, as in all cases of illegitimate love affairs. But the big cities are not the only victims of this arrangement. Whole regions, including some of the most beautiful of all, have been ruined in the name of profit and so-called consumer friendliness.

  Architecture has since fled into a fancy world of self-delusion. "Postmodernity" has become a catch-all word devoid of any substantive meaning. Everything architecture has to offer is being indiscriminately combined if it pleases the consumer: the glitter of the rich and mighty; the mysteries of religious buildings; the pastoral simplicity of the primitive; and even what may be picturesque about misery. There are archi tects who copy slums. In the end there can be no architecture worth its name without some tension between the creative power of the artist and reality, which in turn is dominated by individual human beings and their cosmos.

  While still a scientific assistant at the School of Architecture at Hanover in 1952, I had participated in a design competition for two new schools in Celle. Late in the evening of the day when the commission in charge was supposed to announce the winning entries, someone knocked on our door. My wife opened the door and in came Professor Zinsser, under whom I had passed my final exams. He said: "I have come to tell you that you have won both competitions. I was so happy for you that I wanted to bring you the good news personally." I was so surprised that at first I did not know what to say, but I was almost ready to hug him in gratitude. After all, this was my first open success and perhaps the beginning of a career. Winning first prize in both competitions meant a reward of 1,000 deutschmarks for each, in those days a heavenly gift. As expected, the usual intrigues did not take long to surface. The local, older architects with their good connections to city hall succeeded in having the contest annulled and repeated. This time competition was by invitation only, and that meant the end of my chances.

  One night at a party, a far from sober fellow architect raised his glass and directed the following toast at me: "Congratulations on winning that contest with the help of Graubner." Friends restrained me. I was enraged because I had entered the competition without Graubner's knowledge, fearing that he would not like it if 1 took on extra business outside my regular duties. I decided to write that other architect a letter quoting lago from Act III of Shakespeare's Othello:

  Who steals my purse, steals trash, 'tis something, nothing, 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands: But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.

  What did Graubner and I design and build after we became partners? I do not wish to go into the details of our struggle for contracts and the hard work involved in our daily routine, spending our mornings at the construction site, afternoons at the drafting board, evenings and nights at the contests. Nor do I want to dwell on arguments with presumptuous and insolent patrons. That is a part of any freelance business. In the end we were judged by our achievements.

  In Bochum we built the theater and an administrative building for the Ruhrstickstoff Aktiengesellschaft (AG); in Hanover the headquarters of the Preussag and the Salzdetfurt AG, as well as an elementary school; in Herten the administrative building for a mining company; in Greven (Westphalia) a textile plant for Schrunder and Cramer; in Hildesheim the suburb along the Michaelisstrasse, a bank building on the market square, and an annex to the city hall. In Aachen we redesigned the area between the cathedral and the city hall.

  But our real love and specialty was the building of theaters. There are two considerations that govern the design of every modern theater: to be able to see and listen to the activities on the stage equally well from every seat in the audience. As far as acoustics is concerned, one must distinguish between spatial acoustics-the influence of the shape of the room on acoustic characteristics-and constructional acoustics-the impact of building materials used in the interior design of the theater. Most important is the shape of the auditorium. It must be right from the beginning, while there is always the possibility of making decorative modifications. Visual quality is dependent on seating arrangement as well as distance, angle, and general perspective of the viewer in relation to the stage. In addition, and especially since the days of Max Reinhardt, theaters must allow for the most intimate communication between actors and audience. This relationship is crucial for the success of theatrical productions. It also means that the play can be projected directly into the audience by designing the stage and ramp accordingly. As we saw it, the key problem of building theaters is to allow for a reasonable variability of the border region between stage and auditorium. The proper design of the proscenium absorbed our special attention, first in Bochum, later in Mulheim and Lunen, and finally in the case of the National Theater in Munich.

  The National Theater became the ultimate challenge. The city authorities favored a design that incorporated as much as possible the neoclassical core of the building, a notion that to us looked dangerously close to a mere restoration. The traditional five tiers had to be retained at all cost; the outward appearance of the structure was not to be changed; and much emphasis was placed on regaining the former festive atmosphere that had graced the interior of the building.

  The theater had been built based on a design by Carl von Fischer. After the fire of 1823 it had been rebuilt by the Hildesheim architect Leo von Klenze. Klenze had not slavishly followed Fischer's original plans but had incorporated additional ideas consistent with the artistic currents of the late neoclassical era. We argued that we, too, should be given such limited artistic license in order to leave our personal, unique handprint on our work. We solved the problem of retaining the five tiers while affording equal visibility from all seats by developing a balcony system that focused without compromise on the center of the stage.

  After we had won the competition and the contract we had to face much criticism, not only from the state authorities but also from the in fluential Bavarian Castle Administration and the Munich Theater Circle. The latter, we had to admit, had made major financial contributions to the project. It was at that point that I retired from our architectural partnership. In the end Graubner compromised on virtually all of our design principles, with the result that the National Theater in Munich today is once again a tiered theater in the classical sense that no longer meets the demands of equality in visibility and audibility. Our once highly praised design became anoth
er neo-neoclassical building.

  Klenze's classicism grew organically from the intellectual and artistic currents of his time. Graubner's neoclassical details are pure decoration, already a hint of post-modernity. The central box, for example, no longer accommodates a king and his entourage and with its flanking caryatids seems bombastic. The same holds true for the huge columns supporting the proscenium boxes. The tent-like ceiling and the chandelier have remained true to our design. After all, the colors gold, ivory, and red can never spoil a theater.

  Those years as a freelance architect followed different coordinates than my years as a soldier. While my military career had been dominated by political ideals and submission to raison d'etat, my years as a student and architect brought me intellectual diversity within the framework of political pluralism, limited at first, but steadily expanding. Architecture means a struggle for the optimal form, a struggle within oneself, with the members of one's team, and with the organizational, economic, and social factors that influence architects from without. Most problems are solved through compromises without giving up essential principles of design. The work of architects is characterized by teamwork and a readiness to compromise. A U-boat commander experiences what has been called loneliness of command. He is bound to a hierarchically organized command structure, but on the spot he makes all crucial decisions.

  While I was engaged in freelance architectural work I became a member of the Association of German Architects after a board of experienced architects declared me qualified upon study of my designs and publications. I also joined the Association of Architects and Engineers. Otherwise, I became active in a group of people with intellectual and artistic leanings. We met in the restaurant "Wein-Wolf" in memory of the poet Gottfried Benn who had once been there thinking profoundly about art. Indeed, he wrote an essay about the subject entitled "Weinhaus Wolf. " Here I became acquainted with Professors Wickop and Zinsser; the landscape designer Professor HUbotter; the pianist Dahlgrun; Ploog, the editor in chief of the Hannoversche Zeitung; Alfred Toepfer; and others. We talked about the latest currents in art, about justified and unjustified reviews, about modern music, about the death penalty-in short, about a vast variety of subjects that were of interest to us and the broader public. Here I left the ivory tower into which I had retreated for years.

  The Navy, too, made contact with me. The Navy League asked me to investigate rumors that Prien, the famous U-boat commander, had been killed in a concentration camp instead of losing his life on the high seas. Reportedly the rumor was spread by a former Luftwaffe lieutenant. I arranged a meeting with the man and learned that he had indeed been in a concentration camp but had never met Prien there, nor had he ever said anything about him. I also asked how he had ended up in a concentration camp. He told me that one day he and fellow officers had been drinking in the officer casino. Next to its entrance were two busts, to the left one of Hermann Goring, the head of the Luftwaffe, and to the right one of Hitler. As the officer left the room he had jokingly placed his cap on Hitler's likeness and said in a loud voice, "It certainly does not look too bad on a corporal." This remark was overheard and reported, and the officer was sent to the concentration camp on a charge of lt~se-majestt`.

  Knowing of my career as an architect, the Navy League also requested my participation in the interior design of the Naval Memorial at Laboe. It had been built based on plans submitted by Professor Munzer after World War I. Since members of the Navy League had arranged for the financing of the project, the organization was in charge of its upkeep. After World War II the building had been looted by Allied soldiers and partially damaged. The plans for the renovation included the desire that the fallen of World War lI be likewise honored. This called for new ideas, new designs. The Navy League asked Professor Munzer to take charge of the project, while I was to be his assistant. As it turned out, Munzer and I got along splendidly; we agreed on all crucial issues at our first meeting and without the slightest sign of differences spoke with one voice. The trouble was that the leadership of the Navy League, its majority comprised of men without artistic background or interests, failed to understand our suggestions. I succeeded in redesigning the exhibition hall and won the Navy League over to the idea of having the painter Richard Schreiber contribute two sgraffito works for the occasion. Then I went to Washington and left Professor Munzer to wrangle with the Navy League. The following letter shows what the controversy was about:

  Dear Professor Munzer:

  Your recent letter recalled for me the brief time of our collaboration in redesigning the Naval Memorial. Our common work proves that in questions of design there are no fundamental differences of opinion among men who, based on their creative disposition and professional background, are alone entitled to address and decide questions of art. I gather from your letter that you continue to struggle to keep the structure free from all unqualified additions and kitsch. Sadly, I can offer only words of encouragement to back you up in this matter.

  It is true that the memorial was financed by the Navy League, but it belongs to the entire German nation. There are only few structures that can make such a claim. And from this claim grows the obligation to redesign this memorial based on the finest artistic quality so that it can express to the entire people the honor that is being bestowed on its fallen soldiers. The rival designs that you sent along neither meet this obligation nor do they come close to fulfilling the self-evident demand to balance the external size of the structure with a corresponding interior design. The quality of your work and your personal reputation demand that you withstand efforts to alter your designs under all circumstances and with all possible consequences.

  I would be grateful to you if you could keep me informed as to the outcome of your intervention, and I wish you energy and steadfastness so that this matter may be resolved to your satisfaction.

  Cordially yours,

  Erich Topp

  Here are some specific objections of mine to the two designs favored by the Navy League:

  Both designs emphasize mass and material. The possible rejoinder that this material served as a cover for the men is only partially valid. For example, among the mentioned vessels some lost not a single member of their crews, in other cases parts of the crew were saved, others became total losses. On this panel they are grouped together indiscriminately. Our modern fascination with statistics should not be extended to graves. Only military historians must know that we lost 199 U-boats in World War l and 752 in World War ll. The boundary of eternity is not indicated by the placement of grave markers. It is rather a metaphysical, irrational borderline that is located in the realm of the spiritual and should only be symbolized by artists of genius.

  Already in the entrance hall it should become clear that the men sacrificed themselves for an idea and that they were sacrificed on the altar of political power. The materials used in that room should touch the subconsciousness of the visitors in such a way as to make them sense the loyalty, suffering, and horror of the fallen. As far as the inscription is concerned: The oath was sworn to the Kaiser in World War I and to Hitler in World War II. It is simply wrong to say: "True to their oath, they gave their lives for our people." Considering the misuse of the oath in the Third Reich and its devaluation in the consciousness of our population, one is well advised to find simpler formulas. By all means we should avoid pathetic phrases. That also holds true for the expression, "As the law demanded." This sentence takes us back to classical Sparta where the law had a moral foundation and was not abused by heartless cynics to carry out their own criminal designs, as happened in the Third Reich.

  Years later I was reminded of this earlier controversy when there was a deep debate over the design of the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington. The American nation wavered between two conflicting views, namely, between the patriotic certainty of having done the right thing, and the traumatic experience of having become entangled in something that was wrong. I was reminded of my contributions to the interior design of the Naval Memor
ial in Laboe and the struggle that I lost to the traditionalists. I did not succeed in engaging an artist who would create inside the memorial's tower a visual requiem for the dead. Instead of such an artistic expression it was decided to build a mock-up of the Battle of Jutland. In this way the memory of the dead was overshadowed by the representation of a clash of battleships.

  In Washington, too, the fight was not only about taste and style but also about sensitive artistic expression that would present through metaphors and symbolism the inevitability of human suffering. A female student at Yale University, her family of Chinese background, won the design competition. Her project is of simple dignity and devoid of empty rhetoric. It consists of two walls of black granite, one 248 feet and the other 33 feet long, that meet like two wings in an acute angle. Together they seem to embrace a soft hill before their ends taper off into the distance. The granite walls contain no words of dedication, only the names of the more than 57,000 men who died or remain missing in Vietnam. This monument is no political confession. It does not take sides and justifies nothing. It is a requiem for the fallen, a quiet and simple list of the dead for the living to contemplate.

  Traditionalists took issue with the design because it lacked the sense of heroism and patriotism that every war memorial was supposed to convey. How similar the arguments! They had in mind a monument like the one near the bridge over the Potomac commemorating the fallen of World War II. It shows how a group of infantry soldiers raise the American flag over Iwo Jima-incidentally, a scene posed fora photographer.

  In the end a Solomonic decision was reached. The design of the Chinese student was carried out. Not far from it, but causing no visual interference with the wall of the dead, a sculpture showing three watchful infantry soldiers was erected-one white, one black, the third an American Indian. Next to it stands a tall flagpole.

  On October 1, 1956, having served the ten-year sentence imposed on him at the Nuremberg Tribunal for the "chief war criminals," Grand Admiral Donitz was released from his prison in Spandau. One of his first visits as a free man was to our house in Hanover. He stayed overnight. We had long conversations. He was eager for information and orientation after those long years of isolation in Spandau. We decided to have lunch in a restaurant. Donitz enjoyed being among the public. With a loud voice he invited his wife to join in our conversation. Soon the diners at the other tables and the waiters knew who our guest was. When we left they lined up at the exit, for everyone wanted to see Donitz. He proudly walked through the crowd. Briefly he hesitated and took a long glance at a pretty young woman. When his wife urged him to keep going, he said: "Don't be so pushy. I have not seen anything like this in eleven years." The pain of his incarceration broke through one more time.