That took Emilee aback. “I. . . . You know what? Mama might just like that. We’ve been going to a Lutheran church, but it’s a large congregation, and no one knows us. We come and go and hardly anyone talks to us. Mama has commented several times on how much she enjoyed that day we went with you. Your members were so friendly and so welcoming.”
Inga chuckled. “Oh, yes. We are that.”
“I’ll talk to Mama about it. Sometimes she just prefers to stay home Sunday morning and read the Bible.”
“That is a nice way to spend the Sabbath,” Inga said right back.
Emilee was nodding. “I’ll see if Hans and I can come and meet you at the train station. I can leave Lisa with Mama. Hans will be delighted. He’s been worrying about Papa Eckhardt a lot lately.”
“His father would be very pleased to see him. To be honest, I really thought Papa was going to fight me more about coming. For him to leave the dairy farm for that long is unthinkable, and he’s not happy about it. But he didn’t protest as much as I thought he would. Which probably tells us two things. First, that he’s more worried that the cancer is back than he lets on, and second, he is excited to spend this much time with you and Hans. He complains about not seeing you more all the time.”
“Well,” Emilee said. “This is wonderful news for us. We will plan on being at the train station. And then we’ll come tomorrow night and bring the baby.”
“Papa will be pleased to hear that. Auf wiedersehen, dear Emilee. Until tomorrow.”
“Ja. Until tomorrow. Gute Nacht, Mama Eckhardt.”
March 26, 1920, 10:35 a.m.—Eckhardt residence
After a solid week of drizzling rain and cold, grey, clammy days, this morning the clouds were gone and the sky was a brilliant blue. Steam was rising from the streets and from the roofs of the houses as the sunlight baked them dry.
Hans slid out from beneath the truck, straightened, and walked to the door and looked out. He stood there for a moment, breathing in the warm, moist air as though it were an elixir of fine wine. It was a glorious day, and he was strongly tempted to put aside his tools, return to their flat, get Emilee and the new pram that they had bought for Alisa, and take the family out for a leisurely stroll.
Tempting though it was, he shook the idea off. Fritzie Kharkov had called last night and asked Hans for a favor. He had to make a trip to Saarbrücken on Sunday to pick up some used equipment for the restaurant. That was a round trip of about five hundred miles, so he wondered if Hans could do the oil change and lube job that were now long overdue before they left.
Hans had almost said no. It meant he would have to do the work tomorrow, Saturday. It was the first Saturday that he didn’t already have work waiting, so he had planned to take Emilee and Alisa to Englischer Garten and take advantage of the good weather. But he quickly pushed the thought aside. He owed a great debt to Fritzie and Uncle Anatoly, and not just for all they had done for him in Berlin but also for giving Ernst a job and helping Frieda move in. So he had told Fritzie to bring the truck by.
Hans sighed, taking one last look at the sky. He had to finish the truck he was working on and get it out of Frieda’s garage, because he had an engine torn apart and scattered around the shop at his place. But as he got to his feet, he saw a familiar figure come around the corner down the street, about a block away. He was peering up at the houses, moving slowly, checking the house numbers. Hans stepped out into full view and cupped a hand to his mouth. “Adolf! I’m up here.”
The figure stopped, shouted something as he waved, and broke into a long stride coming toward him. Hans waited, surprised that Adolf had found him, since Emilee and Frieda were at Paula’s house visiting with his parents.
“Guten Morgen, Adolf,” he said as they shook hands. “This is a surprise.”
Hitler looked around, taking in the open garage behind them. “You didn’t tell me that you had two garages, Hans,” he said, clearly impressed.
“Ja, ja. This is my mother-in-law’s flat.” He shrugged. “She doesn’t have an automobile, nor do I, so I use it as a second repair bay.”
Adolf clapped him on the shoulder. “No wonder you are so busy. Keep this up and soon you’ll have a whole chain of garages and you’ll turn into an arrogant, obnoxious bourgeoisie businessman.” He hooted at his own joke.
Hans just smiled. “A bourgeoisie who wears coveralls and has grease under his fingernails? I don’t think so.” He motioned toward the house. “Would you like to go inside?”
“Nein,” Hitler said. “I can’t stay long. I have an interview with the Munich Observer at one o’clock today.”
“Oh?” Hans said, impressed. Then he pointed to the front steps, which were in full sunshine. “You can at least sit for a few minutes. You surely didn’t come up this far only to shake hands and leave again.”
“Of course not. Actually, I have something pressing I wish to discuss with you.”
Hans said nothing, guessing what that something might be.
As they sat down, Adolf unbuttoned his jacket and sat back, looking up at the sky. Then with that sudden abruptness that Hans was learning was part of his nature, Adolf turned to Hans. “Have you been following the events in the Fatherland of the last few days?”
Hans nodded.
Adolf was looking the other way and didn’t see the nod. “We must keep abreast of events,” he said, assuming Hans hadn’t answered. “Wasn’t it Schopenhauer who said, ‘If we cannot learn from history, then we must be punished by it’?”
Actually, it was the Spanish philosopher George Santayana who had said it, and the quote was, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it,” but Hans didn’t correct him.
“Which events are you referring to?” he asked instead. “The unsuccessful Kapp coup up north earlier in the month, or von Kahr’s successful overthrow of our own Socialist government here in Bavaria just a week ago?”
Hans was not sure that he shared Adolf’s belief that the best way to change the world was to become a politician, but he did agree with him about the importance of understanding the political forces and counter forces swirling around them. So, shortly after they had moved into their flat, Hans had subscribed to two of Munich’s most influential daily papers—one somewhat left leaning, and one somewhat more rightist. He tried to read through them carefully each day. Adolf knew that, and often they had long discussions about current events.
For almost a year, there had been relative peace in the Fatherland. There was a lot of turbulence and unrest—demonstrations, marches, new political parties—but the Freikorps’ decisive victories over the Spartacans had seemed to dampen the flames of open revolt.
Then earlier in the month, what was now being called the Kapp putsch had broken out in the north. This was more than just another uprising. It was an attempted coup d’etat by a nationalist, right-wing group against the Weimar government. Since Hans had been in Berlin for the Spartacan attempt to overthrow the government, he had followed the story very closely.
Unfortunately, the attempt, led by a man named Wolfgang Kapp, had fizzled quickly after Kapp marched on the Reichstag with a rogue Freikorps brigade to back him up. Though Ebert and his cabinet had fled to the west, key army generals decided to stand back and not interfere on either side. When the government called a general strike and all services were cut to the city, the people, exhausted from the previous year’s chaos, turned against Kapp. Five days later the Kapp putsch was more of a joke than a threat, and things went back to normal, much to the disappointment of many Germans.
The latest revolt, which had started on March fourteenth, had been a different matter. Gustav von Kahr, a right-wing conservative monarchist, rallied Munich’s Einwohnerwehren, or Home Guard. He was also supported by the numerous right-wing political parties that were thriving in Munich. He declared himself Prime Minister of the State of Bavaria. Here the reaction of the people
was very different. Von Kahr was a lawyer by profession, well educated, and had considerable government experience, including being the governor of Bavaria until the Socialists had thrown him out. He was Bavarian by birth. He was known and generally liked by the people. He understood their local issues, and, most importantly, he managed to convince the Army High Command in the South to back him up.
And just like that, the Socialists in Munich were ejected from power.
“So?” Adolf asked with a touch of irritation.
Hans realized he had gotten lost in his thoughts. “Uh . . . so what?”
“So what do you think of these events going on in the Fatherland? What can we learn from them?”
“Well,” Hans began. But immediately Adolf waved a hand, cutting him short. “Sorry. I don’t have time now. But I want to know your thoughts.” He snapped a finger. “In fact, I have an assignment for you.”
“An assignment?”
“Yes. I want you to write me an analysis of these two attempted coups. Why did the one fail so miserably, and why did the other succeed so brilliantly? Can you do that?”
“Uh . . . yeah. I guess. I’ll have to do it back at my house, though.”
“Gut. I have other appointments after my interview at the newspaper.” Hitler took a watch from his pocket and looked at it. “I can be back here around four. Can you have it ready by then?”
“Uh. . . .”
“Gut. Danke. Auf Wiedersehen.” And without a wave or turning back, he strode away.
4:38 p.m.—Eckhardt residence
Emilee watched from her window. Their flat was built above the garage that served as Hans’s main mechanic’s shop, so their bedroom window overlooked the street. She had heard men’s voices from the garage a few moments ago—noise carried easily up the narrow, indoor staircase into the house. So she checked quickly to make sure that Alisa was still asleep and then immediately went into the bedroom. The heavier drapes were open, leaving only a thin netted curtain over the window. She moved to it, staying to one side so she couldn’t be seen.
To her surprise, Hans and Adolf were just coming out of the garage. Adolf had the sheet of notepaper Hans had been writing on when she returned home from Paula’s. He glanced at it for a moment or two and then extended his hand to Hans. His words came softly through the window. “Danke schön , my friend.”
Then, to Emilee’s surprise, without another word, Hitler spun on his heel and walked swiftly away, looking at the sheet as he strode along. Hans watched him for several seconds and then shrugged his shoulders and reentered the garage. A moment later she heard him shutting the garage doors. She hurried back into the kitchen and sat down at the table, facing the door. When Hans appeared a moment later, he didn’t seemed surprised to see her. “He’s gone,” he said.
“I heard. So what did he think?”
“Who knows?” he said dryly.
“Well, what did he say?”
“Danke schön.”
“That’s all? Did he even look at it?”
“Yes. For three or four seconds, maybe. But there wasn’t that much to read.”
“Can you tell me what you wrote?” She was feeling a touch of irritation. When she had returned from Paula’s earlier this afternoon, she had found Hans at the table working with a pencil and a pad of paper. Pages covered with his writing as well crumpled balls of paper were scattered around him. In answer to her questioning look, he had briefly explained what Adolf wanted. With that, she left him alone and he worked on it for another hour.
“I made two columns, with a line down the middle,” he was saying. “The left column I titled Berlin–Kapp Putsch. The right one I called Munich–Von Kahr Putsch. Under the first column, I listed three things. Weak leader. Opposed by the people. No support from the Army General Staff.”
“And under the second column?” Emilee already guessed what was coming.
“Number one, strong leader. Number two, supported and welcomed by the people. Number three, had the backing of the army.” He gave her a thin smile. “That summed it up in my mind.”
“Do you think he wanted more?”
Hans considered that and then shook his head, staring past her. “If he hadn’t been happy with what I gave him, he would have let me know it.” He sighed. “Remember that time he was here for dinner and read those two statements to us about what kind of man it will take to lead Germany back to greatness?”
“Yes, of course. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that. It seemed so strange to have him talk so openly about it describing himself.”
Hans shrugged. “Well, basically that was my analysis. It’s those two statements all over again, only I said it in less than two dozen words.”
Chapter Notes
How ironic that just weeks after Hitler’s stunning success in the party’s first mass meeting (held in Munich on February 24, 1920) history should present him with two classic “case studies” of what to do and what not to do when trying to seize power from the government. Of that time, Shirer says: “On March 14, 1920, the Reichswehr [the German Army] overthrew the Hoffman Socialist government [in Munich] and installed a right-wing regime under Gustav von Kahr. And now the Bavarian capital became a magnet for all those forces in Germany which were determined to overthrow the Republic, set up an authoritarian regime and repudiate the Dictat of Versailles. . . . It was in this fertile field in Munich that Adolf Hitler got his start” (Rise and Fall, 34).
Though Hitler does not specifically talk about these events in Mein Kampf, he goes on at great length in several different places about how he studied the people, parties, and events that surrounded him and how these experiences molded his political philosophies.
April 1, 1920, 4:55 p.m.—Eckhardt residence
Emilee stood at the open bathroom door, Alisa cradled in one arm, and watched Hans scrubbing at the smears of black grease on his hands with a bar of dark brown soap. He had worked most of the day on a truck engine, and his hands and coveralls were grimier than usual.
“You should have been a chemist,” she finally said.
His head came up and turned to look at her. “What?”
“If you were a chemist, you could invent a soap that easily removes grease and oil but isn’t so harsh on your hands.”
“Oh, this does a pretty good job,” he said, turning back to the sink. “It’s got benzene solvent in it or something, which helps cut the grease.”
“Perhaps, but it always leaves your hands so dry and cracked.” Then she had an idea. “After you finish, why don’t you try using my Castile soap? It has olive oil in it and keeps my hands quite soft.”
He snorted softly. “And smell like a French parfumerie? No thanks.”
“Actually, Castile is Spanish, but suit yourself.”
She said nothing more until he had washed his hands again and was drying them off on a towel that was now quite soiled. “Hans, I’d like to speak with you about something.”
Finished, he dropped the towel into the hamper and peered into the mirror. He picked up a comb and ran it through his hair a couple of times. Then he turned. “All right. Come into the bedroom and we can talk while I dress.”
At the sound of his voice, Alisa began kicking her feet excitedly. He came over and bent forward, tickling her under the chin with one finger. “Sorry, little one,” he cooed, “but Vati has a meeting he has to go to.” Then, as he started down the hall for the bedroom, he said over his shoulder, “Go ahead, I’m listening.”
“Your mother called earlier.”
He stopped and turned, concern instantly tightening his face. “Is Papa all right? How did today’s checkup go?”
“Your father is fine. They just got back. The doctor is pleased with his progress.”
“Gut.”
“She also called to tell me that President Schiller, the president of the Munich Branch o
f the Mormon Church, came to visit them at Paula’s house this morning.”
“Oh?” Hans opened the door and went into their bedroom. “What for?”
“To see how Papa Eckhardt was doing. He also brought them some canned milk that someone in the branch donated.”
“Really?”
“Ja. Inga said she put some in your father’s coffee for lunch and he really enjoyed it.”
He nodded and moved over to their wardrobe. “That was nice. I’ll give you that about the Mormons. They do take care of their people.”
Emilee laid Alisa down on the bed as Hans opened the wardrobe and began removing his coveralls. She hesitated for a moment and then asked, “Do you remember a few weeks ago when I told you that an Apostle of the Mormon Church, who is from America, might be coming to Germany?”
His brow crinkled a little. “An Apostle? Like in the Bible?”
She smiled. That had been her first reaction too. “Ja.”
“I remember you talking about it, but I didn’t remember that he was an Apostle. What about it?”
“Well, the other reason President Schiller came was to tell Paula and Inga that he had received a letter from mission headquarters. The Apostle, whose name is George Albert Smith, has confirmed his schedule. He’s visiting other missions here on the continent, but he’ll be coming to Germany in June and will be here for a couple of weeks.”
Hans had his pants on now and was shrugging into a long-sleeved flannel shirt. “So?” he asked. “Did Paula and Mama ask you to go with them to hear him?”
“Ja, they invited me,” she said slowly.
“Fine. Whatever you want.”
“Uh . . . because there are so many small branches of the Church in Germany, Smith can’t possibly meet with each one separately, so there will be larger gatherings, where several branches come together. The Mormons call them districts. They’re kind of like a Catholic diocese.”
“Hmm,” he said, barely listening now.