Drexler set the paper down and leaned forward. “Herr Hitler, as you see, the committee totally and utterly rejects the demands made in your letter. Indeed, we would ask you this question: can you give us even one reason why we should not strip you of the position you currently hold in the party and give control of the party back to more moderate and experienced members?”
Hitler sat back, studying the chairman thoughtfully. Then he glanced at Hans, smiled briefly, and stood up. “Oh, Anton, old friend,” he said wearily, “let’s make this easy, shall we?” He reached in his jacket pocket and withdrew an envelope. He looked at it for a moment and then, with a flick of his wrist, sent it sliding across the table to stop in front of Drexler.
“Was ist das?” Drexler asked suspiciously.
“My letter of resignation.”
Hans’s head jerked up with a snap as gasps exploded all around him. Had a tiger been dropped onto the table in front of them, they couldn’t have been more shocked. Drexler actually looked as though he had been struck in the face. Hans leaned in toward his friend. “What are you doing?” he hissed.
Adolf just smiled and patted his arm. “It’s all right, Hans. It’s all right.”
“You’re resigning from the party?” Drexler finally blurted.
“I am.”
“But why? No one is asking for your resignation. The committee recognizes the significant contributions you have made to the party. Why would you resign?”
“Because this party is on the road to dissolution. Because this body, who supposedly governs our party”—that was said with sneering sarcasm—“sits here on their velvet thrones, passing judgment on the one person in this party who has brought it forth out of obscurity.”
“Hear, hear,” someone shouted. Hans thought it sounded like Ulrich Graf, but he couldn’t be sure.
Adolf leaned in, his voice calm and pleasant. “Why would I resign, Herr Chairman? Because I asked that you resign as chairman, and yet here you sit. I asked that this committee be disbanded to make way for more visionary leadership. Yet here they sit.”
He got slowly and wearily to his feet. “Seeing no hope for change, I therefore bid you farewell. Good evening, gentlemen.”
Even his most bitter critics were stunned as he picked up his briefcase. Hans looked up at him. “No, Adolf!” he cried. “Don’t do this.”
There was an enigmatic smile, but Adolf said nothing.
Ernst Roehm, Dietrich Eckart, Emil Maurice, and several others were on their feet, but Adolf didn’t even glance their way. Others were up as well, some delighted by this total capitulation, others crying for him to withdraw his resignation. Hans saw that Karl Harrer was delighted. This was clearly going much better than he had expected.
For his part, Drexler looked like a man who had been hit by a truck. He picked up the letter, looked as if he might open it, and then dropped it again like it was hot. “Herr Hitler,” he called, “Uh . . . I fear that you have misunderstood our intent.” He was stammering now. “Herr Hitler, no one is asking you to resign from the party. This was. . . . It is simply that you have taken too much upon yourself, often without any consultation with the committee. . . .” He was grasping for hope like a man lost at sea.
Still feeling as though he’d had the breath knocked out of him, Hans got to his feet and stepped in front of his old friend. He grasped Adolf by both of his shoulders, resisting a terrible urge to shake him like a child. “Adolf, you don’t know what you’re doing,” he hissed. “This will give them exactly what they want.”
Adolf’s hands came up and gripped both of Hans’s wrists, clamping down on them like twin vices. Yet he was still smiling. He leaned in until he was just inches from Hans’s face. “Oh,” he said, very softly, “but I do, Hans. I know exactly what I am doing.”
And in that instant, as their eyes locked, Hans saw something there in the depths, something that electrified him. There was not the slightest trace of defeat behind those brooding eyes. There was not one hint of surrender in the flinty expression on his face. What he saw there was supreme confidence, and it shocked him to silence. Dazed, Hans sat down again and watched.
With his eyes fixed on the floor, Adolf shuffled away from the table, headed for the door, looking every inch a defeated and shattered man.
“Please, Herr Hitler.” Drexler was pleading now. “We can work things out. We just need to make it clear who leads. That is all. Please do not leave.”
If Adolf heard him, he didn’t show it. He continued toward the door that led out into the main part of the beer hall. Drexler slumped back in his chair and dropped his head into his hands. Roehm and the others fell back into their chairs.
The room in the cellar of the brewery was not that large. It held two tables with eight chairs each, and they pretty much filled the room. So Adolf was at the door in seconds. Reaching out, he grasped the door handle, turned it, and opened the door. He paused briefly, and Hans wondered if he was going to turn and say one last thing. And then, just like that, he was gone, shutting the door behind him.
Chapter Notes
The names of Hitler’s supporters listed here come from Shirer’s description of the early history of the Nazi Party. Several of them would become very prominent leaders in Nazi Germany. However, Shirer does not list who was present at that meeting. In Mein Kampf, Hitler mentions that during this time period they held meetings in the Kindl Keller in Wiener Platz, but he does not specifically say that this meeting was held there.
When Hermann Wilhelm Goering joined the Nazi Party in 1921 (see Shirer, 49), it was a sensational coup for the Nazis. He was a gifted and charismatic leader and would go on to become part of the highest echelons of the party.
What Drexler reads to the group here is mostly verbatim from the original document, with a few minor editing changes to make it flow better (see Shirer, 45).
July 13, 1921, 8:05 p.m.—Kindl Keller
Hans kept his head down, studying his hands, aware that some of Hitler’s other supporters were staring at him, hoping for some explanation of what had just happened. He finally looked over to where Ernst Roehm and Dietrich Eckart had their heads together, whispering earnestly. Roehm saw Hans looking at them and turned his hands palms up in an imploring gesture that said, “What do we do now?”
Hans’s answer was the same as the one he had given him a few nights earlier. “Wait,” he mouthed. He then gave them a fleeting smile, hoping that he had read Adolf’s expression correctly.
He didn’t have long to wait. Suddenly the door to the room was flung open and banged loudly as it hit the wall. Everyone jumped and whirled around to look. Adolf was there, silhouetted in the door frame, head erect and shoulders square. He stood there until he was sure that every eye was upon him, and then he strode into the room. Every eye followed him as he took his place beside Hans. But instead of sitting down, he pulled his chair back and leaned forward, placing both hands firmly on the table. His eyes were glittering with excitement.
The rush of exultation that swept through Hans was dizzying. Five words flashed into his head. Hang on. Here we go!
“Herr Chairman,” Adolf said in a commanding voice. “My apologies to you and the committee. In the passion of the moment, I seem to have forgotten that you asked me a question that I did not answer.”
If the men around the table were dazed by his reappearance, Drexler was now totally taken aback by his statement. “Question?” he asked in bewilderment.
“Ja. It was a good question, and I should like to answer it before I leave you.”
“What question?” Harrer asked, looking equally stunned.
“The chairman asked if I could give this committee even one good reason why I should not be stripped of the power that, as you put it, I have taken unto myself. A fair question. I shall give you two answers, though there are easily more than a dozen others.”
Drexler star
ed at him, his mouth working nervously. It was clear that he was just starting to realize that they had walked into a very neatly laid trap. And that Adolf was not about to give him a chance to recover.
“Before doing so, however, I shall give a little background in political theory. When they first are formed, political parties often do not have the confidence nor the courage to boldly state their ideals and values. They are so worried that they might give offense, they mince along like ladies going to the bazaar. And when their numbers do not swell, these petty-thinking, chicken-hearted individuals seek to build alliances with other like-minded people, hoping to bolster their own strength.”
“Ouch!” Hans thought. Everyone in the room knew that he was referring to Drexler’s efforts to join with the German Socialist Party of Nuremberg.
“But what they fail to understand is that all such alliances and collaborations require compromise, accommodation, and a surrender of core values. Like the jackal that scavenges off the kill of the lion or the leopard who steals his food from the hyena, these political jackals soon become content to live off the decaying flesh of dead ideals and irrelevant philosophies. And all too soon, their party becomes peripheral, tangential, or, worst of all, irrelevant.”
Karl Harrer shot to his feet. “I object, Herr Chairman,” he screamed, spittle spraying from his mouth. “He is talking about members of this committee, and our bylaws specifically forbid denigrating our leadership. Let him be silent.”
Hitler fixed his stare on him. “You mistake me, Herr Harrer. I have mentioned no one’s name. I speak only in the abstract. Could it be that it is only the hit bird that flutters?”
Someone to Hans’s left openly laughed. Others were smiling and nodding, glad that at last they were seeing what they had come for.
Drexler looked over at his ally and motioned for him to sit down. Then he turned back to Adolf. “Proceed, Herr Hitler, but take care. You may not besmirch the name of any member of this committee.”
Like you have done with Adolf’s name? Hans nearly shouted it out, but he kept his peace. Adolf didn’t need any help from him. He was going after them like a torpedo homing in on an unarmed merchant ship, and they had nothing but chicken feathers to protect themselves.
“So, in answer to your question, let me ask you this. Who was the principal architect of the twenty-five statements of declaration that define who we are and what we stand for? It was me, with some input from others around this table. And this committee unanimously accepted this manifesto as our creed and vision.”
Drexler started to speak, but Adolf rode right over him. “But Herr Hitler exaggerates, you cry. He twists the truth for his own purposes, you wail. But I remind you of something. It was back in October of 1919, when I was asked by my army commanders to go and investigate a new political party here in Munich.” He glanced down at Hans and smiled. “I asked a good friend of mine if he would accompany me and give me his assessment as well. Do you remember that first meeting, Hans?”
“I do. Very well.”
“Will you describe what we found there that night?”
Hans got to his feet. “It was in a room in the cellar of the Sternecker Brewery, a small and dingy place. I was surprised that there were no more than a dozen people in attendance, and that counted myself and Herr Hitler. And only six of those were actually party members.”
He looked directly at Harrer. “The meeting was a half an hour late getting started because they were waiting for the arrival of their”—his voice became softly mocking—“national president, who seemed to have missed his trolley that night.”
“I didn’t miss my trolley,” Harrer exclaimed hotly. “I had a family emergency that night.”
Hans ignored him. “But you do have to give them credit for their optimism. They had chosen their national president before they had reached even ten members.”
Soft laughter erupted all around the room. Harrer was glowering at Hans darkly, but Drexler looked faintly embarrassed, obviously remembering that night too. “Anything else?” Adolf prompted.
“Ja, ja. I remember the treasurer reporting that they would not be able to print membership cards for new members quite yet because there wasn’t enough money in the treasury to pay for them.”
Adolf quickly jumped back in. “There is no shame in those beginnings. All new parties have to start somewhere. But, like Herr Eckhardt has said, neither of us was very keen to join this movement. But then, as I was leaving, one of the members came up to me and introduced himself as one of the founders of the party. He pressed a pamphlet into my hand and begged me to read it. It was called, ‘My Political Awakenings.’”
He turned to Drexler, and his voice was soft now. “Do you remember that night, Anton? That was your pamphlet. You were the author.”
Drexler nodded and actually smiled briefly. “I remember it very well.”
“Well, that night, back in my army barracks, I read the words of Anton Drexler, and I was deeply moved. He called for a new political party that was built on the working classes and a strong nationalist government. His words reverberated in my soul, and a couple of days later, I became the seventh official member of this party. And shortly after that, I persuaded Herr Eckhardt to join as well.”
He was thoughtful now. “You were fledglings, political babies at that point,” he mused, “but you had a vision. And that vision fired my heart. A short time after joining the party, the committee asked me to direct the propaganda efforts. I was thrilled with that assignment, for I had long studied the political techniques of various parties, including our enemies, to see what was and what was not effective. So I immediately set to work bringing our party forward before the eyes of the people.
“But what happened? These so-called ‘visionary leaders,’ good men though they are, were too timid to look beyond their own noses. You were content with crowds of a dozen or two. You were content to limp along with nothing in your coffers. When I suggested that we print handbills and pass them out on the streets to let people know when our next meeting was, you balked and said that there was no money for that. ‘And besides,’ you said, ‘people don’t pay attention to handbills.’”
His voice rose sharply. “And then you wondered why no one came. You brought in speakers that would have put the dead into a coma. They were as boring as a pile of moss-covered logs. Then you wrung your hands and wondered why the audience slept through the speakers or slipped out early.”
“That’s not true!” Harrer cried.
“I’m sorry, Herr Harrer,” Hans said respectfully, “but I remember the second meeting we attended. You had invited Herr Gottfried Feder, who now sits beside you. He spoke for an hour on the fascinating and highly entertaining subject of interest capital. It was like drinking sawdust. By the time he was through, you could have run a tank through the room and it wouldn’t have been heard due to the snoring of the audience.”
Feder leaped up, nearly apoplectic. “I object, Herr Chairman. We all know that Herr Eckhardt is Herr Hitler’s puppy on a leash. His wild exaggerations are an insult.”
“Enough, Herr Eckhardt,” Drexler growled. “You will be civil or you will be asked to leave.”
Dietrich Eckart shot to his feet. “I’m not sure it is an exaggeration, Herr Chairman. I was there that night and was seated next to Herr Harrer, who was our president then. And I can attest that he himself slept through nearly half of the lecture.”
As Feder went beet red, laughter rolled through the hall.
Adolf, who was thoroughly enjoying this, spoke again. “It was you, Herr Harrer, along with Herr Drexler, who asked me to become the propaganda officer for the party. I did not ask for that position. You asked me to take it. Pleaded with me to accept it. Do you dispute that?”
Neither of them responded.
Adolf continued, “It didn’t take long to see that it was necessary for someone to grasp the rudder with a
n iron hand and turn the movement in a different and more dynamic direction, or we would flounder on the rocks. I saw that my first task was to make sure that every meeting had something of worth for those who attended. We couldn’t be satisfied with speakers who were packaged chloroform. We needed orators, speakers who could enliven the mind and fire the hearts of the people. And I went to work with that in mind. I also printed handbills with the date, time, and place of our meetings. Over your objections that it was too costly, I put an advertisement in the Workers’ Observer announcing our next meeting.
“And soon, it was not handfuls who were coming to our meetings. It was dozens. Then hundreds. But even then, you fought me at every turn. You were so petty in your vision, so chicken-hearted, if you will, that you fought me at every step. When I recommended to this committee that we engage the Hofbrauhaus Keller, which seated more than two hundred, you quivered and quaked like the three little pigs when the big, bad wolf was knocking at their door. ‘The risk is too high!’ you cried. ‘It is too much money!’ you wailed. ‘We are not ready for such a bold move yet!’ you dithered.
“And what happened that night? We filled every seat at every table and still had people lining the walls around the room. And when, at the end of my speech, I called on our audience to contribute to our cause, we raised three hundred marks. Three hundred! It tripled or quadrupled our treasury funds.”
He was shaking his head wearily. “With that success, I suggested that we needed an even bigger hall. ‘No,’ you cried. ‘The Hofbrauhaus is large enough. We can fill nothing larger.’ But I went ahead and secured a hall that seated three thousand people.” He snorted in disgust. “I thought you were going to wet your pants. But we filled it! And where were the committee members who now seek to strip me of my position? I’ll tell you where they were. They were standing right there in the midst of the audience and joined in the standing ovation that thundered through the room when I finished speaking.”