“I’ve got goosebumps just thinking about it,” Hans said, surprised how much he had gotten caught up in that imaginary situation.
“I wouldn’t go get a beer,” the guard said, “and I wouldn’t go home.”
“That’s right!” Adolf almost shouted it. “Thank you, my man. I will tell you what you would do. You would pour out onto the square, link arms four abreast with others who are as moved as you are, and then you would march on Town Hall singing ‘Deutschland über Alles’ or ‘Deutschland hoch en Ehren.’ And you would be so filled with the spirit when you got there that you would demand that the government restore the Fatherland to its former glory.”
“That’s exactly what I would do,” the guard exclaimed.
Adolf turned to Hans and shook his finger at him. “That is your assignment, Hans. I want every meeting to start with a song. I want every meeting to close with a song. I want organ or piano accompaniment if possible, and a chorister to lead us. And I want every person in that hall singing every word of every verse. Can you do that, my friend?” He reached out, clasped Hans by the back of his neck, and pulled him in until their noses almost touched. “Will you do that for me, Hans?”
Hans laughed. “Ja, ja. Sure, we can sing.”
“This is very important, Hans.” Adolf was serious. “Will you do it?”
“Jawohl, mein Führer,” he replied, sober now. “I will do it. And more than that, by the time of our next meeting, I give you my word that I shall have all the verses of ‘Deutschland hoch in Ehren’ memorized.”
Chapter Notes
Hitler received a three-month jail sentence for his part in soundly beating up the speaker at a rally supporting the government in Berlin (see Shirer, Rise and Fall, 43). Shirer says only that he went to jail but doesn’t specify which one, so this is a supposition. Whether Hitler was personally involved in the beating is not clear, but he did lead the group and so was held responsible. His vow to “ruthlessly” stop anyone who might weaken people’s resolve to do their duty comes directly from Hitler (Ibid.)
I chose to include details of what some might view as trivial things in Hitler’s rise to power, such as fussing over what to name his security forces or pondering on the power of music to move people to action. But it is clear from his autobiography that he didn’t see them as trivial. His words with Hans about his experience at the meeting celebrating the Battle of Leipzig, including the boring speakers, the half-hearted singing of patriotic songs, and the power of music to move people comes directly from his autobiography (see Mein Kampf, 206).
The various names used for Hitler’s security force as given here are accurate, and in the summer or fall of 1921, the group, which then numbered several hundred, was renamed the Sturmabteilung. That was often shortened to S.A., and those two letters became another powerful symbol of the strength and power of the Nazi party. When they finally received uniforms later that year, Hitler had them made of a lighter brown color than the normal army uniform. This soon led to another nickname that struck fear in the hearts of millions as the years rolled on. They were called Hitler’s “Brown Shirts.”
November 4, 1921, 6:10 p.m.—Eckhardt residence
When the phone rang, Emilee awkwardly got up from the kitchen table and started toward it. “I’ll get it,” she called.
“Danke.” Her mother’s voice floated softly to her from the living room.
She lifted the receiver. “Hello.”
“Emilee!” A man’s voice barked at her. “This is Adolf. Is Hans there?”
“Nein. He’s still at the shop finishing up a truck repair. Here, let me give you the number.”
“No! He’s not there. I’ve called three different times. There’s no answer.”
There was a momentary dismay, and then Emilee nodded. “Sometimes when he’s working beneath a truck, he doesn’t come out to answer the phone. Can I have him call you back? I expect him—”
“Emilee, it is imperative that I speak with Hans as soon as possible. We have a situation of the utmost urgency.”
The shrillness of his voice sent chills shooting up and down her back. “I . . . I can run over to the shop and tell him you’re—”
“Ja, ja! Do you have a pencil? I’ll give you the number where I am.”
“Are you at the office? I have that number.”
“No! We changed offices today.”
She had forgotten that. “Einen Moment,” she said.
Emilee let the receiver dangle from its cord, went to their junk drawer, and began pawing through it for a pencil. Finding one, she grabbed a sheet from a small notebook. Just then, Ernst came clumping down the stairs and poked his head in. “Is the phone for me?”
Emilee shook her head and rushed back to the phone. Ernst came all the way in, and she saw that he had been getting ready to take a bath. He was barefoot and had only his trousers and suspenders on. “Is Hans still at the shop?” she whispered.
His head bobbed once.
She slid past him and snatched up the receiver. “All right, Adolf. I’m ready. My brother’s here and confirms that Hans is at the shop.”
“Gut, gut! The number is W-292. How long will it take you to get there?”
“If I walk swiftly, I can be there in five or six minutes.”
“What if you ran?”
“Uh. . . .”
There was a soft exclamation of dismay. “Oh, yes, I forgot, Emilee. You are with child now.”
“Yes. I am about six months along.”
“Then go swiftly, but not too swiftly, all right?”
As Emilee hung up, Ernst touched her arm. “What is it? You’re as pale as a ghost.”
“That was Adolf. Something’s wrong. He needs Hans to call him back as soon as possible.”
She started to pull away, but he pulled her back. “I’ll go. Give me a minute to get dressed.”
“No time. I’ll go out the back door so Alisa doesn’t see me. Tell Mama I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Emilee slipped into the hallway, walked to the back door, and was gone.
6:17 p.m.—Eckhardt Garage and Truck Repair
“Come on, Ernst,” Emilee moaned into the phone. “Surely you didn’t get in the tub already.”
A noise behind her spun her around. “Ernst! There you are. Thank heavens.” She hung up the phone as a stab of pain hit her abdomen, reminding her not to turn so abruptly.
Ernst looked around the garage. “Where’s Hans?”
“Gone. There’s an emergency involving the rally tonight. Adolf asked Hans to come as quickly as possible.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Hans wouldn’t say. He asked me to lock up the shop and then he took off at a run.”
“I’ll do it. You go home. Tell Mama I went to the meeting early.”
“No, Ernst. If there’s trouble then I’ll. . . .” Her voice trailed off. What? You’ll rush off to Marienplatz to save the day? Over a year ago, Hans had invited his brother-in-law to attend one of the party rallies with him. Ernst liked what he saw and joined the party a few weeks later. He had planned to go with Hans to the rally tonight anyway, and now Emilee was glad. He was not as heavily built as Hans, but Ernst had two or three inches on him and was as strong as an ox from years of manual labor. Though gentle in nature, he was not easily intimidated and rarely backed down from anyone.
“All right,” she said. “If you get a chance, call us and let us know what’s going on.”
Ernst snatched up the phone. He gave a number to the operator and then turned back to Emilee as he waited. “You can go home. I’ll call when I can.” Then he leaned in to the phone as a voice sounded in the earpiece. “Fritzie? Ernst here. Are you and Uncle Anatoly and Cousin Dimitri planning on coming to the rally tonight?”
He looked up at Emilee, surprised that she was still there. “Go,” he mouthed as he shooed her aw
ay with his free hand. Then back to the phone. “Gut, gut! There’s some kind of trouble. Adolf called Hans a few minutes ago. Can you get there as soon as possible?” Another pause, then, “Wunderbar! Ja, ja. I’m leaving now too. I’m hoping to catch up with Hans before his trolley arrives at the stop. Ja! Danke. See you there.”
He hung up. Emilee had stopped at the door. “They’re going?” she asked in relief.
“Yes. Now go, Emilee. Mama is going to be worried about you. And be careful crossing the street.”
Ernst waited for a moment, making sure that Emilee got across the road safely, and then he moved to the workbench. He opened one of the drawers and gave a little grunt of satisfaction. Schussheimerstrasse ran through a rough, working-man’s neighborhood. So a few weeks after they had set up shop, Hans had found an old shovel somewhere and cut off the handle. He then cut it into two lengths of about eighteen inches each and rounded both ends into smooth knobs. The clubs were light and easy to conceal, but the hardwood was strong enough that it wasn’t going to break if it was brought down sharply on someone’s skull.
Ernst was relieved to see there was only one club in the drawer now. He lifted his jacket and stuffed it in his belt. He quickly double checked to make sure the doors were all secure and then slipped out the side door and locked it. A moment later his long legs were eating up the distance as he raced for the trolley stop five blocks away.
7:35 p.m.—Hofbrauhaus Keller, Marienplatz, Old Town District, Munich
As they came around the corner from the trolley stop and onto Marienplatz, Hans pulled up short. “What the—”
Ernst stopped too, taking in the sight before them. “Looks like it’s going to be another full house,” he grunted.
“But why no queue?” Hans said, speaking half to himself. Normally by this time there would be a line of people clear out into the square trying to buy admission tickets. There were plenty of people milling around, but there was no line leading into the porticos that lined the front of the building.
Just then there was a shout from behind them. They turned to see Fritzie Kharkov coming at a swift walk along with his two business partners, his uncle Anatoly and his cousin Dimitri Bazarov. They waved, so Hans and Ernst waited for them to come up and join them. There were bear hugs and handshakes all around. “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” Hans said. “You are true friends.”
“And party members,” Fritzie reminded him. “So what’s up? What’s the emergency?”
Hans looked around and motioned for them to move in closer. “Here’s all that I know right now. We just barely got here too. The executive committee of the party is in the midst of moving offices. The old Sternecker Brewery rooms just aren’t large enough to accommodate us anymore. So Adolf and some of the others have been doing that all day long. Just as they were finishing up at Sternecker, a little before six o’clock, one of Emil Maurice’s storm troopers burst in. He was in a highly agitated state. He told Adolf that he had a nephew who works in the mail room of the Social Democratic Party headquarters. As the boy was leaving the building to go home, he fell in behind some of the high mucky-mucks of the party and overheard them saying that tonight would be the last Munich would ever hear of the Nazi Party.”
“We’ve heard that before,” Dimitri said.
“That’s what Adolf said too. You’ll remember that when Adolf booked the new Krone Circus Hall last month, which seats over six thousand people, our enemies were threatening to blow us away. If we could fill a hall that big, they decided, then we were a real threat to Bavaria’s stability. Knowing that, we prepared for them. That first night we packed the place. Maurice deployed all of his Rollkommandos throughout the massive hall, nearly five hundred of them in all. But not much happened. Oh, there were the usual hecklers, and one or two that had to be ‘escorted’ out of the hall with their heads cracked, but that was all. Same thing the next week when we filled the hall. And the next week after that.”
“Those were great meetings,” Ernst said.
“Yes, they were,” Hans agreed, “but as for the Red threat, not much happened. Those who had boasted that they would destroy us barely made a whimper. And so when the Krone Hall was already booked tonight and we had to move the rally here to the Hofbrauhaus Keller, Adolf admits that he let his guard down. If they hadn’t hit us in the Krone Circus Hall where they could have done the most damage, he assumed that they wouldn’t bother us here. We’ve booked one of the larger halls here, but that seats only about fifteen hundred, a fourth of what the Circus seats. So he didn’t want the S.A. taking up five hundred of those seats.”
“I’m sorry,” Uncle Anatoly broke in. “What is the S.A.?”
“The Sturmabteilung, or storm troopers, as Adolf calls them.”
“Oh.”
“Emil Maurice is in direct command and in charge of training them. So the planning committee called him and told him to bring in no more than fifty of his men tonight. Since we have to pay those men in addition to saving them seats that could be occupied by paying patrons, we could save several hundred marks by cutting back the numbers.”
“Uh-oh,” Fritzie said softly.
“Exactly. So back to the Sternecker Brewery. At first, Adolf was tempted to tell the young man to go home and not worry about it, but he had this uneasy feeling. The young man also remembered that one of the men had said they were sending in hundreds of their people tonight to ‘give us the knockout blow.’ At that news, Adolf grabbed the phone to call Maurice, who was helping unpack things at the new offices. That’s when he remembered that the landlord at our old offices had already disconnected our phones. So Adolf sent the young man racing across town to warn Emil and have him get as many together as he could. Then he went to the office next door and called me and Roehm from there.”
“What about Goering?” Fritzie asked.
Hans shook his head. “He and his fiancée, the Baroness, have some big function tonight. He’s unavailable. But the problem is that neither Roehm nor I have the lists of the S.A. commanders. There’s no way for us to call them in, so all we could do was come to help.”
Ernst had turned and was looking across the square. “I think there are some S.A. men over by the fire barrel.”
Hans went up on tiptoe and looked in the direction that Ernst was pointing and felt a huge surge of relief. “Yes, that’s them.” He could see that there were only about forty or fifty of them, but that was better than none.
“What about the police?” Fritzie asked, pointing toward the building. “Do you think Herr Hitler brought them in to help maintain order?”
Whirling around, Hans felt his heart drop. “What police?” But he saw them even as he spoke. There were at least of dozen of them in their grey uniforms, billed caps, and jackets with POLIZEI stenciled in large white letters across the back.
Dimitri grunted, his eyes narrowing. “Looks to me like they’re here for crowd control. They’ve formed a cordon blocking off the entrances. That’s why there’s no queue. They’re not letting anyone in.”
“We’ve got to find Adolf,” Hans said grimly. “This is not good.”
Uncle Anatoly was pointing now. “I think we saw Herr Hitler with some of the other leaders over by the main entrance just before we saw you two.”
Hans spun around. “Then let’s go.”
Anatoly was right. Adolf was huddled in a tight circle with Emil Maurice, Ernst Roehm, Dietrich Eckart, and a couple others of the executive committee. As they pushed their way forward, Roehm saw them approaching and leaned over and poked Adolf. Adolf broke free and rushed over. “Hans! Thank you for coming so quickly.” He reached out and gripped his friend’s hand and then looked up at Hans’s brother-in-law. “And you too, Ernst,” he said. “Das ist gut.”
Hans quickly shook hands with Roehm and the others and then motioned for Fritzie and his family to come forward. He introduced them around the circle. Ha
ns saw a flicker of suspicion as the committee members heard the names Kharkov and Bazarov, so Hans quickly explained. “They are from Belarus,” he said. “They are White Russians who fought against the Reds during the revolution and finally had to flee to Germany.”
“Ja, ja,” Fritzie said. “We are Germans now, and we hate Communists.”
The others relaxed a little but still looked wary, so Hans added, “They had a restaurant in Berlin that the Spartacans burnt to the ground. That’s why they’re here in Munich now.”
“And,” Ernst added, “they are loyal members of the party and are here to help.”
Tension still hung in the air, but then Adolf stepped forward and extended his hand to Fritzie. “Welcome, Herr Kharkov,” he said warmly. “Thank you for coming. It is very likely that you will have the chance to crack some Communist heads tonight.”
Dimitri grinned. “That’s why we’re here.”
And with that, the others relaxed and they shook hands all around. As they finished, Hans gestured to the people milling about the square with a sweep of his arm. “So what is going on, Adolf? Most of these people look like our usual crowd. I recognize quite a few of them. But why are the police holding them back?”
“Because,” Maurice sneered in disgust, “the hall is already full.”
“But what about us?” Ernst exclaimed.
“If you have your armbands, the police will let you in, but no more tickets are being sold.” He turned back to Hans and reached out and gripped his arm. “But Hans, the hall is already full because about eight hundred of them came early so they’d be sure they got seats.”
Hans almost fell back a step. “Eight hundred! Are you sure? Maybe they’re just members of those other parties who are curious.”
“Not hardly,” Adolf growled. “They’re young bucks, and they’re spoiling for a fight. And they’re not just members from the other parties. They’ve brought in four or five hundred workers from a couple of Red factories here in Munich. They’re calling themselves the Sons of Liberty. I thought I could detect bulges under quite a few of their shirts.”