That rather startling declaration made casually and without any embarrassment took Emilee aback a little. It was as if he had said it was a region where a lot of children had brown eyes. Seeing her look, Adolf smiled. “Actually, my father was the illegitimate son of a peasant woman named Anna Schicklgruber. She named him Alois Schicklgruber. When my father was five, his father married his mother, my grandmother. But for some reason they didn’t officially change Alois’s last name when they married.”
“So was your grandfather’s name Hitler?”
“Actually, it was Johann Georg Heidler. But in his family, probably because most of them were virtually illiterate, it was at times spelled Heidler, Huettler, or Hitler. Anyway, my grandmother Anna died when my father was ten years old. Shortly thereafter, old Grandpa Johann conveniently disappeared and didn’t surface again for another thirty years. My father was taken in and raised by Johann’s brother, but he kept the last name of Schicklgruber.” He paused. He was obviously relishing this story, because his eyes were twinkling with amusement. “Sorry for all the detail, but there’s a point to all of this.”
“Of course,” Hans said, sitting back.
“So, anyway, thirty years later, out of the blue, old Johann Heidler, now eighty-four years old, suddenly reappeared in the town where my father had grown up. His uncle had died and there was some kind of small inheritance in question. How Johann had learned of that, no one knows, but he came forth, went before a notary and witnesses, and swore that Alois Schicklgruber was his child and therefore the legal heir. Oh, and incidentally, by this time he had decided to spell his last name as Hitler. So, not long before his fortieth birthday, my father was no longer Alois Schicklgruber, but Alois Hitler.”
Hans finally saw where this was all leading. “And if that hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t be talking to Adolf Hitler right now, but to Adolf Schicklgruber?”
“HERR Adolf Schicklgruber,” Hitler said to Emilee, his nose wrinkling up. “It doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, does it?” Then a frown darkened his face. “Actually, I am deeply grateful to my father for changing his name. I find the name Schicklgruber uncouth and boorish. It is clumsy and impractical. But Hitler? It has a nice sound to it and is much easier to remember.”
Still obviously amused by his story, Adolf said, “So let me answer Emilee’s original question about my family. My father married three times, from which there came seven children, three of whom died when they were young. So today I have a half-brother, a half-sister, and a full sister who are still living. Though we keep in touch, we are not particularly close.”
As the conversation lulled, Hans got up. “Come, let’s have some of that wine you were so kind as to bring.”
“No more than half a glass for me,” Emilee said, “since I will be sharing it with Alisa before the day is out.”
“And only two fingers for me,” Adolf added. “I am still too full from the bratwurst. I had three helpings, in case you didn’t notice.”
“I wasn’t counting,” Emilee said with a smile.
He laughed, knowing that she had been paying close attention and had been pleased that he had liked it so much.
As Hans came back with the wine glasses, he looked at Emilee. “Do we need to check on Alisa?”
She glanced up at the clock. “No. She’ll probably sleep for another half an hour.”
So Hans sat down. He too had taken only a half a glass of wine. He took a sip and turned to Adolf. “Tell me the latest on the GWP.”
“GWP?” Emilee asked.
“Ja,” Adolf replied for him. “The German Workers’ Party. I was hoping you would ask. Things are looking up.”
“How so?” Hans asked.
“Well, guess how many members we have now?”
“I don’t know. Fifteen, twenty?”
There was a wry smile playing around the corners of Hitler’s mouth. “How about seven?”
“What? But you were made number seven.”
“Exactly. We’ve had no one else join yet. How’s that for an impressive start?”
“So what are you going to do?” Emilee wondered.
“Now that I am a formal member, I am pushing them to try to get more members.” He shot Hans a look. “Hans has promised me that he will be number eight. Anyway, they say they’ve been trying, but unsuccessfully. I made a suggestion. I told them that to motivate people to become members they had to reach out to invite more people to the meetings and then be sure we had meetings that stimulated people to want to join.”
Hans’s head bobbed. “Seems pretty elementary.”
“Ja!” Adolf exploded. “You would think so, wouldn’t you? But most of them seem to think that what we are creating here is some backroom debating society or a literary club, not an actual political party. They have no vision. There are a couple of exceptions, but that’s all.”
“Who are the exceptions? Herr Harrer?”
Adolf snorted in disgust. “You would think so, him being the national president as well as local chairman of the party and all. But no, he’s not one of them. He’s a good man but has the vision of a nanny goat. No, I’m thinking of Anton Drexler and Ernst Roehm.”
“Drexler? Is he the soft-spoken one, the one who wears eyeglasses? That surprises me a little. I don’t picture him as much of an orator.”
Hitler grunted. “Nein. He’s a terrible speaker, to be honest. Rambles a lot. But, oh, he has the vision of what needs to happen. Actually, he’s the one who really founded the party. About a year and a half ago, before the war even ended, he formed what he called the ‘Committee of Independent Workmen’ to combat the Marxist influence that was permeating the trade unions. Then in January of this year, he merged his committee with a group called ‘The Political Workers’ Circle,’ led by one Herr Karl Harrer.”
“Ah.”
“And they renamed the group the ‘German Workers’ Party.’” Adolf pulled a face. “And by the way, none of those names inspire much more than a bored yawn. But it was Drexler who gave me that pamphlet I told you about after I went to their first meeting, ‘My Political Awakening.’” He was speaking rapidly and with some animation by this point. He reached inside his jacket and withdrew his wallet. Opening it, he extracted a piece of paper and unfolded it. He glanced at it briefly and then looked at Hans and Emilee. “It was also Drexler who called my attention to a prize-winning essay written by a young man named Rudolf Hess as part of his thesis at the University of Munich. He titled it, ‘How Must the Man Be Constituted Who Will Lead Germany Back to Her Old Heights?’ A good question, ja?”
“I would think so,” Hans agreed.
“Listen to this. Here is a prophet after my own heart.” Adolf lifted the paper and began to read. “‘Where all authority has vanished in a nation, only a man of the people can reestablish authority. This will require a dictator. The deeper the dictator was originally rooted in the broad masses, the better he will understand how to treat them psychologically, the less the workers will distrust him, the more supporters he will win among these most energetic ranks of the people. He himself has nothing in common with the mass; like every great man he is all personality. When necessity commands, he does not shrink before bloodshed. Great questions are always decided by blood and iron. In order to reach his goal, he is prepared to trample even on his closest friends and associates if needed.’”
As he folded up the paper and replaced it in his wallet, Emilee had to look away. When Adolf had read those final words, a chill had shot through her. Trample on your closest friends and associates? Did it not even occur to him that Hans was included in that category? She looked at Hans, but to her surprise, he was nodding.
“A man of the people,” Hans murmured. “Yes! He must be that, otherwise the people will never accept him as their leader.
Adolf was extracting another piece of paper, this one smaller and folded only in half.
“I also keep this statement written by another party member, named Dietrich Eckart.” He glanced at Emilee. “His name is spelled differently than yours.” Then to Hans, “You haven’t met him yet. He’s a journalist, a native Bavarian, and another man of vision. Here’s what he said once to a group who were thinking of forming their own party: ‘If we are to have a movement that will bring us success, we must have a strong leader with unique characteristics. We need a fellow of courage, a man who will not run at the sound of machine gun fire. But he can’t be an army officer because the people have little or no respect for them anymore. The best would be a worker who knows how to talk.’”
He looked up at Emilee and almost seemed a little embarrassed. “I’ve said that to Hans before. A great leader must be great orator.” He resumed. “And listen to this. I thought this was an interesting insight. ‘This man must be a bachelor, so that he will appeal to the women and get them behind us too.’”
He replaced the paper and gave Hans a beaming smile. “Can you believe it? Both of these statements were written long before either of these men had met me. Yet they describe perfectly the kind of leader that is needed by our people right now. And—” His eyes dropped for a moment. “They describe me quite well, don’t you think?”
Hans again nodded thoughtfully. Emilee was trying not to stare. He had spoken with the unabashed pride of a little boy, without any inhibitions about himself. And the comment about being a bachelor irked her a little. Did he really think women were so easily swayed? Did Hans? But then came a third thought. This was Adolf. The usual social etiquette requiring one not to put himself forward too boldly was not part of his personality. He had said it because that was really how he saw himself. Irksome, yes. But it was also one of the things that made him such an intriguing person.
“And what about Roehm?” Hans asked, interrupting Emilee’s thoughts. “Wasn’t he the bull-necked guy with the piggish-looking eyes? The one who looks like he stuck his face in a sausage grinder?”
“Hans!” Emilee cried in dismay. “What an awful thing to say.”
“Well, he does,” he retorted. “Right?” he asked, turning to Adolf.
“It is a good description,” Adolf said with a chuckle. “He was a captain in the war and was seriously wounded twice, once in the face. He has deep scars on both cheeks, and the upper part of his nose was shot off. It’s a wonder that he survived.”
Emilee shuddered. “How awful.”
“But what a bull of a man,” Adolf went on enthusiastically. “I’m not sure he has what it takes to lead the party, but he is a man of action, not just of talk like the others. He’s a natural organizer and he has a flair for politics.”
“Flair for politics?” Hans asked. “How so?”
“Well, for one thing, he understands the real issues. He hates the Weimar Republic and the November criminals who run it as much as we do. He also understands that only a strong political party that has the people behind it will ever succeed in overthrowing them. And he knows that it will take a strong nationalist Germany for the Fatherland to rise to greatness again.”
“Ah,” said Hans. No wonder Adolf liked Roehm. German nationalism was critical to him.
“And that’s not all,” Adolf went on. “He said that this can only be done by a party that comes from the lower laboring classes. The party must be led by one of their own, not some wealthy capitalist who made his millions from the sweat of his laborers. Can you believe it? It was like I had written his answer for him. That’s what I mean by political flair.”
“I understand,” Hans murmured.
Adolf didn’t seem to hear him. “Roehm has the right idea, but he doesn’t take it far enough, in my opinion. He sees some of the picture, but he still lacks the Weltanschauung of a true visionary.”
“World outlook?” Emilee asked.
“Ja,” Hans said quickly. “That’s the literal meaning of the word. But the word is full of nuance and has so much depth of meaning to it.”
“Ja, ja,” Adolf broke in. “To have a Weltanschauung is to have a grand conception of the world, its history, and the place of humanity in it. It also includes the principles and values that determine how society should operate. Without a Weltanschauung, there is no unifying vision, and doesn’t the Bible say that where there is no vision, the people perish?”
“Yes,” Emilee said in surprise. “It comes from the Proverbs.”
Adolf turned to her, clearly impressed. “You know your Bible well. Very impressive, Emilee.” Then to Hans, “How did a lout like you ever win such a wife as this?”
As Emilee blushed, Hans smiled at her proudly. “I am still asking myself that question.”
But instantly Adolf was back to his thoughts. “So, Hans Eckhardt. Our little fledgling political party has only seven men. And of those, only two have a glimmer of the vision of which I speak. The rest are good men. Loyal men. Men who long for change. But how can we possibly change the world with so few?”
“Get more members. Find men who share your vision.”
Startling both Emilee and Hans, Adolf threw back his head and laughed. “You, my friend, just stepped into my trap. Our next meeting is Wednesday night. Will you come?”
Hans gaped at his friend. “Me?”
This only made Adolf laugh louder. “And why not? I came here tonight to try to convince you to join our feeble little band. Join us. Be one with us.”
“But. . . .” Hans looked quickly at Emilee, but she was smiling too. Had he really not seen this coming?
“Just listen for a moment. It’s not just about numbers. And I’m not looking for just any man. I’m looking for men of talent, men of vision. Like you, Hans. I need your experience, your intellect, and your insights.”
Emilee, who was watching Adolf closely, noted that he never said “We need you.” It was I, I, I. As though it were his own personal political party.
Adolf sobered. “Look at your qualifications. You were raised as the son of a milchbauer, and now you are a truck mechanic. You have been a peasant, and now you are a laborer. Yet you are well educated and intelligent. You are also a war veteran. You won the Iron Cross, as did I. And though you were a lieutenant in the Freikorps, you are not a career member of the officer corps. You helped put down the Soviet rebellions both here and in Berlin. The people will love you for that. Most valuable of all, you have a way with people, Hans. They like you. They respect you.” He turned abruptly to Emilee. “Am I right?”
“In every detail,” she said softly, reaching out to lay her hand on Hans’s.
“Remember what I said the other day? We need to find a party that provides an instrument for change but that is not already so set in its ways that it can’t be molded into a real political force.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, the GWP is in its infancy. They are almost a joke. But together, you and I can change that. We can give them the vision, fire them with a cause.” Adolf leaned forward, his eyes burning with intensity. “So join me, my friend, and let us change the course of history.”
Chapter Notes
The two statements by Dietrich Eckart and Rudolf Hess are quoted with only minor changes to make them flow more smoothly. Both men impressed Hitler in these early developing years (see Shirer, Rise and Fall, 39, 49.) Hitler does not say how he came to learn of Hess’s essay, so having Drexler give it to him is my supposition. Hitler did say of Drexler that he was “a prophet after his own heart.”
Anton Drexler is often credited with being the founder of the political group that eventually became the Nazi party, and he is sometimes called the “Father of Nazism.” He later became president of the party when Karl Harrer resigned. Ironically, when Hitler rose in power and influence until he was made party chairman, Drexler was made “honorary president” and in 1923 finally left the party he had been instrumental in forming.
Ernst Roehm and
Rudolf Hess went on to become close confidants of Hitler and major forces in the Nazi party. Dietrich Eckart also remained a close and trusted advisor to Hitler for many years.
November 24, 1919, 10:37 p.m.—Eckhardt residence
The door opened a crack, letting a shaft of light come into the bedroom. Emilee rose up on one elbow. “Hans? Come in. I’m awake.”
He slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. “I told you not to wait up for me,” he whispered. “Is Alisa asleep?”
“Yes. I fed her about half an hour ago. How did the meeting go?”
He came over and sat down on the bed beside her. In the lamplight from the window she could see his face dimly, not enough to read his expression. There was a soft hoot as he began to unlace his boots. “Remember what Adolf said on Sunday? The party needs to invite more people, then make sure they are stimulated when they come?”
“Yes.”
“Well, they did that. They wrote up an announcement about the meeting with a brief statement about the party. Or, I should say, Adolf wrote it up. One of the members has a typewriter at his workplace so he typed up a few copies, but they had to hand write the rest. And Hitler did most of them. Eighty in all.”
“Wow!”
“So on Tuesday, he personally distributed them. He took them around to businesses, posted them on light poles, handed them out to people on the street.”
“And?”
“Well, we arrived early so that I could officially become a member. Which I did. I am number eight. Then at seven o’clock we sat down to wait for the crowds.”
Emilee sensed what was coming. “And?” she asked again, this time more softly.
“After sitting around for a full hour, the only person who came was the waitress at the restaurant, who came in to refill our steins of ale.”
“Not one person came?” Emilee cried.
“Not even long enough to stick his head through the door.” Hans was shaking his head. “So after an hour, Herr Harrer called us to order. We read the minutes from the last meeting. Got a report on the party’s finances—they have an impressive three marks and sixty-seven Pfennige—set the time for the next meeting, and closed the meeting. The meeting was seven minutes from start to finish.”