Fire and Steel, Volume 3 Page 10

  He smiled. “He did, and that was not the thing to say to Adolf. He looked Harrer in the eye and said, ‘At a public meeting, where the masses gather together, the best speaker is not he whose oration appeals to the intellectuals, but he who wins the hearts of the masses.’”

  “Hmm. I agree with that,” Frieda said. Emilee was nodding too.

  “So did the rest of us, so we finally compromised, and he agreed that Adolf gets twenty minutes at the end.”

  “Wish I could be there to hear it,” Emilee said.

  Her mother turned. “Then go. I’m here. I’ll stay with Alisa.”

  Hans’s head jerked up, and the look on his face made Emilee smile. “Hans, tell Mother how many women have attended your last four meetings.”

  “Uh . . . actually, none. But that’s one of Adolf’s goals, to start inviting women to come.”

  “Good for him,” Emilee said airily. “When that happens, then I will think about going, but not until then. But I expect a full report when you get home.”

  6:55 p.m.—Munich Hofbrauhaus Keller, near Marienplatz

  “One hundred eight, one hundred nine, one hundred ten—” Hans turned to Adolf, grinning like a kid with his first slingshot. “One hundred and eleven! Can you believe it? It worked. Your plan actually worked.”

  Beaming brightly, Adolf acknowledged the praise. “There are a few empty seats here and there, but not many. This is wonderful, Hans. Let us take our seats at the table, lest the ones still coming mistake us for ushers.

  “Oh,” Adolf added as they began to move away, “did I mention to you that the committee has made me the party’s Propaganda Officer?”

  Hans stopped. “No, when did that happen?”

  “When they called me aside about ten minutes ago.”

  “And what exactly does that mean?”

  Adolf laughed softly but without much humor. “It means I’d better say something tonight of significance, wouldn’t you think?”

  7:48 p.m.

  The applause for the university professor as he finished and returned to his chair was warm but not particularly enthusiastic. Hans had watched the faces of the crowd as he had spoken. He had read from a printed text, a ponderous tome on the economic conditions of workers in large factories and workshops. Only two or three times in the forty-five minutes that he spoke had he even looked up at the audience. His material was all right, but Adolf’s words came back to Hans’s mind. “When speaking to the masses, the best speaker is the one who touches the heart and not just the mind.”

  As Herr Harrer went to the lectern to introduce Adolf, Hans leaned over to his friend. “They’re mostly bored, Adolf. You’ve got to do something to wake them up.”

  He snorted softly in disgust. “Mostly? If we were to hand out pillows right now, we’d get a standing ovation.”

  “Well, good luck.”

  Fortunately, Herr Harrer passed quickly over Adolf’s personal background and focused on his war record. Adolf was in his uniform tonight, and though it showed signs of wear, he had obviously had it cleaned and pressed for his debut speech, and he looked very sharp. The chairman noted that just three months into the war, Adolf’s unit, the 16th Bavarian Infantry Regiment, had arrived at the front in time to take part in the first Battle of Ypres in France. As Harrer talked, Hans saw heads lift and eyes turn to study the man before them. They were curious about him, and that was good.

  When Harrer told them that in four days of combat, Hitler’s regiment had lost three thousand of their thirty-six hundred men, he had the attention of everyone in the room. Harrer rattled off other facts. Adolf was wounded in the leg in the Battle of the Somme and won the Iron Cross, Second Class, for bravery. On his return from a military hospital, he was promoted to corporal and fought in the Battle of Arras and the third Battle of Ypres. His regiment took part in the last great German offensive of the war in 1918. There he was awarded the Iron Cross, First Class, a medal usually reserved for officers. This was for single-handedly capturing fifteen enemy soldiers. Finally, one month before the war was to end, he was caught in a mustard gas attack by British forces and was returned to the hospital, where for a time they thought he would go blind and lose his voice.

  When Harrer stepped back, he pointed to Adolf and cried, “Gentlemen, I give you our concluding speaker this evening, the Propaganda Officer for the German Workers’ Party, Corporal Adolf Hitler.” The audience responded with polite applause, though it could hardly be described as deafening. They were somewhat impressed, but they were not yet convinced.

  As Adolf looked up and smiled at the audience and then got to his feet, Hans leaned in. “Go get ’em, Adolf.”

  The noise quickly died as Adolf reached the lectern that had been placed atop one of the restaurant’s tables. He looked around quickly as he set what looked like a single sheet of paper on the lectern, but then he lowered his head and seemed to be staring at nothing. To Hans’s surprise, he remained that way for several seconds—ten or fifteen at least—which seemed like forever to Hans. Come on, Adolf. Don’t freeze on us now.

  When his head came up, the silence in the room was total, and every eye was fixed upon him. His expression seemed almost bemused, even puzzled. And then he spoke, just loud enough for his voice to carry throughout the room. “Why are you here?” he asked. His gaze moved slowly over the crowd. Another pause, and then, thoughtfully, “Surely it wasn’t for the beer.”

  Light laughter rippled through the crowd.

  He smiled sardonically. “We talked about buying free beer for everyone from the party’s fund, but if we had done that, you’d all be sharing the same stein.”

  Now the laughter exploded.

  “So why are you here?” he asked again. “Oh, of course. You came to hear about the nationally renowned German Workers’ Party, right? With our membership of thirty-four members.” He cocked his head to one side. “Oh, what’s that? You’ve never heard of us before? Oh, dear.”

  Hans was astonished. Just like that, he had their attention. No, more than that. He had them liking him. He could see that on their faces. People liked to laugh.

  “No, my friends, I will tell you why you are here tonight. You are here tonight because our beloved Fatherland is tottering on the brink of annihilation.”

  Murmurs of assent broke out all around them.

  “You are here because our country is on the edge of an abyss.” He slammed his fist down against the lectern, causing many to jump. “And you want to know who is going to stop that from happening. Am I right?”

  “Ja!” they shouted back at him.

  “You are here because you are desperately looking for someone—anyone!—who can pull us back from the brink. Am I right?” he shouted.

  Now the response—shouts, cries, applause, men stomping their feet—was continuous, and Adolf let it roll for several moments. Finally he raised his hands and the crowd quieted quickly.

  “There have been many who have promised to save us. But have they?”

  “No!”

  “Did the Communists save us like they promised?”

  “NO!”

  “Did the Bolsheviks? The Spartacans?”

  “NO! NO!”

  He let it die, and then, in almost a whisper, he went on. “And what about the so-called Christian Democrats who now control the majority of the seats in the Reichstag and who constitute our governmental leaders?” The noise started to rise again. He shouted over it. “The ones who signed the Armistice? The ones who formed the Weimar Republic? The ones who accepted the national humiliation of the Treaty of Versailles? Are they saving us?”

  Hans sat back in awe as the hall went wild. Men were on their feet, fists clenched, eyes filled with rage, shouting at the top of their lungs. Adolf had been speaking for under two minutes and the group was electrified. Talk about appealing to the heart of the masses.

 
When it finally died down and everyone was seated again, he went on, his voice as mild as a summer’s morning. “So, why would you think that the German Workers’ Party is any different from these other groups that fill the air with their empty promises? Why would you be willing to give money to our party?” He stopped, as if he had surprised himself. “Oh, yes. Make no mistake. Before this night is through, we’re going to ask you for money, because it takes money to start a movement, to recruit new members, to advertise in the newspaper, to rent meeting halls. And that’s the real question, isn’t it? Why should you give money to us? Why should you give your time to us? For we shall ask for your time, too. Well, let me say this much. If I cannot answer those questions to your satisfaction, then I would strongly recommend that at the end of this meeting, you keep your wallets in your pockets and you find something else to do on Wednesday nights. Go bowl some ninepins. Join a literary club. Take up backgammon. Or—” He paused for effect. “Maybe find a political party that really can make a difference.”

  His eyes were like black obsidian as he stared the crowd down. “And when you find it, please let me know, because that is what I am looking for too.”

  As people shot to their feet again, Hans included, Hans was amazed. Suddenly, Adolf turned around and flashed him a triumphant grin. All Hans could think of to do was hold his thumbs up for a moment and then join in the applause. And Hitler laughed when he saw it.

  Chapter Notes

  After Hitler came to power, some of his enemies accused him of being a coward in the war. The evidence shows otherwise. The details of his army record and the medals he won come from Shirer’s summary of his military service (see Rise and Fall, 29–30).

  Hitler’s description of what it takes to be an effective orator is a direct quote from Mein Kampf (149). Of Hitler’s speaking skills, Shirer noted, “He had been afraid that his voice might have been permanently weakened by the gassing he had suffered at the front. Now he found it recovered sufficiently to enable to make himself heard. . . . This was the beginning of a talent that was to make him easily the most effective orator in Germany, with a magic power, after he took to the radio, to sway millions of people by his voice” (Ibid., 35).

  January 21, 1920, 7:57 p.m.—Munich Hofbrauhaus Keller

  When the crowd quieted, leaning forward now in their chairs in anticipation, Adolf again dropped his voice to a conversational tone.

  “Many people are wringing their hands about the state of the Fatherland right now. Extensive unemployment. Food shortages. Uprising. Upheaval. Revolution. Instability. They see all of that, but do they see the underlying cause of it all? I think not, so I shall speak of that for a few moments.

  “We must remember two important realities,” Adolf went on. “First, our nation is divided into two groups. The first group I will call the intellectuals. By that, I don’t just mean university professors and scholars, but anyone who makes their living primarily by using their minds. So doctors, engineers, bankers, financiers, businessmen, newspapermen, authors, artists—they all are intellectuals in the sense that I am using the term. We also call them the middle and upper classes, or the bourgeoisie.

  “Those from the other group live by the work of their own hands and the sweat of their brows. We call them manual laborers. They are also known as the working classes. Most of us here come from the working classes. That’s the first thing that we must remember.

  “The second is equally obvious. In terms of numbers, the intellectual classes are much smaller than are the laboring classes in virtually every society known to man. Yet history shows us that in the vast majority of cases, the intellectual classes are the ones who rule. Am I right?”

  The men in the room were already nodding. Hans sat back, relieved. Adolf was giving them his grand vision, but he was doing it in their language, in their vernacular.

  “There are a few cases in history when the intellectual classes have provided benevolent and wise leadership and have given the laboring classes equal standing in the eyes of the law. But much more frequently, the intellectual ruling classes have exploited the poor and used their labor to enrich themselves.”

  “Like now!” someone called out.

  “Yes, like now,” Adolf agreed. “Especially right here in our own land. Our rulers pass laws to protect the rich and the powerful even as they ignore the plight of the poor. Ja?”

  Their response was louder, angrier. He was working them up again. Adolf nodded thoughtfully as he let them express themselves for a few moments. Then he went on. “So what do we do about it? What can we, as the common people, do about it? What can we, a fledgling political party barely in its infancy, possibly do to change this long-standing order of things?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. His voice rose sharply. “Two things. Two very simple things. First, we must define with crystal clarity what must be done to save the Fatherland. Second, we must define how it is done. And in both of these cases, it is not enough to speak in vague generalities or sweeping abstractions.”

  The hand of a burly man in coveralls who looked to be in his fifties shot up. “Are you going to tell us what those things are or are we going to hear the same drivel we hear everywhere else?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Answer that one!”

  The cries came from all around them.

  “A fair question, my friend,” Adolf said easily. “And the answer is yes. That is what I am about to do right now.” He flashed the man a warm smile. “Otherwise, how can I get you to open your wallet when I am done speaking?”

  The man was momentarily startled but then laughed. “You do that, young man, and I will open my wallet.”

  “Then let us begin. Though with the limited time we have here tonight, I can only outline some key points. But we are currently working on drafting a manifesto for our party—our party’s political platform, if you will—and we will share that with you in the very near future. But here is what I can and will say tonight.

  “As to the first question, ‘What is it that we must do?’ I have three answers. First, we must have a strong German nation, strong enough to ward off her enemies and strong enough to win the respect of the world again.”

  “Hear, hear!” several voices shouted out, and there was a smattering of applause.

  “Second. Some believe that the best way to achieve a strong national presence is through re-armament. This is absurd. You cannot achieve national strength by re-arming our nation unless—” They didn’t like that, and voices began to shout him down. He rode over them with the voice of a bull. “Unless you have a people who have the spirit and will to use those arms! Surely I don’t need to remind you of that. We were probably the best-armed nation in the world at the start of the Great War. So why weren’t we victorious?” He slammed his fist down against the lectern. “Because our spineless November criminals didn’t have the will to win. They sold us out. And now, where are those armaments, my friends?” Outrage made his voice tremble. “They are in the hands of our enemies because those wet noodles who call themselves our leaders signed them over to them when they signed the Versailles Treaty, that’s why!”

  And just that swiftly, he had them back with him. There was a roar of approval and the men began stamping their feet on the floor. “Our second objective is clear,” he cried, shouting over the tumult. “We must restore the will of the people if we are to restore the Fatherland to its former glory.”

  He stopped and let the tumultuous response wash over him. Finally, he raised his arms and the crowd quickly quieted. “The third thing we must do,” he said, his voice so soft that his listeners leaned in, straining to hear. “If we are to succeed as a party, we must not sit back and wait for the middle and upper classes to change the order of things.” He punched out every word now with utter contempt. “Because that will never happen! If we are to succeed, it will be because the working classes of the world see that we are thei
r party. That we are their advocates. That we are the only ones who have the will to change the natural order of things.” He was shouting now to be heard over the roar of the crowd. “IF THE PEOPLE ARE NOT WITH US, THEN OUR VISION IS DOOMED!”

  Hans was on his feet, as was every other person in the room, pounding his hands together, stomping his approval. Adolf seemed barely to notice. He poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher and calmly took a long drink. As near as Hans could tell, he hadn’t so much as glanced at his notes. When the hall was mostly quiet and the men were sitting down again, Hitler went on.

  “Now to the how. This, of course, is much more complicated. As I have said, our committee is currently drafting twenty-five points that will specifically lay out the platform and objectives of the German Workers’ Party for all to see.”

  Hans saw Herr Harrer shoot Adolf a dirty look. Hans guessed that the statement was true but that Harrer had wanted to be the one to announce it. He was glaring at Adolf, who blithely ignored him.

  “It would be premature to share items from that list with you, because we are still carefully crafting them so they represent our thoughts accurately. But I will give you one example of how we convince the people that we stand with them. During the war, the great industrialists convinced the government to let them cut wages and benefits to the factory workers”—his voice was suddenly heavy with contempt—“because they said it had to be done for the Fatherland. And where did those savings go? Toward winning the war? Toward defeating our enemies? No! It went into their pockets. It went into their bank accounts.”

  The rumble started to rise again.

  “And what did the government do? When the unions talked of strikes to protect their members, the government wrung their hands and said that strikes would harm the war effort and that if the unions called for strikes, the government would throw them in prison. And how did the unions react to that? They caved in. They had no will to resist. They licked the boots of the industrialists and let their own people suffer as factory owners made millions upon millions while our boys were dying in the fields of France.”