Children to a Degree - Growing Up Under the Third Reich (15 page)

He went back into the kitchen and looked at the clock over the oven. “If you have the time I would like to show you something. We need about two hours.” The boys had the time and were happy to go with him. Their destination was the Funkturm, the radio tower and highest tower in Berlin in 1942.

This time the grandpa used the street cars to get there because there was no direct subway connection. Karl knew the area. The Funkturm was close to the Olympic Stadium.

In 1936, when he was 6 years old, his father had taken him to see some of the Olympic events. He still remembered the huge searchlights. The beams from the lights had formed an illuminated tent over the stadium under which, spectacular fireworks closed out the games on the final night.

The grandfather led the way to the Funkturm and stopped when he came to the base of the steel-frame work construction. Harold and Karl hoped that they would enter the high-speed elevator to visit the observation deck, but the cavalry officer had something different in mind. He pointed to one of the park benches surrounding the area.

“Let’s sit down,” he invited the boys. “I showed you how switches are set in advance. This here, today, is a similar lesson.”

He leaned against the back board of the bench and looked up to the big restaurant which surrounded the steel structure at the height of 170 feet. “This tower was started in 1924 and it was completed in 1926. It is 452 feet tall. In order to build such a structure you have to follow well laid out plans.”

With his shoes he pushed together a small mound of sand. “Look at this. If I were to tell you that this tiny knoll is the complete foundation for a tower you would know that it would hardly support more than a little twig.” He picked up a small stick and pushed it in the center of the small heap of dirt where it promptly toppled over. “See, it does not even support the little branch.” He looked to find an even smaller stick to plant in the sand.

“Now let’s look at foundation of the Funkturm.” He got up and walked to the concrete boulders of the base. He stepped up the distance between the outside edges. “You can see that they are 65 feet apart.”

He returned to the bench. “I don’t know how many tons of concrete it took to cement the outer steel girders in place but even without that information, and without knowing the plans, I would have known just by looking at the distance between the anchor points that this was the foundation of a giant structure.”

The old man looked intently at the boys. “Do you understand what I am saying? You cannot build any kind of a structure without building first an adequate foundation.”

“Yes, Opa, I think that what you are telling us is somehow related to setting switches and to connecting dots.” Karl ventured.

“Exactly,” smiled the grandfather. “Our lessons started when you were asking me why we are having a war. I decided to broaden the lessons so you can anticipate and prepare for the various events you will encounter during your lifetime.”

“If I understand you correctly, Herr Veth, you are telling us that we should watch out for events and how they relate to each other by connecting the dots.” Harold was eager to participate.

“Yes,” confirmed the old man. “This will give you a chance to see or to understand the whole picture and by looking at the size of a foundation you are able to estimate the size of the planned structure.”

He got up and started to lead the way home because he wanted the boys to digest what he had told them. He wanted them to think for themselves.

Karl’s next question confirmed that the boys were thinking.

“Opa, I try to understand but I am not clear how the lesson with the switches relate to what you taught us today.”

The grandfather turned and sat down again. “Karl, setting the switches in advance is a metaphor for many things. In answer to your very first question regarding the reason for the present war, I explained that the switches for this event had been set before Herr Hitler came to power. He did not set the switches himself. They were already solid in place.”

He tried to find a soft spot on the hard bench, shifted around, and finally gave up.

“Are they always set by events or are they also set by people?” Harold followed up.

“The answer is both. Many events are caused by people and because people die and fade away, it is difficult to later on detect accurately the precise cause. Many other events are caused by nature but it is again how people react to an event of nature which sets the switches down the road.”

The old man stretched and got up again. “Look, we can elaborate on this forever. The important thing is that we recognize what is going on around us. If we recognize it in time and if it bothers us, we might be able to do something about it,” he stretched some more. “If we wish,” he added.

“What if we are unable to do anything about it, not because we are unwilling, but simply because we are too small or too weak?” Karl wanted to know.

The grandfather started to walk back to the street car station. “You mean as in the eruption of a volcano? Well, first of all, you should not build your home too close to a known upheaval. Second, if you did, and the mountain begins to belch, then you need to run away. Third, if it is too late to run away, you need to take cover.”

He walked a step faster to catch the next street car.

“This is the very reason I told you to connect the dots. Even a volcano rumbles before it spits fire.”

Thirteen

A few days later, Harold received the good news that he was accepted into the language program. There were two Napola schools with a special program for languages and he was sent to Potsdam. It was not directly in the city of Potsdam but in a campus on the outskirts.

The boys had spent the days before his departure together by exploring different subway destinations. One of these excursions led them to Dahlem, in the Zehlendorf district.

In the ‘old Berlin’ before 1936, it was a suburb of Berlin. Now, however, in 1942, the city of Berlin was called ‘Grossberlin” meaning “Great Berlin” and most if not all of the outlying areas had been incorporated into the city.

“Can you believe all these wonderful private homes?” marveled Karl. It was the first time that he was in a part of Berlin without apartment houses.

“This is like a dream,” agreed Harold. “I wonder who is able to afford to live in homes like these.”

Karl considered his friend’s question for a few seconds. “You know, Harold. This is something our elders miss in all their teachings.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean they should take us to these nice places and then tell us what it is that these people do for a living. And then they should take us to the poorest neighborhoods in Berlin and say something like ‘
this is where you will have to live if you don’t get ambitious and improve your grades.”

“Yes,” agreed Harol. He  stopped to read the name plate of the house owner. “Dr. Ferdinand Bluecher, there you have it. But they cannot all be doctors.”

“That’s exactly what I am thinking, Harold. If the adults would show us what our grades in school are able to accomplish in life we would have far fewer slackers. I am happy that we made this little trip. But I will ask my father or my grandfather about these people who live here.”

They walked for a few blocks and then turned around to take the subway home.

“You want to visit Moabit?” asked Harold. “I heard that it is one of the poorest neighborhoods.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Karl shuddered. “I don’t need to see misery to enjoy myself. Now, if you say ‘Wannsee’ then I am all for it.” Wannsee was a small lakeside community and could be reached with the S bahn, the city train.

The boys took the subway to Gleisdreieck, the major station where the grandfather had taken the boys before. There they changed to a city train to visit the small resort-like suburb. Again, it was like Harold had said before; they walked like in a dream as they gaped at the lakeside homes.

“Cannot be all doctors,” said Harold again as they boarded the train back.

“No,” agreed Karl, “I wonder if even a teacher could afford to live here. I will surely ask my dad about it.”

“Teachers are so smart, I am sure that they can live anyplace they wish,” opinionated Harold.

“I think you might be wrong, Harold. Teachers are not that smart. All they do is read something to us and then conduct tests. I think that my Opa is a better teacher than any we had in school.”

“Could be, but your grandpa was an officer. I think that officers have to be smart to be officers.”

“I still think that you are wrong, Harold, at least as far as the teachers are concerned. Look, I passed the final elementary school graduation tests without any teachers. I am two years ahead of our class just by reading and studying.”

“Alright, Karl, maybe teachers don’t live in the homes we just visited,” allowed Harold, “but I sure would like to know who does. I will ask my father too.”

***

When Karl got home he was prepared for a meager supper because it was a two meal day. He was pleasantly surprised when his mother served the family a large dish of potato soup.

“Herr Hitler increased our rations,” his mother informed him, “Pappa told me that we are able to have three meals a day again.”

Karl looked at his father who shook his head. “No, Mutti, Herr Hitler has nothing to do with this. It is a change in the administration of the rationing office that is responsible. The new administrator is more capable than the previous one. I doubt very much that Herr Hitler even understands anything about rationing or food reserve management.”

Karl’s mother was undeterred. “Then it must have been our Fuehrer who initiated the change in the administration,” she maintained. “He is in charge of everything.”

Karl got up and looked for some toy to play with his brother. He loved his mother with all his heart but he did not understand why his parents disagreed on anything that Hitler said or did.

It was shortly before 8:00 PM and Karl looked over to the radio hoping that his father would turn it on. It was Saturday evening and there was always some music program after the news.

However, his father never allowed anyone to touch the radio. He had bought it two years ago and it was his prerogative to decide when the family was entitled to hear anything else but the news.

The news was broadcasted every evening at 8:00 PM and every evening at that time his father would turn on the radio. He insisted that all the lights had to be turned off when the radio was turned on and nobody was allowed to talk.

Then the whole family, including his little brother, would huddle in front of the receiver and listen to the OKW - or military headquarters - report. The report lasted maybe 15 minutes and then his father turned the radio off and turned the lights back on.

Only on Saturday evening and on Sunday afternoon at 2:00 did his father allow the family to listen to one hour of music.

The news this evening was just as hopeless as on the previous day. The German lines were retreating and Dr. Goebbels, the head of the propaganda agency, promised that the wonder weapons were nearing completion and once employed would shred the enemy.

Karl’s father changed the station to the only one broadcasting music. Tonight’s feature was some light opera music and while his parents listened, Karl started to repack some suitcases. The suitcase for his upcoming trip was already packed but there were three other ones that were designated air raid shelter cases. His father insisted that the suitcases should provide food for three days.

“If the four-story building collapses and blocks the exits we might have to wait several days until someone digs us out.” The family had decided on water, milk powder and some cans of margarine and liverwurst. In addition, every week or so, they replaced the dried bread. It was called Knaeckebrot and was similar to Rye Crispi. It was a little bit salty but otherwise it served its purpose.

The packing proved to be a little bit complicated because the air wardens had gas masks distributed which were now a required necessity to pack. The large masks for Karl and his parents had individual round canisters and could be slung over the shoulder. However, the smaller one for his brother was bulky and cumbersome to pack. The real small one was a monstrosity compared to his 2-year-old sister’s head. It looked not only grotesque on her, but it was also ill-fitting. Karl doubted that it would even do its job.

“Will you please look at this,” he implored his mother who had thought that she fitted the mask somehow wrongly during the gas exercises.  “This cannot possibly prevent the gas from reaching her face,” Karl said again and pointed to the wide airspace between the mask and his sister’s face.

His parents did not have an answer. There were supposedly some smaller gasmasks but the local warden was unable to supply any.

“I will ask Harold,” Karl announced. “His father is in charge of some kind of warehouses. Maybe he knows how to get a real small mask.” He stuffed the mask in a paper bag to give to Harold. Hopefully he could exchange it.

Karl was done with the packing and listened with his parents for a few more minutes to the radio before his father declared: “No more music for today.” He turned the radio off and placed a small tablecloth over it so it would not get dusty.

***

“I have a gasmask which is too large for my sister. You mentioned your father’s position. You think he might be able to help us out?” Karl asked his friend on the next day.

“You know, Karl, my father never really told me what warehouses he is in charge off. But I know that he is able to get us most anything. I think that he trades a lot.” Harold looked at the gasmask. “Are you telling me that there are smaller versions? This one looks very tiny already”.

Karl shrugged his shoulders. “I only know that this one here does not fit my sister. Can you please ask your dad about it?”

“I will,” said Harold and while he took the paper bag he handed Karl a sandwich with Brotaufstrich, a type of bread spread. It was a new product that was supposed to replace butter or margarine. It was greasy and had no real taste of its own. Whoever manufactured it must have been under the illusion that the consumer would spread it on the bread and then add some other item on top of it, like cheese or liverwurst. However, none of these other items were available. The people who lived in the country gathered some herb-like nettles which they dried and sprinkled on top of the spread. The people in the cities just sprinkled some salt on it. The salt somehow made the greasy taste more pleasant.