From School to War: Growing Up in Hitler’s Germany (Contemporary Nonfiction) Page 5

  In effect, the students at these elite schools would become part of Hitler’s blueprint for molding a new German who had the proper character, discipline, and military skills to spread his vision for a renewed, strong Germany, and ultimately for German world domination. This new Germany would escape any past humiliations and become the dominating power in this new world order, led by the cadre of men it was training.

  At the time, I, like the other boys at the Friedrich Wilhelm Schule, was captivated by this vision of an emergent Germany that would dominate the new world we were building. Germany would rise again like a once-slumbering giant. Now we felt honored for the chance to be part of this grand design. But first, we had to be accepted into the program. To do so, we had to take a series of tests to show what we had learned in different subjects in school, including German, Latin, French, English, math, and the sciences—primarily chemistry, biology, and physics. This testing was much like what teens have to do today in taking an SAT test for entry into a university. Besides showing our scholarship, the tests asked questions about our character and ability to get along with others as part of a team. How would we cope with living cooperatively with other boys? How would we manage without our parents? We had to describe how we would react in a series of emergency or difficult crisis situations by explaining how we would help women and children during a bombing attack or in other dangerous situations. We also had to answer questions to show our leadership qualities. For example, how would we organize people to move from one place to another if necessary? How would we organize helpers to save invalids and the elderly? And how would we use limited resources to defend ourselves and our communities?

  Colonel Erwin Dettbarn at the start of World War II.

  In addition, since the Nazis only wanted purebred Aryan boys in the program, we had to describe our family histories by providing a genealogy dating back several generations, and no one with any Jewish ancestry was considered. We had to provide copies of our birth certificates to verify our heritage, since these certificates listed one’s religion, as they had for generations. We had to include our medical records to show we had no inherited genetic defects or proclivity toward a particular disease. Additionally, we had to describe our physical strength and appearance and support these descriptions with photographs, since the Nazis valued strength and Aryan looks, so boys with blond hair and blue eyes were especially desired. Also, all applicants had to have been in the Hitler Youth. Somehow, despite all these strict requirements to select only the best, hundreds of boys qualified and were eager to sign up. Though I was short, I fit the qualifications the school administrators were looking for.

  After passing the many qualifying tests, I received an invitation to attend the Adolf Hitler Schule, which was located in the Ordensburg Sonthofen in the Allgäuer Alpen in Bavaria in southern Germany. The other three elite schools in Germany were the Ordensburg Vogelsang in western Germany, the Reichschule in Bavaria, and Napola (short for the Nazional Politische Anstalt) in Berlin.

  I felt it a special honor to be invited, since only one other boy from my school met all the requirements. While the Schule had units in four different cities, I had no choice of which elite school to attend, since the school selected me. I couldn’t even state a preference for where I wanted to go—one more example of the way the Nazis wanted obedient soldiers and citizens who would do what they were told.

  At the School

  Finally, the day arrived in February 1941 when I was to leave for the Adolf Hitler Schule. At the time, Germany still seemed to be winning the war, and I and the other boys were excited and full of optimism. I met my future classmates in the railway station of the industrial city of Kassel, located in northeastern Germany, about two hours’ drive from Frankfurt. The train station was empty except for about thirty boys of my age, from thirteen to sixteen years old, who were also chosen to attend the Schule. We wore our brown and black uniforms, which were the same for the Hitler Jugend.

  The cavernous station echoed with the shouts of the other students, and I joined them to wait for the train. We chatted and got to know each other a little, mainly by making small talk, asking “How are you?” and “Where are you from?” But we couldn’t say much, since we came from different parts of Germany and spoke different regional dialects, so there was a language barrier and no way to start to build a friendship. Even so, we were all happy to be there, and for all of us, it was liberating to be completely on our own with no parents or teachers to accompany us—a thrill because we had never traveled independently before. It was a sign that our parents now regarded us as responsible for ourselves, a sign of our coming adulthood and leadership in the great German nation, which Hitler proclaimed would be the Thousand-Year Reich. And we were to play an important part in building the Fatherland.

  After about twenty minutes, a clunky old steam train spewing smoke chugged into the station. As the doors opened, we piled into the train and quickly took over an empty car. We spread out through the open compartment with bench seats. After setting down our luggage on a selected seat to reserve it, we went around giving those we hadn’t spoken to before a quick introduction with our name and city.

  Afterward, as we gathered in the center of the compartment, each boy told a story about who they were, how they happened to be going to the school, and what they planned to study. The boys came from diverse backgrounds and every walk of life. We learned from their stories that they were children of farmers, clerks, merchants, and soldiers. When I told my story, I mentioned that my father was a colonel in the Vehrmacht, and many of the boys looked at me with a kind of reverence mixed with resentment—their fathers were blue-collar workers. I’m sure their reactions stemmed from their families’ attitudes toward the upper classes, though I was still surprised by these reactions, since Hitler wanted a mix of backgrounds and we were all supposed to be equal, carefully chosen, and destined to be leaders. Initially, I was pleased at the way these boys looked up to me because my father’s position meant I was in a higher social class, but later I found that many boys resented my higher social position. Some even snubbed me and wouldn’t stand next to me.

  In any case, as we went around introducing ourselves and telling our stories, I found that a lot of what the boys said was incomprehensible, because they spoke in a variety of regional accents I had never encountered before. But I didn’t want to let on that I didn’t understand what they said or stand out like a spoilsport, so I laughed whenever they did. When I told my story, I realized that most of the boys probably didn’t understand me either, but I was relieved when they seemed to listen attentively, as I had when they spoke. The other boys even laughed from time to time, perhaps trying to fit in as I had.

  Then, the time for sharing over, I went into the corridor and looked at the landscape speeding by as we headed south to Bavaria. I had never been in the south, so the landscape of vineyards, fields of hops to make beer, and open acres was new and exciting to me. There were no vineyards or hops fields around Eschwege, in Hessen, where I had lived since I was eight. Suddenly, on the horizon, I saw the snow-covered tops of the Allgäuer Alpen mountain range. I rushed from window to window watching the mountains fly by so as not to miss any of this new panorama.

  At about eight p.m., the train stopped at the Sonthofen railway station in the Bavarian Alps. As we walked onto the platform next to the station house, a small stone building that looked deserted in the darkness, a lone man, about forty-five years old, approached us. He was wearing the same uniform as us: a brown shirt, black pants, a black tie, and a leather belt, but unlike us, he wore tall riding boots. He also wore a military-style jacket with insignia and badges showing his rank and awards, and he walked stiffly with the ramrod-straight posture of a military man.

  He looked around our group, pointing and counting, as he told us, “I’m the head teacher, Gerhard Roloff. Now, I’d like you to tell me your names. Then line up in a small battalion. I want to see three boys per row, and line up by height, shortest to talle
st.” Later we learned he had been a pastor, trained in a seminary, before joining the military. I didn’t think then to ask myself what motivated a man of God to take a leadership position with the godless Nazis, who disapproved of religion and all its trappings.

  After we lined up in formation, I was delighted to be in the middle of the group, since I had previously been the shortest boy in my class. But now I felt a new sense of acceptance at being in the middle.

  Then Educator Roloff, as he asked us to call him, led us up a little hill to the Ordensburg Sonthofen. There the school towered above us like a fortress, consisting of four large stone buildings surrounding a courtyard and a tall tower in the front. The huge stones and tower made it look like a medieval castle protected by moats, and its imposing structure was awe-inspiring. We felt as if we were entering a huge castle.

  As the teacher led us in, we passed through a wooden gate that was opened and closed with a huge key. After we entered the courtyard between the four buildings, Educator Roloff pointed to the walls and told us, “Now line up against the walls around the courtyard.”

  We hurried to do so, standing in stiff formation, much like we were now in the military. He then instructed us, “Now call out your names,” and we did so in turn as he watched us carefully. It was as if this was our first test to show that we measured up to being chosen for the great honor of attending the school. Finally, Educator Roloff smiled and said, “I am proud to welcome you to Ordensburg Sonthofen. It is a great honor for you to be here. You have been carefully chosen and are a special group of boys. I hope you appreciate this and will do nothing to bring dishonor to our school.”

  As we would often do at the school, we marched in with our backpacks, which had only a few changes of clothes, since we would be in uniform almost all the time. We were all very excited to see where we would be living and learn whom we would room with for the next few years. At once, we broke from formation and bounded in to find our assigned rooms. We ran up and down the halls with our backpacks until we found our room number. When I opened the door, my heart started pounding, since it was both exciting yet scary. At thirteen, I had never lived away from my family but now I felt eager to experience the new freedom of being on my own.

  As I stepped inside, I noticed that the rooms were fairly small, with two double bunk beds and a table and four chairs. Ahead of me a big window opened to a view of the Alps, where the sun was just going down, so the sky was tinged with a light red glow. Then I saw my three roommates standing next to their beds. Immediately I noticed that they were taller than I was, and when they introduced themselves and named the cities or small towns where they came from, I could barely understand their accents from southern Germany.

  After a few minutes of introductions, we chose a room leader as our head teacher had instructed. Everyone looked around uncertainly, not knowing whom to choose, since we didn’t know each other and had difficulty communicating because of the different regional accents. Eventually we all pointed to and nodded at the tallest boy, and he became our room leader. This was probably not the best way to choose a leader, but at least we had one.

  After that, we unpacked our clothes, pulled out our pajamas, and went across the hall to shower and brush our teeth in the community bathroom. Finally, exhausted, we climbed into bed. I had one of the top bunks because I had been the last to enter the room and this was the last bunk left. Getting the last bed made me feel much as I did when I was the last player chosen on a team.

  Then we all quieted down and tried to fall asleep, which was difficult after the excitement of the day. For some time, everyone tossed and turned restlessly. At last I fell asleep, dreaming of my mother’s cooking, my feather quilt, my down pillow, and my usually annoying younger brother, Hansi.

  Classes Begin

  Our classrooms were typical high school rooms with rows of desks where we were seated alphabetically by our last names, and I went to my assigned seat. Fortunately, we could freely choose our final occupations. In one of our classes Educator Roloff went around the room and asked us about our aspirations. “I still want to be a doctor,” I said, and he simply replied, “That’s fine.” He entered my preference on a student-record sheet, as he did for each boy he asked. After that no one tried to change my mind about my future goal. I could be what I wanted to be, even though the school hoped to train us to become party leaders, although few of us wanted to make this choice.

  We often sat around the dorm rooms discussing our futures. At one typical gathering, everyone described their dream of what they wanted to become after they left boarding school and completed their university training. Several boys said they wanted to become physicians like I did. Others hoped to become university professors, journalists, or businessmen. A few said they wanted careers as military officers, and some hoped to become politicians. Later, long after the war, most of us did have successful careers in our chosen professions. One of my fellow students was even elected to the Bundestadt, the German Parliament, and another became active in state politics, since, as in the United States, Germany is divided into states. But I’m getting ahead of myself. For now, we eagerly began our studies, enthusiastic about becoming part of the German elite.

  The academic program was the same as in other gymnasiums except for the extreme emphasis on physical perfection in the many sports programs we participated in. We had track and field, gymnastics, soccer, handball, racquetball, fencing, skiing, boxing, swimming, and diving. We studied German, English, Latin, history, math, and the sciences, which included chemistry, biology, physics, and physiology. The school ended with the Abitur, the final exit exam that qualified the graduate to enter his chosen university. In the first years of these elite schools, the emphasis on physical and military training was even greater, but the boys in these schools soon fell behind those in regular gymnasia academically, and so the academic program was boosted and more qualified teachers hired.

  In biology we studied genetics, which was launched in the middle of the nineteenth century with the well-known experiments of the monk Gregory Mendel, who crossed peas of different colors to determine if some colors were dominant. He found they were, and later he found that certain eye colors, such as brown, are dominant too. We also studied Lamarck, probably the first scientist to discuss evolution, who theorized that children could inherit acquired characteristics. Of course, he was later proved wrong, since acquired traits are not transmitted. But based on his theory, if a parent had a missing leg due to an accident, the child would have a missing leg too. Lamarck also theorized about an increasingly complex chain of evolutionary development, and later, Darwin proved him correct. Darwin was an especially important part of the science curriculum. As one can imagine, the Nazis found his theory of the survival of the fittest extremely attractive, for it supported their vision that they were a superior people who had been bred by the same mechanisms that led the strongest to survive in nature.

  Yet while we learned all about Darwinian evolution, we never heard anything about the science of eugenics, though this was a natural development from Darwin’s theory. The basic principles of eugenics provided the biological basis for scientists to produce organisms with the best combination of traits and eliminate those without valued qualities on the grounds that this selection process would make the whole species stronger. This culling to produce the best would occur because the genes passed on to the next generation would come from the finest members of that species. This theory, in turn, provided the scientific underpinning to justify killing the Jews and minority populations, such as Gypsies, in the concentration camps because they were inferior and should be eliminated for the betterment of humanity.

  At the time, though, we knew nothing of what was really going on in the camps and how Darwin’s theory supported the killings there. Although we overheard our teachers and older students quietly whisper about what the Germans meant by “the final solution”—the incineration of millions of Jews, Gypsies, and other disfavored minorities—we had no kn
owledge of the extent of this evil. We did not know of the medical experiments and exterminations occurring in the camps in the name of creating a better, purer Aryan race. The school leaders didn’t tell us what was happening and only showed us the articles in the newspapers they wanted us to see. We never saw foreign newspapers, such as Swiss, English, or French papers, which might have given us a more realistic picture of what was going on. Yet even had we read such reports, we likely would not have believed them because we could not have believed that our countrymen, even possibly our relatives, could commit such atrocities in the name of bettering society. Also, our teachers might have dismissed these reports by telling us that these accusations of evils were really lies by the enemy to undermine the Germans.

  Thus, since the Nazis concealed information they didn’t want us to know about, we used censored newspapers to study current events. This discipline of studying these events was new, designed to replace the study of religion, which was disapproved of by the Nazis, since they considered any faith superstition and antithetical to the Nazis’ goals. For in their view, the Führer was the creator of the future, not some indefinable God.