Swept Up By Hitler's Mob

Views: 9,610
Added: Wed. Sep 03, 2008 3:07pm
Posted in: News

• » print
• » report
• » email

In 1937, Ruth Hamilton traveled to Europe to visit family in Denmark and to embark on a fact-finding mission for her radio program in the States. Decades later, she wrote about her life-changing trip in her autobiography, "The Hamilton Saga."

GrowingBolder.com is bringing you exclusive excerpts from the book.

• In part 1, she came face-to-face with the son of a famous painter.
• In part 2, she was invited to watch him at work in his studio.
• In part 3, Ruth described her tense train ride into Nazi territory.
• In part 4, she begins to realize that the citizens of Berlin are living in terror.
• In part 5, Ruth spent a glamorous evening at Hitler's opera house.
  

Monday, July 1, 1937  6 p.m.
Can’t believe what I’ve just seen. Am limp and exhausted. Hoped O’Leary would be here to hear so that I’d know that I wasn’t demented. He’s at the convention. I needn’t use my visitor’s pass because I have seen that man and [Hitler's No. 2 Hermann] Goering, too. Didn’t get to Woolworth’s.

Sauntering along looking at store windows, saw nothing to buy. Big lovely jewelry store had Jude and Star of David on the window. My artist friend warned not to go into these marked stores, would be followed. Hitler is busting Jewish businessmen so his ilk can take over. I keep wondering if I will get out of here alive. Me, so bravely curious -- hope to have some great radio talks when I get back home. The soldiers going by in the trucks are all singing, probably Horst Wessel, the Imperial song. They seem to be having fun. Hope FDR knows about this.

Suddenly I was viewing a huge mob of women -- young, some old with head cloths, screaming and pushing towards what I saw yesterday called the Chancellery, Hitler’s abode. The streets were roped off and guards in brown shirts were herding the mob -- they had clubs not guns.



“What’s going on?” I asked a flushed female.  She did not understand but another gal did and kept pointing to the first yellow building on the courtyard. “Hitler! Hitler!” she yelled.

I heard a lot of “Heil, Hitler.” O’Leary had told me that it was a must, when people met to salute each other with “Heil Hitler.” I squeezed through an opening and found myself at the wide iron gate with the picket iron fence, which was very tall.

Then they were screaming in another direction and running toward the roped off street. I ran too and crowded up to the rope. I heard “Goering! Goering!” Then a black Mercedes like a hearse drove slowly by -- a huge fat man in the back seat in a fancy military uniform bedecked with medals and ribbons. Also his double and triple chins hanging over the stiff military collar. A monster so ugly and women were adoring him.


(From left to right, Adolf Hitler, Hermann Goering and German propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels)

Before I could blink again, a brown shirt man with his club shoved me back in the crowd. The car was going toward town -- how he loved all the attention and heiled to the crowd. Next to me a woman fainted, so excited from seeing her hero. They carried her away. They nearly pushed me through the fence, we were so tightly squeezed.

Then chills ran over me as I watched the huge garage door slowly open and out came a replica of our “Spirit of ‘76," three soldiers playing a flute, a fife and a drum. They were followed by another long glistening black Mercedes with a man standing up beside his soldier chauffeur.  He looked ten feet tall. He was saluting and beaming. This car was followed closely by three more cars with military people. No doubt to protect this awful man. They too headed for town.

I stood there and grew hot and then cold -- like electric sparks playing the love energy these people had, it was idolatry. A small man who looked huge with power. There was no men in this crowd -- they were either in the military or the factories, which were running day and night.

I finally made it through this patriotic bunch and forgot about Woolworth’s. Found a small café and drank cups of coffee. I tried to write of this experience while it was fresh, and my hand shook wildly. Never again in my life I hoped to experience such emotions. I felt my face pores open, or it seemed like it. Once I even put up my right arms with all of the rest of the crowd. I wonder why? Mob phobia is all I can contribute it to.

I sat for a long time. Don’t need to use my visitor’s card -- I saw the man before the convention people will see him. Some working men in the café -- not talking -- kept looking my way. Better go I thought. Outside one of them hurried beside me.

“Are you American?” Everyone seems to know us, our clothing and shoes tell it.

“Yes, why?” “Well, what do Americans know about what is going on here?”

“Nothing much,” I answered, “but I’m learning.”

“We are working sixteen hour days, low pay and everything is rationed,” came his reply. And like a flash he was gone up a side street. I was astonished, and then I saw a police car coming down the street.

Instead of POLICE on the side it read GESTAPO, a new word for me.  Here I am stunned, I am ready to go home, fear and ecstasy mingling -- terrible emotions.

7 p.m.
O’Leary couldn’t believe me -- great kidder -- said, “No wonder Hitler didn’t appear at the opening, you distracted him.” He hoped he would get a glimpse of Der Fuhrer before they sail on Saturday. One more day is enough for me.

Coming Next Week: Ruth dines with a Jewish couple and they share stories of screams and friends disappearing in the middle of the night.