50 Children: One Ordinary American Couple's Extraordinary Rescue Mission into the Heart of Nazi Germany (12 page)

Eleanor went to a local printer’s shop, where she ordered hundreds of blank affidavit forms. As she immersed herself in the work, she discovered that it took nearly two weeks to complete a single affidavit, given the additional time required to request and receive the various supporting documents that were part of the affidavit process. She became a very familiar face in the Philadelphia printing shop, where she would make the photostat copies that were required by the government. After a few weeks of this painstaking work, Eleanor had started nearly twenty-five affidavits, though none had yet been fully completed. She was discouraged by her lack of progress and felt that she would need to move much faster. She also became alarmed when she reached thirty-six affidavits, only to realize that she had run out of names. But Gil reassured her that additional people had offered to sponsor the children. Every night he came home with a new list for her to work on.

Gil, however, still had problems of his own. “The telephone calls and visits continued,” wrote Eleanor. “Every place he went, more people tried to discourage him. We kept our mouths shut when we could, said as little as possible and did not reveal our immediate plans.” By this time, toward the end of March, word had also spread around Philadelphia that Gil and Eleanor had gone to see Rufus Jones, which led to rumors that the Quakers had become involved in the Brith Sholom project. One of the Philadelphia Jewish leaders called on Gil yet again, this time with a demand that he and Eleanor present themselves for questioning before the Federation of Jewish Charities. “Gil did not agree to this,” wrote Eleanor, “nor would he agree at any time to permit me to be questioned by anybody. Our minds were made up, and we knew just what we were going to do. Right now, no one was going to stop us.”

Until that point, Eleanor had been seeking affidavits mostly from Gil’s closest friends and others who were directly involved with Brith Sholom and who, as a result, would be more inclined to sign on as sponsors. Still faced with a shortage, however, she and Gil realized they would have to broaden their efforts by approaching others who were not aware of the project. Eleanor invited a few couples over for dinner, during which she and Gil talked about what they were doing and what they hoped to accomplish. Several of their friends gladly offered to provide affidavits without hesitation. Sometimes Gil would call a friend or a business associate from his office, and then later that evening pass on the information to Eleanor, who would follow up with the financial questions and forms. As she filled in the blanks on the affidavit forms, Eleanor often found herself staring at the “astronomical” incomes or stock portfolios that friends and others had. “I never realized that anybody had this much money,” she wrote.

As the weeks went by, Eleanor settled into a routine. She knew that the success of the rescue plan, at least in large part, depended on her ability to prepare affidavits that would withstand the intense scrutiny of American immigration officials. She knew there was no room for error or oversight. “My heels were running down, but the papers were piling up,” she recalled. “It took six weeks, but I had accumulated fifty-four affidavits, four extra just in case anything went wrong. It wasn’t really easy, and it wasn’t really pleasant. But it was accomplished!”

CHAPTER 9

I do not think you should go to Germany. In fact, I urge you most strongly not to go
.

—G
EORGE
M
ESSERSMITH’S
S
TATE
D
EPARTMENT AIDE

W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.–P
HILADELPHIA

M
ARCH
1939

O
n a cool, early spring morning toward the end of March, Gil and Eleanor boarded a train to Washington for another round of meetings with government officials. Their first stop was at the Department of Labor’s imposing headquarters on Constitution Avenue, only a few blocks from the White House. Dressed in his customary three-piece suit and wingtip shoes, leather briefcase in hand, Gil blended right in with the solemn-faced, business-attired deputy assistant secretaries, lawyers, and other government employees who filled the marble-floored hallways and populated the cubbyhole offices throughout the building. The Labor Department was in charge of enforcing all of the regulations that applied to child immigrants coming into the United States, and Gil wanted to be absolutely sure that nothing in the rescue plan would conflict with any of the rules. Because each child would be coming into the country under the sponsorship of a financially viable individual—Eleanor’s affidavits would make sure of that—Gil was fairly confident. But he wasn’t leaving a single detail to chance. They spent about an hour with an official, thoroughly outlining every aspect of the Brith Sholom plan. They left with the assurances Gil had been seeking: there would be no objections from that corner of the federal government.

The sun was shining, and the couple decided they would walk to their next appointment—another meeting with George Messersmith at the State Department. They strolled along Fifteenth Street, turning left on Pennsylvania Avenue and stopping for a moment for a quick gaze through the black wrought iron gates that stood in front of the White House. Messersmith worked right next door, in the ornate Victorian-style State, War, and Navy Building on the corner of Seventeenth and Pennsylvania. Warmly ushering the Krauses into his office, Messersmith was “most cordial and friendly as could be,” wrote Eleanor. However, he remained “completely non-committal,” explaining once again that the American government could not officially endorse a private rescue effort. Gil told Messersmith that he and Eleanor would be ready to leave for Germany in about two weeks—in fact, they were picking up their passports at the State Department that afternoon. Messersmith said he would write again to Raymond Geist in Berlin once Gil and Eleanor knew exactly when they would be leaving. As he stood up to say good-bye, the diplomat reached out to shake Gil’s hand. “I wish you every success,” he said. His encouraging words contrasted with his earlier warning that the government could play no official role in supporting Gil’s plan—a contrast fully in keeping with the dichotomy between Messersmith’s public demeanor and private character. He was a man bound by—and fully committed to—the laws and policies of the American government. But he also knew exactly what was at stake for the children and families Gil was trying to help. His firm handshake and warm farewell further confirmed to Gil that he and Eleanor were on the right path.

In the spring of 1939, there were no legal restrictions on Americans wishing to travel, either for personal or business reasons, to Nazi Germany. Six years after Hitler’s rise to power, the United States and Germany continued to maintain official—albeit increasingly strained—diplomatic relations. A few months earlier, President Roosevelt had summoned Hugh Wilson, the American ambassador to Germany, back to Washington as a gesture of diplomatic protest against the violence during Kristallnacht. Wilson had yet to resume his post, and it now seemed unlikely that he would be returning to Germany as ambassador anytime soon.
^*
Even so, the American embassy in Berlin (with Raymond Geist now effectively in charge) continued to function, along with a handful of American consulates scattered across Germany and Austria. Messersmith and others in Washington, however, were convinced that war in Europe was imminent, even if the United States managed to formally remain on the sidelines of the escalating hostilities.

After obtaining their passports, Gil and Eleanor chatted for a few minutes with Messersmith’s assistant, who had accompanied them to the passport office. As the couple was getting ready to leave, the assistant lowered his voice and said that he felt compelled to tell them something “off the record.” He turned to Eleanor and asked if she and her husband had children. She replied that they had two young children at home in Philadelphia.

She was not prepared for what came next. “I do not think you should go to Germany. In fact, I urge you most strongly not to go,” the State Department official told her. She and Gil listened intently as he explained about the chaotic conditions that currently existed in Germany. He warned them that war in Europe could break out at any time, and if it did, Americans might find it difficult to get out. Hearing this, Eleanor felt the same jolt of fear that she had experienced when Gil first mentioned the plan in January. For the moment, Americans traveling in Germany were “reasonably safe,” added Messersmith’s assistant. “However, I cannot advise any woman, including any American woman, to enter Germany at this time. The consequences may be too dangerous and too serious.”

He acknowledged that the State Department could not refuse to provide Eleanor with a passport nor could it legally forbid her from going to Germany. “I have no official right to even be telling you all these things. But I advise you, in fact I plead with you, not to go,” he urged her.

The assistant’s words came as a bombshell. It was one thing for Jewish community leaders and others to try and talk Gil out of moving ahead with the rescue plan. But a warning from a State Department official about the dangers of traveling to Nazi Germany was an entirely different matter. “We picked up our passports and left the State Department,” wrote Eleanor. “We were late, and we dashed into a taxi and drove as quickly as possible to the station for our train back to Philadelphia.”

Once aboard the late-afternoon train, the couple headed straight to the club car and ordered a round of drinks. Eleanor was still shaken. She took a sip from her drink, looked at her husband, and said, “Now what?” Gil stared down into his glass, took a long swallow, and then looked back up at his wife. “One thing is for sure,” he said. “You cannot go.”

Gil and Eleanor ordered another round of drinks and continued to fret. Gil had been counting on Eleanor to assist with the work that would have to get done in Europe. There was no way that he would be able to take care of everything by himself. Gil also confessed to a more personal reason for not wanting to travel to Europe alone. “I couldn’t live over there by myself without anybody to talk to, to work with, to go out with,” Gil told his wife. She nodded in agreement, knowing full well that her husband could not be expected to execute the plan on his own. But how could they ask somebody to step into her place, particularly on such short notice and under such potentially dangerous circumstances?

As the train pulled into Philadelphia’s Thirtieth Street Station, a thought suddenly occurred to Eleanor. She turned to Gil and exclaimed: “Bob Schless!” It took a few moments for Eleanor’s excited suggestion to sink in. Gil looked at his wife and said, “That’s a brilliant idea!”

Gil and Eleanor had known Doctor Robert Schless for years. He was their children’s pediatrician and was also one of Philadelphia’s most respected doctors. Coincidentally he also happened to speak fluent German. Schless’s father, Samuel, had emigrated from Odessa in the 1880s while his mother, Julia, was a native of Austria. The Schlesses were Jewish, but like the Krauses, they were hardly religious. Bob Schless, who was born in Wilmington, Delaware, but grew up in Philadelphia, greatly admired the Quakers and for much of his life had adhered closely to Quaker teachings and principles.

He was a few years older than Gil, and both men had graduated from Philadelphia’s Central High School. From there Schless enrolled at Jefferson Medical College, which in those years allowed students to enter medical school directly after high school. After obtaining his medical degree in 1916, Schless eagerly accepted an invitation from the British Army to serve in the Royal Army Medical Corps, where he was assigned to a military base outside of London. He later enlisted in the U.S. Navy, where he became one of the nation’s first flight surgeons. In the years after World War I, Schless made a name for himself in pediatric medicine and, in 1925, was appointed to the post of assistant pediatrician at Philadelphia General Hospital. He later became chief of pediatrics at the city’s highly regarded Jewish Hospital. Along the way, he had gotten married, though by the spring of 1939 Schless was a widower with three sons at home.

Riding in the taxi back to Cypress Street, Gil and Eleanor grew more excited about the prospect of Bob accompanying Gil to Germany. “Imagine having a pediatrician on a trip like this,” said Eleanor. “Assuming you will get the children, think how wonderful it will be to have a pediatrician to travel with, to examine the children and take care of all their ills.” Of course, one big question still remained: Would Bob Schless even consider the idea?

It did not take very long to find out. The following afternoon, Gil and Eleanor seated themselves in the small waiting room outside Schless’s office in the Medical Arts Building on Walnut Street, three blocks away from Gil’s law office. A tall, slender man with thinning brown hair who favored gold wire-rimmed glasses and perfectly knotted bow ties, Schless arrived a few minutes ahead of his first patient and cheerfully invited the Krauses into his office. They wasted no time on pleasantries and breathlessly launched into the reason for their visit.