Origins: The Reich (10 page)

“And through the distress, and as I stand here now, there is no doubt that the German people have been aroused.  Externally perhaps apathetic, but within there is ferment. And many may say, ‘It is an accursed crime to stir up passions in the people’. And then I say to myself that passion is already stirred through the rising tide of distress. One day this passion will break out in one way or another.”

“Now I would ask those like that cowardly mouse,” he said pointing back to the exit door, “WHAT THEN HAVE YOU TO GIVE TO THE PEOPLE AS A FAITH TO WHICH IT MIGHT CLING?  Nothing at all, for they themselves have no faith in their own prescriptions.”

“That is the mightiest thing which this movement must create for these widespread, seeking and straying masses.  This movement must create a new faith that will not fail the masses in this hour of confusion.  This movement must create a faith which they can pledge themselves, on which they can build so that they may at least find once again a place which may bring calm to their hearts,” the admirable man concluded while standing in the center of the beer hall as master of the room.

A spontaneous eruption of cheers and applause threatened to blow the roof off the establishment.  The patriotic passion in the room was so thick and strong a knife would have been worn dull before cutting into it.  Tomal was there to observe and if needed disrupt the activities, but instead he felt compelled to join this movement of unity.

Drexler spoke no further that evening, there was no point or need.  Everything he could have hoped to accomplish had already been done by the improvised speech delivered by a speaker possessing a once in a generation talent.

Tomal watched from the bar where he nursed a beer for the next two hours as countless crowd members lavished accolades upon the awkward, thin man with the bushy mustache.  Drexler himself approached the man and thrust a booklet into his hands entitled
My Political Awakening
.  With the gift came an implied offer of membership into the German Workers’ Party that the speaker was quite happy to accept.

Finally, at the tail end of the evening, when only a few individuals remained in the beer hall, Tomal found an opportunity to introduce himself to the bold speaker.

“You’re here late my friend,” the man said.

“I wanted to be sure and thank you for catching me earlier,” Tomal began and offered an outstretched hand.  “My name is Joseph Goebbels.”

“Adolf Hitler,” the other man replied and took his hand with an iron grip accompanied with a warm, enduring smile.

“I like what you said, and you said it well,” Tomal commended.  “Can I buy you a drink while you tell me more of your ideas?”

Tomal shifted in
his seat for what had to be the twentieth time in the last five minutes.  The solid oak chair was uncomfortable with its rigid back and complete lack of padding.  Most uncomfortable of all though was its positioning along the perimeter of Anton Drexler’s dining room.  The German Workers’ Party leader had invited the organization’s executive committee to his home for a planning meeting, and Tomal did not have a seat at the table.  Not yet at least, but that stood to change in the next few days if all went well this evening.

Perhaps that is what had Tomal squirming in his seat.  There was a lot riding on the next few minutes as the roundtable of committee updates made its way around the room.  Next up was the newly appointed Chief of Propaganda, the man who invited Tomal to attend the meeting as a silent observer.

Over the past month, Tomal and Hitler had drawn up a bold new direction for the fledgling political party; a course of action that would catapult them to the forefront of German politics if executed correctly.  It was a good plan, one that proposed a series of alterations ranging from minute subtleties to monumental shifts in strategy and behavior.  Even great plans often required talented salesmen to pitch the idea.  That notion actually brought Tomal’s anxiety level back under control since the individual tasked with delivering the plan was the best he’d ever seen at moving individuals to follow his lead.

“Thank you Herr Richter for the update on our current financial situation,” Drexler said in a voice struggling to remain engaged.  Hearing an accountant drone on about debits and credits for a half hour could put a woman in labor to sleep.  This left the room somewhat distracted and more agreeable toward the final speaker in the hopes of bringing the meeting to an end.  It was a slight advantage at best, but one worth capitalizing on since it simply required choosing the proper chair in the reporting order.

“Finally, let’s hear from our Chief of Propaganda.  Herr Hitler, do you have anything to report before we adjourn?” Drexler asked with his voice pleading for a negative response.

“Actually I do,” Adolf began with his eyes passing over each executive committee member sitting around the rectangular table.  He was sporting a new look with his mustache for tonight’s meeting.  The once broad and bushy facial feature used to extend across his entire upper lip.  Now it was trimmed short and narrowed only to the width of his nose. 

Adolf claimed the change was for comfort, but Tomal sensed it had more to do with a movie the two had seen in the theater a week earlier.  The silent film featured the American, Charlie Chaplin, with the exact same mustache.  There were worse celebrities to emulate Tomal supposed as Adolf went on to present their plan of action.

“You appointed me as Chief of Propaganda because the crowds respond to my speeches.  I have been delivering our rhetoric for over a year now and our party membership still remains fewer than one hundred.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself, it takes time,” Drexler offered in support.

Hitler snapped his head back in surprise and insult.  “The fault does not lie with me.  I blame our inconsistent message and lack of clear identity for the people to recognize.  As such, I have some changes that need to be made.”

“Such as…?” Drexler prompted.

In response, Hitler rose to his feet, pulled a bundle of red fabric from his briefcase and unfurled it across the table for all to see.  Tomal’s eyes widened in surprise because the flag had been altered slightly from what he had seen the day before, and he definitely approved of the changes.

“This flag, and banners of similar design, will be displayed at every party event,” Hitler explained.  “It includes the three revered colors which graced the glorious flag of our old German Reich: red, white, and black.  The field of red connotates the social idea of our movement.  The white disk in the center represents our nationalistic idea, and the ‘Thunder Cross’ in the center informs us of our mission and struggle for the Aryan man.”

His ‘Thunder Cross’ was the old Celtic swastika, and its use was a masterful stroke.  The version Tomal drew up had the bent arms of the swastika running parallel to the edges of the flag.  This version gave the symbol a quarter turn bringing the tips of the clockwise bending arms to point up, down, left and right.  The subtle shift gave the object a sense of movement, and was the perfect symbol for changes they sought to bring about.  The final stroke of brilliance was making the black swastika thick and bold relative to the white disk, just like the actions he would propose.  Tomal liked the flag very much, as did everyone else in the room; it was adopted immediately and without dissent.

“Next.  Gentlemen, I propose a subtle yet necessary change to our party’s name.  The name German Workers’ Party says nothing of our goal, or for what we stand.  The new, more descriptive name will be the National Socialist German Workers’ Party; Nazi for short.  It’s descriptive, and most important of all, it is catchy and memorable.”

This proposal met silence as every eye in the room fell upon Herr Drexler.  This was his party.  He founded it, nurtured it into existence and named it.  This was his decision to make and everyone, even the domineering man who put forth the suggestion, waited in silence for his decision.

Anton Drexler casually removed his circle-framed glasses, drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket, and proceeded to clean his lenses in silent contemplation.  Once finished, he held the spectacles up to the light with both hands for inspection.  Satisfied with the result, he placed the glasses back on his face and looked upon Adolf Hitler with a pleasant smile.  “I accept your suggested name change and abbreviation.  From this day forward, we are now officially the Nazi party.  Is there anything else?”

“One more, and far less controversial, item,” Hitler said, almost as if he regretted to make further imposition.  Tomal sat up straight in his uncomfortable chair because this was the pivotal moment of the evening.  All of their future plans hinged on this last request, and Adolf had set it up perfectly.  He wowed them with his masterful flag.  He then dazed Drexler with a mighty blow to the party name, and now he sought to sneak a comparative jab past the staggered party leader.

“We need to be more than words.  We need to have action in the community; outreach to help our fellow German.”

“What do you suggest?” Drexler asked.  “We already provide meals at our meetings.”

“I would like Herr Goebbels to organize and lead a new sports division for the party,” Hitler offered with an extended arm toward Tomal seated along the perimeter of the room.  “We shall strengthen their bodies.  Show them the true power contained within an Aryan man while teaching them proper values.  Plus, it will give our youth a constructive place to focus their energies and idle time.”

Tomal wanted to let loose a great big ‘WHOOP’ when the executive committee unanimously agreed with the proposal.  Instead, he made do with some polite congratulatory handshakes upon the meeting’s conclusion.  When Tomal grasped Hitler’s handshake the authoritative man pulled him in close for a few words whispered into his ear, “Bring in your men and get to work.”

“We start tomorrow,” Tomal beamed.

**********

Tomal stood in the middle of the street at the vanguard of a sea of young men loyal to his Nazi party.  Every one of them wore brown pants with a matching button up brown shirt and brown cap.  The only splash of contrasting color on their uniform came from the bright red bands of fabric around their left arms displaying the Nazi party’s swastika logo on a white disk.

Officially, they were the party’s sports division, which happened to focus almost exclusively on boxing, shooting, and martial arts.  Unofficially, they had become known as the storm detachment division charged with party security; defense.  Tonight, however, they would test their considerable offensive prowess for the first time.

Before the mass of five hundred Brownshirts stood the Lowenbraukeller, the primary meeting hall in Munich for the Bavarian League.  The rival political party was led by Otto Ballerstedt, a man of considerable speaking ability who assailed the Nazi party at every turn.  He spoke nightly to large crowds and was utterly relentless in his offensive rhetoric toward Hitler, Drexler, and the entire Nazi party. 

Hitler considered Ballerstedt to be his most dangerous opponent in all of Germany as he siphoned large sections of the nationalist voting block away from the Nazis.  The man was talented and commanded much influence, but he did have a glaring weakness.  He was honorable and insisted upon playing the game of politics strictly by the rules.  Herr Ballerstedt played the game very well, which meant it was time for the Nazis to change the rules of the game.

“Secure the perimeter while we take the stage.  No guns though,” Tomal ordered and thrust his arm toward the building to initiate a wave of violent Brownshirts upon the Bavarian League meeting.

Twenty tall, strong young men remained and formed a circle around Tomal and Adolf Hitler as they strutted through the building entrance and into the main meeting hall.  Inside they found well over a thousand men and women filling a standing room only hall to hear Ballerstedt deliver a speech from the central stage.

Dozens of scuffles broke out around the perimeter where Tomal’s men imposed their will upon those in their way.  Any resistance was quickly squashed with the Brownshirts ganging up on the resistors ten against one.  They proceeded to beat the hell out of the agitators to deliver a powerful message to any others in the crowd fostering rebellious thoughts.

High pitched shrieks and feminine screams at the sight of such violence were quickly muted when Tomal led his circle of security through the middle of the grand hall.  He jumped up onto a chair and shouted at the top of his lungs, “We will hear no more of your lies.  Yield the stage to a true German, a true advocate for the working men of Germany who stand proud of their revered heritage.”

“Get off the stage!  Get off the stage!” Tomal’s men chanted with raised fists from all around the room.

Hitler continued walking toward the stage with his twenty bodyguards who made quick work of Ballerstedt’s protectors.  The man himself defiantly stood his ground, daring Hitler and his men to harm him, which they did.  Dozens of punches and kicks landed upon Otto Ballerstedt’s person before he was finally hoisted into the air and tossed off the stage and into the audience.

“Strength through unity, strength through action,” Tomal shouted while down among the crowd.  His men immediately picked up his chant.  Their cries grew so loud that Tomal did not even hear the sound of a police whistle right behind him.

Three sets of arms grabbed hold of Tomal, wrestled him off the chair to the ground, and placed him in handcuffs.  This sent the entire chamber into an uproar and triggered a stampede for the exits.  Brownshirts and Bavarian League members alike fled the scene to avoid arrest as Tomal, Hitler, and a handful of their youth supporters were led away in handcuffs while Otto Ballerstedt lay bloody and unconscious on the floor.

Outside, on their way to the paddy wagon, the police commissioner put a halt to their progress and stepped up into Hitler’s face.  “What the hell did you hope to accomplish with this lawlessness?  Inciting a riot, bludgeoning a man half to death among his supporters; you must be mad.”

Hitler glanced over his shoulder toward the Lowenbraukeller establishment, then turned up his nose and shrugged off the comment with a defiant snarl.  “The only supporters I saw in that room were mine.  No one came to his aid; that man has no supporters at all.  Jail does not matter.  We got what we wanted, Ballerstedt did not speak.”

And likely won’t ever again,
Tomal thought as the escorting officers prodded them forward once more.