The oldest bar in Germany is Prater Biergarten. It opened in Berlin in 1837, which means it was around in 1914 when Germany invaded Belgium, and in 1939 when German tanks rolled into Poland. Outside the main building, there are large chestnut trees in a garden that holds more than 600. Before, during,= and after those wars, people came, drank heavily, danced, listened to folk music, and watched the occasional boxing tournament. Like at any bar or pub here in America, such gatherings are loud, raucous affairs where everything from politics to culture to sports is discussed. And through it all, for the past 187 years, the bar stayed open … mostly. “Berlin’s Prater closed,” its website reads, “when Adolf Hitler declared all-out war.”
In April 1932, the National Socialists had just gained 230 seats. While they weren’t a majority, they had won more seats in the Reichstag than any other party. There were predictions of violence, but the election went off without a hitch — more than 83% of qualified voters cast ballots. The presidential election was scheduled for the end of July. It was springtime and summer in Germany, so the days between those two elections were long, the tables at Prater Biergarten were full, and the garden was awash in conversation and beer and energy. I imagine this was the place you would have heard something resembling “Tomorrow Belongs to Me,” from “Cabaret,” from some young Nazi or even a lone waiter so overcome with love for the new Germany that he’d break into song. There were those who supported Hitler, those fed up with the direction of Germany and furious about its humiliation after World War I, and those, no doubt, with no interest in politics, just there for a beer, and were convinced none of the presidential candidates — Paul von Hindenburg, Adolf Hitler and Ernst Thälmann — would make a Deutsche Mark’s worth of difference in their lives. I imagine, too, others were there — those not at all certain Germany’s institutions would hold if Hitler was elected and convinced that if the German people did not spit him out from the body politic, it would be Germany’s last election.
Let’s call one of them Oliver.
“Ollie,” I can hear his friends say, “what are you worried about? We have laws, courts. Besides, Jews are everywhere. What’s Hitler going to do, round them all up and send them away somewhere? He is a small man, a megalomaniac, a failure as an artist. If he gets in, he’ll never be allowed to do what he says he wants to do. We have safeguards. You’re overreacting. But if he wins, he wins. What’s the worst that can happen? He’ll make us feel good about being Germans again. Is that so bad? He’ll trash Versailles. Good! Von Hindenburg is too old. We’ll be fine.”
“Are you verrückt? This country is losing its mind,” Oliver would counter. “Do you remember the Beer Hall Putsch less than 10 years ago? That was a dress rehearsal. His outrages and excesses are now normal, accepted. He speaks to the cynical darkness in this country. He said, ‘I’ll be the brains of Germany.’ Who says things like that?”
“He’s a politician. They all think and say things like that.”
“You’re missing the point!” I can hear Oliver scream.
“He’ll have to build coalitions to govern. Stop worrying. And he probably didn’t say it anyway. The press makes stuff up.”
“This is not going to end well,” Oliver says.
“So what are you going to do if he wins?”
“Leave.”
“C’mon,” another friend at the table would say. “Even if you’re right — and you’re not — by leaving, they win. And you’re not Jewish. They’re not even coming for you. Most importantly, you are the kind of person we need here. If the worst happens, and it won’t, I am staying and fighting. They are not throwing me out of my country, putting me in a camp. Ich liebe Deutschland.”
I can imagine Oliver going home after that evening and punching a wall, or crying, or packing. Back at Prater, there was more drinking, more dancing, more wondering what had gotten into Oliver.
In 1933, even though von Hindenburg would ultimately defeat Hitler in the presidential election — and defeat him handily —Hindenburg named him chancellor, thinking Hitler could be controlled and mollified.
In 1934, Hindenburg died.
You know what happened next.
Albert Einstein, when he left Germany for the California Institute of Technology, said to Elsa, his second wife, “Take a good look around. You will never see it again.”
Scientists like Hans Bethe, John von Neumann, Leo Szilard, James Franck, Edward Teller, Rudolf Peierls and Klaus Fuchs got out as well. Between 1933 and 1940, approximately 38,000 Jews left for France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark, Czechoslovakia, and Switzerland, thinking they’d be safe. In the Holocaust Encyclopedia, there is this line about the scientists and the “Olivers” in Germany: “Jews who were politically active were especially likely to emigrate.”
By 1941, nobody was allowed to leave.
There is a tyrant in our midst. For some people, the tyrant is easy to see. Others don’t see him at all. Some people say the tyrant is a strong man who will make us great again. Others say he’s vicious and dangerous. Since no one can really be sure who’s right, isn’t it smart to be as strong as the tyrant? If there is a tyrant.
Hitler wasn’t Hitler until he was der Führer.
Barry Friedman is an essayist, political columnist, petroleum geology reporter — quit laughing — and comedian living in Tulsa, Okla. His latest book, “Jack Sh*t: Volume One: Voluptuous Bagels and other Concerns of Jack Friedman” is out and the follow-up, “Jack Sh*t, Volume 2: Wait For The Movie. It’s In Color” will be released in July. In addition, he is the author of “Road Comic,” “Funny You Should Mention It,” “Four Days and a Year Later,” “The Joke Was On Me,” and a novel, “Jacob Fishman’s Marriages.” See barrysfriedman.com and friedmanoftheplains.com.
From The Progressive Populist, June 15, 2024
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