Bombing Hitler Page 18
From the beginning, Elser was adept at reining in the curiosity around him with his little white lie about an “invention,” thereby achieving his desired objectives of secrecy and respect. In March 1939, he started preparing for the move to Munich. He had planned for the eventuality that the Waldenmaier Company might not release him, and so he placed a personal ad in a Munich newspaper seeking marriage to “a young lady or widow with apartment.” His intention was to take a response to the ad to the employment office and present it as proof that he was moving to Munich and getting married. He in fact received two responses, but since he found that he could move to Munich anyway, the marriage ruse was no longer necessary.
The Schmauders in Schnaitheim were in the best position to observe Elser closely during these final three months before his move to Munich. Elser was, according to a report given by Berta Schmauder: “very handy, he helped them carry the furniture into the new addition; he was helpful, modest, pleasant, reliable, and punctual. He was extremely hard-working. They [the Schmauders] could not recall ever seeing him just sitting around. They also could not recall seeing him eating. Around noon he would just say, ‘I’m going out now—I’ll be right back.’ Then he disappeared and came back a little while later. They assumed that he ate in a pub.”
Karoline Schmauder was also struck by something else: “During this period he [Elser] always seemed to be thinking about something, and it often happened that if you were sitting next to him and asked him a question he wouldn’t even hear it and didn’t answer. He was always complaining about headaches back then, too, which had to be caused by all that thinking.”
This perceptive observation made the connection between his concentration on the assassination and his isolation, which was essential to his purpose. Around the beginning of August Elser became ill, exhibiting psychosomatic symptoms resulting from the continued tension. The things that he could not discuss with anyone he had to work out in his head, and it was clearly taking its toll on him.
Under such conditions Elser’s relationship with Elsa Hãrlen had no chance. Elsa moved in with her parents in Jebenhausen and worked in Esslingen. The two visited each other from time to time, but Elsa found that he sometimes seemed strange to her. Something was going on inside him that was bothering him, but he wouldn’t talk about it. When she confronted him, asking why a skilled craftsman would go to work in a quarry, Elser told her he was only doing it temporarily because he had to go to Munich.
During his last visit in Stuttgart in early 1939, he took one last photograph of Elsa, which he would keep on his table in the concentration camp at Sachsenhausen. Twenty years later she recalled him fondly: “He wasn’t tall, just medium height, but he had pretty black hair and artistic hands that were smaller than mine. He took my hands in his, then hugged me and said, ‘Else, wait for me—be faithful to me! I have to do something, I can’t tell you what, but it will turn out well and it has to be done. I want to marry you when it’s all over, and then we’ll leave and go to Switzerland!’ Then he sobbed openly and couldn’t say another word.”
In Munich, Elser was so absorbed by his work on the assassination that he did not maintain contact with Elsa. In her love letters she asked him where he was working and how much he was making, and remarked bitterly that he wouldn’t answer her questions. So in December 1939, she married another man, who soon became a casualty of the war that Elser had wanted to prevent.
When Georg Elser moved to Munich, he took his wooden suitcase with the explosives and the detonator parts on the train with him. He had his boxes of tools and clothes shipped separately. On August 4, he rode his bicycle to Königsbronn to visit his father and say good-bye. On the way, his friend Eugen Rau saw him and called him over. After the usual small talk, Elser blurted out to him in dialect: “Times ain’t gonna get better in Germany, the future ain’t gonna be no better till this government gets blowed sky high. And I’m tellin’ ya, I’m gonna do it—I am,” to which Eugen answered, “Hey, Georg, you can’t do that!” Georg then said: “Just you don’t tell nobody, okay!” Similarly, Josef Schurr recalled Georg’s parting words: “[I would] soon read his name in the papers if his plan succeeded. . . . But he asked me not to repeat that remark.”
XVII
Night Work in the Bürgerbräukeller
ON AUGUST 5, 1939, Georg Elser arrives at the main train station in Munich with his huge wooden suitcase full of explosives. It’s a bit like a scene from the theater of the absurd. The assassin takes the lethal case down from the baggage net and lugs it past unsuspecting passengers. He has a baggage handler take him in his small delivery van to the room he has rented from Joseph Baumann, a tax official; it is located on the second floor of Blumenstrasse 19, south of Marienplatz. It is a pleasant, almost luxurious furnished room, large but unsuitable for Elser’s purposes; he won’t be able to do any work on his construction there or make sketches—the furniture is too elegant. The rent is soon too much for him—35 marks a month for rent and 20 marks for breakfast—and he must save his money. So he soon looks for cheaper, simpler lodgings in which he will be undisturbed; but when he moves, he leaves on good terms with the Baumanns. He looks in on Frau Baumann from time to time and, in keeping with his custom, offers to barter odd jobs for a meal.
First, Elser has to wait until his other suitcases arrive with his tools and clothes. He varies his cover story for being in Munich: He says he is taking a master’s course in woodworking and working on an invention. The people here want to know more, but Elser keeps quiet. The first difficulties arise when he starts staying out over-night, catching up on his sleep during the day on the sofa. Explaining this change in his habits requires all his acting skills: Since he is working on his invention, he says, he has to spend the night outdoors on a bench. This is an odd excuse, since it would no longer have worked once winter came. The image of the eccentric takes root, but at least Elser achieves peace and quiet. And he is always handy, helping out here and there; he is quiet and friendly and pays his rent in advance.
Within a few weeks the shadows of war catch up with Elser. On August 28, the first food ration stamps are issued; at first bread, flour, and potatoes are exempted. The explanation given for the rationing is that the Poles are mobilizing, but there will surely be no war. There is no word about German preparations for war, but the first draft notices start to appear in mailboxes. Women storm the shops. Soon they will have to get training in areas important to a war effort, such as antigas defense and medical service. Economizing on food becomes a high priority, and low-budget recipes are in demand. With the start of the war in Poland on September 1, 1939, there are mandatory blackouts. Foreign radio stations are now called “enemy stations”; from this point on listening to them is considered “sedition” and a punishable offense. On the same day, Hitler signs the decree approving euthanasia. After this, he will sign no further orders to kill. Two days later, the first air-raid trenches start cropping up—they are useless but provide work. One particular measure hits the people of Munich especially hard: a ten-pfennig war tax on beer. By comparison, a workman’s meal at the Bürgerbräukeller costs sixty pfennigs.
There are some in Munich who are not taken in by all the war activities. In the district called Berg am Laim behind the East train station, at Schweppermannstrasse 9, the Communist locksmith and building superintendent Karl Zimmet produces leaflets—an approach Elser never considered. In an August leaflet Zimmet issues a call to action: Anyone wanting to protect himself and others from war “must protest this abominable war and do everything possible to prevent it. Anyone opposing the warmonger Hitler and his Nazi system is part of the struggle to stop the war. Anyone fighting against Hitler’s criminal war is fighting for Germany.” It is powerful language, but without any practical consequences. How should one protest? How can one express opposition without immediately landing in Dachau? Besides, things like this don’t bother Hitler and his military machine in the slightest. The calls for action in flyers like this are of no use.
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nbsp; It works to Elser’s advantage that he is not a Moscow-style Communist Party member; on August 23, 1939, Stalin and Hitler sign their nonaggression pact, and Poland is divided. Until Hitler’s attack on the Soviet Union, the Communists are politically crippled. For this reason alone they were never able to identify with Elser’s attack, even after much time had passed; they chose to maintain their silence regarding the woodworker at the Bürgerbräukeller.
For the next few weeks Elser strolls through the Munich district of Maxvorstadt. On Türkenstrasse he finds a cheap room. He is probably unaware, and likely doesn’t even notice, that this street lies in the midst of a particularly “brown” area, which voted predominately National Socialist even before 1933. Today, standing as a small symbol of history’s revenge is a Georg-Elser-Platz, located between Türkenstrasse 68 and 68a—a diminutive square, but still recognizable.
At Türkenstrasse 94, Elser sees a note hanging from the doorbell on the street: “Cheap lodging. Inquire at Lehmann, 3rd floor.” He makes a good impression: He seems quiet and modest; he asks about the price and is satisfied with the rate of four marks per week, 17.50 per month. It is really only half a room, more of a storage room between the kitchen and the front door to the apartment, but this doesn’t bother him. This tiny space, measuring seven feet by sixteen feet, later on will be converted into a bathroom, with a view of the rear courtyard.
Georg Elser arrives with several suitcases and boxes, which he is allowed to store in the cellar. He keeps only the suitcase with the explosives with him, but he has to put it out in the hall because there is not enough space in his room for it. The room is big enough only for a small wardrobe, a desk, and a bed. One Sunday morning the Lehmanns return home unexpectedly early. Elser has just opened his assassin’s suitcase and is looking through his sketches; startled, he throws them back into the suitcase and slams it shut.
He is a bit strange, almost spooky, this “inventor and artist in woodworking,” as he had introduced himself. Alfons Lehmann, a paper hanger and upholsterer, calls him their “private creep” because he moves around so quietly that they don’t hear him. Elser is withdrawn and doesn’t talk much. His being away at night doesn’t seem to bother them. Then he stays in bed during the day. He manages to keep them placated by always paying his rent in advance. He has no visitors, and certainly no women visitors. He is not allowed to lock his room—Rosa Lehmann wants to clean and make the bed. He keeps all his boxes and suitcases locked. Soon Elser will need a workshop and the assistance of craftsmen.
On the night of the eighth or ninth of August 1939, he gets down to work for the first time in the Bürgerbräukeller. With his love of order he soon establishes a specific routine. As he did at the pubs in Heidenheim, he has a favorite table here in the Bürgerbräustübl, at which he has supper sometime after eight: It is the middle table, where he is always waited on by a waitress named Berta. He usually orders the simplest meal for sixty pfennigs and has one beer with it— he is not a big eater and a noticeably moderate drinker.
Around ten he pays, then strolls through the cloakroom into the hall, which is not locked. He checks the room to be sure that no one is there by carefully walking to the other end of the hall; only then does he climb up to the gallery. He quickly disappears into a storage space, which is behind a folding screen. The only things stored here are cardboard boxes, for who knows what purpose. Fortunately, there is also a chair there, on which Elser can doze for a while after three or four hours of highly concentrated night labors.
Elser appears so much to belong there that he is never stopped by anyone. Soon enough, the staff consider him one of the regulars. After war begins, there is no emergency light in the hall because of the blackouts, so Elser must use a flashlight covered with a blue handkerchief to dim its light. Soon a team of medics occupies a side room—Munich is expecting air attacks. But this group just makes coffee in the morning next to the podium where the band usually plays during special functions.
Shortly before the hall closes for the night, the cigarette girl feeds the cats that roam the hall. This poses no problem for Elser—unlike the night watchman’s dog. But Elser knows how to win the trust of the dog—he brings him a piece of meat from his dinner every night. It’s an extravagance that pays off and demonstrates Elser’s ability to think ahead strategically. One night, the watchman sends his dog across the gallery. Recognizing Elser’s scent, the dog is happy and doesn’t bark; the watchman has to call him back from the dark area several times, and he comes slowly, wagging his tail. The night watchman just wants his peace and quiet, and prefers to make nothing of this behavior.
Another danger presents itself in August. Early one morning, an employee of the beer hall comes to the storage space unexpectedly to get a box; he sees Elser, but then disappears without saying any-thing. In a flash Elser recognizes the danger, goes out, and sits down at a table, pretending to write—Elser, who rarely wrote a letter. The employee returns with the manager, who questions Elser. Elser has already thought up an excuse: He says he has a boil on his thigh and wanted to squeeze it in there. All right then, why not in the lavatory? Elser’s answer: He can’t bring himself to—it’s too embarrassing. And now, he says, he’s writing a letter. He manages to pull it off and is just sent out into the courtyard, where he orders a coffee. Fortunately, he is not banned from the establishment. And now the boss knows him, too.
The hall is locked up for the night sometime between 10:30 and 11:30 p.m.; the key turning in the lock three times is clearly audible. Up until that time locals use the hall as a shortcut between Rosenheimer Strasse and Kellerstrasse. Elser waits awhile to see if anyone is hiding there, perhaps a pair of lovers or a vagrant. Only when he is absolutely certain that no one is there does he go up onto the gallery to the column located behind the speaker’s platform and get to work.
In the morning, too, after the hall is opened sometime between 7:00 and 8:00, he stays hidden for a time. Later on in Berlin he will state to the Gestapo for the record the simple principle behind his camouflage: “When I was leaving the hall, I made sure not to appear cautious—so that I wouldn’t arouse any suspicions.” Elser is an absolute master at feigning natural behavior.
In the initial phase of his nocturnal labors Elser creates a door in the wood paneling on the column, close to the bottom. Here the woodworker is in his element. First he loosens the wood strip on the baseboard, then he saws off the upper molding on the paneling. Now he can saw a board in the base of the column at the bottom of the paneling in such a way that the cuts are not visible when the molding is replaced. From the piece of paneling he sawed out, Elser fashions a door using hinges not visible from the outside, then installs a bolt that can only be opened by inserting a pocketknife into a slot.
According to the Gestapo, Elser gave a vivid description of the process: “It took me about three nights to build the door. But then I was able to get right down to work as soon as I opened the door, and after I was done working for the night, all I had to do was close the door in order to conceal the fact that there was any activity going on in the pillar. Even if somebody had examined the pillar closely during the day, he would not have noticed any difference at all.”
So one-tenth of his nocturnal activity is spent on creating the door. When he starts to dig out a bomb chamber in the column, Elser at first uses a chisel, but it makes too much noise. In the empty room—which has the best acoustics of any hall in Munich—the banging becomes cause for alarm. So he opts for a hand drill with a chisel bit. On three occasions, as the hole becomes deeper, he has a metalworker by the name of M. Solleder, with a shop at Türkenstrasse 59, weld an exten-sion onto the bit. He opens up side cavities using a special chisel. He is able to get everything he needs for his work with ease from local shops or craftsmen. Over the course of time he has dealings with more than a dozen small businesses. No one suspects what he is actually planning. Once when he is in the workshop of the woodworker Johann Brög, located at Türkenstrasse 59, a girl, seeing the box of ge
ars in front of him and growing curious, asks him what they’re for. Elser answers meaningfully: “They’s gonna be a patent, little girl, they’s gonna be a patent.”
Georg Elser progresses slowly. He has to use all his strength to press the drill into the brick and bore hole after hole. He is an artisan of delicate build, not a laborer. He wraps the tools in rags in order to minimize the sound. But when he breaks out a piece of masonry, he has to wait for some kind of noise from outside, usually the flushing of toilets, which occurs automatically every ten minutes.
Every night he is on edge, listening intently, worrying that someone might hear. By the dim light of his flashlight (he has to change the batteries frequently), Elser spends night after night kneeling because he has placed the bomb chamber as close as possible to the floor of the gallery. Given the dimensions of the opening—70 cm. by 90 cm. (27 1/2” x 35 1/2”)—it is an exhausting undertaking. After two months, he develops pus-filled sores on his knees, forcing him to seek medical treatment and then several days in bed. Because of the difficulties, it takes Elser until the end of October to finish hollowing out the chamber.
Georg Elser’s reproduction of his explosive device. Right: Side view showing the two clock mechanisms. Left: Side view showing the sleigh, which drives three nails into firing caps of cartridges. The powder charges in the cartridges cause the explosion.
He scrapes out the debris using a special tool, collects it on a small carpet in front of the hole, then hides it in one of the boxes in the storage room on the gallery. Every few days he shows up with a small suitcase, transfers the debris into it, and then walks down to the Isar River with it. Before he finishes his night shift he meticulously sweeps up the remaining dust from the floor. Elser is an exceptionally conscientious workman, who truly thinks of everything.