A Gnostic Childhood

   Part XIII

          Berlin 1953-54

         Zwillingeschule and Herr Gueth

Our teacher was a one-legged, chain-smoking, war veteran named Herr Gueth. His full name was Gustav Gueth and he was a "Socialist" in the Marxist sense. We didn't like each other right from the beginning. I don't know what it was about him that I despised but it definitely wasn't his smoking in the class-room. In fact, if I could find anything likeable about him I would have to say that it was his smoking, as I always, from the earliest days of my childhood, loved the smell of cigarettes, cigars or pipe smoke and couldn't wait to be old and daring enough to buy my own cigarettes and smoke to my heart's content. 

No, this man rubbed me the wrong way, perhaps, because he was a pronounced "proletarian," who constantly raved about the evils of National Socialism. Somehow he must have sensed my spiritual and mental connection to the "Third Reich," and detested me probably even more than I detested him. His hair was long and combed back in a way which was highly unusual in those days and only worn like that by Communists and radical Socialists. Most of the time he was unshaven and bushy hair grew out of his nose and ears. In other words, he looked exactly like the image he wanted to project, which was that of a member of that dubious class in orthodox Marxism  called "Proletariat." 

Wearing cheap suits without tie, but with the shirt collar folded over the suit jacket collar, he looked exactly like many of the functionaries in East Berlin. The prostheses on the above the knee stump of his left leg must have given him some incredible pain, as he had to remove it sometimes during class. Occasionally, when he was in the right frame of mind, he would tell us about his "Landser" (Soldier) days on the Russian Front. But even these stories seemed distorted to me because he constantly interjected them with derogatory comments about the German Army. 

Still, despite my doubts, I did learn quite a bit about the war on the Eastern Front from his stories. He talked about the incredibly deep mud, after the late spring thaw, which made it virtually impossible to even walk through it as it would swallow up people and equipment. Also he spoke about the merciless execution of partisans when they were caught and how he loathed that practice, because he sympathized with them. Yet he failed to point out that these "partisans" would do the same thing to any German soldier, no matter what his political beliefs were. Being one of those people who see things only in "black" and "white," everything he told us was thus from the perspective of a Marxist true believer. The partisans were the good guys and the German soldiers were the bad guys.

 Even as a child I could see through his propaganda talks and would sometimes ask him uncomfortable questions which visibly upset him. After one of his talks I asked him: "Why are you living in West Berlin instead of East Berlin?" To which he replied something like, "I am a Socialist, a Social Democrat and would never have anything to do with those "Stalinists." Which seemed very contradictory to me since he praised the Soviet "partisans" which killed German soldiers behind the lines, and had nothing but praise for the Soviet Union during the war. He definitely didn't strike me as the same type of "Social Democrat"  my grandfather was. Anyhow, this Gustav Gueth wasn't my type of teacher and I would do anything to either ignore him or prove him wrong.

Many of the kids from my old school, the Hertzberg-Schule, were in the same class with me at the 'Zwillinge-Schule,' which made it easy for me to adjust. Our class was planning a two week trip to a city children's vacation home located directly by the 'Wannsee,' the famous Berlin lake I mentioned earlier. The trip was planned for the last two weeks of November 1953, and we were to live in a former 'nazi mansion' right next to the Wannsee. I looked forward to this trip because it got me away from school and structured learning. Although I didn't particularly feel comfortable living in such close quarters with this teacher and some of his Marxist favorites, I still viewed the positive aspects, such as not having any school, as more enticing than the negative ones. 

Schulheim Wannsee

A traumatic experience which affected me for the rest of my life.

The day of our departure by bus to our vacation home at the Wannsee arrived. It was a typical November day, dreary, rainy and cold. Our class met at the Zwillinge School with small suitcases containing necessities we would need for the next two weeks. A typical travel bus pulled up and we went onboard. The ride to our destination took only about an hour, but we enjoyed it nevertheless. The villa or estate where we were going to live, was beautiful and really right at the famous lake. We could even see the familiar but empty 'Strandbad Wannsee' across the lake. The correct name for our temporary home was 'Schulheim Wannsee' as it was thus designated a vacation home for school classes on a rotating basis. If my memory serves me right, food was brought in in thermos containers from the same central kitchen from which we received our 'Schulspeisung,' our noon meal, at school. Except, of course, we received three meals instead which were better than the simple soups we got at school. There were no 'nurses' or other 'Pflegepersonal' there and everything was basically the responsibility of the teachers. Besides our regular teacher, Herrn Gueth, another teacher, who was our sports teacher, Herr Siedpohl came also along to help oversee the operation. He was also a Marxist socialist and member of the socialist party's youth organization 'Die Falken,' which means 'the falcons.' I knew this from the 'bonbon,' the pin he was usually wearing on his sports jacket. Unlike Herrn Gueth's appearance, he was always neat looking with an almost military demeanor, looking more like a former Hitler Youth leader than a "Falcon." 

We were bunked in various rooms of about four to six beds. Every morning, after sandwiches for breakfast, we went on long walks through the adjacent forest of the 'Grunewald,' exploring Nikolskoe and the Pfaueninsel as well as all kinds of interesting sights, like the Russian-Orthodox Church built by the former German Kaiser for the Russian community in Germany. Herr Gueth had a terrible time with his prosthesis and could only occasionally join our long hikes. Usually it was Herr Siedpohl who marched with us. He was a good guy and I liked him despite his political leanings. In retrospect, I believe that our vacation home, the former 'nazi villa,' was the famous or infamous place where the nazi 'Wannsee Konference' took place. But I can't be sure. 

Picture of me at Schulheim Wannsee November 26, 1953 taken on my twelfth birthday which was also the day we left to return home. The flowers in my hand were given to me for my birthday. In background is the former 'nazi' villa where we stayed.

Usually after our daytime hikes, we would gather around in a circle at night and have talks and even on occasion perform little skids. Performing various skids, I discovered my love for acting. Even Herr Gueth, who usually treated me like a non-entity, mentioned my acting abilities to the group in reference to some skids by others which were just awful. Being neither 'popular,' nor liked by ones teacher, it was especially difficult for me to get up in front of all the others and 'perform' and I was thus very pleased with Herrn Gueth's comment. I had about four or five friends in my class, one of whom was Lutz Jewert. He is the one who told me one day in a discussion about National Socialism, that his father had told him Hitler would be viewed as the greatest statesman ever in about fifty years. Lutz was a little on the heavy side and a member of a Catholic German boy scout group. The other three or four I can only recall faintly. But we were all 'outcasts' from the main group for one reason or another. This was also the first time we went to school with girls in the same classroom. Most girls seemed to like me because I was 'sensitive' and well mannered. Unfortunately it is here where I had a problem which would affect me for the rest of my life. 

" You ugly freak..."

It was what is called a 'traumatic experience,' one of those ugly incidents which leave a mark, positive or negative, on one's perception and abilities forever. Of course this was the second incident of this nature. The first one being my 'explorations' with Helga in Erkner. Anyhow, what happened was something quite innocent. There was this girl in our class whom I thought to be so very beautiful and whenever I thought she wasn't looking, I watched her, admiring her beauty. Then while we were at this trip, she confronted me and told me that she didn't want me to stare at her anymore, because she thought I was the ugliest freak in the whole world, or something like that. I must have died that very instant, embarrassed to the point of death by her vicious, cruel reaction to my secret admiration. As from this point on in my life, I became to 'dislike' women. Not hate women, mind you, but more like fear women. Over the years and decades, this has of course changed, but I still, to this day remember her words and the effect they had on me. And if I linger too long in these dangerous realms of memory, I feel my solar plexus become weak and numb and my face turn red with embarrassment. Strange as it seems, I can't remember her name, only that she was the daughter of a glass-installation contractor who had a store on the 'Sonnenallee.' As I already had an inferiority complex, this incident made it even worse. 

Observing myself in a mirror, I decided that my head was much too big and that my nose also was big and ugly and my body scrawny. Thus, I came to see myself as a freak and became even more of an outcast. Girls and women became to me unattainable even as friends, because of my ugliness and I can only marvel at what ever spirits guided and protected me that I didn't commit suicide or become a 'serial killer' like Bundy. Perhaps it is genes or predisposition, but I didn't even hate women. Instead they became entities as far removed from my universe as spirits and I learned to avoid them at all cost. When today I hear about men like Theodore Bundy and the incredible hatred they had for women, I often wonder what kind of experiences with women made them into the 'monsters' they became. Not having a father figure around with whom one could discuss this type of traumatic experience, might make it even worse since there was no one around to ease one's self perception and thus lessen the trauma by a male to male talk and reassurance. Locked into the very soul, these kind of negative experiences with the opposite sex can easily grow into rage, murderous rage, against anyone resembling the offender. Therefore I count myself 'lucky' and protected that it didn't drive me into this direction. Perhaps the reason was, that I had already acquired a certain spiritual depths and the dim perception that other girls liked me despite my 'ugliness.' 

Hannelore Schink 

 I become a 'Vertrauensschueler.'

One girl, Hannelore Schink, was sitting next to me in class. She was very pretty and not part of the 'popular' group of kids. She was deep and very kind-hearted and helped me a lot with my home-work by letting me copy hers. Of course, after the experience with the girl in Wannsee, I wouldn't trust myself to make too much of Hannelore's friendliness towards me. No, I didn't dare to assume that she really liked me. And how could she, me being a 'freak' and so ugly? She even let me copy her tests so that I could pass from seventh to eight's grade and I still didn't even dare to look her into the eyes. How sad! 

During every school year, there was an election for 'Vertrauensschueler,' a class representative, and in eighth grade I was elected to this position mostly with the votes from the girls in my class. Herr Gueth was livid with anger at the results of our voting. Even worse, I hadn't even attempt to think about becoming a representative! Not even in my most secret dreams would I have wanted to be drawn into this kind of official position. Not me this ugly freak with abysmal grades! Yet, the girls liked me and put my name up as a candidate and I won. And Herr Gueth, speaking with disdain about my election, claimed that personality alone was not the issue, but that a 'Vertrauensschueler' should be an example with excellent grades also. So not only did I have to fight my own inferiority complex, but also count on the non-support of my teacher. What a hellish situation for an ugly freak like me!

 Hannelore Schink was the main drive behind this coup against tradition and teacher, because she liked me and saw me in a completely different light than I thought. Of course I know this now, as then I wouldn't allow myself to even consider this. Sometimes during class she would even put her leg next to mine, or her arm over the backrest of my seat and I, feeling all tingly and warm, wouldn't admit that it was anything else than a comfortable position for her. But this is all way ahead of the story. 

Going back to 'Wannsee' and the seventh grade, my life had become ugly and almost unbearable due to a few sharp words spoken by an annoyed girl. The rest of our days there are nothing but a daze in my memory as I would have liked to crawl away from it all into oblivion. 

New Apartment at Sonnenallee 184 

November 1953

We returned to the school where parents picked everyone up. My mother was there with the good news that our new apartment was ready and that she had already moved us in. As I already mentioned, it was right next to a shoe-repair place owned by Herrn Diekmann. It consisted of a living room which also served as a bedroom at night. My mother sleeping on the sofa and I on an opened fold-away bed; a kitchen and a bathroom which we shared with Herrn Diekmann and his two employees during the day. The place was always very cold because the 'Kachelofen,' the tiled huge coal-stove, couldn't throw off enough heat for the extremely high-ceilinged old apartment. 

If I remember correctly, the ceiling must have been 12 or 14 feet high. Like all of these old apartment houses it was a 'cold-water' flat. Which means that there was no hot water. In the bathroom was a coal water-heater which had to be fired up in order to have hot water for a bath. Naturally we could only afford to do this perhaps once a week. The rest of the time we would have to wash up with cold water. For the dishes and morning washing we used to heat up water on the ancient gas stove in the kitchen. As the kitchen had no heat, we used to turn on the gas burners on top of the stove to wash up in the mornings. Nevertheless, we had our own place and didn't have to share an apartment with somebody else. Herr Diekmann and his two employees were no bother as they only used the bathroom and went home shortly after five in the evenings. 

Every weekday I would ride my bike to and from school and keep it in the small hallway of our apartment. The huge window of our living room was about four feet off the ground, facing the street 'Sonnenallee.' I could watch hundreds of people walking by and overhear their conversations, which could be quite interesting. We used to have an easy chair which matched the sofa, and in this easy chair I used to sit, right by the window and read books which I had either borrowed from the public library in the Ganghofer Strasse or from two private libraries where I had to pay for the books I rented. Also I still loved the 'Mickey Mouse' comics and 'Nick Knatterton' detective comics. Besides those, there used to be a magazine for kids called: 'Rasselbande.' It too was the German edition of an American magazine which had distant connections to the Bahai'i faith with a New York City address. Alternating between books on Theosophy, Biographies of Hitler, Tesla, Thomas Edison and children's novels by Enid Blayton and comic books, my life was already guiding me into my future interests. Some people might call it 'unhealthy' for a 'child' to read so much and to neglect all those things deemed appropriate by public consensus, but I found in books what I couldn't find in life, adventure and intelligent friends. Another very influential book was called 'Bastelbuch fuer Kinder,' or something like that. It was huge and contained a lot of projects which one could work on to build things which we otherwise couldn't afford. Such as camera-boxes, tips on the right lenses for projectors of various kind, telescopes, record players, ear-phones, telephone experiments, radio experiments, even foundations of television experiments and much more. Onkel Werner and Tante Martel had given me this book as a birthday gift and it was probably one of my most valued book possessions next to the nazi book I rescued from East Berlin. I also used to go to all the used book stores and stands in the vicinity of Neukoelln, such as Tempelhof, Kreutzberg, Schoeneberg, and Staeglitz, searching for unusual books ranging from spirituality to surviving nazi books. Most of the time I couldn't afford the price but sometimes I did find some cheap books which I would buy. 

Some of these were surviving nazi propaganda books with lots of stimulating pictures which would land one today in a German prison, and others were works of various writers on spiritual subjects or novels. One of my favorite writers has always been the American Thomas Wolfe. Through much luck I even found some old volumes of his novels and devoured them as soon as I got home. His novel 'Look Homeward Angel' left a deep impression on me. Also quite a few other American writers stimulated my interest in America and the American way of life. Mark Twain's 'Tom Sawyer' and 'Huckelbery Finn,' and other books by him were like gasoline poured on fire to me. I remember writing a letter to twentieth century Fox begging to make the books into movies. Of course, I never received an answer. Since we had no television in those days and since I didn't bother much with home-work, I had lots of time to read to my heart's content and also experiment more with electricity and communications experiments. These experiments sometimes not only blew our fuses but the fuses in the whole apartment house, including Herrn Diekman's store. He would come running into the hallway and holler something like: "Holger, you rascal, did you blow the fuses again?" And I would go into the hallway and tell him that it was an accident. Then he would laugh and replace the fuses with faked anger.

A sample picture of how we looked in the 1950's

Every day I would ride my bike to visit my friends at 'Schwartza Strasse,' and we would all play as we used to when I lived there. But gradually my visits there became less and less as things are when one moves away from a former neighborhood. We were still good friends, but somehow my move had alienated me from them and I didn't feel quite right there. Also my need to read as much as I possibly could, in order to satisfy my curiosity about life and the conflicts within my soul, alienated me from them because I spent more and more time with my books and my experiments.

"Scharnhorst Jugend"

Always remembering what Uncle Ali had told me and also driven by an inner desire to 'Know,' I did everything I could to find material related to Spirituality, Religion and National Socialism. My dream was to contact the SRP (Sozialistische Reichs Partei) and see if they had a youth movement. When I finally found out that they had been outlawed by the government, I was devastated. Not far from us was a newspaper kiosk which carried papers as varied as the Jewish paper in Germany (I forgot the name), Communist newspapers as well as quite a few 'far right' publications, such as 'Nation Europa, Deutsche Woche, Der Stahlhelm, National Zeitung, Soldaten Zeitung, Reichsruf and later also 'Deutsche Sozial Zeitung (Otto Strasser's publication after returned to Germany from Canada). Plus they had an extensive supply of UFO papers, one dedicated to Adamsky, Theosophical and other mystical publications of any group imaginable. Sometimes I would spend literally hours looking at them and wishing that I could afford to buy them all. Of course those were the days when people still read extensively and actually spent money to inform themselves. Thus publications like this flourished. The owners of this kiosk were quite friendly towards me, perhaps puzzled by my insatiable interest in their material for sale, as even in those days of no television it was quite unusual to find a young boy of my age interested in these off beat newspapers and magazines. After more than a years time, I probably had sampled them all and decided to write to some of their addresses to inquire whether they had a youth organization. Some didn't respond at all and some responded with further addresses to write to. When I wrote to the 'Stahlhelm' which is a publication of the 'Bund Deutscher Frontsoldaten,' (Similar to the VFW in the US), they sent me an application for membership with such questions of where and when I had served in the German Army and on what front. When I got that response, I became very nervous not knowing how to reply. Finally I wrote them a letter explaining that I was only thirteen years old and that I wanted to know about a youth organization. They responded with an apology and a name and address in Berlin. The youth organization of the 'Stahlhelm' was called the 'Scharnhorst Jugend,' and it's leader in Berlin was a man named Peter Koehler. I was ecstatic! Success finally. Soon after this letter arrived I rode my bike on a lengthy trip to Berlin-Lichterfelde to meet Peter Koehler. When I arrived at the address, I saw a whole bunch of bikes outside the small apartment house and became a little anxious about having to face a whole group of strangers who would not only observe me with curiosity but perhaps even judge whether I could join or not. 

As it turned out, there were about six people in Peter's apartment of which only one room was his own. He was an 'Untermieter' and only rented one room from the elderly couple who owned the apartment. Peter Koehler was a student at the 'Freie Universitaet' who looked and acted exactly as I had imagined. Being about twenty-six years old and a former Hitler Youth leader, he radiated discipline and order, but also a kind of easy going friendliness. Of course to me at my young age, a twenty-six year old man seemed ancient and I was instantly awed by his military bearing and demeanor, as well as by his telling me that he was a former Hitler Youth leader. I was invited to sit on Peter's bunk bed and he asked me all about myself and how I had found him and his organization. The others there were listening intently and one especially stood out. His name was Peter Kreiss and he was about the same age as Peter Koehler. But this Peter Kreiss seemed secretive and cold. His outfit, a black uniform made him look like an SS man. Something about him was foreboding and menacing. Despite my misgivings about this Peter Kreiss, he seemed to like me and I would get to like him later. We were discussing various subjects which eventually led us to talk about spirituality, Hitler and the occult connection to the nazi movement. Peter Koehler was very knowledgeable in all subjects but seemed especially interested in my opinion regarding spirituality. I related some of my experiences with visions and clairaudience which fascinated him. Also my knowledge concerning Theosophy and Gnosticism seemed to impress him considerably. After about two hours, Peter dismissed the meeting and invited me to return next week. I was overjoyed and happy beyond description when I rode my bike home. Finally I had found what I was looking for, new friends, who were like me! 

When the next meeting came up, I couldn't wait to get there. Again we were in Peter's room and many things were discussed. One interesting subject was that the 'Scharnhorst Jugend' had rented an apartment in Kreutzberg, Urbanstrasse. Well, that was not very far from where I lived in Neukoelln and the prospect of being so close to the 'action,' was just unbelievable to me. What luck, to live so close. Why Kreutzberg was chosen for an apartment seemed difficult to understand, because this area of Berlin is absolutely Communist and 'proletarian,' and very hostile to any right-wing movement. In other words, it was an area where one could get his 'ass' whipped just for wearing our grey shirted uniforms with a black, white and red scarf worn in boy-scout fashion. We also wore dark shorts or long pants according to the seasons and military belts with German army locks which had the inscription of 'Gott Mit Uns.' In fact Peter told me about the uniform and asked me to get one from him for some nominal amount of money that same day. He also gave me a pin in the shape of a shield which had a black cross with a golden crown on a white background. Good God, I was a member now! I couldn't believe my luck. 

A picture of a 'pimpf' of the HJ could illustrate our 'Scharnhorst Jugend' looks also

Our next meeting was to be already at the new location so close to my own. When I got home that day, I begged my mother to give me the money to buy my uniform through Peter Koehler. In fact I had to explain to her all about the 'Scharnhorst Jugend' and my connection to it, since I had not mentioned it to her before, knowing that she would react fearfully and negatively. Using all my 'charm' and speaking ability, I finally convinced her that this was not a nazi organization, but part of the renown 'Stahlhelm.' She relented reluctantly and gave me the twenty or so Marks to give to Peter next week. Of course the 'Scharnhorst Jugend' wasn't nazi oriented, because, as I found out later to my dismay, they were Monarchists and Peter's favorite 'royal-house' were the 'Welfs,' or die 'Welfen.' This would eventually become a big issue with me and some others, especially Peter Kreiss, and we would break away from the 'Scharnhorst Jugend' for that reason. I had no use for Monarchs or Monarchy as my outlook was already more 'socialist' than conservative. Coming from a very humble background, how could I, in all honesty justify a conservative agenda, not to even speak of a Monarchy. Even in my admiration of National Socialism, it was the 'Socialism' which attracted me the most. Of course this 'Socialism' is not the same as Marxist Socialism, but has many things in common with it anyhow. It is 'Folkish' Socialism where the whole of a Nation is seen as an organic whole where everybody contributes to the whole to the best of his abilities and receives 'social security' in return. To be blunt, I found Monarchism repulsive beyond description and still do so today.

Pictures of me at age 14, long after my 'Scharnhost Jugend' days, but I was still wearing my pin because I liked the way it looked.

Riding my bike down the Sonnenallee to the 'Karl Marx Platz,' and then down the Urbanstrasse I looked anxiously around to find the given address. The Street was getting more and more proletarian, with drunks stumbling along the curbs and dirty children playing in the streets. Eventually I saw a person with a black uniform standing in a huge, old-fashioned doorway.

This is not the actual building, but it looks a lot like the place where we had our meetings.

It was Peter Kreis on 'guard duty.' This guard duty was a tradition taken over from the 'fighting days' of the Hitler Youth. Where a guard was posted outside a meeting in order to warn the group from approaching danger, like Communist agitators or other hostile elements. So Peter Kreiss stood there 'stramm' like a soldier guarding an ammunition depot in enemy territory. I was impressed and also somewhat scared. The thought that I might have to stand there too and physically defend our apartment, made me uneasy, to say the least. Greeting Peter, he told me where to go, the apartment was in the 'hinterhof' area, which means actually, the second court-yard, on the parterre (street level). I rang the bell after locking my bike in the yard area, and somebody answered the door. Our greeting was 'Heil Scharnhorst,' and after exchanging the greeting, I was invited in. It was a cold-water flat like my home and looked desolate, dark and depressing. Peter Koehler and the others were already there and a few others who I hadn't met yet came after me. All in all we had about ten people there. One boy came with his father and Peter seemed very respectful towards both. The boy was only about ten years old and his name was Olaf. I heard through the grapevine later that the father was a high ranking former military officer who had just recently returned with his family from Chile. Olaf became something like a pet to Peter. When Peter Kreiss was relieved from guard duty by somebody else, he and Peter Koehler became embroiled in an argument about the former German Air-Force, the Luftwaffe, and what would have been the proper airplanes, bombers or fighters, to save Germany during World War II. Peter Kreiss sided with Hermann Goering's decision to support the production of fighter planes over bombers (or was it the other way around?). Naturally the argument advanced further into a heated discussion about ideologies and political philosophies. I observed just how much Peter Koehler, despite his own poverty, despised especially the 'Socialism' in National Socialism and how Peter Kreiss represented everything I believed in. Peter Koehler, our Scharnhorst leader, was a Monarchist and elitist through and through. Peter Kreiss was a National Socialist through and through. As I observed the two, it became clear to me that I wouldn't 'belong' very much longer to this group, as I would rather join the Communist party than find any use whatsoever in Monarchism.

 Peter Kreiss was a carpenter by trade and had a deep sympathy for working people, while Peter Koehler had never really worked at all and therefore had no understanding of work and workers. While our two leaders argued in back, the others were putting together parts of a German fighter plane model from Revell. They seemed neither surprised by the argument nor even interested. And although I liked to 'bastel' and experiment, putting together a plastic model didn't interest me at all. Instead I read some material on Scharnhorst which was written in a dry and scholarly fashion and bored me to death. Some time later Peter Koehler announced that we were all invited to a concert at the 'Hochschul Brau terrace' in Berlin-Wedding, where I military band was going to perform marches and would end with the 'Grosse Zapfenstreich.' We were to meet at our apartment here in Kreutzberg and travel together by city bus to the district of Wedding next Sunday at nine in the morning. That was exciting news for me as I loved military music and had never really experienced a German band in close proximity. 

Sunday came and my mother was very worried because she anticipated trouble from Communists and other left wing elements at the planned performance. Of course I couldn't understand why she would worry. To me it seemed nothing to have a band play German marching music in the district of Wedding. Wedding, I must mention, is another very working-class neighborhood and quite similar to Kreutzberg in that aspect. But she eventually gave in and let me go. I rode my bike to Kreutzberg and left it inside the apartment and when everybody had arrived, Olaf with his father again also, we marched to the bus stop to catch the bus. When we arrived at the bus stop in Wedding, we had to walk quite some distance to get to the outdoor terrace-restaurant which was owned by a brewery named 'Hochschul Brau.' The owner was an old time conservative and probable Monarchist who had financed the whole performance. 

About half way to our destination we saw lots and lots of police and sidewalks cordoned off. There were police truck with 'water-cannons' on top and what seemed like a whole army of police cadets who were used as 'Bereitschaftspolizei,' which means that they lived in police barracks and were ready for action anytime. I almost felt like celebrity when we were allowed to pass beyond the police line. There were lots of people watching the whole affair who were blocked off from entering the 'restricted area.' But I didn't really see anybody being unruly or hear anybody shouting obscenities at us. Everything seemed hyped and yet very peaceful. 

Inside the terrace we had a table reserved for us by the ownership and were thus very close to the band who were already there, about 25 of them, mostly sitting on garden-chairs, practicing and warming up their instruments. There were 'Kesselpauken,' kettledrums and regular drums, fanfares and trumpets, fives and God knows what other instruments. I was so excited, especially listening to their warm-up sounds and imagining how it would sound when they played for real. The fanfares had black, white and red flags attached to them which seemed unbelievable to me. Because although these former German colors weren't outlawed in those days, one never imagined to see them at a public concert. And then, suddenly the whole place was shaking with the 'Ferbelliner Reitermarsch' played by this very large band. My heart went crazy beating and my blood must have reached a boiling point. My God, I was in heaven! Never before, even in my wildest dreams when listening to my brown records scratching away, could I have imagined what the 'real thing' sounded like from so close up. And we were so close that we could almost touch the first row of musicians. Now, the 'Ferbelliner Reitermarsch,' a cavalry march, used kettledrums and fanfares and I was instantly transported into another dimension when the six or eight fanfare players suddenly stood up and started to join the music. It is just unimaginable for anybody who hasn't experienced this first hand. And then the kettel-drums joining in also....racing heartbeat and indescribable joy!  The deep base of the drums and the pure, soul-shattering treble of the fanfares was enough to motivate anyone to do anything! I at least was ready to conquer the whole world and the heavens too. Although I had been to the 'Polizei Schau' in Berlin which was a show of police skill and discipline once a year at the Olympia Stadium and had there heard and seen the police marching band perform the same marches, it was nothing compared to this experience. At the Olympia Stadium the band is far away and the music is also transmitted by loudspeakers which limits the effectiveness of any kind of music. But here at the 'Hochschul Brau' terrace I was 'right there' and the drumbeat was my heartbeat and the fanfares and trumpets were all my dreams forced into reality. The only time I would have a similar experience later in life was, when I visited the opera in Berlin and in New York City. Of course it was Wagner's Tannhauser, 'The Flying Dutchman' and 'Parsifal.' Only at those performances was I able to re-live what I have just described. 

While I was in this state of almost 'divine' ecstasy, people whom I had never met before came to our table and talked mostly to Peter Koehler and Peter Kreiss. When they left they would usually order 'Weisse mit nem Schuss,' white beer with a shot of strawberry or other fruit concentrate, for all of us. This kind of beer is low in alcohol content and comes in a big oval shaped special glass, but still to a young boy it is quite an experience to get these drinks served. And I could definitely feel a 'buzz' after drinking a couple of those huge beers. Who these people were I don't know, but I would assume that they were part of the 'right' and interested in a revival of a meaningful 'right-wing' youth movement. 

As to the expected demonstrations, nothing really happened. Gradually the wonderful afternoon became night, and the concert ended with a solemn and soul stirring performance of 'Der Grosse Zapfenstreich.' Again many strangers came up to us to shake our hands and say 'auf Wiedersehen,' congratulating us on our outlook and demeanor. When we left the terrace and got into the street, police were there taking pictures. Also the press was there and who knows who, all taking pictures of us and everybody who had attended the concert.

Taking the city bus back to our Kreutzberg apartment we debated animatedly what we had just experienced. When I arrived at home, my mother was waiting in hand-wringing anticipation. She had heard on the radio that heavy demonstrations had occurred at the concert and that police had arrested a number of people. I had no idea what she was talking about as I had seen nothing unusual happening. The next day there were pictures in the newspapers of right-wing 'extremists' and 'nazis' who were attending a concert at the 'Hochschul Brau' outdoor terrace. My picture was there too amongst many others. My mother was completely torn apart by this publicity and afraid for my future. I thought it was exciting and a mark of honor to be seen as an 'extremist.' In fact, I hoped that all my friends and school acquaintances would read the articles and see my picture there. I felt like a movie star and 'conspirator' combined. How the demonstrations could have occurred without us knowing about it, being right there, I will never know. 

Some of my friends at school had read the papers and soon the word got out that I was in it and that I was a 'nazi' conspirator. My head swelled and I, for once, wasn't bothered my by inferiority complex. I was somebody, somebody who was important and had to be reckoned with! The repercussions though, were that my teacher Herr Gueth and other teachers, including Herr Siedpohl, hated me even more than before and attempted to ignore me completely, which was just fine with me. But there were some fellow students in my class and in my school who tried to get me into fights. Other students though, whom I hadn't known before, came to me and started talking about their own thoughts and feelings about Germany and our countries future. I had made some new friends unexpectedly. We formed a little group or 'cell' within our school and debated politics and history during lunch break and occasionally after school.

One day Peter Kreiss showed up at my home wanting to talk to me. My mother wasn't home, so it was the perfect time to receive a visitor. He told me about his feelings towards the 'Scharnhorst Jugend' and its monarchist leanings, which wasn't news to me. He mentioned that he had left the group and was going to form his own organization, which would be more in line with national socialist ideals. When he asked me if I would be interested in becoming his assistant, I said yes. He seemed relieved and began outlining his ideas which I agreed with. Then he asked me to remain with the 'Scharnhorst Jugend' for some more time, because he wanted me to approach some kids in the group and steer them to him. He and Peter Koehler had had another argument and Peter Koehler had thrown him out of the group. Now he needed somebody to do what he had planned to do himself. I was that 'man.' Kreiss told me the names of a couple boys who might be interested and asked me to approach them cautiously during the next meeting. Upon leaving he invited me to come and visit him at home in Wannsee. I promised that I would and we made a date for my visit. It was to be one day after our Wednesday Scharnhorst meeting.

The Wednesday meeting went fine, but seemed to be completely boring without Kreiss there. At the door stood a new kid whom I hardly knew and he seemed very ill at ease, for which I couldn't blame him. Kreiss was big and menacing looking and 'commies' or whatever wouldn't pick a fight with him that easily. Plus he was as old as Peter Koehler. But us scrawny little boys would be easy picking for them, whoever they might be. Just imagining myself standing there like a target, dressed in a 'reactionary' uniform for all to see, gave me the jitters and a reason to make my membership in this group as short-lived as possible. During the meeting I asked the two boys Peter Kreiss had pointed out to me, to meet me outside because I had to talk to them in private. They agreed and we met after the group meeting was over. I told them what had happened to Kreiss and that he wanted to form a new 'movement' more in line with 'nazi-ideology.' At first they seemed shocked by Kreiss' dismissal and the blunt invitation coming from me, whom they knew only for a short time. Perhaps they even thought it was a trick or test of some kind, because they started to squirm and stutter for a while until they had probably convinced themselves that I spoke the truth and was indeed a messenger from Kreiss. They asked me what Kreiss wanted them to do and where to meet for further discussions. We exchanged addresses and I told them that I would let them know after my meeting with Kreiss the next day. We left as new friends and fellow 'conspirators.'

This time I took the S-Bahn to get to Kreiss' house in Wannsee. Getting off at this last station before the Soviet Zone, I had to walk for about five miles before I arrived at the 'house.' I couldn't believe what I found, because there was no house. Instead there was a once very expensive estate which had been bombed-out, leaving only the basement intact. Somebody had added a brick structure of less than four feet on top of the basement, which made it look like an entrance to an underground bunker. The estate grounds were huge and overgrown with wild-growing grass and trees, and the whole place looked foreboding and dangerous to enter. After walking about twenty feet to the 'structure' entrance, I saw Kreiss coming up the few steps which led to the entrance. He greeted me with a hearty 'Heil Hitler,' and led me down the stairs into his 'house.' As usual he was dressed in his black former SS uniform with riding pants and boots. And I had to admit to myself that he just looked the way I would have liked to look. Of course he could get away with it because of his size and looks, while I would have been beaten up the first time I wore it. He told me the story of the house, that it was his family's home and been bombed-out during the war. His father had been a big shot with the National Socialist Party and been killed as an SS man in action. What happened to his mother I don't know, since he never mentioned her and I didn't want to ask. But later I would hear from others that she had died during the bombing and that Peter Kreiss was the only survivor.

After showing me the basement structure which looked in complete disrepair, we settled down to 'talk business.' He told me the story of General Remer's SRP (Sozialistische Reichspartei) and that he had been a member. Then in 1952 the SRP was outlawed by the West-German government and he had joined the 'Scharnhorst Jugend,' because there was no other influential group around in Berlin, but was soon disillusioned by the conservative-monarchist ideology of the 'Stahlhelm,' and it's youth organization the 'Scharnhorst Jugend.' Although he admitted that he generally liked Peter Koehler, he said to me, that he had argued with him constantly and had given up on him and his politics a long time ago. His final argument with him had convinced him that he couldn't work with him anymore and this had motivated him to push Peter Koehler into dismissing him from the organization. Then he said that he had made contact with the DRP (Deutsche Reichspartei) of which he was a member, asking for permission to start a chapter of their youth movement 'Reichsjugend' in Berlin. He was sure that there would be no problem and had thus already started 'recruiting' for it. I was to be the second member but not the second in command, because he needed a few more older, experienced men to fill the upper ranks. Still, he promised me that I was to be something of an intermediary between the leadership and the rank and file membership. Of course, that was just fine with me since I had no desire to be in charge of anything, because it just wasn't in my nature to crave power of any kind. All I really wanted was to find friends with whom I could have something in common and learn more about national socialism and it's spiritual undercurrents. Most of all, I wanted to meet former nazis who could tell me first hand about the movement. Uncle Ali had planted the seed and awakened my fascination for what national socialism really was and what it should have been, and I wanted nothing more than to continue where he had left off. 

Thus, Peter Kreiss was to become my new mentor and mediator to people which I would have never been able to meet without his introduction. Unfortunately, Peter Kreiss was not spiritually inclined nor interested in learning about the spiritual undercurrents of national socialism. He was a practical man who had absolutely nothing of a poet within him. And I was in all reality his total opposite, not only being too young to develop a real personal friendship with him, but also too much of a 'dreamer' to be of any practical use for his dreams of power. No, he didn't seem power-hungry on the surface, but after knowing him some time, I sensed that power was really what he desired more than anything else. Which is fine for his type of personality, since it inspired him to give of himself one-hundred percent at all times and thus inspire the rank and file membership to do what they normally would not do. He was what could be called a born leader, with all the faults and charisma this type of person has. I liked him very much after a while, because I could speak to him like to a brother and he would try to explain things to me with the patience of a saint. Perhaps it was just the difference in our personalities which had attracted us to each other. While I was basically open and lenient in my views, he saw everything from the perspective of a doctrinaire 'true believer.' While I was a romantic dreamer on the spiritual path, he was a 'no-nonsense realist.' I respected his knowledge and experience and he respected my psychic awareness and unusual quest for knowledge. In some quirky sense, we gave to each other what we didn't seem to have within us, but what we still needed to realize our innermost nature. 

Often, in retrospect, I ask myself why I was so attracted to national socialism at such an early age. And I can honestly say that it had nothing to do with racism on my part, or with a craving for power over others. Racism in fact, I knew nothing of at all. Germany during the 50's had neither foreigners nor people of different races living there. The only black people I knew were American soldiers and they were quite nice and interesting guys. And the only Jews I knew were my former classmate Eberhard Galinsky and the owner of the junk store where I had bought my movie projector and the 'brown' Telefunken records. Eberhard, my Jewish class-mate was a great kid whom I enjoyed being with, because he was intelligent and had a good sense of humor. Even his mother, whom I had met when I visited him occasionally at his apartment in the Geyger Strasse, was a kind and friendly women, no different than my own mother. So there definitely was neither thought nor desire for prejudice or any kind of 'racial' outlook. National Socialism was something grand and noble to me and I saw it as a form of Gnostic idealism put into a political system, which would uplift mankind to a state of almost divine possibilities on earth. 

Of course I was much too young to realize the corruption and evil of human nature which would eventually undermine and destroy even the most noble intentions. I loved the 'pomp and circumstance' of the rallies and the waving swastika flags, the heart-stirring music and young people inspired to live to their highest potential. As opposed to the young people of my own generation, wasting their lives with trivial pursuits, American pop music and preoccupation with sex. Instinctively I felt alienated from music which was base and crude and without any higher inspiration. Never could I understand how people could constantly listen to music with simplistic, childish lyrics going on and on about 'love,' and desire for love. I even felt embarrassed by the lyrics when overhearing them on somebody else's radio. And this 'embarrassment' has lasted throughout all of my life. 

Instinctively I felt drawn to classical music from an early age and no other music except  marshal music, at the right occasion, I would even consider 'music.' Pop music to me was embarrassing with it's whining and crooning over women and singers dressed up like fools. Even the music itself, the alien rhythms, and gyrating, swooning and jerking of people looking as if in a sick trance, always appalled me. It seemed all so low, the glorification of of man's lowest instincts, so pathetic and uninspired. I felt deep within myself, that this was not only ugly and 'evil,' but utterly degenerate. How anybody could choose to listen to this kind of music was incomprehensible to me then and still is now. Why would they not listen to symphonies and operas instead? Did others not feel embarrassed also by these stupid lyrics? 

Even today, I still 'judge' people by their reading (or non-reading) habits and by what kind of music they enjoy. Some people claim that they enjoy all music, depending on the setting and occasion. But even that is incomprehensible to me. How can you 'enjoy' listening all day to pop music and rock and then go to the opera or listen to a symphony occasionally? How can you 'serve two masters?' If you truly love the experience of classical music, you can not possibly feel anything but disgust for popular music.

 Art in national socialism was to me the total expression of man's possibility, noble and god-like. It was not only its commitment to classical music, but also its visual artists, it's distinctive and grandiose architecture, its heroic sculptures and paintings. Some people and some so called art 'experts' have put it all down as typically fascist glorification of the state. 

I can't see it that way at all. To me it was the emotional and material glorification of man's inherent possibilities, sponsored by the state. But is not the state nothing else but the union and manifestations of all these individual people and artists? Is not the national socialist state the means to accomplish mankind's evolution into a better human race? How else can this evolution be accomplished? If art and beauty are only for the rich elite, and if the masses are fed only brain numbing entertainment around the clock, how can they be uplifted and evolve? Or was it better to just let the status quo remain and leave the masses to their own base instincts and ideas of 'fun?' Should a strong nation state raise the state of consciousness of the masses against their will? And who is to tell what is uplifting and noble? This question has been thrown at me so many times throughout the course of my life and I can only say that even crude and basic people instinctively know what greatness is, even if they can't express it in their own lives. But if they are constantly brainwashed with low-life emotions in music and visual art, they naturally loose their inherent ability to distinguish good from evil and surrender to the low-life existence all around them. 

Do you think that so many people are still attracted, even in a sometimes ignorant way, to national socialism and Hitler, because they love to flirt with 'evil?' Or is it because something indefinable about national socialism has touched their soul?

Fifty-seven years have passed, the 'democratic' propaganda mills have spewed nothing but hatred and distortion about it, and yet, people are still drawn to it's philosophy and Wagnerian grandeur. How can this be? What is it about national socialism that has moved people to forsake their reputations and social standing, their academic titles and possessions? Is it this flirtation with 'evil' and racism? Or is it an inner understanding which can not be defined in mere words?

I could go on and on about what originally drew me to national socialism at such a young age. Perhaps it was even pre-disposition or pre-determination through reincarnation. Who knows? Some people, with a judgmental disposition will say that it is a 'psychiatric' problem and that I'm mentally ill and crazy. But what can I say to that? Certainly it is not a rational subject where one can easily explain one's rational decisions. Since my 'conversion' never happened and I was literally born that way, I can't say, and can't defend myself rationally. 

Be that as it may, I can only say that I am an idealist from birth and that I, despite my national socialist 'leanings,' am not a 'true believer.' First of all, I never subscribed to any racial theories or prejudices and never will. It's just incomprehensible to me and completely against my nature. So I would probably have gotten in trouble during the 'Third Reich.' Nevertheless, I don't think that it is good nor right to flood every European country, England, the USA, Canada and Australia with third world people of other races, but this opinion does not derive from a racist perspective at all. It comes, in my case, from my own observations of life and from my intuitive understanding regarding the immense conspiracy taking place right under our very eyes, to create a One World Government. I believe that this is enforced to undermine 'Western Civilization' in order to create division within once more or less homogenous populations, by the advocates of a One World Government. Who these people are, this evil 'cabal,' which has infiltrated every government of every civilized nation on earth, I don't want to get into at this point, as it would lead me completely off track. But much later, towards the end of my life's story I will relate my own experiences and perhaps even reveal what Uncle Ali had told me in this regard. Suffice it to say, I love people of all races and wish them only the best in their evolution. I neither hate nor feel resentment towards any race or nationality on this earth and would never do anything to harm anyone unless I was attacked first.

Thus, to me, national socialism without the racism would be the answer to much of the trouble in this world. Naturally, many people will say that national socialism is racism first and foremost, and I have to admit that they are probably to a large degree correct. But that's exactly the reason I am not a member of any nazi movement at this time and why I like president Roosevelt and his 'new deal, and certain aspects of Communism as well as the United States of America, especially the way this country used to be when I arrived here in 1963 as an immigrant with two-hundred dollars in my pocket. 

Perhaps we shouldn't put labels on people so hastily as a judgment of their personality by ideas they express. Nothing ever is just black and white, as there are so very many shades in between. I don't hate Adolf Hitler because he was myopic and racialist in his perception of the world. And I don't hate Roosevelt because he instigated war with Germany and Japan, and allowed Zionist conspirators to deceive the American people, while plotting their tribal agenda. Both men did a lot of good and attempted, in their own way and state of consciousness, to deal with world wide depression, unemployment and human suffering. In fact, despite all I know, I must admit that I love both men despite their all to human shortcomings and even betrayals. 

Adolf Hitler on left and Roosevelt with fellow masons on right (center)

Both were charismatic leaders and both were needed in their own way by the suffering populations of their nations. More than anything, I despise today's leaders for selling out to Zionist manipulations against the interest of their people and doing nothing to relieve crime and human squalor in a meaningful way. Corrupt and greedy beyond description they are non-entities without concern for a better humanity living in a better world. If anything they are nothing but puppets in the hands of those who want to rob humanity of even what little spark there is left of their divine heritage and institute a one world government of the rich for the rich. 

At least Hitler had a love for his people, all people, young and old, rich and poor and wanted nothing more than to ease their burdens. Unfortunately, I can't say this concerning Roosevelt, who came from money and power and was more concerned in pleasing his cronies than the common people. Nevertheless, he did have enough conscience and concern to institute his 'new deal' against objections from various circles even within his own government. Perhaps it was a sentiment of 'nobles oblige,' or just fear of an uprising of the poor, still, he did something quite remarkable for a plutocratic capitalist. 

Another thing about Roosevelt and the American people is, their condemnation and Hippocratic hatred expressed concerning Hitler's racism, when in America black people lived in segregation and abject squalor. How blind people can be when bombarded with propaganda! Was this not racism of the worst kind? Or was it different because in Germany Jews were segregated and persecuted to some degree and in America the segregated and persecuted were black? I think we all know the answer and I don't have to further elaborate on the subject. Roosevelt's government was overloaded with Jews, mostly Zionist Jews, who only used the miserable life of blacks and the poor, to advance their own insidious agenda. This agenda being, to attain power at any cost for the tribe. Which means that governments all over the world had to be destabilized through destabilization of their populace. How this was accomplished, I will explore in a later chapter.   

But, again, this is reaching too far ahead at this point of my story. 

Continue my story on page 14

 Return to Page I and Index

Addendum:

Here is some material from the internet regarding the SRP and DRP (Deutsche Reichspartei):

According to the Basic Law, the Federal Constitutional Court could ban a political party that aimed at obstructing or abolishing the system of democracy. The activities of a number of openly antidemocratic parties during the Weimar Republic had inspired the authors of the Basic Law to include this strong provision. In 1952 the Socialist Reich Party (Sozialistische Reichspartei--SRP), a successor to the NSDAP, became the first party to be banned. The SRP had maintained that the Third Reich still existed legally, and it had denied the legitimacy of the FRG as a state. A few years later, the KPD was also suspended. Although the KPD was at first represented in all Land parliaments, it gradually lost support. After 1951 the leadership of the KPD began to pursue an openly revolutionary course and advocated the overthrow of the government. After five years of deliberations, the Federal Constitutional Court declared the KPD unconstitutional.

One of the most interesting documents in the file is a report dated 11 February 1952. The report concerns a meeting between a special agent of the 66th CIC Detachment and Dr. Manfred Roeder, formerly the Judge Advocate of the German Air Force (Luftwaffe) who served as the assistant prosecutor in the espionage case involving Red Orchestra agents. The meeting, which took place in Hannover, Germany, was arranged through Graf Wolf von Westarp, a leading figure in the Sozialistische Reichspartei (Socialist Reichs Party, or SRP), a postwar German rightist party. At this time, the CIC was actively pursuing leads concerning the Red Orchestra case. According to rumors, some "eight crates of documents" concerning the case had been hidden by German intelligence personnel in the LÜneburger Heide shortly after the war. Thus, the meeting with Roeder was intended to elicit information necessary to allow CIC agents to locate and exploit the Red Orchestra records.

The Strange Saga of Hitler's Bodyguard

American Friends

• Martin A. Lee's book on neo-fascism, The Beast Reawakens, was recently published by Little, Brown.
  
  Copyright (c) 1997

Continue my story on page XIV