30
Bürgerbr?ukeller
Munich
EAST OF THE ISAR River, the black Mercedes rolled along Keller Street and stopped behind the rear entrance of the Bürgerbr?ukeller, one of the oldest, largest, and most famous beer halls in Munich.
Inside the Mercedes, Hitler removed his leather gloves and turned to Joseph Goebbels.
“You still think this is wise? Not too soon?”
“Not too soon at all, mein Führer. We have weathered the storm. It is time to regain our momentum. They need to see you in uniform. They need to hear you.”
Hitler winced. “I do prefer my lederhosen. But it is one of the many sacrifices I must make for Germany.”
“Just so, mein Führer.”
Thousands had poured in from the entrance on Rosenheimer Street, under the granite arch bearing the name BüRGER br?U KELLER, past the magnificent outdoor beer garden and into the spacious hall in the rear of the building.
The grand hall held three thousand people at maximum capacity, if chairs were placed side by side on the floor and in the balconies, as they were this night in early November. The Nazi crest was on full display, adorning the balconies and hanging from the ceiling on banners.
Every chair, every seat in the balcony, was filled. They spoke in hushed tones, eager with anticipation and curiosity. When Joseph Goebbels emerged, his introductory remarks were brief. Goebbels understood the importance of not overshadowing his Führer.
But the crowd of party faithful leapt to their feet, exploding in shouts and applause, when Hitler walked onto the stage.
“This,” Hitler said. “This is the place.” He surveyed the room.
“This is the place where we first undertook to restore our Fatherland. And very near this place is where blood was shed, where people were shackled and imprisoned for their patriotism, where fifteen martyrs gave their lives for their country.”
The Bürgerbr?ukeller was, indeed, the site of the infamous Beer Hall Putsch on November 8 and 9, 1923. Goebbels had thought it the appropriate venue to rekindle the spirits of the party faithful.
“And you, here with me today, are the Alte K?mpfer,” Hitler said—meaning “old fighters” but more aptly “true believers,” those who’d joined the Nazi Party before its electoral success in 1930.
“You are the ones who shared our vision before it became popular to do so. You are the ones who have weathered adversity, fear, threats, ridicule, and remained true. For this you have your Führer’s undying gratitude. ”
Good, thought Goebbels. This was exactly the right tone to strike, the one he had laid out, though he never knew how closely Hitler would hew to a script.
“My friends, six years ago I stood before you in this very hall, commemorating what was then the two-year anniversary of our putsch. And it is with great sadness that what I said to you then remains true now.”
Hitler paused, then pointed, reciting nearly verbatim the speech he gave in 1925, not long after his release from prison.
“If you were to leave this hall right now and travel to Berlin, to the Friedrich Strasse, you would see Jewish youths and more Jewish youths with German girls in their arms. Bear in mind that thousands and thousands of our blood are destroyed in this way every night, and children and children’s children are lost to us.
We can restore our nation’s pride, we can rip up the Treaty of Versailles and rebuild our military, but once the blood is poisoned it can no longer be changed.
It remains and multiplies and presses us lower from year to year.
If today you are surprised that our people are inwardly so torn, remember this: out of the torn German people speaks its torn blood. ”
The crowd erupted in applause. Hitler raised his fist in the air and continued: “Everything beautiful that we see around us today is only the creation of the Aryan, his spirit and industry! Only the bad things are the heritage of the Hebrew!”
From there Hitler returned to his twin political lessons, which he had hammered endlessly into his followers, by which he had raised himself from his political grave, lessons that would succeed in propelling the National Socialist German Workers’ Party to the heights of political power.
First, he appealed to emotion, dismissing logic.
“Reason can treacherously deceive a man,” he said, raising his finger in the air.
“Emotion is sure and never leaves him. So go to the masses, to the unemployed, to those who struggle financially, to the bitter and frustrated and disheartened, those whose possessions are meager. For possessions, whether of a spiritual or material nature, will always paralyze the desire for power.”
To keep the emotional message simple, he focused on one goal: “It is critical to choose only one enemy, so that everyone can see that he is guilty.
Especially in a people like the German people, it is absolutely necessary for psychological reasons to point to only one enemy, to march against one enemy.
“To make a struggle intelligible to the masses, it must always be carried on against a person and against a cause.
Against whom did England fight? Against the German kaiser as a person and against militarism as a cause.
Against whom do the Jews fight with their Marxist power?
Against the bourgeoisie as a person, and against capitalism as its cause.
“Against whom, therefore, must our movement fight? Against the Jew as a person, and against Marxism as its cause!”
The attendees jumped to their feet again.
Seated just offstage, Goebbels released a breath of relief as he watched and listened to his Führer, the color returning to his face, perspiration dotting his forehead, the flare in his eyes, the energy to his entire being—a battery recharging after several turbulent weeks.
Hitler fed off crowds as if they were his nourishment, his only source of oxygen.
It was time, Goebbels knew. Time to return to the campaign trail. Adolf Hitler had a presidential election to win.