PORTRAIT
by
Teresa Conway
Delivered to
The
Monday, November 23, 1998
Copyrighted by Teresa Conway 1998
In
1996 I told the story of a small railroad in
In the late 1890's iron rails throughout Europe drew people from all over
The station was charged with the energy of passengers rushing for their trains,
porters loaded with suitcases, others pulling carts laden with crates and boxes
of provisions for the two million citizens of the metropolis. Among the swarms
of people was a 40-year-old man supervising the transfer of prize horses being
sold by a Romanian noble, his employer, to a Danish landowner. As he went about
his duties, he noticed an attractive young woman on the platform. Did the turn
of her head, the gleaming tresses of her hair or the flash of her smile catch
his attention? We do not know, but whatever it was, he quickly found a mutual
acquaintance to perform an introduction before she disappeared into the throngs
of the city.
The success of any lasting relationship might have seemed unlikely, because, in
addition to the twenty-year age difference, she was a German Protestant, he was
a Romanian Jew. Their romance did flourish; they married and became the parents
of two children, a boy Fritz and a girl Alice. That girl is the
"Portrait" I want to paint tonight.
"energetic, ebullient, colorful in their speech, quick at repartee, prone to sentimentality, more often than not optimistic, and in time of trouble courageous. They gave the impression of being in perpetual motion. They were generally and unabashedly loquacious, for so much happened around them every day that they were anxious to describe it and to give their reflections on it to anyone they met."
Mark Twain, in 1900, said of
"It
is a
Twain
may have promenaded through the center of the city and the comfortable
districts surrounding it to the south and west, where the Rothbart family
lived. The Rothbarts lived in a spacious apartment in an upper middle-class
section of Berlin. The children had a nanny and a governess. One spoke English
and the other French, so the children would start out speaking three languages.
At the age of six German children started attending a people's school or an
elementary school. Then at the age of ten, children like Alice and Fritz would
go to a Gymnasium that emphasized classical languages and the humanities. A
diploma called the Abitur was required if a student wanted to go to a
university or a specialized institute. Alice found most of the classes at her
Gymnasium dull and uninteresting.
Music was the focus of Alice's life. Her mother, a talented amateur pianist,
awakened the love of music in the bright-eyed, energetic little girl. In those
days before the constant presence of recorded music, Frau Rothbart played
transcriptions of symphonies and operas on the family grand piano to entertain
family and friends. As Alice became a more accomplished pianist, she and her
mother would play duets. Sometimes, Fritz, who was trying to decide whether to
be a violinist or a physician, would join them to play trios. Alice had already
decided on her career -- she planned to be a concert pianist.
The outside world, however, intruded on her dreams. In August 1914, when Alice
was thirteen and a half, the Second Reich went to war. The military leaders
planned a short war of six weeks. Standing on the balcony of his palace in
Berlin Kaiser Wilhelm II was cheered as the troops marched off to war. Germany
had not suffered defeat on the battlefield for one hundred years, so a
victorious outcome was certain.
The war did not end in six weeks. Rationing was introduced in 1915. In May
1916, a Berlin newspaper stated that "there was no rubbish that couldn't
be turned into food, even if it were only ersatz pepper." Bread was made
of turnips and meat was half gristle and half bone. The prosperity of Alice's
family meant that they were able to supplement the rations and did not suffer
from malnutrition as did those who lived in tiny apartments on the narrow, dark
streets of the working class districts on the north and east sides of Berlin.
Their hardships led to violent street demonstrations, with the threat of
rebellion hanging over the city.
Even with the war problems, Alice could attend many concerts. Another young
woman, who arrived in Berlin in 1917 to study music, said, "the first
thing to confront her was an enormous poster advertising a Liederabend (an
evening of songs) with Hugo Wolff." To her, it was like a personal welcome
to the city. During the last two years of the war, that student attended
ninety-three concerts and marveled at the richness of cultural life during the
last few months of the war.
November 11, 1918, an armistice ended the fighting on the battlefields. This
war, however, was not ending in victory for the German Empire. An observer
said: "I went out of curiosity to the Royal Schloss and saw how the
sailors tried to break down the iron doors. And the troops returning from the
war -- they were broken men. We watched them march with Hindenburg under the
Brandenberg Gate and down Unter den Linden with tears in our eyes. There was a
sense of doom in the air."
The postwar years were times of turmoil in Berlin. Alice tried to ignore the
strife to concentrate on her first love -- music. She became a student at the
Klindworth-Schwarwenka Conservatory. Karl Klindworth had been one of Franz
Liszt's pupils in Weimar. His piano playing was "praised for its beautiful
touch, fine expression and accurate reading." He had met Wagner in London
and had been entrusted with the preparation of the vocal scores of the Ring .
In 1884 he founded a piano conservatory which later merged with Xaver Scharwenka's
conservatory. Scharwenka, according to Grove's Dictionary of Music ,
"was one of the foremost pianists of his generation, renowned for his
beautiful, sonorous, singing tone and as an interpreter of Chopin's
music." After several years in New York City, Scharwenka returned to the
conservatory in Berlin. He and Klindworth disagreed about policy, so Klindworth
withdrew from the conservatory.
The teacher who meant the most to Alice was Conrad Ansorge. He had become a
pupil of Franz Liszt in 1885. One of Professor Ansorge's favorite statements
was that he was a son of Liszt, his students were grandchildren of Liszt, and
their students would be great-grandchildren of Liszt. Alice took this statement
very seriously, determined to be a worthy "granddaughter" of the
Hungarian-born virtuoso. She devoted herself to practicing for many hours,
attending classes and staying at the conservatory to listen to the teacher's
comments during the master classes. Professor Ansorge emphasized the
"soul" of the music. If a piece was played with passion, a few wrong
notes could be ignored.
By the 1920's the population of Berlin had soared to four million and the
demand for music was insatiable.
"In 1912, the Deutsches Opernhaus was opened to accommodate the people who couldn't get into the State Opera on Unter den Linden. After the war, the Kroll Theater on the edge of the Tiergarten turned into Berlin's third opera house. Erich Kleiber, then in his early thirties, directed the State Opera, Bruno Walter the municipal opera, and Otto Klemperer the Kroll. And when Artur Nikisch died in 1922, Wilhelm Furtwaengler took over the Berlin Philharmonic, with Bruno Walter conducting a special series of concerts there as well. The competition among these enormously talented musicians was intense, and it resulted in an outpouring of concerts more rich and varied than anything that could be heard in the rest of Europe. Old Berliners still talk with veneration of Furtwaengler's incandescent Beethoven, of Walter's sensuous Mozart, and of such novelties as Klemperer's modern-dress version of Wagner's Flying Dutchman ."
Berlin
was an attraction to many pianists, especially in the 1920's. One giant was
Ferrucio Busoni. In one typical recital, he played Beethoven's Hammerklavier
Sonata, plus all four Chopin Ballades and the A-flat Polonaise, ending with
Liszt's incredibly difficult Reminiscences de Robert le Diable. Busoni
rejected the sentimental traditions of nineteenth-century music and became
known as the founder of modern pianism. As a teacher and editor, he revised
much of the piano literature of Bach and created transcriptions of Bach's organ
music. When Busoni presented a series of farewell concerts in 1922, the great
virtuoso played nothing but Mozart -- twelve piano concerti in a row.
Rudolf Serkin came from Vienna to Berlin to study with Busoni. He told Serkin
that he shouldn't have any lessons; since he was seventeen, he was old enough
to have a style of his own. Attend lots of concerts, Busoni advised Serkin, who
complied. He also practiced for hours every day, and eventually, made his debut
playing Bach's Goldberg Variations at the Singakadamie. At his first
concert the audience numbered twenty, three of whom were Busoni, Artur
Schnabel, and Albert Einstein.
The child prodigy pianist, Claudio Arrau, became a personal friend of Alice.
His expenses paid by the Chilean government, Arrau studied with Martin Krause
at Stern's Conservatory. In 1914 he gave his first recital in Berlin and then
performed with many orchestras under such conductors as Artur Nikisch and
Wilhelm Furtwaengler.
The year 1927 was the one hundredth anniversary of the death of Beethoven. In
commemoration, Artur Schnabel performed the cycle of the thirty-two sonatas on
seven consecutive Sunday afternoons at the People's Theatre in Berlin's
working-class district. The artist Kaethe Kollwitz was one of the two thousand
Berliners who were in the auditorium. She "found herself stirred through
and through by Schnabel's performance of the Hammerklavier, and even more moved
by the closing work, the Opus 111. The strange, glittering tones shot flames --
a translation into the spheres. The heavens opened almost as in the Ninth. Then
a return. But a return after Heaven has been assured. Clear -- consoling --
good -- that is what this music is. Thank you, Schnabel!" If Alice
Rothbart heard these recitals, she would have agreed.
When Alice, at 27, had absorbed all that Professor Ansorge could teach her, he
suggested that she study with Professor Teichmueller in Leipzig. He was a
theoretician, a man of rules, requiring strict attention to playing every note
in a piece as it had been written. Emotion was not part of his regimen. One day
the professor introduced her to another student, Hans Angermann, a 24-year-old
Catholic from Pforzheim. The two students started discussing some of the works
they were studying, challenging each other's opinions. The absorbing and
intense conversation went on and on, with the two ultimately winding up in
Alice's room, still arguing. In 1928 entertaining a young man in a young
unmarried woman's room was scandalous; in this case, the discussion was
strictly musical. That encounter was the beginning of their romance. Alice's
father was a traditional German parent: only if Hans had a good position could
they marry. It was four years after they met before Herr Rothbart agreed that
the position of assistant conductor at the Karlsruhe Opera was lucrative enough
to support a wife. They were married and set up housekeeping in Karlsruhe in
1932. Josef Krips, who was then the principal conductor at the Opera, welcomed
them and became their life-long friend.
When Hitler came to power on January 30, 1933, the nightmare years began.
A Saturday, April 1, 1933 was the day on which the Germans were encouraged to
boycott Jewish shops and businesses. On that day Bella Fromm, a journalist
popular with the international set, went to work as usual at the Ullstein
publishing company. Everyone was trying to appear unconcerned "until the
heavy thud of SA boots resounded outside. The mob, Fromm noted, included the
building's doorman, to whom she had given an overcoat as a gift a few days
before. He, too, was now chanting To hell with the Jews' at the top of his
voice. The Nazi throng continued down the street without seeking to enter, and
after a while Fromm requested that her car be brought around. It was -- by the
same doorman, dressed once again in his dignified gray livery, his face a full
moon of good-natured innocence.' Twice, he had changed color within two hours
-- emblematic of the fickle German populace."
Fritz Rothbart had become a doctor, forsaking the violin for nuclear medicine.
He was very successful in this new specialty and had many patients. His future
seemed assured - but that was before January 30, 1933. As the Lutheran son of a
Jewish father, now subject to the Nazi restrictions, he decided to learn about
his father's faith. Through friends, he met Rabbi Joachim Prinz. Born in 1902
and ordained in 1925 by the Breslau Jewish Theological Seminary, Rabbi Prinz wrote:
"I was twenty-three years old when I became a rabbi in Berlin, and I had to go my own way which was different from that of my colleagues. I refused to separate Judaism as a religion from the reality of the Jewish people. I believed in the unity of people and faith. This approach was tested dramatically at the Friday Evening Service preceding April 1, 1933, the day of the boycott against the Jews.
****
"At that Friday Evening Service every seat was taken. Many stood in the aisles, leaned against the walls and sat on the steps which led to the altar. That night I saw famous Jewish actors, writers and other prominent people who had come for the first time to pray with Jews. The most touching experience was the moment when we all rose to recite the Shema together. The choir and the organist were drowned out. The organist was so overwhelmed that he could not continue to play. At that time the organ and every other trapping of the synagogue were proved to be artificial and superfluous. They revealed their Protestant character and seemed no longer to fit into the atmosphere of daily peril."
Also
in April 1933, Artur Schnabel was scheduled to repeat his cycle of Beethoven
sonatas over the Berlin radio. "He had completed the first four of the
seven concerts when the Nazis abruptly cut him off the air. The last sonata to
be broadcast, strangely, was the one in E flat, Opus 81A, known as Les Adieux.'
"
Fritz Rothbart continued to study Judaism with Rabbi Prinz and returned to that
faith. By law his medical practice was soon restricted to Jewish patients and
to foreigners. Fortunately, he had several influential embassy members who
continued to come to his office. That may have protected him. He decided that
he might have to leave Germany. Rabbi Prinz agreed, since he preached that
Hitler and the German Jews could not exist together, writing:
"One
Friday night in an overcrowded synagogue when things had become particularly
dangerous, and when I foresaw that some day the Jews might be deported by the
thousands, I went to my pulpit, and instead of delivering a sermon I told
[Alfred Polgar's story of a clock whose chimes did not ring and whose hands had
stopped. Only twice a day was the hour right.]"
"What is the moral of this story? Timepieces cannot die. It depends upon
you to look at the clock at the right time and be told what it is."
"I said to my congregation: Some people believe time stands still. Many of
you really do not know what the time is now. Many of you live as though nothing
was happening. But I am telling you the time is midnight. It depends upon you
to understand it, to look at the clock and understand what it really means. At
midnight people should pack up and go, for it may very well be that they will
have no opportunity whatsoever to look at the clock again."
Fritz
Rothbart soon followed this advice. There were increasing restrictions about
leaving Germany permanently; in addition to the visa requirements, a heavy tax
was imposed on anyone who was not going to return. Fritz still had many friends
at the embassies, so he was able to get visas for Palestine, England, Romania
and the United States. He told everyone that he was "going for a
trip" and purchased round-trip passage on the Cunard Lines. He left
Germany, knowing that he was bidding a permanent farewell to his elderly
parents. In 1940 the elder Rothbarts would return to Romania, where they died
within a year. Fritz's travels ended in Chicago where he became the director of
nuclear medicine at Thorek Hospital.
In 1933 Josef Krips had been forced to leave the Karlsruhe Opera because he was
Jewish. At first "Aryan" Germans married to Jews were not subject to
the anti-Semitic laws. Gradually, however, restrictions on them also increased
and Hans lost his position as assistant conductor.
Hans finally found a position as choir director in a Bavarian village, thanks
to the refusal of the Catholic pastor to obey the onerous anti-Semitic laws.
Alice could visit Hans and would often play the organ at the services. She
hesitated to move her place of residence, because she knew that her papers
showed that she was of "mixed blood." She and Hans hated being apart,
so they decided to take a chance that no official would notice her stigma.
Their new home was a rented room in a farmhouse at the bottom of the mountain
on which the Eagle's Nest stood.
For the name of the village was Berchtesgaden. It was situated at the foot of
four mountains, with the Obersalzberg rising above it. "The houses were
built in the traditional Alpine style, with rocks on the roof, carved wooden
balconies at each end, and fresco paintings of pastoral or religious scenes on
the stucco walls." In 1937 the Fuehrer's architect, Albert Speer, had
designed a monumental railway station where visitors to Hitler's Berghof could
disembark. Villas of high ranking Nazi officials were scattered throughout the
area. A group of long, white, two-story chalets were laid out as precisely as
an army camp about a mile and a half north of the village; they were homes for
the families of the Gestapo who guarded Hitler.
After Alice moved to Berchtesgaden, she knew that she had to find a doctor who
would prescribe her glaucoma pills. The nearest hospital was in Salzburg, an
hour's bus ride away. As her supply of pills dwindled away, she decided to take
that bus ride. When she asked to speak to the hospital eye doctor, the nurse
said he was at the end of the corridor but that no one could disturb him. He
had just been notified that his only son, a pilot, had been killed in North
Africa, fighting with General Rommel's troops. Alice went down the corridor to
the doctor, followed by the protesting nurse. Alice told the doctor that she
sympathized with him in his loss but begged him to write a prescription for the
pills. Without them, she told him, she would lose her sight, a tragedy for a
musician. Burdened by his sorrow, he wrote out the prescription. Every week
after that until she left Bavaria, Alice would take the bus to the hospital.
Life went on in a routine way, but each time she saw two tall blond German
soldiers in SS uniforms near the farm or in the village, her heart would start
racing. Not one ever spoke to her.
Although Hans and Alice did not know it, there was a resistance group in nearby
Munich. Traute Lafrenz was studying medicine at the University of Munich, when
she met Hans Scholl at a performance of Bach's Brandenburg Concerti .
She was a very small young woman, born in Hamburg. She had style and "a
cosmopolitan air which contrasted vividly with the more provincial ways of the
young Bavarians around her. But there was something hoydenish about her, too, a
coltish vivacity inherited from a Viennese mother that made her an exhilarating
companion and playmate." Hans Scholl and his sister, Sophie, also a
student at the University, were what the Nazis considered the best examples of
Aryan superiority. They, however, had become violently opposed to Hitler. They
gathered around them a small group of like-minded friends, among them, medical
students, a student of philosophy, and a fifty-year-old professor. In a
darkened studio lent them by an artist, they printed their anti-Hitler leaflets
signed "the White Rose" and with great ingenuity spread them
throughout Germany. Traute shuttled back and forth between Munich and Hamburg
by train. She carried a bag filled with leaflets, left it in one car and sat in
another car, recovering the bag when she reached Hamburg. When Hans and Sophie
dropped White Rose leaflets from the top of the atrium in a University
building, they were trapped by a Nazi custodian and arrested. In February 1943
Hans and Sophie were beheaded. Traute and others were given prison sentences.
The war began coming closer to Berchtesgaden in the spring of 1945. The Nazis
tried to protect the Obersalzberg by making artificial fog out of chemical-smoke
every time aircraft was sighted. There had been relatively few battles in the
area, but the American Seventh Army kept drawing closer.
"Allied planes had often passed over Berchtesgaden on their way to Salzburg, Linz and other targets, but as yet the Fuehrer area at the Obersalzberg was undamaged. [On April 25th,] however, two large waves of Allied bombers were bent on wiping out Hitler's mountain retreat. At ten o'clock the first wave swept over the Hohe Goell mountain and dumped high explosives on the edge of the Fuehrer area. Half an hour later came an even bigger wave. For almost an hour plane after plane unloaded blockbusters directly onto the Obersalzberg. Hitler's dream was a mass of twisted wreckage. The Fuehrer's home, the famed Berghof, had been hit directly; one side was demolished and the blasted tin roof hung in mid-air. Several hundred yards away, black smoke still rose from Bormann's badly damaged house and just beyond lay the shattered remains of Goering's house. The SS barracks, the Platterhof Hotel and the cottage where Hitler had written much of Mein Kampf were in flames."
Fortunately
for the Angermanns, the bombers had not scored a hit on the farmhouse at the
bottom of the mountain.
As the American Army moved through the mountains, a soldier described the
scene:
"We
were going downhill in a great rush, as if the drivers had finally found out
where we were going and were in a hurry to get there. Rounding a bend, we
popped out of the dark gorge and raced toward a little Alpine village that
sloped up prettily from a rock river ten yards wide.
"There was a sign on the bridge we had to cross to get into town. When we
read what the sign said, we screamed with joy. It was Berchtesgaden.
"White flags hung from the carved wooden balconies of the hotels and inns
that lined the steep, narrow streets, and a few of the older civilians came
outdoors to watch us drive in.
"Even after six years of war, the shops still catered to tourists. There
were camera stores (with no cameras), chocolate shops (without chocolate), and
restaurants (without food). The places that had sold resort wear had no
clothing -- it had all gone for the war -- and the ski shops had no skis.
Innkeeping was the major occupation, and almost every building bore the sign of
a hotel, inn, or Gasthof.
"None of the natives could say, as they had in other towns, that they had
not liked Hitler, for their absolute loyalty to the Nazi cause had been assured
years before by the SS and SD, who allowed only certified, bonded, 100 percent
Nazis to live so close to their leader's chalet."
Unknown to the soldiers, there were two residents who had eluded the SS.
"[After
the soldiers were settled, they] sprawled around in the bright warm kitchen [of
their chalet] and listened to the radio.... The sky had clouded over outside
and a thin, cold drizzle was falling as the sun went down. The kitchen seemed
very warm and cozy.
"[O]ur platoon guide, came in with an air of whiskey and a wide grin on
his face. He waved a piece of paper in the air. At last, goddam it!' he
shouted. Get a load of this.'
"We looked up.
"It's from Corps. Just came in. Here's what it says: Effective
immediately, all troops will stand fast on present positions. German Army Group
G in this section has surrendered. No firing on Germans unless fired upon.
Notify French units in vicinity. Full details, to be broadcast, will be issued
by SHAEF.'
"We let out a great shout of joy.
" Yessir,' [he] said. Looks like the war is over. And we couldn't end it
in a better place."
As
the Americans celebrated, the Angermanns were wondering what their future would
be, now that the Nazis had been defeated. Alice knew that her brother had gone
to the United States but did not know whether she had the correct address. The
strict rules against fraternization with the Germans made it impossible for her
to send Fritz a letter telling him that she and Hans had survived. One day at
the church she saw an American Catholic chaplain. In her heavily accented
English, she introduced herself, explained that her brother was a doctor in the
United States, and she wanted to contact him. As expected, the chaplain said
that no direct communications were allowed between the Germans and outsiders.
Determined to let Fritz know what had happened, she persuaded the chaplain
himself to send Fritz a note saying that his sister and her husband were living
in Berchtesgaden. With that information, Fritz was able to start proceedings to
bring the Angermanns to America.
The nightmare of the Nazi years was over, but it would be almost two years
before Alice and Hans would leave Germany. During that time, one of the puzzles
of their years of nesting, without disturbance, under Hitler's mountain was
solved. When the denazification proceedings started, a young woman came to
visit the Angermanns. She explained that she had a job in the local
registration office. Shortly after Alice had moved to the village, the young
woman had received Alice's records. When the woman saw the "J" on the
records, she froze. How could this be? She had been in the church when Alice
had played the organ for the Christmas services and when Hans had led the choir
in the traditional carols. The young woman knew that Alice might be sent away
to a concentration camp. She knew that she did not want anything bad to happen
to Alice or Hans, but it was a serious crime to destroy or change official
records. Finally, she told her supervisor about the situation. Together, they
agreed to destroy the original records and substitute records without the fatal
"J." For Alice, that action may have saved her life, so she testified
on their behalf at the hearings.
Finally, the day came when the Angermanns could begin their journey to the
United States. For the last time, Alice took the bus to Salzburg. She thanked
the doctor who had helped her at a sad moment in his own life. Then she asked
him the question she could not have asked before: "When I came here that
first time, did you believe that I was Jewish?" He said, "Yes."
For several weeks the Angermanns stayed in a relocation camp. There they met
Traute Lafrenz. Their wartime experiences and a mutual love of music made them
immediate friends. That close friendship would continue when Traute married an
American doctor. They had four children and lived in Evanston for many years.
Traute, her husband, and their children, in many ways, were the family which
Alice and Hans might have had if an Austrian corporal had not come to power on
January 30, 1933.
You may ask how I could paint this prose Portrait. It is all because in the
early 1960s, I shared a table with a stranger in the Narcissus Room at Field's.
When we started talking about music, I said I missed playing the piano. She
suggested that I contact a piano teacher by the name of Alice Angermann. That
conversation led to a teacher-student relationship of over 20 years, until her
death in 1988. Every year Mrs. Angermann would decide on a theme for the annual
student recital, such as "Johann Sebastian Bach and His Sons." She
would assign a piece based on each student's level of ability, from beginner to
advanced. Preparations were as intense as for a Carnegie Hall debut. One time
when I was nervously waiting to play a Ravel piece, Dr. Rothbart told me:
"Don't worry. It's modern. No one will notice if you play a few discordant
notes." Twentieth century music was not Mrs. Angermann's favorite; she
preferred the German musical greats - Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, and, of course,
her "grandfather" Franz Liszt.
Thursday we will celebrate Thanksgiving. While I will enjoy the turkey and
other culinary delights, I will also give thanks that I have known two
extraordinary people. One was Alice Angermann, whom I admired as a person who
overcame adversity with courage, and who, with her depth of musical knowledge
and enthusiasm, deepened my appreciation of classical music. The other person
was Dr. Orville Bailey, to whose memory this paper is dedicated; his
scholarship and elegant use of the English language expanded my intellectual
horizons. In addition he gave me a very special appreciation of the meaning of
Thanksgiving.
Happy Thanksgiving to all.
******************
BIBLIOGRAPHY
1.Bessel, Richard, editor. Life in the Third Reich . Oxford University
Press, Oxford, Great Britain, 1987. (Harold Washington Library, DD 2565/.L52
1987)
2.Blumenthal, W. Michael. The Invisible Wall: Germans and Jews, A Personal
Experience .
3.Childers, Thomas. The History of Hitler's Empire . The Teaching
Company, Springfield, Virginia, 1996. (audio)
4.Craig, Gordon A. The Germans . Penguin Books, New York, New York,
1991.
5.Dippel, John V.H. Bound Upon a Wheel of Fire: Why So Many German Jews Made
the Tragic Decision to Remain in Nazi Germany . Basic Books, New York, New
York, 1996. [Wilmette Library, 943.0049 DI]
6.Dumbach, Annette E. and Jud Newborn. Shattering the German Night: The
Story of the White Rose . Little, Brown and Company, Boston, Massachusetts,
1986.
7.Eisenberg, Azriel. Witness to the Holocaust . The Pilgrim Press, New
York, New York, 1981. [Winnetka Library, 943.086 WIT]
8.Everett, Susan. Lost Berlin . St. Martin's Press, New York, New York,
1979. [Wilmette Library, 914.3155 EV]
9.Friedlaender, Saul. Nazi Germany and the Jews, Volume I: The Years of
Persecution, 1933-1939 . HarperCollins Publishers, New York, New York, 1998.
10.Friedrich, Otto. Before the Deluge: A Portrait of Berlin in the 1920's .
Harper & Row, Publishers, New York, New York, 1972. [Wilmette Library,
943.155 FR]
11.Friedrich, Thomas. Berlin Between the Wars . The Vendome Press, New
York, New York, 1991. [Wilmette Library, 943.1 FR]
12.Gay, Peter. My German Question: Growing Up in Nazi Berlin . Yale
University Press, New Haven, Connecticut, 1998.
13.Gay, Peter. Weimar Culture : The Outsider as Insider. Harper
and Row, New York, New York, 1968. [Wilmette Library, 914.3 GA]
14.Gay, Ruth. The Jews of Germany: A Historical Portrait . Yale
University Press, New Haven, Connecticut, 1992. [Wilmette Library, 943.0049 GA]
15.Gill, Anton. A Dance Between Flames: Berlin Between the Wars .
Carroll & Graf Publishers, Inc., New York, New York, 1993. [Wilmette
Library, 943.1 GI]
16.Hanser, Richard. A Noble Treason . Putnam, New York, New York, 1979.
[Wilmette Library, 943.36 HA]
17.Heck, Alfons. A Child of Hitler: Germany in the Days When God Wore a
Swastika . Renaissance House, Frederick, Colorado, 1985.
18.Isherwood, Christopher. The Berlin Stories . New Directions
Publishing Corporation, New York, New York, 1963. [Harold Washington Library,
Fiction]
19.Kaplan, Marion A. Between Dignity and Despair: Jewish Life in Nazi
Germany . Oxford University Press, New York, New York, 1998. [Wilmette
Library, 943.086 KA]
20.Kater, Michael H. The Twisted Muse: Musicians and Their Music in the
Third Reich . Oxford University Press, New York, New York, 1997.
21.Krueger, Horst. A Crack in the Wall: Growing Up Under Hitler . Fromm
International Publishing Corporation, New York, New York, 1982. [Wilmette
Library, 921 K946k]
22.Large, David Clay. Where Ghosts Walked: Munich's Road to the Third Reich .
W. W. Norton & Company, New York, New York, 1997.
23.Massey, Anne. Blue Guide: Berlin and Eastern Germany . W.W. Norton
& Company, New York, New York, 1994. [Wilmette Library, 914.31 MA]
24.Nelson, Walter Henry. The Berliners: Their Saga and Their City .
David McKay Company, Inc., New York, New York, 1969. [Wilmette Library,
914.3155 NE]
25.Nicholls, A.J. Weimar and the Rise of Hitler . St. Martin's Press,
New York, New York, 1968. [Wilmette Library, 943.085 NI]
26.Pinson, Koppel S. Modern Germany: Its History and Civilization . The
Macmillan Company, New York, New York, 1954.
27.Prinz, Joachim. Das Leben im Ghetto: Juedisches Schicksal in fuenf
Staedten . Erwin Loewe, Berlin, Germany, 1937. [Asher Library, Spertus
Institute of Jewish Studies, DS 135 E8 P7]
28.Rees, Lawrence. The Nazis: A Warning from History . The New Press,
New York, New York, 1997. [Wilmette Library, 943.086 RE]
29.Shirakawa, Sam H. The Devil's Music Master: The Controversial Life and
Career of Wilhelm Furtwaengler . Oxford University Press, New York, New York,
1992.
30.Shirer, William L. Berlin Diary: The Journal of a Foreign Correspondent
1934-1941 . Alfred A. Knopf, New York, New York, 1941. [Wilmette Library,
943 SH]
31.Shirer, William L. The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich: A History of
Nazi Germany . Simon and Schuster, New York, New York, 1960.
32.Stern, Fritz. Gold and Iron: Bismarck, Bleichroeder, and the Building of
the German Empire . Knopf, New York, New York, 1977. [Wilmette Library, 920
ST]
33.Stoltzfus, Nathan. Resistance of the Heart: Intermarriage and the
Rosenstrasse Protest in Germany . W. W. Norton & Company, New York, New
York, 1996. [Wilmette Library, 940.53 ST]
34.Taylor, Ronald. Berlin and Its Culture: A Historical Portrait . Yale
University Press, New Haven, Connecticut, 1997. [Wilmette Library, 943.155 TA]
35.Toland, John. Adolf Hitler . Doubleday, Garden City, New York, 1976.
36.Toland, John. The Last 100 Days . Random House, New York, New York,
1966. [Wilmette Library, 940.54 TO]
37.Walker, Alan. Franz Liszt, Volume Three: The Final Years 1861-1886. Alfred
A. Knopf, New York, New York, 1996. [Winnetka Library, 921 Liszt Vol. 3]
38.Webster, David Kenyon. Parachute Infantry: An American Paratrooper's
Memoir of D-Day and the Fall of the Third Reich . Louisiana State
University Press, Baton Rouge, Louisiana, 1994. [Wilmette Library, 940.54 WE]
39.Yahil, Leni. The Holocaust: The Fate of European Jewry, 1932-1945 .
Oxford University Press, New York, New York, 1990.
40.Zahn, Gordon C. German Catholics and Hitler's Wars: A Study in Social
Control . University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame, Indiana, 1962.
Encyclopedia Judaica [Asher Library, Spertus Institute of Jewish
Studies]
Grove's Dictionary of Music [Wilmette Library, Reference]
Return to PAPERS
Return to Main Menu