THE ADLON BAR GANG

By CARL FLICK·STEGER

I'

Th amhor oj Ihis orlicle, al pre8tml i .. charge oj o..e oj Shang/wi's radioIIlot1'0'18, hU8 bce,~ CI jOlir'llal,jltt and writer Clll hi", liJe and is the o,t/lhor of severalbooks. Dun"lg th cril,ical years oj 1930 to 1936 he U'08 the Central EliropwncMrtU/pondent for ale H earlll Prf!88 and U,~it'e1','ial Serm'ce and later Joreign editor of"Thtl Philaddphia Inquirer." He has SU'l hillu>ry in the making and kno1l'8how to tell his experience.'! in a manller wh":ch brings histon'c evenu and name8from the elevated and 80mdimf!8 obscure level of editorials and history books ontothc plane of human interest.-K .M.

THE GANG ON PARADE

LUNCH-time in t.he Adlon Bar alwayswitnessed a parade of many ofEurope's No. 1 foreign newspaper

correspondents. Fritz, the bar's chief ofstaff, wa a marvel at calling everybodyby his right name, anticipating everyone'sorder, ne\"er obtru ive but always onhand when needed. From one o'clockon, Fritz flitted about, juggled trayspiled wit,h edibles and drinks amidstclattering dishes and the hubbub of con­versation, until the lunch hour grauual­ly faded out into silence a.gain. One ortwo groups of correspondents remainedto shoot craps or play poker. Thereafteroutbursts uch as, "Try to beat that!"or "How do you like them apples~"

intermixed with guffawing were all tha,tinterrupted Fritz' afternoon nap.

uddenly ambitiou Lithuania.n-bornOtto Toli 'chus talked in. :Fired by theINS, Otto had a tough time in New YorkWltil he fell back on his feet as BerUJlcorre pondent No. 2 of The New YorkTimes, a joh he owed exclusively to thekindnes of KUJ'I H. \"on Wiegand, Hearst'sveteran peer of American journalism.

··Well. what's new1 ' Otto honked in avoice uggest,ing the advisability of a noseoperation hi round fish eyes full ofbrisk ex pectancy.

"Not a thing tirring.' drawled LouisLochn r, who had ju, t sent qff an ex­clu ive -·tor) who'e repercussion weregoing to keep Otto up all that night,

although Otto didn't know it yet. Twen­ty oUu years in Berlin as chief corre­spondent of the Assooiated Press hadmade Louis ruthle ly egoistio.

Then red-faced jovial Guido Endrisambled in. Swi' -born Guido, Otto's·boss, was one man everybody liked. Formore than twenty years, new paperdomin Berlin without Guido Endrilo wouldhave been as unimaginable as Dnter denLinden without the Bra.ndenburger Tor.

"What do you think of them shoes,fellers~" he ra>:ped, holding out one foot."Just bought 'em, ain't they swell1" Alow chorus of mumbled a . ent followedalthough nobody took hi eyes off thedice or tIle cltrdfl. Ev rybody knew allabout Cuido's strange hankeri~lg. Thirty­one pairs of shoe' already filled his ward­robe, and it was said that at night hewould line them aU up in a row on thefloor and spend hours meditating overthem. "OUler people collect tamps andl.mtterflie and I colle t shoe, so what!"wa' his candid explanation.

Regular IWlChcrs at the AcUon werealso red-haired, wiry H. R. (,'Knick")Kniokerbocker, son of a Texa preacher,winner of the Pulitzer Prize, then withthe New York E've1l'l:ng Post until it foldedup, Ilnd thereafter Berlin correspondentof INS; and 'piJl ter Sigrid Schulz. theonly American woman correspondent inBerlin. ] n the early day of J933 aneophyte in one of the Berlin ministriesgot enthusiastic over her apparently

THE ADLON DAR GANG 399

Cerman name and her naturally blondhair and. much to the surprise of every­body and ahove all of l'igritl herseli. gaveher 111111 1111.1 hoost ing until an older handin the Mini. try read up SUUlO of the stuffhe was S ncling her newspaper. the

Clticage 'jlribune. Thereafter she fell ba ·kint,o t.he di~favor which she unquestion­ably merited. ::;igrid jllst couldn't getul;ed to a. political l:lituation that did notproduce at least one cavinet crisis permonth.

As for the Cllicago Daily N e-U:8 cor­re ·pondent. t.all, sour-faced Edgar Mowrer,hi!:! stay in Berlin carne to an abrupt endshortly after 193:J. Somehow I can't getaway from the conviction that Mowrerintentionally brought abuut his expul. ionfrom Germany in order to boost the saleof hi' book, Germany Put8 the Clock Back.His publil:lher had probavly advi'cd him:"Your mUJluscript isn't had. But inorder to make a vest seller ont of it,you've got to get into the headlines80mehow. Cet yourseli kicked out ofGermany that II give your stuff the neces­t>ary punch alld make a martyr of you."Anyway oflicialdom in Berlin soon gotwi;;e to that trick. Later, instea I ofcxp<,lIing jomnalist.s, they were side­tracked and ignor·d with the usual rCl:lultthat their own management soon recalledthem sim ply because they weren't avleto come through with any more news.

Two other frequenters of the AdlonBar, even though they were not foreigncurrespolllll'llts, belonged to the "gang."The one wn.s blustering Douglas Miller,the .-\ llIeri\"all Em hassy's coun:;cllor oftra,de and conomic;;, 11 profi('ient delmteron t.he l:'ubject of why America wa;; theworld's only country that knew how todo husiness. One dny early in 19:>:~ he('om plained to me with eon"idemble bitter­ness tllllt {'()ngre~flman ~Hrnuel Dicksteinwa mi using the whole cunsular allU

em baSJ y taff to get all his Jewish rel­atives out of Galicia in order to providegovernment jobs for them in Washington.However. this did not prevent Doug lateron from wdting his widely read book,You Can't Do BUoSl:ne88 With Hitler.),Ia.ybe he couldn't, at least not the kind

of business he wanwd to do. Incidental­ly, 1 understand hi" net profits out ofthat vook have already pa, sed a qunrterof a million US dollar.

The other outsider. Rumanian-born. banker" Frank Lane. was repeatedlycnught cheating at dice amI poker. Hisspeciality was finding ways and meansof slTluggling foreign currency out ofGermany. He and Doug Miller were thethicke t of friends. Official datu whichhaH mefUlwhile veen published by theHcich Goverument on the financial activi­ties of Douglas Miller in Berlin wouldappear to have made his friendship withLane only nat.ural. Anyway. the last Iheard of Lane. he was serving a term ina United I:;t.at penitentiary.

During 1933 shifty-eyed Quentin Rey­nolds arrived from New \ ork one day todo some special \\Titing for the iNS.H is girl friend was Martha Dodd, daughterof American Ambassador William E. Dodd,when she wa'n't out with the -'ovietdiplomat \ inogradow who is now Sta.lin 8Amba,ssador to Turkey. Her father wasa mall without means, so . he had to workfor a living. \rhat was more convenientthan to work for a German newspaper?~he becamc a stuff mem ber of the BerlinerLokal A1/zeiger. which did not, however,pre\'ent her frolll lambasting Germanywhen publishing the diary ullegedly com­piled by her father and a book of herown.

Q.uent HeYllolds l:lpent It uelightful sLxmonth gourmandizillg in Corma.ny. large­ly at the expen.se of the Heich Oovern­mont. He wa \\-ined and dined andjunketed arowlCl. accepting all iu\'itationswith a slick Irish Hmile. And after leav­ing Gcrmany glutted wit It good Germanfood and [I,ll of thir!.\- pounds hea\'icr inweight than \\' hen he callie to Berlin, hewrote a !'tor,\' fuJ' Cof/ier'8 Weekly ill whichhe tried to tell th American people thatGermany wa" li\'in~ on dog meat. Quent,as 1 knew him thell. was ready to writeanything if you paid him enough for it.Ne\'erthelcs.·. he'$ a wiza.rd a.t writingsports ~tol·ie:.s, a speciality which he hasmll.lStered to perfection and should havetuck to.

400 THE XXth eENTURY

A diversion from politics was alwayswelcome. Such a relaxation was theTernpelhof Airfield where facetious SeftonDelmar of the London Daily Mail, alwaysfull of monkey tricks, kept us all in aroar while we waited for another round­the-world flier to arrive from his hopacross the Atlantic. And when he finallydid swoop down from the clouds, theattempt at interviewing a dazed, fagged­out pilot who hadn't slept for twenty-fourhours and was almost completely deaffrom the roar of his motor was a problemin itself. Such interviews were generallywritten before the plane zoomed intoview.

Less fun for Hearst's correspondentswas the sudden appearance of famoussongstress and movie star Marion Davies.God help Hearst's man if the music hallMarion condescended to appear in wasn'tjammed to the doors and there weren'tat least a dozen curtain calls ("and nevermind what the show costs"). The aged"chief" had no mercy for those whoaroused Marion's displeasure.

Any other time of the day it wasstrictly business when we met to inter­view the chancellors and cabinet membersof many nations and the great and thefamous in all walks of life. But whenone o'clock came all was forgotten, andthe walls of the AdIon Bar re-echoedonce more with the laughter and mirthof genuine relaxation. Fritz and his barwill always be remembered by everyforeign correspondent who worked inBerlin.

"I SAW HiTLER"

Hefty, broad-shouldered DorothyThompson is the prototype of the eman­cipated insurgent American Amazon, andI don't think Edgar Mowrer was sowrong when he remarked to me one dayin Berlin that she. had nerve enough todemand the American presidency. Butshe certainly knows how to tell a storyin a style that is inimitable. One eveningshe, Walter Duranty (New York Timescorrespondent in Moscow, on vacation inBerlin), and I happened to meet in theAdlon Bar. Dorothy evoked roars of

laughter as she recounted in the funniestAmerican slang weird experiences in Mos­cow. Walter Duranty, in a polishedEnglish accent, continued with a taledepicting his vermin-ridden Moscow apart­ment, the impossibility of getting a dailyhot bath, the steam heating that neverfunctioned, and the house elevator thatmade its last trip back in 1917. "Why,you can't even buy a razor blade in thebally hole," Walt complained.

As usual, the conversation finally turnedtoward politics and, since it was impos­sible to talk about the political situationin Germany in 1932 without talking aboutAdolf Hitler, we finally reached thepopular subject that dominated everyEuropean cafe, restaurant, and club meet­ing in those days: "What's your opinionabout Hitler?"

Duranty made an effort to be fair,Dorothy got furious. She never couldtolerate contradiction. Poor husbandSinclair Lewis-no wonder he disespousedher. The tirade that Dorothy let looseagainst Hitler was about the most viciousoutburst I had ever witnessed. She endedit with, "Well, I'm seeing him tomorrowmorning."

My last-minute efforts to prevent theinterview were unsuccessful. Punctuallyat the appointed hour that morningDorothy's beefy contour hove in sight.Four seconds after Adolf Hitler hadwalked into the room, Dorothy 'knew"that "this man would never becomeChancellor of Germany." That, at least,was the opening sentence of her widelyread "I Saw Hitler" interview thatlater appeared in pamphlet form inmillions of copies and many languages.As a prophet, Dorothy wasn't 80 hot.

"GET IT FIRST nUT FffiST GET IT

RIGHT"

A few weeks after Hitler came intopower, lanky Edward DeuBS, Berlin cor­respondent of Internationa.l News Serv­ice, sat crouched over his typewriter onemorning, putting the finishing touches towhat he considered to be about the beststory he had ever turned out. Ed smiled,

THE ADLON BAR GANG 0401

lit a cigarette, t.hen yanked the story outof the machine and yelled, "Max, getLondon."

Fifteen minutes later the office boyMax was shouting the story through thetelephone to London, and another fifteenmU1Utes later another office boy in NewYork rushed into the cable editor's officeof INS with a couple of yards of Autteringpaper t.ape Learulg the following cablefrom Derlin: lNTERNEWS NEWYORK DEUSS

STOP MURDERED JEWS BErNG BURIED

WETSSENSEE JEWISH CEMETERY DALLY

STOP POWERFUL STORMTROOPER CAR

UPDRlVES CEMETERY ENTRANOE STORM­

TROOPERS OUTJUMP CAR HURL BODIES

lmRDERED JEWS IN OUTTER THEN SHOUT

TO GATEKEEPER QUOTE BURY THE BAS­

TARDS UNQUOTE CAR RACES OFF RETURNS

FEW HOURS LATER WITH MORE JEWS.

The cable editor rubbed his hands. Nowthere at la~t was a story. Almost everyNew York evening paper front-paged itwith u. screeching barmer headline, andstreet sales soared to u. new high.

I asked Deuss that afternoon if he wassure his story was sufficiently watertighttu weather the storm that wa.. sure tobreak loose. "Aw, "hut up and mindyour own bu iness," was his reply. Butwhen, on the afternoon of the followingday, Chancellor Hitler referred to thestory in a Reichstag world-wide radiohookup speech in terms so unequivocalthat the innocent heaved a sigh of relief,Deuss began to get nervous.

Then he suddenly decided to do whatallY cub reporter would have done beforefiring oft a story loaded with so muchdynamite: he hurried over to the Jewishcemetery in Weissensee to try to pick upsomething he would be able to stand Oil.

True, be found a number of newly shov­eled graves, but that wasn t enough. Sohe slipped five marks into the Jewishgardener's palm. The gardener there­upon showed him a few more new graves.Ed gradually t,alked h.imself into inter­preting these as arlequate evidence thathis story was true.

The climax came on the morning ofthe next day when Deuss was summoned

to Prussia's 1933 Minister of the InteriorHermann Goering.

"Tell me, Herr Deuss, are you absolute­ly certain that your story about thosemurdered Jews is true?" Goering quietlyinquired in a deep, almost fatherly voice.

"Absolutely certain, Herr Minister,"Deuss snapped back.

"Did you actually see any of thosemurdered Jews you wrote about?"

"No, I didn't exactly see them," Deussreplied with a hesitant quiver in his voice."But I r-well. I saw the newly duggraves where the murdered Jews areburied, and-so-"

"Where did you see them ('

"At the Jewish cemetery in Weissen­see."

"AU right, we'll all motor over to theWeissensee Cemetery righ t away." Goeringreplied, rising to his feet. ·'You, HerrDeuss, will POUlt out to me the gravescontaining the murdered Jews, and I willhave those graves opened at once. ]f

your Rtory is true, well, then you win.But if your story should turn out to bea fake, I'm afraid . . . ." The sterngleam in Goering's eyes and his firmlyset jaw sent a slight chill up Deuss's spule.

"But Herr Minister--er, I am--er­that isn't fair, " Deuss gas ped. ..Ofcourse I-I-didn't look into the graves,but-"

"No, nor did you see anv of thosesupposedly murdered Jews ~ither, butyou didJI't hesitate to write ahout them,did you?" Goering answered in the samequiet voice.

Deuss finally admitted that he hadbought the ;'tory from one of the countlesspeddlers of .'confidential information"who were responsible for much of the"inside story" stuff t,hat left Berlin inthose days. He refused to a,ccompanyGoering to the cemetery and was there­upon politely ushered out of the office.

The next afternoon Deuss received aletter from the Ministry of the Interiorrequesting him to sign an attached state-

402 THE XXth CENTURY

ment. This 8tatement declared the mar'­del' storY to be untrue and added thatthe und~r,j 'ned. Edward Deu.'>;. did notobje t to ha \'ing this tatement publishedin aU German new paper'.

Den was beginning to get rattled.For o\'er an hour he pa.ccd the Huvr ofhis office. fmntically delHloting in hi. mindwhat to do. He couldn't possibly ri kbeing xpcll d from Germany for emlinga tory that wa :t proY· n fn.ke. Finallyhe typed out a meso age to th 'ew Yorkollie iJI wh ieh he was fuoJi 'h enough toask the g J1('ral ma.nager fOl' permisRionto sign tho sta.tement. New York's replywas inRtunt: "YOU CA.N SIGN ANYTHING

YOU WANT ASFOR~1Jm ORHESPONDENT

OF lNTER:\ TIONAL NEW ·ERY1Ct~."

As he I ft the Berlin uflicc for the lasttime. he suddenly caught, ight of a cardnailed to th wall ov 'I' hil'i typewriter.Strange that he had never" 'ell it before,although it had been t,hen' fur yea.rs. Jtbore in bi, type \\'illia1l1 RandolphHearst'· ad vice to hi.." correspondentc::"G t it fir,~f but fir f g t if right_"

Deu ' p und d t.h pa\'cmcnt, of Lon­don for month-. The In:t J heard ofhim WfI" that he had finally landed aDlall job with the Britl. h Mini -try of

Information.

ERBI KI);' .S DO);,'T UIE I);' BED

Autumn in Vienna iR almoRt a delight­ful a RcaRon n.s 'pring-timo, ] IUld lunchedon tho Gohenzl with Illy tJ'Ustiest pipeline in the Bunde. kallzl i and nHtde adetour t,hrough the beautiful Wiener\Vald on th wa~' back. Theil rambledover to ,John Gunther's apartment fOl'tea. AR U uill hiR plnee te'mod withvisitorR, Ro Panton. Vienna curre­spondent of the London Daily Express.was the center of attraction tha.t after­noon, The nie,ht before hiFl ear had runover a pede. trian. Fearing that thep Ii e miC1ht disco\'er how drunk he wa'when th' uccident happen ·'d. he aban­doned the unfortunate victim, racedhome, lind went to beel to sleep it offbefor the police arrh'ed, Meanwhilepo, sers-by who had remembered his car

number took the poor pedestrian'to thehospital. ~

John Gunther, always looking for ahUlC1h. thought it was a great joke theway Panton led tho Viennese I Ii 'e bythe nose. Mr. Gunther took a morefeminine attitude. pitied the pedestrian,and threatened to write a story for theLondon New8 Chrom'cle who e Viennacorrespondent she was. to let the worldknow what 8. depra,\ed crowd Vienna'for ign jourllaLists were, Mr. Panton,Russian by birt h, insi, ted in hrokenEngli:h t,ha.t a drunkard like her hu"lmndwould have been hanged and qUltrteredin I~w;sia Ul the days when her ff~ther

was one of the myriad general. wbichthat great empire evideutly once po,' 'ellsed.Jn identally, it cost Panton a lot ofhribes and an expen iye lawyer to pro\'efinally that tbe accident was the ped 8­

trian's fault.

Ba k in the BriRtol Hotel, I glane d atthe vening pu p rR. There was nothingt,irrin C1 . My calendar revealed an early

dinner engagcm nt with the Yug .Iavpres ~ttta('he on v ard a newly arriv d~ervian Da.nube barge, The. e bur oswcr remarkaulo Yeflsels, built in Gor­many (free of charge, a' r ,.mmtiondeli\'orieR), all-!'t I with powerful mot I",cozy dining room, electric kitchen. andsl otle!'sly dean abin". Serbi~m otTicer:olcommanded th val' es,

Iu the act of 11Ol\l'lling a taxi I wascall ·11 1);1('k t,ll UIO hnt,el. Londoll WfLS nthe IiIH'. "King l\lex'U1del' of Yugo­Ala.\'in ha' he 'n nl'iSI\~. inat,ed ill Mars illes,L'rueeed to !3el'rnd at ollce. Hire aplane if n ('csRar,\'," That wu.~ tho Hf'Il­

satioual me,-sage Londull relayed \'0 llIefrom 'ew York.

B~lgntdc j.. "ltd enough whell O\' ry-thing j;< IHll'nHl.1. Rut wh 'II 'oruia.1I10UJ'J1l'i, all d"ihle life in H I ad ihlott d out. Thc." cling to trnditi n,th se tuugh, ,..in wy ·orb... although ra.relyif over do their king~ die in bed.

1 booked 11 room in the rpRky Kral,reputed to he Belgrade'. v/lly hotelwithout bedbug:-. E\'ery (,ther day theytake the beds apart ami blow hot stRam

THE ADLON BAR GANG (03

into their joints to hold off the continuousonslaught of vermin.

Celebrities were flocking in from allover the Balkans, and next morning thehotel porter informed me that I wouldhave to share my double room with some­one else. I could take my choice fromamong a. Montenegrin field marshal. anAlbanian general, or the Vienna cor­respondent of the London Times, ClcLrenceGedye. That choice was easy. I likeFrench perfume when it's on a charmingwoman, but these perfumed Balkan gen­~rals ....

My roommate Gedye spoke very littleand drank excessh~ely. In the earlymorning hours he would stagger noisilyinto the room, fumble with the lamp.and go through the motions of reading inbed. although he almost immediatelybegan to snore terribly. I invariablyhad to got up and turn out the light hehad left burning. Otherwise he was goodcompany and once told me more abouthis well-known book written right afterWorld War I, in which he presented theGerman side uf the war in a very fair­minded manner.

The days dragged on, but the warshipcarrying Alexander's bomb-torn body hadstill not arrived in Split. The hotel barwas our main hang-out, and we tried tokill time as be. t we could after we hadeaten up all the oysters in town andmotored out to beautiful Oplanec to seethe tombs of the other murdered kings.The bar was mainly populated by Serbian~ecret jloUce of the Edgar Wallace type.When we entered the bar, each of themwas deeply absorber! by the newspaperheld before his eyes. Closer scrut,iny,however, revealed their eyes to be rollingin aU directions while they strained their~ars to catch every word we spoke. Our~very move aroused suspicion.

One day Panton, our chief buffoon,decided to give them something to do.He sneaked up to his room, wrapped oneof his roommate's shoes in a lot of stiffpacking paper, and then came rushingdown to the bar with the bundle heldout at arm's length, yelling at tho top

of his voice. "Help, help, a bomb, Ifowul it under my bed!"

Considerable excitement followed andcaused us a great deal of fun. One ofthe stooges dove for the telephone to callthe fire department, another one scram­bled upstairs to get fingerprints, while athird ran out on the street to call morepolice. The brainiest of the lot camelimping in with a pail full of water intowhich the "bomb" Wal' immediately sub­merged. (Serbs are old hands at handlingbom bs.) After a brief period of tensewaiting, the package was carefully un­wrapped by a bomh expert who hadmeanwhile arrived. Finally the water­soaked shoe appeared. Thereafter rela­tions with om' secret-agent bar neighborscooled off noticeably.

The following evening I was sitting ina quiet corner of the bar playing chesswith witt,y, quick-thinking Vern9n Bart­lett. the London New8 Chron1'cle's specialcorrespondent, when \-Yard Price, sleekand monocle-eyed as usual, glided in.He spotted me. took me to one side, andasked if I would do him a favor. He hada dinner engagement with a beautifulSerbian princess, but a sudden invitationfrom a Yugoslav bigwig wuortunatelyprevented him from keeping the date.Would I t.ake her off his hands~ As amatter of fact, that excuse ought to havemade me sw;picious. But a uiJmer in thecom pany of a charmiJlg princess wasenticiJlg, consideriJlg how rare the sightof a woman had become in mourningBelgrade. I consented. But after speak­iJlg with the girl 1 quickly changed mymind and managed to pass her on toPant,on, for she waR neither a princessnor beautiful nor a tlel'b. To be exact,she hailed from northeastern Berlin andwas unquestionalJly a member of theworld's oldest profession.

The next a.fternoon I was privatelyinformed that Hermann Goering wasarriving by plane. 1 crossed the Danubeand motored out to the airfield. A num­ber of strongly perfumed, meda,l-bedeckedSerbian generals were already waiting.On one side of the airfield, nine Frenchfighter planes were drawn up in line.

THE XXth CENTURY

Their pilot.s had requested direction halfa dozen times during their flight fromParis and even then missed the field bymiles, so the Yugoslav radio operatortold me. "Goering's plane asked fordirection in Budapest once," he smilinglyadded. "Since then we have heard noth­ing more from the machine. It oughtto be here now."

Just then a big red-and-white Ju-52shot over the field with a roar, circledround it once, and then landed withouta hitch. Goering stepped out. At thattime FTfLnce still held a complete monop­oly over all Balkan air lines becauseFrench planes were considered the bestin the world. The French pilots scowleda.s Goering strutted by. No wonder.

On the following morning Alexander'sbody finally arrived. From then on weall had plenty to do. One difficulty con­fronting us was that of getting our callsthrough in time to Berlin, Paris, andLondon. The only one who didn't com­pla,in was Panton. Later we fo'und outwhy. He had secretly distributed adozen or so boxes of chocolates amongthe operators in the telephone exchange.All of his stories reached London first.

The funeral of King Alexander wasimpressively solemn and harrowing.Somehow his death seemed to symbolizemore for Yugoslavia than merely thepassing of another murdered king. FromBelgrade to Oplanec, a distance of aboutten miles, the road was lined on bothsides by burly Yugoslav soldiers standingrigidly at attention. As the funeralcortege moved slowly by, tears rolleddown their sun-tanned cheeks. I hadnever seen soldiers cry before.

THAT HECTIC YEAR 1934

It was a cold, murky day in Februarywhen the news of the Socialist revolt inVienna reached Berlin. I tried to contactmy boss, Hearst's chief European cor­respondent Karl H. von Wiegand, whowas marooned in Paris by a general strikethat had disrupted all telephone andtelegraph service. The night train thatthereupon rushed me to Vienna was

suddenly brought to an abrupt halt earlythe next morning. I poked my headout of the window and heard the staccatoof machine guns and the occasional boom­ing of artillery. Hastily grabbing mybelongings I jumped from the train andjoined the rest of the passengers trudgingalongside the tracks.

On a small near-by hill overlookingVienna's outskirts I saw John Gunther,William Shirer, and the American militaryattache eagerly watching Major Fey'sartillery blow huge holes into the brand­new million-dollar Karl Marx Building,a workers' ap~~rtment house of enormousdimensions. From the windows of thebuilding came bursts of rilie and machine­gun fire. Tben (rom across the trackswhere our train was standing bullets alsowhizzed forcing us to seek cover.

Two days later the story was over.We were just lolling around in the bar ofthe Grand when in puffed red-facedHudson Hawley, Berlin's INS corre­spondent, successor to Deuss. \Ve triedto tell him it was all over, that the storywas licked clean, but that didn't botherHudson. He gmbbed a taxi and dis­appeared. Where he went I don't knowbut of course he saw nothing becausethere was nothing more to see. Later Iread his story. It was the most dramaticdepiction of house-to-house fighting Ihad ever seen. I nearly wept when Iread it although I knew it was all hisimagination. ] ncidentally, he beat us allwith the play his story got in New York.

At the Cafe Louvre, Vienna's 'AdlonBar," I had a date that afternoon withone-eyed Bill Shirer, the Chicago Tribune'sVienna correspondent. It was the cus­tomary Cafe Louvre afternoon seancewith crystal-gazer Janos Fedor presiding.Others present were Gunther, Panton, andGedye. Fedor wa a clever, analytically­minded Hungarian Jew. shaggy hairedand with an n.ustere air that at firstglance commanded respect. When heparted his lips to speak, a hush came overhis circle of followers, who absorbed hiswords as if coming from an oracle.Fedor is credited with having suppliedmost of the raw material for J"ohn Gun-

THE ADLON BAR GANG 406

ther'sIn~ideEurope. Now in New York,Fedor is doing a roaring business withmore "inside stories," chiefly about "be­hind-the-scenes-in-Germany," although Icannot remember ever having BOOn himin Berlin.

Bill Shirer was a quiet, hard-workingreporter who always imagined that hewas being shadowed by some sort ofsinister forces. Before he said anythinghe looked stealthily about him and thendared not raise his voice much above awhisper. His olle eye always troubledhim ever since losing the other when heplunged into a ski stick on the snow­covered Semmering. His thick glassesand an everlasting scowl gave him agloomy air. Two years later when Iwent to Philadelphia as foreign editor ofthe Inquirer, Arno Dosch-Fleurot, INS'sParis correspondent, succeeded in sellingBill Shirer toO New York as my SUCCC880rin Berlin.

Six months later I was winging myway back to Vienna. In Prague thewobbly old Fokker came down with abump and, when it rose again, H. R.Knickerbocker and I were its only pas­sengers. I munched Knick's sandwicheswhile he smoked my cigarettes. We bothgot to the Bundeskanzlei in time to seeMajor Fey and his collaborators leaningover the balcony's balustrade, negotiatingwith the other half of the AustrianGovernment standing on the sidewalkbelow. Violent gesticulations accompa­nied their excited Shoutil. It was a scenefor Franz Lehar.

That night, all telephone and telegraphwires having been cut by the government,John Gunther volunteered to take us overto Bratislava in his eight-cylinder Ford.Through pitch-dark sidestreets and pastheavily armed Heimu:!!hr guards, Johncarefully piloted us out of Austria'scapital. Other occupants of the car wereKnickerbocker, Fedor, Gedye and Pan­ton. The Czech frontier guards didn'twant to let us paBB so we all chipped inand gave the leader a generous tip.

In Bratislava we fowld telephones ofthe kind they used before the automobile

was invented. It was a nerve-wrackingordeal first to get a connection and the~

to hold on to it. On the way back theCzech of before humbly informed methat Czechs don't take tips and would Iplease take back the money we had givenhim. I finally took it, and while the carmoved on I oounted the money. Half ofit was missing.

Two days later we stood in the statelyold St. Stephan's Cathedral, jammed inamong a multitude of VaterlarulischeFr01lt Austrians listening to beautifullysung choraJs. Chancellor Doll/uss' fu­neral would have boon much moreimpressive if it hadn't been turned intoa politica,ldemonstration bristling with80 many sub-machine guns, rifles, andpistols.

The next evening I planned to relaxand see Lohengrin in Vienna's magnificentopera house with its world-famous sing­ers. But before getting that far, Berlincame through with the flash that Hinden­burg was dying.

No night plane was available so wemade a dash for the Westbahnhof, wherethe station-master had RSKured our hotelporter that the night express would beheld up till we got there. (In Viennathat sort of th.ing was possible.) :Fiveminutes behind schedule the train rolledout. We cut acrOS8 Poland and arrivedthe next afternoon in Freystadt, EastPrussia, about a mile from Hindenburg'sNeudeck. Sleepy little Freystarit hadbecome the world's center of interest andwas buzzing with excitement. J t.s pop­ulation had been doubled overnight bynewspaperdom's celebrities who werepouring in from everywhere. We werequartered in private houses. I slept inthe parlor of the village schoolteacher'shome, while Jules Sauerwein the Parisj1Jatin's famous savant, was quartered inthe sitting room.

The aged field marshal did not die untilten daysolater, so that we had plenty oftime to tour Freystadt's environs and goswimming in the famous Mazurian lakes,at the bottom of which lie thousands ofdrowned Russians.

.. . THE XXth CENTURY

I had the privilege of being includedamong the few who w re permitted to seethe body of the field marshal at Neudeckstate h fore it was pIa 'ed in til casket.

There lay Germany's grand old man. in11. simple hrass bed ,urrounded by th"partlln Rimplicity ch!\.racteri~tic of theold Pru ian officer. A luster of exaltedRublimit\· ~med to hover over themortal ~emain of thi, great man, Thedeeply grooved featureR of h.i.R magnificent,bead were as if hewn in stone.

That night, when Frey tadt'r; church helltiU'U 'k {,\Vcln' might,v cortege bcga.n tomove. At it head wa the cuffin borneoJi a gun carriago. ThouRands of Aoml.WI'­faced soldiers carrying tor ·hlight. followedwith III t ured tread. At daybreak tho01 mn procession reached the malllmoth

Tarulenh rg monument within whosegranite wall Field Marshal von Hinden­burg was interred.

l3a k in Berlin, I was in! rmed that]{.Ilndulph Churchill, son of Win ton. hadailed up and was , taying at the Bri tul.

Y"un' Handolph blew into town everyix months ur so and Wll. excellent COlli­

pany, 11." keenl. intRrest d in politics IV

he wa.s in night clubs, But the torieRhe \\ rol,' for the Daily Express were fullI)f rare wlIrds no newspaperman ever uses.~avorin~ of an Oxford edut'l1.tic)n hut apuerile mind.

I-lev rn I weeks aft,cr Randolph had leftfor til(' Frenc·h Hiviom. Knickerbockerbegan pulljng \\ires to get an interviewwith tile J.4'iihrer. Then Knick didwhat lIny newspaperma,n cun only doon'c: he douhle-ero d the man whose!lo>lpitality he had accept d and malicious­ly mi 'quoted the :Flihrer's words. For ucoupl uf day' Kni k got into the head­\.inc>'. but no scrious-minded newspaper­man had rnll<:h rCRped. fnr him after that.for he had \'iolated the fundamentalethics of the guild. The Reich Govern­ment did not do him the favor of expel­ling him. However. from then on hefound Berlin's doors 10 ked. He finallymO\-ed to Paris and was never seen inCcrmany aga in.

r~ PARrS WE PARTED

On June 13, \{140, the German Armyrolled into Paris. Our unit, bearing thoaw -inspiring name of Kriegsberichterslaj­f I des Oberl'om ma ndo8 der W hrmadt(Wu,r-Reporter nit of the German Army'sHigh Command). was quarter d in thHutel Scri1)(' , 'just around the corn r fromth Plo.e de Ill. ·oneorde.

Almost everyone of Pari' No.1 foreigncorre 'pondent had macle a dash for clearlife when the Uerman Army moved in.They ha.d benevolently left their officea.'l"istants behind to be slaught red bytlte Huns. Either the chiefs hud a vcr\,bad conscience, or tbey'd fallen for theirown propaganda, Anyway, the aban­doned a . istantl weren't slaughtered, Ontho contrary, I for my part wa. orderedby the German High Command to grant_ merican orl'esponclents aU pos. ible aid.At first they were scared and 'uspicious.hut when they saw we wore sincere theygradually warmed up. and in the endthey were glad til y had 'tayed. Fromthen on Paris stories (and there weI'plt>nt,y of them) bore their by-line andnot their chiefs'.

Meanwhile, eminent Demar e Be~.

Triton among th minno\o\s, imagininghimself to ho in u predicament. dar d notI('ave hi, hotel room. A couple of monthsbefore the Maginot J... ine caved in, he hadwritten Rn article for The Salluday Et, ­lIill~ Post (whose correspondent he was.afte .. leaving The ('111'18[1''1'11 R6ence .Moni­tor) eontaining a few thihgs about Hein­ri<:h Himmler that now troubled his con­science and made him fear for th worst.W· conta·t rl Berli.n via the GermanEmha '. y and ml\,cle inquiri weeklat'r Demaree B~.: was invited to Berlin,where hc was flabbergasted to leam thatHeinrich Hitnrnler him elf had mag­nunilllou:;ly a ..ranged the invitation. Bes.-;was free to writ,e anything he pleased.He thereupon toured all occupied tel'­ritorie from Xan'ik to War aw, ThH ague, and Hi'll s ·11'1. Hi. brilliant seriesof ob 'ervutions appearing in America':;biggCJ t we kl.\o' aruu 'ed the inter t ofthe world and went a long way to clarifymisconceptions among the ill-informed.

THE ADLON BAR GANG

the American public. He got profusecongratulations from New York thatnight although he didn't know why untilweeks later. Kirk followed with histale, and then it was my turn.

Night was falling as I signed off whilethe famed wagon salon which saw theconclusion of two truces rolled slowlyout over newly laid tracks on its way toBerlin.

Today the Adlon Bar gang is nomore. Ward Price after returning toLondon got into trouble for being toopro-German. Vernon Bartlett enteredpolitics and became a Member ofParliament. Roy Panton was too slowin getting out of Copenhagen and wasinterned on a small Danish island. Oneday a short-wave radio station' wasdiscovered in his isolated domicile.Since there was Teason to believe thata British plane had parachuted it intohis backyard. he was taken to a spotless dangerous.

Dorothy Thompson. William Shirer,Louis Lochner, and John Gunther canbe heard over American radio stationsany night telling the world " whatAmerican commentators say." H.R.Knickerbocker is cleaning up consider­able cash lecturing to gullible Americanaudiences, while Douglas Miller has madel\ State Department career. Pierre HUBSwas last heard from as a war reporterin North Africa. In Shanghai I wassurprised to find Karl H. von Wiegandliving in the same hotel I had put upin; and in Tokyo, two summers ago, Isuddenly discovered Otto Tolischusstanding next to me in a crowded hotelelevator.

Practically everyone of the AdlonBar gang, whether they hold So rifle,pound a typewriter, or stand before themicrophone, is now fighting for his orher respective country in a war thatknows no compromise. And I am afraidit will be a long, long time before thewalls of the Adlon Bar echo again withthe mirth and laughter of former enemiesreconcited.

At the American Press Club the storywas told amidst roars of laughter of howDorothy Thompson and H. R. Knicker­bocker had raeed head-over-heels out ofParis when it suddenly became knownthat the Germans were at the city'sgates. Dorothy and Knick, it was said,acriously believed that the German Blitzwas carried out with such haste mainlyin order to take them prisoner and bringthem back to Berlin.

As time went on, I could feel that theoriginally friendly attitude of the Parisforeign correspondents was being adverse­ly influenced by a mysterious source. Itturned out to be fifty-year-old masculine­voiced Anne Morgan, spinster sister ofJohn Pierpont Morgan. I called on herone morning in the office of her charitydecoy where she directed the succoringof young French girls (providing theywere pretty). Cigar-smoking Anne swag­gered up and down spouting bombasticnonsense in a gutteral voice. She evi­dently feared that a Franco-German rcc­onciliation might endanger her brother'sfuture profits and even terminate hervoluptuous pastimes as well. But shewas by 110 means impolite, offered me agood cigarette and even a chair, but thatwas about all.

One evening, while I was dining in the.basement of the Scribe, the whole Berlingang marched in, led by blond. blue-eyedLieutenant Carl B6mer, the PropagandaMinistry's brilliant foreign-press chief.Pierre Huss of INS (Hawley's successor)spotted me in a Bash and dragged meinto the bar. Others in the group wereWilliam Shirer (now with CBC). CarlOechsner, Louis Lochner, Otto Tolischus,a.nd James Kirk (NBC).

A few days later we met in Compiegneto cover the Armistice story. In Com­piegne's vast forest, amidst giant trees,.stood. a microphone that was hooked updirectly with Berlin, from there (by shortwave) with New York, and then (bycable and long wave) with every Americanhome. Bill Shirer took the lead, talkedhis piece through the mike and, througha. censorship freak, was the first to breakthe news of the Armistice's signing to

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