Berlin Games (20 page)

Although Ribbentrop found little favour among the mandarins, he gained a sympathetic ear in the form of Thomas Jones, a retired senior civil servant who had kept in contact with many senior figures, including Stanley Baldwin. Jones met Ribbentrop on numerous occasions, and he did not find him the ‘ass' that Vansittart and Phipps found. In the middle of May, Jones had flown to Germany to stay with Ribbentrop at his home in the Dahlem area of Berlin, which had once been used by Hitler, Papen and Goering as a secret meeting place before the Nazis had come to power. Jones found the atmosphere in the house very congenial. ‘One might be in Surrey or Sussex, so English did it seem. There are three butlers, an adjutant in full
uniform, a private secretary, and a stenographer who speaks English and has studied at the School of Economics in London.' During their meeting, which took place on a Saturday morning, Jones noticed the plethora of English books lining the shelves in Ribbentrop's study, including Lytton Strachey's
Elizabeth and Essex
, T. E. Lawrence's
Revolt in the Desert
, and
Oliver Twist
. Ribbentrop lectured Jones on the need for Hitler to meet Baldwin, because Hitler was ‘not the dictator in conversation', he maintained. After the meeting, Ribbentrop took Jones on a tour of the Olympic Stadium and the Olympic village. Ribbentrop clearly wanted to impress Jones with the new buildings, but Jones had his mind on his meeting with Hitler on Sunday.

Jones met the Fuehrer at 12.15 at his flat in Munich. Hitler ‘made no attempt to impress or “aggress” his visitor' and instead seemed the model of bourgeois tranquillity, ‘dressed in his Sunday best, all fresh from the laundry'. Jones told Hitler that it would be best if Germany replied to the questionnaire, which Hitler evaded by stating that what he ‘wished most of all was to achieve some solid piece of security in Europe', so long as the British and the French fell in with Germany. Hitler told Jones that he greatly wished to see Stanley Baldwin, but Jones parried this by saying that Baldwin was a ‘shy and modest statesman'. When Jones returned to London, Baldwin told him that he did not wish to see Hitler, because he ‘did not fly and did not like the sea'.

Nevertheless, Ribbentrop was pleased with this tentative opening, and came to London at the end of May, bringing with him several invitations to the Olympics, which he distributed around sympathetic London society figures. On the evening of the 29th, the Conservative MP and socialite Henry ‘Chips' Channon dined with Ribbentrop and his wife. Channon, who was an appeaser, had mixed feelings about the German couple.

Ribbentrop's nautical aspect was not matched by an ability to sail. He spent the weekend with Lord Londonderry in Northern Ireland, where he competed in a yacht race on Strangford Lough. Ribbentrop fell overboard, and had to be rescued with a boat hook.

Despite this
infra dig
mishap, Ribbentrop continued to woo all those he thought might help secure a secret meeting between Hitler and Baldwin. He lunched with Thomas Jones at the Carlton Club, where the genial Welshman told the German about Baldwin's reluctance to take to the sky or sea. Jones assumed that Hitler would not wish to visit Britain, with which Ribbentrop concurred, but he told Jones that he ‘could arrange for Hitler to come quite close to our coast, two or three miles from Dover or Folkestone'. Jones then took Ribbentrop down to Kent, where he met Lord Lothian and Sir Thomas Inskip, the minister for co-ordination of defence, who had been present at the BOA annual dinner at the Dorchester a few days earlier. Ribbentrop impressed the two men, and they sat up until the small hours, discussing how the future of Europe might look if there was an agreement between Britain and Germany. Back in London, Ribbentrop met the editor of
The Times
, Geoffrey Dawson, and once again spent an evening with Chips Channon and his wife, who he invited to the Olympics.

Ribbentrop returned to Berlin in a mood of optimism. As everybody he had met was pro-German, he mistakenly assumed that this was the mood of the country, as well as that of the prime minister, telling Goebbels that Baldwin was ‘completely on the German side'. Ribbentrop's bubble was soon pricked by Anthony Eden, however, who was adamant that no meeting between Hitler and Baldwin should take place, a suggestion that met with the approval of Baldwin, who found the whole matter of a clandestine rendezvous like something out of a spy novel. Thomas Jones wrote to Ribbentrop, telling him that the ‘project of an open meeting must be regularised'. Ribbentrop was livid, not least because his failure to deliver the secret meeting put him out of Hitler's favour.

The German Foreign Secretary, von Neurath, now saw an opportunity to get rid of the meddling Ribbentrop, and he suggested to Hitler that Ribbentrop should be appointed ambassador to London to replace von Hoesch, who had died in April. This was a sly move
by von Neurath, as he suspected Ribbentrop would be a failure in Britain. ‘After three months in London, Ribbentrop will be done for,' he secretly told Papen. ‘They can't stand him there and we will be rid of him for good and all.' Hitler agreed with Neurath, not because he wanted to get rid him, but because he still felt that Ribbentrop might be able to deliver an Anglo-German agreement. Despite much complaining from Neurath, Ribbentrop still kept control of his
Büro
. Other members of the Nazi hierarchy were far from delighted–Goering even told Hitler that Ribbentrop knew little about foreign countries apart from their national drinks. When Hitler replied that Ribbentrop knew a great many British lords, Goering replied, ‘Yes–the trouble is, they know Ribbentrop.' The new ambassador received his formal letter of appointment just before the Olympic Games on 27 July, and Ribbentrop was even less pleased than his fellow Nazis. He had wanted to replace Neurath at the Foreign Ministry, but now he was being marginalised. Nevertheless, the Olympic Games would prove to be a great opportunity for Ribbentrop to show that, more than just an ambassador, he was a strutter on the world's stage. He and his wife were going to host a vast party at their house in Dahlem, and everybody who was anybody in Berlin during the Olympic fortnight would be invited.

Surprisingly, among them would be Sir Robert Vansittart, who had decided to come to the Games in order to give his brother-in-law some support. Recently, Phipps had been coming under attack in Britain for not pursuing a more appeasing line with Germany. At the end of June, Vansittart told him that

Nevertheless Vansittart saw the matter as being sufficiently troubling for him to use the Games as an excuse to go to Berlin. As Phipps's wife was ill, Vansittart suggested that his own wife, Sarita, could ‘play hostess' at the embassy during his visit, although his reason for being in Berlin was, superficially, ‘a sporting one'. Nobody would believe this, of course,
especially since Vansittart expressed no great desire to see the Games, telling Phipps that he would keep his ticket ‘in reserve […] in case I came'. For Vansittart, the real Games in Berlin would be diplomatic ones, in which the highlight would be the contest between him and Ribbentrop. ‘The sporting events offered a very favourable opportunity to make contact with politicians and prominent men in the most diverse camps,' Ribbentrop was to write. ‘I was also glad that Sir Robert and Lady Vansittart had accepted my invitation.' Ribbentrop's gladness could not have been more misjudged.

 

The weather in New York City during the weekend of 11/12th July 1936 was hardly ideal for the Olympic try-out finals–it was hot and humid. Indeed, it was said to have been the hottest week in many years, with the temperature reaching 36 degrees. All over the United States there had been forest fires and water shortages, and some 375 people had died because of the heat. (By 16 July that figure would climb to 4,137.) The try-outs were being held on Randall's Island, in a 22,000-seat stadium constructed under the recently completed Triborough Bridge. However, according to one journalist, the event had been organised ‘about as systematically as the potato races at a church bazaar'. The stadium was half empty, and there were numerous technical difficulties with the loudspeakers.

The three heats for the 100 metres were held at around three o'clock on the Saturday afternoon. Both Jesse Owens and Marty Glickman were there, as was Owens' potential nemesis, Eulace Peacock. Owens, however, had recently had a piece of luck–Peacock was suffering from a bad hamstring injury. His right thigh was taped up, and although he had failed to qualify for the finals because of the injury, the AOC officials had given him special dispensation to come to Randall's Island. Peacock did his best in his heat, but it was hopeless–he limped in last. His long jump attempts were similarly feeble; he proved himself incapable of clearing 22 feet. Peacock's bad luck surely meant that Owens would be going to Berlin. With no serious competition to worry him, he easily made it to the 100 metres final that afternoon.

The final was supposed to have been held at 5.15, but the humidity had transformed itself into a thunderstorm. The wait made the finalists even more tense as they took shelter from the downpour.
Among them was Marty Glickman. ‘I had been tense all week,' he recalled, ‘unable to sleep much because of nerves and the heat.' Glickman waited in the locker room, which afforded him some coolness. Nevertheless, his nerves were so bad that when he finally walked out into the heat of the stadium he was almost sick with fright. It was hardly surprising. Glickman was in lane five, and to his left in lane four was Owens. To his right was Ralph Metcalfe, who had won the silver medal in 1932. His fellow Jew Sam Stoller was in lane seven.

‘I trembled as I started digging a hole in the cinders,' said Glickman. ‘We were called to our marks. I put my left foot in first, as you usually do, but my leg was quivering so much I couldn't get it in the hole. All the other guys were down in a crouch, almost ready to go. That was the only time this ever happened to me. It was agonising, and I was fearful I wouldn't stop shaking.'

The starter, noticing Glickman's nerves, told the runners to get up.

‘Walk a little, Marty, jog up and back a bit, relax.'

Glickman did so and calmed down. Once more the athletes were called to their marks, ready to explode forward at the sound of the gun.

‘I do not remember the gun, but we were running,' said Glickman.

For the first 25 or 35 metres, the boy from Brooklyn kept up with the boys from the Deep South. But then they pulled away, as if they were on ‘a moving escalator at an airport'. He knew that he would never catch them, but he was hopeful that he might finish third. He looked out of the corner of his eye–the others were close behind, but he remained ahead. Stoller was miles back, having a terrible race.

Glickman crossed the line. I'm third, he thought, with visions of running in the 100 metre final in Berlin coursing through his brain. As he undid his shoelaces, he was interviewed by Ted Husing, the leading sports commentator. But before the interview could begin, Husing heard over his headphones that Glickman had come fifth, behind not only Owens and Metcalfe, but also behind Foy Draper and Frank Wykoff from the University of Southern California, whose coach could be seen lobbying the finishing-line judges. Although he would never be able to prove it, Glickman suspected the USC team of cheating. It meant that he was out of the 100 metres. There was some good news, however, his fifth place meant that he had made the
team, as had Sam Stoller, but only as participants in the 4 x 100 relay. It was still a fabulous achievement, but the Fastest Kid on the Block felt robbed.

The swimming finals were held simultaneously at the Astoria Pool in Long Island. One of those who entered was Iris Cummings from Los Angeles, who had recently won the national championships in June at Manhattan Beach on Long Island. A lack of money meant, however, that she could not return to the West Coast, and the seventeen-year-old Cummings had to spend a month staying with her grandmother in Philadelphia, where she found it hard to train. ‘I had to swim after hours,' she recalled, ‘because the pools wouldn't let someone in who just wanted to swim laps. These circumstances were not at all conducive to training. You just had to get by.'

The training paid off, and Cummings came third in the finals, which was good enough to get her on to the team. She was soon to find, however, that her place was not secure. At the beginning of the following week, all the third-placed athletes were summoned to a Manhattan hotel, where they were told by Daniel Ferris of the AOC that because of a shortage of funds, their places were in question. ‘All you people go on your little horses and go home and try to raise some more money,' Cummings recalled Ferris saying, although perhaps not in so condescending a manner. Cummings came back to the hotel a few days later, and was told that she would be able to go, although many of the ‘alternates'–athletes who would replace those who were injured–were not able to go. Cummings was escorted to Berlin by her mother, who ‘scraped up enough money to go over there for a week'.

The athletes were made to understand that the boycott movement was to blame for the lack of money. Like many swimmers, Cummings was particularly aware of the boycott issue, because Charlotte Epstein, the Jewish coach of the Women's Swimming Association of New York and the most likely candidate to be the Olympic coach, had decided not to go to Berlin. ‘She trained Eleanor Holm, among others,' Cummings recalled, ‘and she told them, “You're on your own. I cannot do it.” '