Authors: Guy Walters
Events in Germany are solely to do with domestic politics. In individual cases sportsmen have been affected. If a certain anti-German press feels called upon to deliver these domestic German matters on to the Olympic stage, then this is extraordinarily regrettable and shows their unfriendly attitude towards Germany in the worst possible light. [â¦] Germany is in the middle of a national revolution that must be described as an example of the greatest, never-before-seen discipline. If, in Germany, individual voices rise up against the Olympic Games, then they emanate from circles that do not understand the Olympic spirit.
These voices must on no account be taken seriously.
Von Halt then scoffed at the idea of seeking Hitler's written guarantee, saying that Hitler's spoken confirmation would have to do. âI request your understanding, Mr President, that the head of a government of a nation of 65 million people cannot be made to confirm in writing an affirmation given orally.' Von Halt had clearly never heard of treaties, but then written guarantees from Hitler were to become infamously worthless.
Baillet-Latour was clearly affronted by von Halt's attitude. Ten days later, he wrote back to von Halt from Lausanne. He dismissed the charge that he had been influenced by a hostile press, and claimed that he had gathered his knowledge from official declarations. Was it not true, he said, that Lewald had in fact been replaced by the Reich Sports Minister, and that his participation was only a sham? Were German Jews able to take part in the Olympics representing Germany? If not, this would be âcontrary to the Olympic charter'. Once more, he demanded that the three German members of the IOC present themselves at Vienna.
So what evidence did Baillet-Latour have that the Jewsâand in particular Jewish sportsmen and womenâwere being discriminated against? The list of measures taken against Jews is extensive, but one law that did affect Germany's right to stage the Games was a decree issued on 26 April, which banned Jews from membership of sports organisations. This directly contravened the clause in the Olympic Charter that read: âThe Olympic Games assemble together the amateurs of all nations on an equal footing and under conditions as perfect as possible'.
By the time the IOC gathered in Vienna on 7 June, the matriculation of Jews from schools, colleges and universities was limited to just 1.5 per cent of the student body. Any Jews beyond this percentage found it impossible to attend classes, let alone play sports at school. Specific sports were targeted as well. On 8 May, for example, Jews were excluded from tennis competitions. Later that month, any rowing club affiliated to the German Rowing Association was allowed to accept only âAryan' members. The German boxing federation banned Jews on 1 April. On 2 June, just five days before the Vienna meeting, Jews were
barred from gymnastic clubs. That same month the German Skiing Union forbade any subordinate clubs from accepting Jews.
One Jew who was affected by these measures was the eighteen-year-old Margaret âGretel' Bergmann. An exceedingly talented all-round athlete, Bergmann was a member of the Ulmer Fussball Verein (the Ulm Football Club), which despite its name trained its members in all manner of track and field disciplines. Bergmann discovered her niche as a high-jumper, and she soon found her technique improving under expert tutelage. âThe fact that I had developed a gigantic crush on the coach was also helpful,' she later wrote; âtrying to impress him I worked twice as hard.' Bergmann recalls her days with the UFV spent at Ettlingen training camp in the Black Forest as idyllic and free from prejudice: âWhen the day's labours were done we all got together for our meal and an evening of socialising. I do not know if any other Jews, besides me and a friend from the UFV, were among these atheletes; nobody cared anyway. Many a close and lasting friendship was formed.' By the end of 1931, Bergmann found herself ranked fourth in Germany.
Her talent did not stop a letter arriving in April 1933, a few days before her nineteenth birthday. âIt was not a very nice birthday present,' she wrote. âThe letter informed me that my membership in the UFV had been terminated and that I was no longer welcome. Forgotten were the good times we had together, forgotten were the many medals I had won for them, forgotten was the camaraderie.' By the autumn, Bergmann's parents had decided to send her to England, where she dreamed of joining the British Olympic team. She would soon be sucked back to Germany, however.
At 2.45 on the afternoon of 7 June, the IOC met in yet another fine building at the heart of a European city. The room on this occasion was the Festive Hall of the Academy of Sciences in Vienna, a gaudy affair with marble stucco and a baroque ceiling fresco. The turnout was only marginally better than in Barcelona two years before, with some thirty members in attendance. After welcoming new members, and bemoaning the death of Prince Leon Ouroussoff of Russia, the committee elected four new members to the IOC, two of whom were Britishâthe champion hurdler Lord Burghley, and the author Sir Noel Curtis-Bennett.
Baillet-Latour then turned to the vexatious question of Germany. He briefed his colleagues on the exchanges that had taken place between himself and the Germans, reminding them of the necessity of ensuring that the Olympic code was adhered to. Diplomatically, Baillet-Latour paid tribute to the Olympic spirit and loyalty of the German delegatesâLewald, von Halt and Mecklenburg-Schwerin. He then read out a statement:
The President of the International Olympic Committee asked the German delegates if they would guarantee the observance of the articles in the Charter dealing with the Organising Committee and the Rules of Qualification. On behalf of the three Delegates, His Excellency Doctor Lewald replied that, with the consent of his Government [â¦] All the laws regulating the Olympic Games shall be observed [and] as a principle German Jews shall not be excluded from German Teams at the Games of the XIth Olympiad.
There were two weasel clauses here. The first, âwith the consent of his Government', indicated that the German Organising Committee was not in charge of the Berlin Games; rather the government was. In Germany the government meant only one man: Hitler. The second weasel clause was âas a principle'. Although this convinced many of the delegates, it still allowed the Nazis to mete out punitive measures against their Jewish sportsmen and women. Jews may have had the right to compete, but they had little or no opportunities to do so. The provision did not, for example, restore to Gretel Bergmann her membership of her beloved UFV. It did not stop Jews being banned from swimming in public baths, for fear that they would âinfect' the water. It did not stop the Jews being banned from equestrian clubs, lest the German horses were âsullied' by Jewish riders. Like so many other Nazi so-called guarantees, it was valueless. Nevertheless, the IOC members took it at face value. General Sherrill, who had openly questioned Lewald about the rights of Jews to compete, wrote to Rabbi Stephen Wise back in New York, telling him that the negotiations with the Germans had been âa trying fight' but that Lewald and his colleagues had âfinally yielded because they found that I had lined up the necessary votes'. There was an air of finality about the proceedings, as if this distasteful business regarding the Jews was
finally over, a teething trouble, nothing more. Nevertheless, the trouble would not go away.
The IOC was clearly turning two blind eyes to what was going on in Germany. Fine words echoing in fine buildings were not representative of the true situation. In fact, the farcical nature of the Vienna congress was revealed just a few days after it was held. Towards the end of June, von Tschammer und Osten, the Reich's sports minister, made a speech in Berlin which contradicted the empty words spoken by Lewald to Baillet-Latour. âWe shall see to it that both in our national life, and in our relations and competitions with foreign nations, only such Germans shall be allowed to represent the nation as those against whom no objection can be raised.' That meant only one thingâno Jews were to be allowed to compete. If any IOC member wanted further confirmation of this attitude, then he could have found it more vulgarly expressed in
The Spirit of Sport in the Third Reich
, written by Bruno Malitz, the sports leader of the Berlin SA. After expressing the most un-Olympian sentiment that he could âsee no positive value for our people in permitting dirty Jews and Negroes to travel in our country and compete in athletics with our best', the author then stated:
There is no room in the German land for Jewish leadership in sport, nor for pacifists and those betrayers of the people, the pan-Europeans, or others infected by the Jews. They are worse than cholera, tuberculosis, syphilis, worse than the pillaging hordes of Kalmucks [Mongols], worse than fire, starvation, flood, drought, poison gas. The most fearful battle of all still confronts the worldâthe battle against Jewry.
The irony of these words, when one considers the eventual fate of Europe's Jews, is sadly clear. So enamoured was Goebbels of Malitz's words that he insisted that every sports club in Germany should have a copy.
Despite the continued persecutions, preparations for the Games continued over the summer without any significant controversies. Then, on 5 October, Hitler decided to pay a visit to the Olympic Stadium, a visit that would have far-reaching consequences. Wearing a beige overcoat and without a hat, Hitler intended his presence to be low-key, which suggested that he was not on state business. It was clear
that the self-styled Fuehrer, who had been in power only for eight months, was still not manifestly convinced of the merits of staging a festival he regarded as Semitic, Masonic and Negroid.
Besides an elite detachment of SS bodyguards, four other men were accompanying Hitler. Dr Wilhelm Frick was one of the Fuehrer's most devoted disciples. He had taken part in the Beer Hall Putsch of 1923, and his loyalty had seen him earn high office as the minister of the interior, in charge not only of the police, but also of the nascent concentration camps. Similarly, Hans von Tschammer und Osten had also been with Hitler since the early days. Well groomed, Tschammer und Osten wore the uniform of an army captainâbrown riding breeches, leather boots and a peaked cap. Although he was subordinate to Frick in the ministry, there was no doubt that the newly appointed Reich Sports Minister cut the more impressive figure, more impressive even than Hitler.
The third man was Werner March. Unlike Frick and Tschammer und Osten, March had only recently joined the Nazi Party, taking up his membership at the beginning of April. Like many, he had done so because he would otherwise have found it impossible to have maintained his career. For March, becoming a Nazi was simply a matter of expediency and not of ideology. He was not going to see such an important commission undone simply because he had refused to sign a piece of paper. The fourth man was Lewald.
The five men walked slowly away from the two armour-plated Mercedes that had driven them the ten miles from the centre of Berlin. Hitler looked up at the vast concrete stadium. This was March's project, a project that had been started by his celebrated father Otto in 1913. Now that Otto had died, Lewald had entrusted his son with the task of enlarging it in time for the Games. As Hitler and his retinue approached, they could see workmen busying themselves all over the building, their industry stepped up by the presence of the German leader. Much of the activity was centred on the floor of the stadium, which Hitler noticed was being excavated.
âWhy are they digging?' the Fuehrer asked.
âIt's the only way we can increase the capacity,' Lewald answered. âWe cannot go up, because the Berlin Horseracing Association has insisted that we cannot spoil the view of their track.'
Hitler's reply was to the point.
âIs the racecourse necessary?'
He was right to pose the question. Berlin had two other tracks, and the one here at the Grunewald was making a loss. The representatives told Hitler that the racecourse was indeed unnecessary.
âThis stadium must be demolished!' Hitler ordered. âA new one must be built in its place, capable of seating 100,000 people. It will be the task of the nation! If Germany is to stand host to the entire world, her preparations must be complete and magnificent.'
None of the men was willing to point out that this was a remarkable volte-face on the part of Hitler. For reasons of personal prestige, each of them needed the Games as much as Germany didâwho were they to complain that the dictator had changed his mind? Besides, now that the Fuehrer himself was behind the Games, they were bound to be a triumph, a tremendous celebration of sportsmanship. But sportsmanship was the last thing that concerned Hitler. For him, the Games would have little to do with athletics. Instead, they would prove that his fascist regime was an example other nations would have to follow. The XIth Olympiad would prove that Germany, after nearly two decades of subjugation since 1918, was once more on top of the world. Far from being a festival of internationalism, the Games would be one of over-arching nationalism.
âI
AM NOT
personally fond of Jews and of the Jewish influence,' wrote Count Baillet-Latour on 3 November 1933, âbut I will not have them molested in no way whatsoever, I know that they shout before there is no reason to do so and I have always been struck by the fact that all the horrors which took place in Russia for instance, much more barbarous than anything which took place in Germany has never excited public opinion in the same way. Why? Because the propaganda was not made as cleaerverly.'
The recipient of this letter would no doubt have forgiven the count's somewhat tortuous use of English, and more especially his views on the Jews. The letter, unsurprisingly marked âCONFIDENTIAL', was addressed to Avery Brundage, the forty-six-year-old head of the American Olympic Committee (AOC) and Amateur Athletic Union (AAU). As well as being the United States' leading sports administrator, Brundage had made a fortune from his Chicago-based construction business. In fact, he had made two fortunes, the first being lost during the Great Crash of 1929. When he faced bankruptcy, Brundage was determined to maintain appearances, and went around Chicago with his âchest out and not a nickel in my pocket, but no one knew that except my accountant and my secretary'. His chutzpah was rewarded, and unlike so many other businessmen of that period, he did not succumb to the swift fall from a skyscraper or the placing of a revolver in his mouth. Brundage was later to comment that not one of these suicides âhad the character-building discipline of competitive sport'.
Brundage's obsession with competitive sport was not simply a product of his administrative roles. He had been a highly successful pentathlete and had competed in the 1912 Stockholm Olympics, where he came a creditable sixth. Brundage was disappointed with his performance,
however, especially since he dropped out of the 1,500 metres when he realised that he would never make enough points to win a medal. The victor was Jim Thorpe, the American Indian who was subsequently stripped of his gold when it was discovered he had breached the strict amateur code laid down in the Olympic charter. Despite this, Brundage viewed the Stockholm Games later in life as if they were the highest expression of the noble ideals of Olympism. âWhat social, racial, religious or political prejudices of any kind might have existed', he wrote, âwere soon forgotten and sportsmen from all over the world, with different ideas, assorted viewpoints, and various manners of living, mingled on the field and off with the utmost friendliness, transported by an overflowing Olympic spirit.' In fact, the whole experience touched Brundage so deeply that the spirit seemed to flow into him. âMy conversion, along with many others, to Coubertin's religion, the Olympic Movement, was complete.'
Brundage's comparison of Olympism to a religion was not merely a figure of speech. For many, the Olympic Games were indeed like religious experiences, complete with their increasingly sophisticated rites and rituals. Coubertin was almost regarded as Christ, and Baillet-Latour as his disciple. These men were infallible, because they embodied an idealism that far transcended the grubby quotidian strivings of humanity. It was a pagan idealism, its pageantry godless, but its chauvinist adherents were nothing less than fanatics, men for whom no other point of view was acceptable. If anyone obstructed their ideals, then they would be subjected to the most vicious
ad hominem
attacks.
Brundage also saw in Olympism an enshrinement of his own racist ideals, ideals he shared with the Chicago Association of Commerce in November 1929:
Perhaps we are about to witness the development of a new race, a race of men actuated by the principles of sportsmanship learned on the playing field, refusing to tolerate different conditions in the other enterprises of life; a race physically strong, mentally alert and morally sound; a
race
not to be imposed upon, because it is ready to fight for right and physically prepared to do so; a race quick to help an adversary beaten in fair combat yet fearlessly resenting injustice or unfair advantageâ¦
There was little to distinguish this from the âteachings' of Hitler. Brundage clearly shared the Nazis' admiration of the body, and its use as a military machine. For both Brundage and Hitler, sport was a way of honing the body militaristic.
Baillet-Latour's letter to Brundage reflected not just his anti-Semitism, but also a desire to do well for the Jews despite it. As news of Germany's punitive measures against 600,000 of her own people continued to spread, Baillet-Latour was keen to ensure that the Germans kept to the promises they had made at Vienna. In order to achieve this, he turned to Brundage.
What I believe should be a useful move would be from the Amateur Athletic Union of the United States, at the annual meeting to decide that a request should be addressed to the Athletic Union of Germany in view to make sure that as a consequence of the promise made at Vienna, certain definite measures have been repealed. The German AAU ought to be told as well that if it was not so, the participation of American Athletes is very doubtful and that very likely the consequence would be the refusal by the American Olympic Committee of the invitation of the American [
sic
âGerman] Committee.
Baillet-Latour added that support in the United States would considerably strengthen his position, as he still felt vulnerable to the accusations that he was personally prejudiced against Nazi Germany. Attacks on the Germans from other quarters would, he maintained, make them âthink the thing over with care'. For the present, Baillet-Latour was unsuccessfully able to rebut Lewald's claim that the moves being made against Germany were solely inspired by âthe hate felt by American Jews against the new Germany'. Lewald's implication that this was simply a problem for Jews suggests that he was aware of Baillet-Latour's anti-Semitism. After all, was not the hate felt by American Jews entirely justified? Did they not have a point? Only someone who did not care for Jews would disagree with them.
Baillet-Latour timed his approach to Brundage well. On Saturday, 18 November 1933, the grand William Penn Hotel in downtown Pittsburgh was invaded by the delegates attending the forty-fifth annual convention of the AAU. On the agenda for their meeting was not just the matter of whether to scrap the recently imposed metric
system, but also the question of going to Berlin. The delegates were divided between those who saw the internal workings of another country as being none of the business of a sports association, and those who saw it as morally repugnant that the United States should play sports with a country that was not allowing its Jews to compete. Brundage was firmly placed in the latter camp. He agreed with Baillet-Latour, and thought ill of the Germans not so much because their stance was anti-Semitic, but more because it was anti-Olympic.
The meeting was protracted, and lasted from Sunday until three o'clock on Monday morning. Put to the floor was a resolution that called for members of the AAU to boycott the Games, as well as calling on the American Olympic Association to take a similar stand at its meeting in Washington the following day. The resolution was presented by Gustavus Town Kirby, the former president of the AOC, and was supported by Brundage. The resolution was put to a vote by viva voce, and the room filled with a baritone rumble of âayes'. The ânays' could barely be heardâonly three voted against the resolution.
One of them was a German-American called Dietrich Wortmann, of the German-American Athletic Club of New York. Wortmann had represented the United States at the St Louis Games of 1904, and had won bronze as a welterweight wrestler. An active member of the AAU, Wortmann was a keen crusader for an improvement in the standard of the national team. At the Pittsburgh convention, Wortmann spoke against the resolution, saying that the AAU had âno right to discuss the matter because it was entirely within the sphere of the IOC'. He also accused both the AAU and the AOC of hypocrisy, suggesting that both organisations were culpable of prejudice against African-Americans, citing the recent transferral of two major athletic competitions away from the South to Lincoln, Nebraska, and Boston, two cities in which black competitors would not be allowed to compete. The charge that the United States' sporting organisations treated the blacks little better than the Germans treated their Jews would be made many times over the next few years, and with much justification. Many members of the AAU suspected, however, that Wortmann was a Nazi sympathiser, and his appeal was fruitless. He would, however, soon find support from the most unlikely of peopleâAvery Brundage.
The Germans were quick to react to the news, although it was news that was not to find itself printed in German newspapers. On the evening of 21 November Lewald issued a cable that stipulated that the âobligations incurred' by the Germans regarding Jews would be âstrictly fulfilled'. (That Lewald saw giving the Jews the right to compete as being an âobligation' is surely indicative.) He had the backing of Tschammer und Osten, who that day issued Lewald with a letter that crisply denied that the Nazis were in any way restricting the abilities of Jews to compete:
The four points were blatant lies, as the decree of 26 April 1933 specifically banned Jews from sporting associations. Lewald, as a target of anti-Semitism, must have known that Tschammer und Osten's points were false, but he chose to telegraph them round the world. In doing so, he showed that his desire to stage the Olympics was even greater than his loyalty to the tenets of Olympism. His malleability ensured that he was a perfect cover for the Nazi hijacking of the Games.
Lewald's cable and Tschammer und Osten's lies appear to have had an effect, however. At the American Olympic Association meeting in Washington on Wednesday 22nd, the tone was far more temperate. Once again, Gustavus Kirby presented a resolution similar to that agreed by the AAU, but on this occasion it met with a more lukewarm response. General Sherrill, supported by Dietrich Wortmann, suggested that the threat of non-participation should be withdrawn, or else it would defeat the very purpose it sought to achieve, namely the improvement of the conditions of Jewish sportsmen and women. âI oppose the resolution in its present threatening form,' added
Sherrill, âchiefly because it promises to start a wave of anti-Semitism in our country among a class which hitherto never even knew the wordâthe youth disgruntled by being deprived of participation in the 1936 games because of the Jews. It would be unreasoning, but it would sweep the country.' This statement could have been viewed in two ways. It could either have been taken at face value, or it could have been seen as a warning from Sherrill for the Jews to stop meddling. Subsequent events would soon suggest that the second interpretation was the correct one.
The opposing argument came from Charles Ornstein, a representative of the Jewish Welfare Board, who claimed that a resolution that made no threat was like passing a law without a penalty. Brundage's solution was to convene a five-strong committee that drew up a new resolution. This committee included both Ornstein and Sherrill, and after some frank negotiations a new resolution was presented, which stated that the AOA âexpresses its ardent hopeâ¦that all disabilities affecting the rights and privileges of Jews training, competing and being upon German sports teams will have been removed'. The resolution was passed, but many, including Kirby, felt that the sting had been removed from its tail. Brundage, however, still had a tough message to deliver to the Germans. This resolution was âan inference rather than a direct threat and carries the same implication,' he said. âIf Germany does not live up to the Olympic pledge, then we will not certify our athletes. We say that specifically.'
There were some who doubted Brundage's apparent open-mindedness. One was George S. Messersmith, the consul-general in the US embassy in Berlin. Messersmith was troubled by both the German and the American Olympic committees. On 28 November 1933, he wrote to the State Department, advising it that the AOC
â¦knew that the Jewish athletes in Germany were being discriminated against in a wholesale and absolutely definite manner and were not given an opportunity to train nor participate and that this extended not only to preparations for the Olympic Games in Berlin, but also for sport competitions within the country with no reference to the Games. To this Dr. von Lewald [
sic
] could make no answer because he knew that he could not deny to me that this was the situation.
Messersmith's warning went unheeded. The State Department did not regard it as its business to interfere in a private sporting event, and would show little or no interest in the question of participation.
It was not just the Americans who were taking issue with the Germans. In Britain, the British Olympic Association (BOA) seriously discussed withdrawing its team from Berlin. At Vienna, the British IOC member, Lord Aberdare, had strongly supported the American members' stance against the Germans, and his backing was no less strong a few months later. Having had a good war, the forty-six-year-old Aberdare was renowned as a notable tennis player, having won more than fifteen championships in the United States, Canada and Britain. His stance was supported by Evan Hunter, the secretary of the BOA, who said that âto keep an athlete from training on account of his race or religion is clearly just as much a violation of the Olympic rules as to prevent him from competing'. After meeting on Friday, 24 November, however, the BOA committee decided not to copy the Americans, but chose instead to wait for further information from Germany.