1

The quaint Bavarian town of Füssen lay on the banks of the Lech River not far from the Austrian border. The oldest fresco in Germany could be seen in the crypt of Saint Mary’s Basilica. The history of the town could be traced back to the ninth century and the founding of the Benedictine monastery of St. Mary’s. Violin and lute making were the pride of the town.

As Füssen was the closest town to Ludwig II’s castles, Neuschwanstein and Hohenschwangau, the town was teeming with tourists in the warmer months of the year and the hotels, souvenir shops, beer halls, and cafes prospered. Merchants, waiters, innkeepers, and those in the transportation industry treated the tourists with a calculated friendliness and respect, but made few lasting friendships with their guests. When the season ended, the locals bid them farewell as if to say, “Thank you for visiting, but we hope you vacation elsewhere next year.” With the onset of colder weather, the people of Füssen returned to their more rigid lives and the values they had shared for centuries. The only visitors tended to be skiers on their way to the slopes of nearby Tegelberg Mountain.

The town had hardly been affected by the freedoms that came with the Weimar Republic. Life went on as it had under Ludwig or the Kaiser. When locals returned from visits to Munich or Hamburg or Frankfurt or especially Berlin, the tales they told seemed more like horror stories than traveler’s memories. The cities were decadent, their inhabitants depraved and involved in constant debaucheries. Women danced nude in cabarets and clubs while patrons openly sniffed cocaine or fondled each other in the most disgusting ways. Men had no qualms about exchanging amorous embraces with other men and women could be seen at their booths touching each other in the most lascivious ways. The picture painted for the people of Füssen of the country’s metamorphosis had resembled Hieronymus Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights.

Now that the Weimar Republic had been replaced by Hitler’s Third Reich, natives returning from the cities brought new tales. Some thought the changes positive. Others were alarmed by the presence of Brown Shirts on the streets, harassing Jewish merchants or intimidating passers-by with political slogans or insults. Their arrogance was surpassed by their vulgarity. Some found the thugs to be protectors of the people. All who returned to their home town agreed that at last, the trains were running on time.

The Nazification of little Füssen, hardly a major hub of the Third Reich, was slow. At present, there were just a few visual reminders of the transition. The Nazi flag hung at City Hall, the court house, and the post office as well as certain businesses. Photographs of the Führer were hung prominently in living rooms and businesses and many proud party members wore the familiar arm band with the black swastika in the white circle surrounded by red. What was missing in the town was a government. Nothing else felt any different than it had in the past. Life went on as always.

Twice the Gauleiter of the region had pulled into town in his limousine, accompanied by a small entourage. He had stayed at the luxurious Castle Hotel and dined at the town’s best restaurants. He could be seen walking about the town apparently looking for sites to occupy at some future time. The mezzanine of the Castle Hotel was being remodeled with offices for the Gestapo, once it had established itself in the town. The Gauleiter left a deputy in charge and disappeared. At the beginning of the regime change, most local governing was left in the hands of those who had been loyal party members from the onset of the movement. Mostly, the town was run as before with little or no intimidation from the federal government. A few idle youths began to don the Brown Shirts and wander aimlessly about the town trying to look dangerous, but being a joke to those who had known them before the change of costume.

The deputy Gauleiter was Heinrich Hartman, a retired colonel who had fought with distinction in the last war. He and his wife were given a suite at the Castle Hotel. His first duty was to find those who had been early converts to the party, hopefully to be given positions of leadership or be instruments of intelligence. Once that was accomplished, he was to set up an administration that would report directly to Berlin. Finally, he was to prepare a headquarters for the Gestapo.

One could tell from the deputy’s attitude that he hoped his residency in the town would be brief. He was obviously accustomed to the faster life of a metropolis. Füssen was provincial and its minimal charms would wear on a man such as Colonel Hartman. He was a bit of a dandy. He was usually seen in civilian clothes, always the most fashionable from the best tailors in Berlin. He was always a visible entity, dining at the best establishments and hosting lavish parties in the hotel’s ballroom. For special occasions such as these, he would always wear his dress military uniform with medals and ribbons that seemed to hang from his shoulders to his waist. No one dared question his ostentation with the ears of newly recruited spies seemingly everywhere.

On the Gauleiter’s next visit, the deputy led his superior on a tour of all he had accomplished. What witnesses saw of the Gauleiter’s body language indicated he was pleased. He nodded often and patted his underling on the back. When the tour ended, Colonel and Frau Hartman’s bags were packed and loaded with their owners into the limousine. The next day, the arrival of the Gestapo was accompanied by a sizeable troop of SS officers and non- commissioned officers, intimidating in their black uniforms with lightning bolts on the collars. They were welcomed into their new offices on the mezzanine of the Castle Hotel by the owner, Otto Schrecht, who had been the town’s first party member and carried great influence, mostly due to his wealth. He was immediately named mayor of Füssen.

Franz Weber was a merchant of the town, who could trace his family’s roots back to the Seventeenth Century. He owned and operated a well-stocked dry goods shop. It had clothing for children and adults, tools, kitchen ware, and ski equipment. For tourists there were shelves filled with porcelain and cheap metal replicas of the castles and Saint Mary’s, snow globes, small sculptures of the figures in the passion play at nearby Omerammergau, as well as china and glassware with painted images of the castles or nearby mountains. The business was successful and Franz and his family lived in a comfortable two-story house built in the Seventeenth Century and remodeled several times over the centuries.

Frau Elsa Weber was a devoted and compliant wife to Franz and a doting mother to their son, Karl, who spent most of the year studying at the university in Munich. Whenever he was home, Karl would help his father at the shop. Franz longed for these brief vacations, because Karl was more than adept at figures and kept the ledger neat and accurate. The elder Weber hoped his son would one day take over the business, even though Karl had shared his ambition for an academic career with his parents. Franz was disappointed, but never gave up the hope that the boy would come to his senses.

Elsa was devout in her Catholic faith. She prayed before meals and at bedtime and attended mass every Sunday. If she was lucky, she could drag Franz to church at Christmas and Easter. Sunday was his time to meet with other merchants and friends. They would breakfast together at a café or the town square and adjourn to a beer hall, where they exchanged jokes and shared exaggerated tales of their adventures. Elsa had no choice but to abide her husband’s infidelities to the one true faith.

Karl was fair and slightly built with a handsome face and blue eyes that always drew one’s attention to the young man. He was sociable and polite, but not one for the riskier behavior of some of his fellow students, who staggered nightly back to the dormitories in a drunken state or indulged in foolish pranks. He had become aware long before that he was different from most of his peers and had adopted the skills to hide it from most people he came in contact with. He enjoyed the company of women who were drawn to him, but when it came to the ultimate act of affection, there was always a ready excuse. He was attracted to other males. At the university, he had found a few who shared what many believed to be an affliction. He had begun to express his sexuality with them.

His mother recognized the signs early on and was supportive. Karl felt free to discuss it with her and was appreciative of the show of motherly love. “It is how God made you, Karl dear. How could I love you less,” she would say. When Elsa tried to discuss it with her husband, he would refuse to listen.

“Ever the coddling mother,” was always his response. To him, Karl was simply too sensitive. Franz was always ready to blame the university for his son’s persona. “I never should have permitted him to go to that school. I expected him to come home to manage the shop, or at the very least to become an architect or a lawyer. Now he wants to continue his studies until God knows when, and then what will he be? A lonely professor giving the same lectures year after year with no sustainable purpose in life.”

Fortunately, it was summer and Karl was home for three months. He would be invaluable in waiting on the influx of tourists as...