Height

Pounding against the walls of my head, my heart’s dramatic rush of blood shoots adrenaline throughout my body.

 Before me crumples the German officer whose surrender I was taking until he pulled his .38 pistol on me.

 A bullet from my rifle drilled a hole in his face where his left eye used to be.

 Why did he have to do that?

 I didn’t want to shoot him.

 Frozen in place, I simply stare down at the body.

 Why didn’t you just surrender?

 You could have lived.

 My eyes lift off of his lifeless body, though my rifle still points directly at him.

 Moving toward eye level, I realize I still have to take the surrender of the rest of the Germans falling out of this bunker.

 They are quiet, shuffling peacefully with arms raised, toward me.

 I don’t want to shoot them too.

 Please, surrender.

 Eying the first man in line, I can’t see any signs of resistance.

 Can I trust this one?

 Lowering my rifle, I reach out to begin frisking him.

 His arms stay raised as I pat all up and down his body before passing him on to Lucas, who stands about 10 feet away.

 Thank you for surrendering without incident.

 I eye the next one. He is also passive, arms raised.

 Patting him down, I don’t feel anything, so pass him on as well.

 This is so much better than shooting them.

 I get into a rhythm of turning to the next German, patting him down, then passing him back.

 No looking at faces.

 Just get the job done.

 German after German passes before me.

 How many men were in this bunker?

 Turning to the next German, I’m taken aback as my eyes fall upon his lower chest.

 I start patting him down, but have to reach really high to get to his armpits.

 Chuckles ring out behind me, though I pay them no heed.

 I just want to get this over with.

 Turning to laughs, I can tell several men behind me are finding something funny.

 What are they laughing at?

 I pass the prisoner back, turning to the next one.

 Frisking three more prisoners, I finish the group before turning around to see the Germans and my fellow Canadians all looking at me with smiles on their faces.

 What the hell is going on?

 Lucas approaches me, big grin across his face.

 “Roberts, that was a hell of a sight!” he says.

 “What are you talking about?” I reply.

 “You frisking that giant!” He counters, as if I should know what’s going on.

 “Oh, the tall one?” I offer, not really thinking anything of it.

 “Tall, they say he’s the tallest man in the whole German Army.” Lucas laughs.

 I look across the men standing there to the giant within the German ranks. He towers above all the others.

 Wow, he is really tall.

 “We all got a good kick out of you straining to reach up to him” Lucas says has he puts his arm around my shoulder.

 I’m glad someone can laugh about something today.

 I’m exhausted.

Corporal Bob Roberts was overseeing the surrender of dozens of enemy solders during the Battle of Normandy when he processed the surrender of a 7ft 6in German. Standing at 5ft 6in himself, Corporal Roberts initially did not notice the man’s height. Roberts had been shaken moments before by having to kill a German officer who had pulled a pistol on him, rather than surrender.

 Only after processing the Giant was Roberts made aware of the height discrepancy between himself and the tallest man in the German Army. His mates, as well as the other German prisoners of war, had a good laugh watching him try to frisk a man two feet taller than himself. They even captured a picture of the event.

 Levity at war may be the only way to get past the rest of it.

Pure Joy

Bumping the door frame as they enter with a seemingly heavy large box, the two women in matching green outfits barely manage to carry it into the front room of our orphanage.

“What is it? What is it? What is it?” a quickly gathering crowd of small orphans demand of our nanny while scrambling to help carry the load.

As excited as the other children, I rush to help, tripping over the loose cardboard base of my shoes.

Holding my hands as high as their six years of growth can reach, I try to help keep the box from falling.

I’m helping, just as nanny says to do!

“I don’t know,” nanny replies, tiny uplifts of her lips framing her lined and skinny face.

“Who brought it?” four-year-old Heda tugs at nanny’s dirty skirt by letting go of the small section of box she had been holding up.

I want to be next to nanny.

I lower my hands from the box, pushing them together before shoving them like an arrow between Heda and nanny.

“It was left by Santa.” Nanny offers, her bony fingers curling over Heda’s fragile left shoulder.

Touch ME!

Love ME!

I’M helping.

Many of the others start jumping up and down, holes in the bottom of their flimsy shoes flitting in sight as their feet rise with squealing delight.

The box starts rocking as its weight is shifted between bouncing kids.

Notice ME!

I push up against Heda; my bigger body moving her away from nanny.

“See ME helping, Nanny?” I ask while looking up into the strained face of nanny.

“Yes, thank you for helping.” Nanny replies, a smile coming to her face as she places her left hand on my right shoulder.

All the other kids are jumping.

I want to stay with nanny.

Rocking from the many heights and altitudes of hobbling holders, the box starts to tip over.

What’s in it?

One of the women in the matching set of green pants and shirt, with a white armband on which sits a red plus symbol, starts to lose her grip on one end of the box.

It crashes to the floor, its contents spilling out from a crack in the side.

Squealers gather, blocking my view for a moment before the contents are revealed to all.

SHOES!

THEY ARE SHOES!

NEW SHOES!

We scramble into a big pile, each of us trying to grab at the shoes.

“There are enough for everyone,” Nanny calls out. “Please look for matching pairs. Everyone will get a pair.”

I just need two!

Grab any two!

Tim elbows me.

Greta kicks him with her socked left foot.

I grab two which look alike.

They look so new!

So Clean!

So Big!

Nanny and the two women in green are on their knees now, moving through the cluster of kids to check each pair of shoes, exchanging the non-matching pairs with each other.

“Check mine, Check mine!” I call out, handing my two toward nanny.

She turns toward me, taking my two shoes in hand.

Please match!

Oh, Please!

Handing them back to me with a full smile, she says, “Hans, you chose well. These will last you a long time.”

“THANK YOU!” I blurt as I dive onto nanny’s shoulders, almost dropping my shoes.

She picks me up as she rises, turning a little so I’m facing the door.

This is the greatest day, EVER!

A small squeeze by nanny around my body comforts me before she puts me down.

I scurry over to the stairs to look at my shoes.

As I sit, I gaze at them.

I can’t believe we got SHOES!

One in each hand, I bring them to me for a giant hug and sniff.

They smell new.

They feel strong.

They are BEAUTIFUL!

Thank you Santa!

Thank you!

Tilting my head to the sky while hugging the shoes tight, I can’t believe this day.

THANK YOU!

THANK YOU!

THANK YOU!

Six-year-old Austrian orphan Hans Werfel shows true JOY in this photograph from 1946. A photographer from LIFE magazine captured the moment Hans sits alone with his new pair of shoes. The shoes were a donation from The American Red Cross, and thus the American people to the war ravaged of Europe. Hans was one of millions of orphaned children from the war. Yet, in this moment, there is nothing but Joy in his life. A new, clean, solid pair of shoes is all he needed to feel such bliss. War often leaves behind the innocent with nothing to their name. How many orphans are there from The 20th Century’s War? At least, in this instance, one found ecstasy from the simplicity of a pair of shoes. What would bring you such Joy? What can you do to help those suffering the ravages of War today experience such joy themselves?

This is Werfel, six-year-old Austrian orphan, hugging a new pair of shoes from America. For nearly five years LIFE reader Mrs. Richard Henry Wehmeyer kept this picture as a visual object lesson. "Every time I heard some petty complaint," she says, she told friends about the little boy with the new shoes, un unfolded the clipping to shoe them.

As Mrs. Wehmeyer said in her letter "This picture of a child's ecstasy over a pair of shoes has meant something personal to me for a long time." It is a special attribute of the photograph that it lasts so long - in a treasured clipping, and in the memory.

LIFE magazine

September 24, 1951

Finally

“Yes my Fuhrer!” I shout just as the door to the Chancellery bunker glides open.

In walks General Dietrich von Saucken, newly reinstated from being fired last month for insisting it is pointless to continue the war.

How will The Fuhrer treat this Prussian aristocratic general? How will a general who was just fired and rehired handle meeting The Fuhrer?

General von Saucken slowly and casually walks into the room wearing his cavalry sabre and monocle.

He has his sword and monocle on, not to mention his sidearm, all are forbidden in The Fuhrer’s presence.

Seeing the Fuhrer, the general offers a soft, almost half-hearted military salute without removing his monocle.

The Nazi salute has been compulsory for all officers since the assassination attempt last July.

I eye Bormann; he looks back at me.

What will The Fuhrer do to this general who is blatantly disrespecting him?

“General Guderian, brief General von Saucken on conditions in East Prussia, and the Danzig area, where he will take over 2nd Army Group,” Hitler orders.

Did The Fuhrer not notice the general’s contempt? The general is eying the Fuhrer with such loathing.

I provide a short brief to the general, informing him of Russia’s disposition in the area and the current strength of the 2nd Army.

“And, in Danzig area you will have to accept the authority of Gauleiter Forster,” the Fuhrer adds, as an afterthought.

Ah, The Fuhrer is making General von Saucken report to a local Nazi party official, rather than a military commander. That can’t go well! No Prussian general would take orders from a party functionary.

Bormann gives me another insecure look. General von Saucken stiffens with a withering look aimed directly at the Fuhrer, who doesn’t seem to notice as he looks down at the maps on the table.

Leaning over the table, General von Saucken, who still has the monocle in his eye, slams the flat of his hand down on its solid wood surface of the table with the full force his powerful arms can deliver. The room falls silent.

Surprised by such insubordination, the Fuhrer looks up directly into General von Saucken’s eyes.

“I have no intention, Herr Hitler, of placing myself under the orders of Gauleiter!” General von Saucken declares with utter contempt for the man he sees as some mere corporal, rather than the esteemed leader of a now crumbling nation.

A small bug walking across the carpeted floor would make an echoing boom across the whole of the room in such a silence. General von Saucken just refused to take a direct order and belittled him by addressing him as “Herr Hitler” instead of “Mein Fuhrer.”

Bormann looks at me again, then looks toward General von Saucken. I look at both with an imploring visage.

Please don’t get The Fuhrer angry today! It seems Hitler is physically shrinking from the general’s words. His face looks even more waxen, his body more bowed than ever.

After a few tense moments Hitler quietly mumbles, “Alright Saucken, keep the command to yourself,” while waving the general away.

Making a half-hearted bow, without providing a Nazi salute, General von Saucken turns his back on Hitler and leaves the room.

Someone stood up to Hitler in his presence. It can be done! Finally, it has been done.

*****

General von Saucken

http://www.jmarkpowell.com/the-man-who-said-no-to-hitler-and-lived-to-tell-about-it/

On March 12, 1945, Hitler was so blatantly talked back to by one of his generals, but this time the general was not fired. The conservative Prussian aristocrat General Dietrich von Saucken did not take orders from what he referred to as the brown mob of Nazis. When Hitler ordered him to defend Danzig, he was agreeable. But, when Hitler told the general that he would take orders from the local Nazi party official, the general would not have it. Hitler relented, and the general was able to command as he saw fit, leading to a strong defense by under equipped and ill-trained men in the German 2nd Army. Hitler was feared by many, but yet he succumbed to the force of a clearly better man. Not intimidated by Hitler’s ravings nor hypnotized by his charisma, General von Saucken replied as he saw fit. How many times in Hitler’s rise to power could someone have stood up to him, preventing the horror he wrought on the world, if only they had as much nerve as this Prussian general?

General von Saucken was the last German awarded the Diamonds of The Knight’s Cross (on May 8, 1945) for his masterful defense of Danzig. He was offered a flight out to safety in the West but refused, insisting instead to surrender with his army. After surrendering, von Saucken went into Soviet captivity. He refused to sign a false letter and was subsequently sentenced to 25 years of imprisonment and sent to a Siberian work camp. Here he was tortured and spent twelve months in solitary confinement. He returned to Germany in 1955 as a marked man and settled in Munich, where he took up amateur painting. He passed away in 1980.

(Source: Beevor, Antony. Berlin the Downfall 1945 ISBN 0-670-88695-5. p.120.)