Berlin 1961 Part 19

Under four-power agreements, Kennedy would have had every right to order his military to knock down the barriers put up that morning by East German units that had no right to operate in Berlin. On July 7, 1945, the U.S., Soviet, British, and French military governors of Germany had agreed that they would ensure unrestricted movement throughout Berlin. That had been reconfirmed again by the four-power agreement that had ended the Berlin blockade.

However, Kennedy had made clear through several channels before August 13 that he would not respond if Khrushchev and the East Germans restricted their actions to their own territory. Beyond that, Konev had sent a clear message about the cost of intervention through his ma.s.sive military mobilization. Not only had Soviet troops ringed Berlin in a manner the Allies could not miss, but Khrushchev had gone a step further, putting his missile forces on full alert throughout Eastern Europe.

Nonetheless, it had still been a tense night for Konev. If fighting had been necessary, he had doubted whether the East German military and police forces would have remained loyal, despite their training, indoctrination, and careful supervision. Hundreds among their ranks already had fled as refugees, and many had relatives in the West.

Konev had been confident that East German soldiers, militia, and police would put up their border barriers properly, but he had doubted how they would have responded if Allied troops had moved forward to tear down the barricades and restore free movement.

To his relief, it had never come to that. Kennedy had never tested them.

WEST BERLIN.

SUNDAY MORNING, AUGUST 13, 1961.

When he first heard the news of the border closing, RIAS radio director Robert H. Lochner had been up late, preparing for a series of meetings the next morning for his boss, the legendary U.S. television journalist Edward R. Murrow. Murrow was visiting from Was.h.i.+ngton on an inspection trip as chief of the United States Information Service.

Lochner laid his work aside and ordered RIAS to alter its program from the usual weekend rock and roll to more serious music and news bulletins every quarter hour. He knew RIAS, with the largest transmitter in Europe, would be expected to provide East Berliners a lifeline at a time of crisis, just as it had done on June 17, 1953.

Then he set off for East Berlin in his car with State Department plates, making three trips across the Soviet zone throughout the evening, recording whatever he saw on a hidden tape recorder. He told stories of families divided and of forlorn lovers, using their recorded, troubled voices to dramatize the moment. Lochner had never seen as large a group of miserable human beings as those gathered at shuttered East Berlin train stations that morning, having failed to hear or believe overnight radio reports that the Berlin border had been closed.

At 10:00 a.m. he walked through the vast waiting hall of the Friedrichstra.s.se station, which overflowed with thousands of people awith desperate faces, cardboard boxes, some with suitcases.a They sat on packed bags with nowhere to go.

On a staircase leading up to the elevated S-Bahn tracks stood black-suited Transportpolizei, or Trapos, blocking public access. They reminded Lochner of Hitleras SS in their threatening uniforms and with their stony, young, obedient faces.

An old woman timidly walked up to one of the Trapos, standing about three steps above her, and asked when the next train was due for West Berlin. Lochner would never forget the sneering tone of the officeras answer.

aThat is all over,a he said. aYou are all sitting in a mousetrap now.a Lochner the next day showed the new East Berlin to Murrow, who doubted whether his friend Kennedy understood the seriousness of the situation that had been sp.a.w.ned by his inaction. He wrote a cable that evening telling the president that he was confronting a political and diplomatic disaster. If the president didnat show resolve quickly, Murrow predicted a crisis of confidence that could undermine the U.S. far beyond Berlinas borders. aWhat is in danger of being destroyed here is that perishable quality called hope,a he wrote.

POLICE HEADQUARTERS, EAST BERLIN.

6:00 A.M., SUNDAY, AUGUST 13, 1961.

Erich Honecker was in an agitated state of excitement throughout the night, driving along the border and relis.h.i.+ng the near-perfect execution of his plan.

He supervised every detail: he saw police checking out entry shafts to sewer systems for would-be escapees. Boats patrolled waterways that couldnat be closed as easily as streets. The extra troops he had ordered for the Friedrichstra.s.se station had been sufficient to manage the Sunday numbers.

Honecker had praised every commander he met throughout the night, occasionally suggesting changes in some finer details. At 4:00 a.m., satisfied that the most critical phase had been executed without a hitch, he returned to his office. By 6:00 a.m., all commanders had reported in that their missions had been carried out as instructed.

There was much work yet to be done to complete the job in the days ahead, but Honecker could not have been more satisfied. A few hundred East Berliners had rushed through the border in areas that had not yet been reinforced, and some had swum across lakes or ca.n.a.ls. Other East Berliners would simply remain in the West, where by luck they had been spending the weekend. A few West Berliners would smuggle out their partners or friends in car trunks or under car seats in the first hours. A couple of more inventive East Berliners had replaced their own license plates with friendsa West Berlin plates and had driven through.

From noon on Sat.u.r.day to 4:00 p.m. on Monday, Marienfelde welcomed a record 6,904 refugees, the most of any weekend in East German history. But West Berlin authorities estimated that all but 1,500 had crossed the border before communist security forces had closed it down. The numbers were acceptably small, considering the fact that the refugee exodus had been brought to an end.

Honecker phoned Ulbricht with his final report. He then told his staff, aNow we can all go home.a Khrushchev would reflect later: aThe establishment of border control restored order and discipline in the East Germansa lives, and Germans have always appreciated discipline.a

15.

THE WALL: DESPERATE DAYS.

Why would Khrushchev put up a wall if he really intended to seize West Berlin?aThis is his way out of his predicament. Itas not a very nice solution, but a wall is a h.e.l.l of a lot better than a war.

President John F. Kennedy, August 13, 1961 The Russiansafeel strongly that if they can break our will in Berlin that we will never be able to be good for anything else and they will have won the battle in 1961.

U.S. Attorney General Robert Kennedy, August 30, 1961 HUMBOLDT HARBOR, EAST BERLIN.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 24, 1961.

Gnter Litfin, a twenty-four-year-old tailor whose boldest acts until that point had been performed with a needle and thread, summoned the courage to flee East Berlin eleven days after the communists had sealed the border.

Until August 13, Litfin had lived divided Berlinas ideal life, taking maximum advantage of each sideas benefits as one of the cityas 50,000 Grenzgnger, or aborder jumpers.a By day, he worked in West Berlin earning hard Westmark, which he exchanged on the black market at a five-to-one rate for East German money, or Ostmark. He worked out of an atelier near West Berlinas Zoo Station, where he had already become a tailor to show-business greats: Heinz Rhmann, Ilse Werner, and Grete Weiser. Actresses in particular were drawn to his boyish manner, dark eyes, and curly black hair. At night he retreated to a comfortable East Berlin apartment in the Weissensee district, which he rented cheaply for those plentiful Ostmark.

Overnight, Litfinas dream life became a nightmare. The border closure prevented him from traveling to West Berlin, so he lost his job and his social position. Worse yet, an East Germana"mandated job placement process was about to land Litfin in a mind-numbing textile factory job with longer hours and a fraction of his previous pay.

Litfin d.a.m.ned himself for not moving to West Berlin when he had had the chance. A few days before the border closed, he had even rented a studio apartment in West Berlinas Charlottenburg district on the leafy Suarezstra.s.se. He and his brother had been slowly transporting his household goods in small loads, using two different cars, to avoid police suspicion. They had already smuggled out his most precious belonging, his modern sewing machine, by dismantling it and moving it in pieces.

Even more maddening was that Gnter Litfin had been at a house-warming party in West Berlin with his brother, Jrgen, on the night the city was divided. When theyad returned home on the elevated S-Bahn at just past midnight, they had noticed nothing amiss.

It wasnat until the next morning at 10:00 a.m., after Jrgen had heard the bad news on the radio, that he woke up his brother: aAll access routes are closed and everything is shut down,a he told Gnter. The two brothers then reflected on the last time Ulbricht had shut down Berlinas border: on June 17, 1953, after Soviet tanks had put down the worker uprising. Life had returned to normal several days later, so they expected the same was likely this time. Even during the 1948 Berlin Airlift, the cityas border had remained open. The Litfins at first dismissed the notion that the Americans would allow the border closure to stand, given all that was at stake. Though the brothers distrusted the British and French commitment to Berlinas freedom, they had little doubt that the Americans would come through.

The Litfins set off on their bicycles to size up the new landscape. They rolled to a stop at Gnteras usual border crossing at the Bornholmer Bridge, where a two-lane highway pa.s.sed over multiple train tracks. Police had blocked the pavement with barbed wire and tank traps. Gnter sighed to his brother, aI canat believe this will stay.a But with each successive day the brothers grew more convinced the Americans would not rescue them. The communists had begun replacing the temporary barriers of sawhorses and barbed wire with a ten-foot-high wall built of prefabricated concrete sections and connecting mortar. Ulbricht was rapidly closing all escape hatches. So Gnter decided to risk escape before it was too late.

He closely followed the reports on RIAS radio about the many escapes that had succeeded after August 13. Since then, some 150 East Germans had swum to their liberty across the Teltow Ca.n.a.l, many towing children. In a single action, a dozen teenagers had made it across the waterway in a group sprint. One daring young man had driven his Volkswagen right through one border sectionas barbed wire safely into the French sector. Another bold East Berliner had disarmed a border guard, taking his sub-machine gun right out of his hands so that he could not shoot, and then had run across the border with it.

Encouraged by these success stories and despite a heart condition, Litfin decided to act. At just after four in the afternoon on Thursday, August 24, in the spotlight of a 77-degree midday sun, Gnter crossed a railway yard that lay between Friedrichstra.s.se in the east and the Lehrter train station in the West. Wearing a light brown jacket and black pants, he jumped into the warm waters of the Spree Ca.n.a.l at the Humboldt harbor. Gnter wasnat a particularly strong swimmer, but he reckoned that he was strong enough to make it across the thirty meters or so of water to freedom.

Standing above him on a nearby bridge, a transit policeman, or Trapo, shouted five times at Gnter to stop. But the tailor only swam with more determination. The officer fired two warning shots that struck the water just beyond Gnteras head. When Litfin continued to swim, the Trapo sprayed machine-gun fire all around him. The first bullets struck the tailor when he was still ten meters short of the sh.o.r.e.

Wounded, Gnter flailed and dived deep to avoid subsequent shots from what by then were three police. When he came up for air and raised his hands in surrender, the Trapos screamed derisively at him. A shot pierced his neck, and Gnter sank like a stone.

Gnter Litfin would be the first person shot dead while trying to escape East Berlin, a victim of bad timing. What he couldnat have known was that police that morning had received their first shoot-to-kill orders to stop all those attempting the crime of aflight from the Republic.a Had Litfin fled a day earlier, he would have succeeded. Instead, two East German fireboats carrying police units searched the Spree Ca.n.a.l for more than two hours before three army frogmen pulled Gnteras body from the water at about seven p.m.

The day after Gnter was killed, eight secret police tore apart his motheras apartment while she wept uncontrollably. They ripped off her oven door and disa.s.sembled the oven. They slashed open mattresses and dumped out dresser drawers. An officer explained to Gnteras wailing mother, aYour son has been shot dead. He was a criminal.a To further punish the family, authorities prohibited Gnteras mother and brother from viewing the body before its burial, not even for identification. The family lowered Gnter into his grave in a closed casket at Weissensee Cemetery on a bright summer day, Wednesday, August 30. Jrgen was satisfied with the polished black granite headstone he had chosen, and he ran his fingers across its gold script: OUR UNFORGOTTEN GNTER.

Hundreds of Berliners gathered at the graveside: school friends, family members, and dozens of others who didnat know Gnter at all but had come to make a statement by their presence.

Even with so many watching, Jrgen could not let his brother disappear without confirming it was really him. So he jumped down into the grave site and broke open the coffin with a crowbar that he had concealed until that moment. Though Gnteras skin had blackened and a bandage covered a broad area beneath his mouth and over his neck, concealing the large exit wound from the shot that had killed him, Jrgen had no doubt about the ident.i.ty.

He looked up and nodded to his mother that it was her son.

Berlin was in shock in the days following August 13. The city pa.s.sed through stages of grief: denial, disbelief, rage, frustration, depression, and ultimately resignation. How Berliners responded depended on where they sat, in the East or the West.

For West Berliners, initial anger at the communists was now accompanied by a growing fury over American betrayal. The talk around town was all about how the Americans had not sent a single platoon on August 13 to demonstrate solidarity, nor had they imposed a single sanction on the East Germans or Soviets to punish them for their action.

By comparison, the East Berliner response was one of self-loathing for having missed the opportunity to escape mixed with disgust for the cynical communist leaders who had imprisoned them. Mielkeas omnipresent Stasi agents had succeeded in their mission. Those who might have considered rebellion were deterred by the constant watch kept by Stasi agents at every factory, school, and apartment building.

AT THE BORDER, BERNAUER STRa.s.sE, EAST BERLIN.

TUESDAY AFTERNOON, AUGUST 15, 1961.

A little more than two days after the border closure, East German workmen operating giant cranes began to lower prefabricated concrete segments onto Bernauer Stra.s.se. Each block was precisely 1.25 meters square and 20 centimeters thick. Hundreds more sat nearby on a flatbed truck. Satisfied that the U.S. and its allies were unlikely to do anything to upset his project, Ulbricht was taking the next step. He had issued orders for construction crews to begin replacing the temporary border barriers in several sensitive locations with something more lasting.

CBS correspondent Daniel Schorr rushed to Bernauer Stra.s.se to tell the story. aWe noticed slabs of concrete being moved into place as though to build a wall,a he said tentatively, among the first to employ the term awalla to describe what eventually would divide Berliners. With his distinctive baritone laced with disbelieving emotion, he compared it to what Germans had built in Warsaw to contain Jews.

Schorr tried to explain to his American listeners why the U.S. military was watching pa.s.sively while the communists made the figurative Iron Curtain a physical reality of concrete and mortar. aWe might have been willing to go to war to defend our right to stay in Berlin,a he said, abut can we go to war to defend the right of East Germans to get out of their own country?a Construction crews had also begun operating at Potsdamer Platz, laboring under huge floodlights that allowed round-the-clock work. However, it was Bernauer Stra.s.se that would become both the focus and the symbol of Ulbrichtas intention to make Berlinas divide both permanent and impermeable.

A fluke of prewar planning had put Bernauer Stra.s.se directly on the dividing line between the East Berlin district of Mitte, in the Soviet zone, and the West Berlin borough of Wedding, in the French sector. Until 1938, the demarcation line had been down the middle of the cobblestoned, kilometer-long Bernauer Stra.s.se, but in that year Weddingas street cleaners protested. To simplify their job, Berlinas Third Reich authorities expanded Weddingas territory to the edge of the four-story apartment buildings on the streetas eastern side so that their cleaners could rule over the entire thoroughfare.

As a result, Berlinas Cold War division left Bernauer Stra.s.seas pavement and the apartment buildings on its northern side in West Berlin, and all the homes on the southern side in East Berlin. So in the first two days after August 13, these East Berlin residents could escape to the Westa"depending on their apartmentsa locations in their buildingsa"either by walking out the front door or climbing down a rope or sheet through an open window.

Like many of the soldiers dispatched to East Berlin for Operation Rose, nineteen-year-old Hans Conrad Schumann was born in rural Saxony, where his father had raised sheep in the village of Leutewitz. These were roots that authorities knew from experience would make young Schumann less politically susceptible. Yet as Schumann patrolled the East German side of the border along Bernauer Stra.s.se on August 15, he failed to see the threat to his socialist homeland that he had been instructed to resist. Instead, all he saw were justifiably angry, unarmed protesters shaking their fists and shouting that he was a pig, a traitor, ora"more hurtful, given the German pasta"a concentration camp guard.

It had been a confusing experience, as Schumann had felt greater sympathy for the crowd than for the soldiers who then dispersed them with smoke bombs and water cannons. It was then that Schumann began to consider his own escape. At the fast pace the construction crews were working, Schumann thought to himself, within days a concrete wall would replace all the barbed-wire fencing that still marked most of the border on Bernauer Stra.s.se. Within weeks, all of East Berlin would be enclosed, and his chance would be gone.

As he visualized his flight, Schumann pressed down on the top of the coiled wire where he was standing watch and tested how much it would give against what amount of pressure.

aWhat are you doing there?a asked a colleague.

Though Schumannas heart beat wildly, he responded calmly.

aThe wire is rusting already,a he responded. It had the benefit of truth.

A young photographer began to watch Schumann from a few paces away in West Berlin. Peter Leibing, working on behalf of the photo agency Conti-Press in Hamburg, had rushed the 160 miles to Berlin to capture history as it unfolded. The images were powerful: East German soldiers cradling submachine guns, crying women, angry and sad faces, all framed through strands of barbed wire. When Leibing arrived at the epicenter of this drama, Bernauer Stra.s.se, he joined a large crowd of West Berliners who had already gathered to watch the wallas construction. Standing on a corner of Ruppinerstra.s.se in the West, Leibing looked through his lens at Conrad Schumann as he stood against a building in the East, smoking a cigarette. Some in the crowd told Leibing they had watched Schumann return to the barbed-wire coil on several occasions, always pus.h.i.+ng the wire down a little farther to test its resistance to pressure.

The larger his audience, Schumann thought to himself, the greater the chance of a safe escape, since his colleagues would be less likely to shoot him as he fled. Schumann shouted at a young West Berliner who was approaching the border that he should get back. But then he confided to the same individual under his breath, aIch werde springena (Iam going to jump).

The young man raced off, and before long a police van pulled up as closely as possible without attracting the suspicion of the other East German soldiers. Leibing trained his lens on the spot in the barbed wire that Schumann had been testing. It struck him as ironic that he was using an East German camera, an Exakta. The longer he waited, the more it seemed to Leibing that Schumann had lost his courage or never intended to jump.

At about 4:00 p.m., Schumann saw his two colleagues disappear around a corner and out of sight. He tossed away his cigarette, raced forward, and jumped onto the top of the coil with his right boot, pressing down just hard enough to propel himself forward but not to sink into the concertina wire. As he soared, he released his Kalashnikov submachine gun with his right hand while extending his left arm for balance. It looked to the cheering crowd as if he were extending his wings for flight. His flat steel helmet remained steady on his head as he pulled his neck into his shoulder. Like a champion hurdler, he landed on his left boot and then ran without shortening his stride up to and then through the Opel Blitz police vanas open door.

Drawing upon his previous experience photographing horse jumps in Hamburg, Leibing snapped a photo that perfectly captured the soldier in flight over the obstacle beneath him. His manual shutter would give him only one shot, but that was enough to produce an iconic photo.

aWelcome to the West, young man,a said a West Berlin police officer to a shaking, silent Schumann, and he collapsed in the van.* The door slammed shut and the vehicle sped away. It was but a brief triumph.

Within a week, Ulbricht had grown so confident that Kennedy would not intervene that on August 22, he began to expand his wall construction to multiple sites. Though history would record August 13 as the Berlin Wallas birthdate, the truth was that it rose only gradually in the days that followed, once the communists could be certain they would face no resistance.

RATHAUS SCHONEBERG, CITY HALL OF WEST BERLIN.

4:00 P.M., WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 16, 1961.

w.i.l.l.y Brandt had never been so worried before a speech.

As he stood before the Rathaus Schneberg, he looked down on 250,000 angry Berliners and knew it would be difficult to strike the right tone. He had to channel the crowdas rage, but not so ferociously that it incited them to storm across the border, only to be shot down.

He also knew this crucial moment was a campaign opportunity. Elections were only one month off, and Brandt wanted to show Germans that he could more effectively defend their interests than the aging Chancellor Adenauer, who with his American friends had done nothing to stop the border closure nor reverse it. Adenauer had turned down Brandtas invitation to join him at the rally, and he had not set foot in Berlin since August 13.

Thus far, Adenauer had resisted pressure from his party and the public to visit the city because, he said, his appearance might incite political unrest and encourage false expectations. What he didnat say was that it would also underscore his impotence. Adenauer was also eager to avoid giving the Soviets any excuse to expand on their success and threaten West Berlin or West German freedomsa"a line Moscow had been careful not to cross.

So while Brandt prepared for his speech, Adenauer met in Bonn with the Soviet amba.s.sador to West Germany, Andrei Smirnov. He agreed to sign a communiqu the Soviet had brought to the meeting: aThe Federal Republic would not undertake any step that could damage its relations.h.i.+p with the Soviet Union or endanger the international situation.a It reeked of appeas.e.m.e.nt.

Within forty-eight hours of the border closure, Adenauer had announced that he would not cut trade ties with East Germany, reversing his initial threats. Even his hawkish defense minister Franz Josef Strauss had appealed for calm. aIf shooting starts,a he told a West German crowd, ano one knows with what kind of weapons it will end.a British Prime Minister Macmillan, the ally so reluctant to provoke the Russian bear, had praised Adenauer for having responded with a aheated heart and cool head.a It seemed as though, after all his concern about Kennedyas leaders.h.i.+p, Adenauer was now adopting the U.S. presidentas position on the wall.

However, Adenaueras response was one more of resignation than conviction. He had seen his worst fears realized regarding Kennedyas indecisive leaders.h.i.+p. Heinrich Krone, the chairman of Adenaueras party faction in the Bundestag, wrote in his diary, aThis was the hour of our greatest disillusionment.a The building of the wall ended whatever residual confidence Adenauer had that members.h.i.+p in athe strongest alliance in the worlda could guarantee absolute security.

He was also taking the long view. His West Germany remained intact and anch.o.r.ed in NATO. There was no advantage in denying the reality that East Berlin had landed ever more securely in communist hands. Therefore, his most important purpose was to win the September 17 elections and keep his country out of socialist control.

Smirnov wooed and threatened Adenauer along the usual Soviet lines. He spoke of how constructively Moscow had worked with Adenauer while reminding him of his countryas certain destruction should he forget Germanyas role in the last two world wars and pursue what he called warlike activities and escalation now.

During his meeting with Smirnov, Adenauer chose not to condemn the Soviets or Khrushchev. Instead, he extended thanks to the Soviet leader for his greetings, warmly recalled his last meeting with Khrushchev, and spoke of his focus on winning the September 17 elections.

Only at that point did he mention Berlin. aWeare dealing in my view here with an aggravating and unpleasant matter, which has been played up way beyond the necessary,a he told Smirnov. aI would be grateful if the Soviet government could calm the situation.a Adenauer said he worried and aquite openly feareda that developments in Berlin and the Soviet zone aunder some conditions could lead to bloodshed.a He said plaintively, aI would be grateful if the Soviet government could prevent such an occurrence.a If his approach to the Soviets was one of restraint, it was quite the opposite when it came to his political opponent, w.i.l.l.y Brandt. Adenauer knew the border closure would hurt him with voters. He also knew an increasing number of them were questioning whether the old man was still fit enough to lead, and that Brandt had moved his Social Democrats to the more acceptable political center. He hoped voters would weigh all that against West Germanyas thriving economy and the stability he had achieved for his country within the Western alliance.

Less than forty-eight hours after the communists had closed the border, Adenauer had campaigned in the Bavarian city of Regensburg rather than rus.h.i.+ng to Berlin. He told the crowd he did not wish to inflame the situation by grandstanding in Berlin. Instead of attacking the communists, he took a nasty swipe at Brandtas character, for the first time referring publicly to his illegitimate birth. aIf ever anyone has been treated with the greatest consideration by his political opponents,a said Adenauer, ait is Herr Brandt, alias Frahm,a a reference to his unwed motheras maiden name, which Brandt had discarded while in wartime exile.

At an August 29 campaign speech that followed in Hagen, Westphalia, Adenauer told a partisan crowd that Khrushchev had shut down the Berlin border so as to help the socialist Brandt in the upcoming elections. The German press attacked Adenauer for turning so viciously on Brandt, but among voters Adenauer was effectively sowing doubts about his opponent.