In March 1955, the whole family was around the TV the night the first of a new Disney series premiered. It was called Man in Space. When Wernher von Braun appeared, impeccably dressed in a suit and tie, and the camera zoomed in for a close-up, Fred, in his recliner, couldn’t believe his eyes. “Son of a BITCH!” he said, turning to Betty, “That’s the guy, that miserable Nazi bastard from Buchenwald.” Both “bitch” and “bastard” were new to his son’s ears, as his parents watched their language around him. As the show continued, Fred got increasingly agitated and finally left the living room. He refused to watch future episodes, nor did he discuss the reasons with his son.
But Betty knew the story, and she and Fred wondered what he should or could do about it. How could the government not know about von Braun’s background? Fred finally decided that they had to know, and even if by some miracle they didn’t, somebody already considered a psych case had zero chance of convincing anyone of anything. If the government refused to believe that he had even been in Buchenwald, they’d never believe what he had seen there — especially when the guy in question was a friend of Walt Disney.
Fred was not the only member of the TV audience who thought he recognized von Braun from his days with the Third Reich.163 Over the years, Wernher was recognized by many former concentration camp prisoners, although most, like Fred, chose to remain silent for decades.164 Of course, in the absence of photographic evidence or written documentation, such claims would not be sufficient for prosecution. But it seems odd that from the earliest days of Operation Overcast, government security investigations on Wernher von Braun failed to include interviews with survivors of Peenemünde or Dora/Mittelwerk. Instead, they relied primarily on the supporting depositions of other Paperclip contractees, thereby ensuring a successful outcome. The government already knew that Wernher had worked at the Mittelwerk and been involved in slave labor, and the JIOA was determined to keep the information secret. So there is every reason to believe that anyone making or reporting stories about the claims of former prisoners would have been discredited, and related publications suppressed.
WERNHER VON BRAUN
Wernher was convinced that there were too many different companies doing related research in widely separate locations. It was making it too hard for him to maintain managerial control. He advocated shifting to the “all in one place” approach used at Peenemünde before the bombing raid in 1943. But the Army wanted the production farmed out to an outside contractor, with the Redstone Arsenal remaining focused on design and development. Due to military politics (the Air Force wanted the Army out of the missile business) the Redstone group was given the OK to complete the first set of missiles while a new contractor geared up for the job.
Wernher understood that in contrast to the situation in Peenemünde, funding determinations in America were heavily influenced by public opinion and media pressure. So in 1952, he orchestrated a publicity campaign to rally the US populace around the space program. He was already writing to organizations and societies around the globe, and now he started writing articles for magazines in the US. He started with Collier’s Magazine, a high-profile weekly magazine with a broad readership. He worked with the editors to organize what they called a “symposium,” which was a collection of articles on space exploration and technology by multiple authors. Wernher’s piece, called “Crossing the Last Frontier,” was the centerpiece. It was by far the longest article and it was lavishly illustrated.
Based largely on the ideas he’d developed in The Mars Project, it included winged spacecraft resembling the A-9, a three-stage rocket to launch it (the second stage comparable to the A-10), rotating space stations, and a moon landing. In the first paragraph, he predicted a space station within 10-15 years that would be “the greatest force for peace ever devised, or the greatest weapon of war — depending on who makes and controls it.” He was clearly pulling out all of the stops.
That issue of Collier’s was extremely popular, and it was followed by radio and television appearances with the authors of other articles in that issue. Wernher wrote several other articles over the next two years. All of these articles and related public pronouncements promoted space exploration as the primary goal, but reminded the reader that if the US didn’t do it first, their enemies could use the same technology to defeat them in the war that would inevitably follow. It was an effective one-two punch: heroic romanticism and proud nationalism, followed by fear of Communist aggression.
In late 1952, Dornberger’s book, V-2, was published in Germany, recounting the heroic story of the development of the missile. Somehow he managed to avoid mentioning slave labor, Buchenwald, or Dora, and Mittelwerk was relegated to a side comment about it serving as a production facility. He also failed to discuss the targets or the casualties inflicted by V-2 strikes. The narrative glorified the scientific and technical achievements of the German rocket team and attempted to replace the wartime image of General Dornberger, the Nazi fanatic dedicated to the destruction of London, with that of Dr. Dornberger, the innovative apolitical scientist.
At around the same time, Wernher was pushing the “explore space or be annihilated” button during a well attended lecture in Washington DC. There were quite a few skeptical articles written that claimed his math was wrong, that the estimated $4 billion cost was too high (or too low). A few humorists noted that since he had lost the war for Hitler, why should the US follow his lead? But although his ambitious programs would not be funded, his ongoing promotional efforts popularized space exploration and indirectly, science fiction to a generation of Americans.
The first Redstone missile was successfully tested early in 1953. The program had expanded rapidly, and soon it was reconfigured. The Huntsville facility became the Ordnance Missile Laboratories, and Toftoy, by then a brigadier general, assumed overall command. In August 1953, there was a major launch of a Redstone at Cape Canaveral, the launch complex in Florida. Dieter Huzel, who had hidden the 14 tons of documents for Wernher, was by his side. After coming to the US under Project Paperclip, Dieter had taken a position at Rocketdyne.
Another big Collier’s issue was planned, this one focusing on the The Mars Project at the same time Wernher’s novel with the same name was published in Germany. Between the articles and his speaking engagements, Wernher was more than doubling his already sizable salary. He was well on his way to becoming a scientific rock star.
The German publication of The Mars Project came as something of a surprise to the FBI, who were concerned that it might contain classified information. The publication triggered an FBI investigation and background check in April 1953. The security check revisited Wernher’s original declarations, noting that he had failed to disclose what he knew about hidden documents. It also acknowledged the lack of information regarding when and why he joined the SS. Investigators in Germany reviewed the Project Abstract paperwork and noted (1) von Braun’s lack of cooperation with authorities, and (2) information from the Berlin Document Center regarding his SS and Nazi party affiliations. However, this was all considered “old news.”
Whereas a background check that included interviewing survivors of Dora or Peenemünde work details might have caused serious concern, the FBI instead interviewed his contacts in the US. Among those interviewed were two men who had worked with von Braun since his arrival at Fort Bliss, and a General Electric contractor whose company had ongoing contracts with the Redstone Arsenal. The latter, Dr. Richard Porter, spoke of von Braun’s apparent interest in becoming an American, but added: “caution should be taken if Germany ever becomes unified, as it is possible that [his] loyalty would revert to Germany.” This was very close to the observation made in von Braun’s first security evaluation by Lt. Jessel in June 1945.
In other respects, the three Americans interviewed repeated to the FBI what von Braun had told them regarding his apolitical work in the war and his involvement with the SS. The FBI then interviewed Wernher’s German contemporaries, who were themselves Paperclip recruits. The
se included Steinhoff, Dornberger, Debus, Dannenberg, and several others. All were former Nazis, and most had worked for Wernher at Peenemünde, Fort Bliss, and Huntsville. Several had skeletons in their own closets. All had praise for Wernher’s hard work and dedication to the US.165
Finally, the FBI team interviewed Wernher, who was well prepared for their arrival. He gave the same details as before but further embellished the story of his arrest by the Gestapo. He had decided that this was a story with legs, and if presented properly, it would show that he wasn’t a committed Nazi. When he listed his previous employment, von Braun brazenly stated that he had worked under General Dornberger at Peenemünde from 1937 through the end of the war. This historical revision went unchallenged, no doubt because the FBI had no access to the documents that the JIOA had accumulated and classified.
In the end, the remarkable thing about the interviews and the responses was not that they included glowing accounts of Wernher’s sterling character and apolitical activities during the war and later in the US, or that everyone sung the same song. It was that they gave the same chronology that Wernher, Dornberger, and the rest had presented at the time of their surrender. They all agreed that Wernher had worked only at Peenemünde, and that the move to Bleicherode was merely an attempt to escape the Russians. Because their accounts went unquestioned, Wernher managed to get through the entire process without being questioned about, and without ever mentioning, the Mittelwerk, Dora, or his position and activities in the CCDC-Mittelbau in Bleicherode.
The FBI, faced with a consistent story told by multiple sources, and with no access to the captured and classified German records, closed the file and granted Wernher his security clearance. Wernher, delighted and no doubt relieved, subsequently assured reporters who posed questions about his past that he had absolutely nothing to hide, which was hardly the case. He also said that the government knew everything about his wartime activities. That statement was also rather disingenuous, given that most government agencies, including the FBI, knew next to nothing about those activities.
Wernher continued to make occasional trips to California to meet with Walt Disney, who wanted to have a series of specials on space exploration. Disney wanted to promote the Tomorrowland section of Disneyland, which would open in July 1955. Wernher immediately saw that television provided a new and effective way to shape public opinion and pressure the government to increase funding for missile technology and space exploration. He readily agreed to work with Disney and to appear on the shows. The first program, Man in Space, aired in March 1955. The audience was estimated in the millions, reaching a far greater number of people than had ever heard of, let alone read, his Collier’s articles.
In April 1955, Wernher von Braun was sworn in as an American citizen along with over 100 other Germans brought to the US under Project Paperclip. With the granting of citizenship and the release of Man in Space, von Braun’s transformation was complete. He now had a fine home, a wife and two daughters, a job he enjoyed, and a remunerative TV career. He was making ten times the average family income in the US, he was becoming an international figure, and his lectures and articles were in demand. He was well on his way to becoming as famous in the US as he had been in Nazi Germany.
WWII had ended ten years before. The key “rocket men” had been assimilated, adapting to their new cultural environment. The Buchenwald airmen, like Fred, were disparaged, discouraged, and resigned to their fates. Yet all the security protocols and paranoia remained in place. The original decision had been to keep von Braun’s background and the events at Dora/Mittelwerk a secret. After ten years, the fact that the JIOA was keeping secrets from Congress, the FBI, the VA, the Department of State, and the Department of Justice, while misleading the press, intimidating authors, and suppressing publications also had to be kept secret. Exposure of these morally questionable actions would have serious personal and professional consequences. Heads could roll, and funding for all of their programs could be jeopardized. So in the interest of “national security” the JIOA remained vigilant, and everything remained classified. Until that policy was changed, the Buchenwald airmen would be treated either as delusional liars or as grifters trying to steal money from the VA.
159 The survivors of experiments in Japanese POW camps felt the same way. “We fought the enemy, then came back to find we were fighting our own government.” Holmes (2010), p128.
160 It is interesting that even at this late date and after multiple rewrites, they could not bring themselves to state categorically that he wasn’t a security threat.
161 Shröder had predicted this when Wernher proposed adopting the system. The resulting argument led to Shröder’s transfer to another team.
162 This hadn’t been mentioned in his earlier interviews, nor was it recorded in his interrogations or depositions, and it wasn’t in the reports of other engineers detained with him. But it was great for his image.
163 There is no way to prove that Fred saw Wernher von Braun. There are no travel records, gate logs, or other paperwork documenting Wernher’s travel after late June, when he stopped flying and started using cars or trains. Wernher never admitted going to Buchenwald, but his letter to Sawatski proves that he went at least once, in late July 1944, and batches of prisoners were shipped to the Mittelwerk from Little Camp while Fred and the other airmen were held there.
164 Examples include Alex Baum, who claimed to have seen him routinely while doing slave labor at Peenemünde and at the Mittelwerk; Tibor Munk, Dick de Zeeuw, and Albert van Dijk, who reported seeing him many times at the Mittelwerk; and Georges Jouanin, who recounted being struck by von Braun for standing on a servomotor assembly in the tail section. Guy Morand testified that he had been beaten by the SS on von Braun’s orders, and Robert Cazabonne testified that von Braun was present when several prisoners were executed for sabotage. A few of these reports may have been cases of mistaken identity; the rest were credible but officially ignored or discounted.
165 It is ironic (to say the very least) that Fred was required to provide disinterested witnesses to support an appeal to the War Claims Commission for a compensation claim of $115.50, whereas the FBI took the word of men whose careers depended on von Braun to determine his access to the military and atomic secrets of the entire nation.
CHAPTER 22
Convergence
1956-1960
FRED MARTINI
IN 1956, FRED STARTED A new job with Mars International in Piscataway, New Jersey. It was a better job with more responsibility, and it was a company with lots of activities for employees. Fred was delighted to learn that they had a pistol team, as he had been rated Expert Marksman in the Army, and his vision was 20/15. He started shooting in regional and statewide competitions. At first, he shot at events the company participated in, but before long, he was shooting at other competitions with the local police, who had made him an honorary deputy. The living room and dining room gradually started to fill with trophies and plaques.
When the Dodgers announced that they were headed to the West Coast, it was like a death in the family. Nobody could believe that such a disaster could befall Brooklyn. How could they support the Mets? Or, horror of horrors, the Yankees? Baseball was finished for the Martinis. Little League, baseball cards, handwritten play-by-play records — all were gone as if by magic. The mourning period lasted several years.
Of course, Fred was chagrined to see von Braun on the Disney specials and the newspapers, hailed as an American hero, but his son was gaga over the whole space race concept. So Fred worked on putting the past behind him and didn’t take von Braun too seriously. It did irk him, however, that none of the many articles about von Braun mentioned his activities during the war, treating his focus as pure science. That description could hardly be stretched to include recruiting visits to Buchenwald.
Over this period, Fred found that if he kept busy and stayed focused, his nightmares became either less common or less memorable, and his flashbacks occurred less often. He s
pent long hours at work, became an assistant scoutmaster, organized neighborhood parties, and joined bowling and pistol shooting teams. To the outside world, Fred seemed energetic and extroverted, although at times eccentric. For example, when he accompanied the scouts on camping trips, he always slept in his car, never on the ground or in a tent. Sleeping “rough” would bring back too many terrible memories. At home, however, things changed very little. Fred continued to have problems with his feet, either from infected cuts that went unnoticed or from standing around or walking more than a short distance. His hands no longer shook, but he was still prone to mood swings and sudden anger. Playing golf had a calming effect, so he started playing every weekend if an electric golf cart was available. As a fringe benefit, he found the sport was of particular value when socializing with representatives of other companies, and he started to get a reputation as someone who could charm his way to new business. But he also had a proven track record of organizing staff and driving projects through to completion on tight schedules and within budget. As a result, he remained in the project management arena with his responsibilities and his income gradually increasing from one year to the next. Unfortunately, his blood pressure continued to climb as well, as it had since the end of the war. The stresses of chronic anxiety were compounding the physical problems resulting from malnutrition and abuse years earlier. By 1960, his blood pressure reached 180/90, and he was put on medication to try to bring it under control.
At the time, Fred was being recruited by the Daven Company, which had been purchased by General Mills and rechristened the Daven Electronics Division. Daven was heavily involved in the manufacturing of switches and electronic components for the aerospace industry. As luck would have it, one of their major clients was the Army, and they were gearing up to make switches and other components for the Mercury space program, which intended to get an astronaut into orbit ASAP. Fred assumed the role of a project manager in the Operations Department. At the same time, Ed Allman was hired away from Bendix Radio to be Chief Industrial Engineer for Daven. Fred and Ed hit it off immediately and were soon good friends and golfing buddies as well as colleagues.
Betrayed: Secrecy, Lies, and Consequences Page 35