• • •
The Excelsior Hotel dominated an entire city block, and the management boasted that it was the largest hotel on the European continent. The building featured six hundred guest rooms, nine restaurants, several shops, a seven-thousand-volume library, and a specially built underground tunnel connecting it to the Anhalter Bahnhof, the railway station across the street. The hotel had its own security force and even published its own daily newspaper. It was a city within the city, and as I approached on foot that day, it seemed as imposing as an armed fortress.
I had thought through several different scenarios to breach the hotel’s security and find Max, from posing as a telegram delivery boy to hiding myself on a food service or laundry cart like a slapstick scene from a Marx Brothers movie. I even considered bribing one of the maids or janitors with the little cash I had left. In the end, I realized that the risk of any of those ideas was too great and the chances of success were slim. So I decided to simply use the direct approach.
I entered the main lobby, a great gilded room adorned with massive gold light fixtures and overstuffed furniture, and approached the front desk, where a line of smartly uniformed clerks manned their stations. I walked up to one who looked approachable.
“Can I help you?” the clerk said.
“I’m here to see Max Schmeling?”
The clerk’s eyes narrowed.
“Is he expecting you?”
“Well, no, but—”
“I’m sorry, but Herr Schmeling does not take unplanned visits from fans.”
“I’m not a fan. I’m a friend. He’s an old friend of my family.”
“Really?” he said doubtfully.
“And he’s my boxing coach.”
“Your boxing coach? I didn’t know Herr Schmeling needed to take on students.”
“I’m the only one. Or I was. We used to train at the same place, the Berlin Boxing Club, and—”
“Listen, I don’t think Herr Schmeling has time to be disturbed today—”
“Just call him. Please. I’m certain he’d want to see me if he knew I was here.”
“And why didn’t you call ahead and let him know you were coming?”
“I was just passing by and thought I’d say hello. I think he’d be quite displeased if he knew I was turned away. He’s always spoken so highly of the staff here. I’d hate for him to have to complain to the management about one of the employees.”
I squinted as if struggling to read the clerk’s name tag.
“That would be a shame, wouldn’t it, Herr Preysing?”
The clerk frowned and picked up the phone.
“Name?”
“Karl Stern.”
He stepped away from the desk and dialed. It occurred to me that Max might not even be there. He and Anny might be in their country home. The desk clerk spoke into the phone in a low voice, but I could still hear what he was saying.
“Room seven-oh-one, please. Danke. [Pause.] Guten Morgen, Herr Schmeling. This is Heinrich Preysing at the front desk, so sorry to disturb you, sir. But there is a young man here who wishes to see you and claims he’s a family friend and your boxing student. Yes, his name is Karl Stern.”
There was a long pause, which felt like an eternity. I watched the clerk’s face as he listened and nodded. A tight little smile crossed his lips, and I felt sure that Max had instructed him to turn me away and my final hope would be dashed. I felt sick to my stomach. My mind grasped for another plan to track down my parents, but there was no other plan.
“Of course, Herr Schmeling. Good-bye.”
He hung up the phone.
“Take the elevator to the seventh floor and make a left. Herr Schmeling and Frau Ondra’s apartment is number seven-oh-one.”
“Danke sehr,” I said.
I made my way across the vast lobby. A thin man with dark, neatly parted hair sitting in a wing chair reading a newspaper glanced up at me as I passed. Did he suspect something? He returned to his paper, but as I continued walking, it felt as if a hundred eyes were following me and I expected that at any moment someone would shout, “Jew,” and a hotel detective would come and throw me onto the street. But I made it across, entered the elevator, and breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind me. A uniformed elevator operator manually pulled a brass handle and made the car rise to the seventh floor. He pulled open the door, and I stepped into the hall, which was lined with a long yellow carpet with a maroon filigree design. I followed the numbers on the doors until I stopped at 701 at the very end of the hallway. The room had large double doors and a doorbell rather than a plain door knocker like the other rooms. I took a deep breath and rang the bell.
As I waited, I tried to think of what I would say to him, but no words came to me. Should I mention the letters I had sent? Should I ask him if he’d recovered from his injuries? Or should I not make any small talk and just ask him for help right away? Panic rose in me that I’d lose my nerve altogether. Finally I heard someone approach from the other side, the door swung open, and there was Max, casually dressed in wool slacks, a white button-down shirt, and suspenders. It struck me that I had only ever seen him dressed for fighting, working out in the gym, or in a formal suit or tuxedo. Something about the casual attire put me off-balance, like I was seeing the real Max for the first time. His expression was neutral as he saw me, not angry, but also not with his normal easygoing smile. His eyes looked serious, perhaps even a little annoyed at being interrupted.
“Karl,” he said, extending his hand.
“I’m sorry to just drop in, but—”
“Not at all, come in,” he said, ushering me inside the entryway and closing the door behind us. Before the door shut, I saw him peer over me and glance down the hall, like he was checking to make sure no one had seen us.
“Look, I’ve got other guests right now. If you’ll just wait for a few minutes, I should be done shortly.”
He led me to a small sitting room just to the right of the front door. Even from my brief glimpse of the hallway, I could tell the apartment was large, at least three or four bedrooms, and richly decorated with the finest furnishings. I sat in an upholstered wing chair and waited. There was a small crystal bowl filled with green peppermint hard candies on the side table beside my chair. I hadn’t eaten all day, and the sight of the candy made me dizzy from the lack of sustenance. I took a handful and quickly stuffed them into my mouth and crunched them with my teeth so I could swallow them as quickly as possible before Max returned.
The room also had an antique writing desk against one wall. On the desk were two framed photographs, one a formal portrait of Anny Ondra, the other a personally autographed picture of Adolf Hitler. A jagged piece of the hard candy stuck in the side of my throat, and I had to cough to dislodge it.
I heard Max reenter another room and resume talking with his guests. There appeared to be two other men in the room.
“They have to give me a rematch, don’t they?” Max said.
“It’s not the Americans I’m worried about,” another man said. “It’s our own beloved government.”
“They won’t want to risk another defeat,” the third man said. “It would embarrass the Reich.”
“Embarrass the Reich.” Max spat. “I won one and Louis won one. I’m the only man to ever defeat him. I know I can give him a good fight.”
“We know that, Max. But Hitler doesn’t want a good fight; he only wants victory.”
“It’s my only chance to regain the title.”
“I don’t think they care about the title. You’ve already been World Heavyweight Champion. So that’s enough. It’s not worth the risk to them.”
“I need to get some fights in Europe. Prove to everyone I can still compete.”
“Don’t worry about it, Max. We’ll be able to set something up.”
“What about Louis?”
“That’ll take some time.”
“Think of what the purse would be for a title fight against Louis,” Max said.
“You’ve got to get me that fight. I’m getting older every day, you know. I’m not like a fine wine that just gets better with age. I’m more like a good strong cheese. I can only be aged so long before I start to stink.”
The other men laughed.
My ears burned. My father had been stabbed. Jews were being robbed and beaten at will. My entire world was collapsing, and Max and his colleagues just sat around talking about boxing and money, like it was any other business day. Was it possible he didn’t know what was going on?
Finally Max ushered his friends out of the apartment. The entire time I had been there, I never saw them and they never saw me. They were just disembodied voices. After closing the front door, Max came down the hall to find me.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Karl.”
I saw him quickly glance at the portrait of Hitler that had been staring at me the whole time. His eyes found the photograph and then quickly moved away.
“Here, let’s go into the living room to talk, ja? Anny is away in our country house, so I’ve been trying to get some business done.”
He led me to a large, marvelously furnished room overlooking the railway station and the city. One of the daily newspapers sat on a glass table in the center of the room with the headline jewish riots erupt across the reich. There it was, sitting in front of him. He did know.
“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to one of the couches.
But I couldn’t sit. Something about the headline in the paper left me frozen, my legs locked in place. And all the emotion, frustration, and rage of the past two days boiled to the surface. I had always been respectful of Max and careful of what I said to him. But now I couldn’t stop myself.
“How could you let this happen?”
“What do you mean?”
“This!” I said, gesturing to the paper. “You know what’s going on out there, right?”
“Yes,” he said, slowly sitting across from me. “It’s . . . extremely unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate? Is that all you can say? Is that all you can do?”
“I’m not sure what you expect—”
“You’re a powerful man.”
“But I’m only one man,” he said, keeping his voice quiet and measured.
“People would listen to you.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”
“What’s not simple?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
“Do you think I approve of what’s going on?” His voice rose, sharp and defensive. “Do you think this is my doing?”
“Then why don’t you speak out?”
“People just don’t speak out these days.”
“But you’re Max Schmeling.”
“I would be thrown in jail as quickly as anyone.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Look at what happened to von Cramm.”
“Gottfried von Cramm? The tennis player?”
“Yes. He criticized the government, and they framed him for something else and threw him in jail. His career is over. His life is over.” He was almost pleading with me, desperate for me to understand.
“Von Cramm is not you. You’re bigger than he is.”
“There’s a lot you don’t understand.”
“You’re right. I don’t understand how you can have all these Jewish friends and then have dinner with Hitler and Goebbels.”
“I’m not one of them. I’ve never joined the party.” He stood and paced the room, making abrupt gestures with his arms to emphasize his points. “What am I supposed to do when the leader of our country asks to see me? Say no? Sorry, I can’t make it tonight. I’ve got more important plans.”
“Maybe.”
“These are difficult times, Karl. Very difficult. And you may find this hard to believe, but everyone needs to be very careful. Even me.” He moved closer and leaned toward me. “Do you know what Anny wanted me to do after I lost to Joe Louis? Do you?”
“No.”
“Stay in America. She called and said, ‘Don’t come home, Max. It’s too dangerous for you.’ She was convinced they would send me to prison for losing and shaming the Reich.”
“Then why did you come back?”
“I’m a German,” he said. “Whatever is going on now will pass.”
“That’s just what my father said.”
“Sig has always been a smart man. Your father and I are both survivors. He understands. Listen, Karl, you’ve been an excellent boxing student, but there’s one thing I never taught you. And it might be your most important survival strategy in the ring. It’s called the feint.”
“The feint.”
“Yes. A feint is a trick. Whenever you fake a punch or try to give your opponent the impression that you’ve been punched or hurt so that you can mount your own attack. Whenever you mislead someone in the ring. That’s a feint. It’s the same in life. Sometimes you have to give the impression you are doing one thing in order to do another and survive. You should never give your opponent a clear picture of your real intentions.”
Everything he said made complete sense, but those few words suddenly changed my view of him and of every other German who thought they were feinting through the rise of Hitler and the Nazis. For my entire life Max had always represented strength, but now I saw only weakness and self-interest. My eyes burned and my throat tightened as I stared at him.
“Last night our home was attacked by a gang of thugs. Everything was looted or destroyed, and the police did nothing to stop it. My father and I were beaten, and he was stabbed in the stomach. I’m not sure if he was able to get treatment. I have no idea where he or my mother might be right now. For all I know, he may be dead or they may have been arrested. I have no money. No family to turn to. My sister and I are hiding at a friend of my father’s, but we have no real place to live and nowhere to go. How is the feint going to help me with that?”
Then I did something that I hadn’t done in many years and certainly never in front of Max or anyone at the Berlin Boxing Club. I broke down and cried.
The Excelsior
MAX SENT ME WITH HIS DRIVER IN HIS MERCEDES-BENZ sedan to pick up Hildy and bring her back to the Excelsior, where he said we were welcome to stay as long as we needed to. When I got to the apartment, Hildy was sorry to leave the Countess, who had pampered her all day, letting her try on his best gowns and experiment with his makeup. Hildy and the Countess embraced as we left.
“Good-bye, Aunt Bertie,” she said.
“Good-bye, Princess Hildegard,” he replied in his strange high-pitched falsetto. “I want you to have this so you’ll always remember me.”
He gave her a small, round jeweled compact, with deep red rouge on one side and a mirror on the other.
“For me?”
“For you.”
“I can’t take this.”
“Please, dear, I insist. A proper lady always needs to be prepared for anything.”
“Thank you again,” I said, shaking the Countess’s hand.
The Countess pulled me toward him and hugged me close. I had not been that close to the Countess since the very first day when he tried to touch my cheek and I pulled away. This time I returned the embrace.
“You’re a good man, Karl. I’m sure your father is proud of you.”
We walked back down the stairs to the waiting car. And as we got inside, Hildy said: “Why was he so nice to us?”
“He?”
“Yes. He.”
“You mean, you knew?”
“I’m not a fool, Karl. Why did he help us?”
“He and Papa were in the war together. Papa saved his life. He was a hero, you know.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said. “But I’m glad I do now.”
She gave a small smile, but then her face grew serious. She looked out the window and played with the jeweled compact the entire ride, opening and closing the lid with a little snap.
Max’s driver
drove us around to the back entrance of the hotel. Max was waiting by the loading dock where the hotel staff received deliveries. He looked both ways as we got out of the car and quickly ushered us into a service hallway.
“Welcome to the Excelsior,” Max said to Hildy.
“Danke, Herr Schmeling,” she said.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t take you through the lobby, but I don’t want to raise any suspicions.”
“We understand,” I said.
“Come this way.”
He led us down the dark hallway until we came to the large metal service elevator. A janitor waited there for us, holding open the heavy metal grate that served as a door.
“Thanks, Hermann,” Max said to the janitor as we all stepped inside the elevator. Hildy jumped as the janitor closed the door with a loud clang, then pulled a lever. The elevator started to rise. We all rode in silence until we reached the seventh floor and the janitor pushed the lever and it slowed to a halt.
“Seventh floor,” he said, pulling open the grate.
We all stepped out. Max turned back to the janitor to shake his hand.
“Thank you again,” Max said.
I noticed Max furtively held a wad of bills in his palm that he discreetly passed to the janitor as they shook hands.
“Of course, Herr Schmeling,” he said, taking the bills and quickly stuffing them into his pocket.
The rest of the morning, Max made phone calls trying to track down my parents. He had contacts with the police and the local government, but no one seemed to know anything. He briefly left the apartment to make an inquiry at a local police precinct where he had a friend.
“Stay inside the apartment,” he instructed. “It would be best if as few people as possible know you are up here.”
Hildy and I spent the day sitting and waiting in a guest bedroom, feeling frustrated and helpless. At around midday we heard the front door to the apartment open and a woman’s voice call out.
“Hallo. Housekeeping.”
Hildy and I stared at each other. Her eyes went wide with fear.
“Hallo? Herr Schmeling?” we heard the voice call again.
“Good,” another woman’s voice said quietly. “They must be away.”
The Berlin Boxing Club Page 24