Olympic Memories

Nothing is more pleasing to the senses and more awe-inspiring than to watch the world’s young Olympic athletes. It lifts us above the daily squabbles of politicians and widens our vision of what is feasible.

My father, an avid lover of horses, was a member of the Olympic team in 1936. The place of the Games was Berlin.

Adolf Hitler was hosting the Games in person. Even the construction of some 150 new buildings, one of them a vast Olympic stadium, he had directed himself. He wanted to impress upon the world that he was the Ruler of the Master Race.

Berlin hummed with activity. Foreign reporters were lavishly provided with microphones and radio vans so they could broadcast to every corner of the world. Huge screens, a novelty then, were placed throughout the city. Hitler wanted everyone to view the German victories.

As a historic first, Hitler ordered a torch to be lit at the ancient stadium of Olympia and had it carried to his stadium in Berlin. And for ultimate splendor, his foreign guests were beguiled on an island of the Wannsee where an Italian Night was staged. Over a thousand guests reveled in luxuriant gardens, and were transfixed by the magic of an Arabian night.

Exhilarated, my father Edgar Leuthold rode in from his last run before the Games. His horse had performed splendidly. Dismounting his Trekener, he was about to enter the stable when two SS officials stepped out and blocked his way. He had dodged them the day before. He could not escape them this time.

Clenching his fist, he ignored their officious “Heil Hitler!” and turned to his horse. Sensing her master’s tension, she whinnied and shook her mane.

“Are you planning to ride in the Olympics, sir?” one of the SS men demanded. The Games were to open in the morning.

Leuthold nodded assent, but thought it better to speak, “Yes, I am.” He had registered for dressage and jumping.

“Then you must sign this paper,” they said and handed him a pen. “Simply a formality.”

He glanced at the form, “Membership in the Nazi Party?”

“Yes sir,” they confirmed crisply. “Only members of the Nazi Party have permission to participate in the Games.”

Leuthold returned the pen and pocketed the document. “Let me think about it.”

They did not let him pass yet; they wanted to make sure he understood. “All Germans who want to participate in the Games must be members of the Nationalist Socialist Party.”

Leuthold walked away swiftly to conceal his indignation. The two uniformed men glanced at each other—this Leuthold needed watching. The older one pulled a black notebook from his pocket and made an entry.

In the dim light of the stable Leuthold realized the bitter truth. He stroked the noble head of his horse. She had won him many trophies over the last three years. He tightened his fist. He had to be a Nazi to ride in the Games! He loved the sport and wanted to ride; he had trained diligently. Family and friends had come to Berlin to watch him. But join the Nazi Party?  He had strong political convictions, but expediency was not one of them.  He thought of Thomas Jefferson’s words, In matters of principle stand like a rock.

Hitler nursed great expectations of the Games. He wanted his protégé, Lutz Long, to prove to the world that the Aryan Race was indeed superior. To Hitler’s intense disappointment, it did not happen. African-American Jesse Owens was the unrivaled victor of the Games. He broke eleven Olympic records and won four Gold, and prevailed over Hitler’s Lutz Long.

Hitler was beside himself. He refused to shake Owens’ hand and present him with his medals. Fortunately, Lutz Long knew better. The great athlete embraced Jesse Owens and congratulated him, while onlookers smiled in relief.

Both my Parents watched from the bleachers, studying Hitler’s anger-distorted face. What ambitions lurked behind those cold and calculating eyes? Father distrusted this man and deeply disliked him. He had torn up the papers for membership, and did not ride in the Games.

The final days of the 2012 London Olympic Games are upon us. Just like the Olympic rings symbolize, so do the nations of the world join in striving for the most extraordinary achievements.

Rosi

(Excerpts from “The Madman and His Mistress” by Roswitha Leuthold McIntosh)