With Balls and Chutzpah

Taking quick stock of the situation I became aware of my appearance. I was dirty and unshaved and I was wearing the crumpled olive-green German uniform of ‘Organization Todt,’ which I needed to discard immediately as I was already being stopped by American soldiers who attempted to direct me to an impromptu stockade for German soldiers. Also, having the Russian Army across the narrow river was too close for my comfort. What if the Americans decided, or were ordered to pull back? Suddenly in the crowd I saw a big German convertible car that some Ukrainians had just liberated and were preparing to travel in. Among the bags on the backseat there were two Walther P-38 pistols. I quickly reached in and grabbed one of them, sticking it in the back of my waist without thinking of the chances I was taking or the possible consequences. The Austrian population of the small town for the most part stayed indoors peering cautiously through the windows. For the time being these folks, the majority eager Nazi supporters, were scared. Shortly they would rewrite history and claim that the Americans liberated them too. I walked through streets with all the shops closed, until I came to one with a tailors sign; ‘Herrenschneider’ and a few faded men’s fashion magazines from the thirties in the window. After prolonged knocking, a frightened middle-aged man opened the door sufficiently wide for me to push my way in closing it behind. No, he responded to my question, he cannot sell me a suit, he didn’t have any and no fabrics to make me one and would I please go away? At this point I had no choice but to produce my pistol demanding to be taken to his workshop. As I expected there were garments there, mostly uniforms, and how the Germans loved to wear them; the black of the SS, the grey of the Luftwaffe, the green of the army and the brown of Nazi party luminaries. Escaping Nazis had no time or head to collect them. There were also a few civilian suits, finished or ready for a fitting and so I concentrated on those, trying to find one nearest to my size. I quickly found a nice, brown, double-breasted suit whose high ranking Nazi owner, a Kreisleiter or party district leader, was a man of my height though heavier, and after a quick fitting, I ordered the tailor to take the jacket and trousers in while I settled comfortably with a few recent issues of Nazi illustrated magazines, glorifying the victorious German army, to await the finished product. When I saw the tailor’s wife peering anxiously through the glass panes in the door, I graciously let her in explaining that she had nothing to fear and that all I wanted was a suit. I also asked her to bring a couple of her husband shirts, a tie, socks and a pair of shoes. Shortly, she came back with the items I had requested, bringing with her a mug of tea with a piece of cake. They were not a bad couple though, as most of the Austrians and Germans I was to meet later, they tried to convince me that they never belonged to the Nazi party and in fact were always against Hitler and the criminal gang that surrounded him. I didn’t believe a word of it but, as all I wanted was a finished suit, I didn’t bother to argue. A few hours later in the early afternoon I walked out into town to look for my friendly American colonel. He was pleased to see me and though obviously surprised at my quick transformation, did not bother to inquire how it came about but instead offered to send me in a jeep with a driver and a couple of young officers to Gmunden, a town further north. There they would take me to the headquarters of the Counter Intelligence Corps of Gen. Patton’s 3rd Army XXth Corps, where they could use a clever young man like me.