The Windhund Treason
First Person Perspective
May 20th, 1936
If you are reading this, then something must have happened. Know that my purpose here is not any kind of glory or recognition. I simply wanted a record of what I have seen and done. This journal is my testament to history and what role, if any, I may play in it.
It was my graduation day. I had been going to the University of Chicago and was getting a Bachelors Degree in International Relations. The truth was, there was no good reason for me to go to the ceremony. My parents were both killed in a train accident several years ago. I don’t have a lot of friends. They tend to distract me from whatever I am trying to accomplish. Plus, there is the whole German issue.
My parents were German immigrants. They came here after the First World War. They were concerned that they would face a lot of discrimination, but things actually went smoothly for them. They both went into banking and made a small fortune from it. I grew up speaking German at home and English at school. Still, having a German accent didn’t seem to bother my classmates. During the Depression most people were just glad to have a job. Where I grew up they didn’t care where you were from as long as you didn’t try taking anything from them. That’s been changing recently. When the Nazis came to power, some of the people started to revive that old hatred of Germany. I can’t say that I blame them. I can’t stand the Nazis either. I cringe whenever I think of what they might be doing to the home of my ancestors. Still, that doesn’t mean that I would willingly put myself on a stage so that people can hear my German name and then start booing. The hell with it. They can mail me my degree.
Instead of a graduation ceremony I found myself in one of the many Irish pubs that grow like wildflowers throughout Chicago. The beer was good, and that was really my only concern. It must have been better than I realized because I never noticed the newcomer walk up and sit on the stool next to me. I almost jumped out of my skin when he gave me a friendly pat on the back and said “It’s a little early to be both drinking beer and looking depressed, isn’t it pal?” The guy was pretty big. Tall and muscular, like a soldier, with that smile on his face that you give people when you are sitting at a bar and want somebody to talk to.
The trouble is I didn’t feel like talking. “I’m just in deep thought,” I responded. “Besides, I’m German. It’s never too early for beer.”
The fact that I was German didn’t seem to surprise him. That should have been my first clue that something was wrong. “Maybe you’ve drank so much that you got lost. This is an Irish pub.” He was still wearing that same smile. I told him that good beer is good beer. I’m normally not unfriendly, I just didn’t really feel like company that day, so I figured I’d let him know that I wasn’t interested in casual conversation by asking him what he wanted. That seemed to flip a switch in the man. He dropped the friendly bar smile and gave me a look that was all business. He offered to by me another beer so we could go talk at one of the tables. I have to admit that I was kind of scared. What could this stranger be setting me up for? I tried to stop him from buying the beer by grabbing his arm. I guess he really was a soldier because he peeled my hand off of his arm more easily than peeling a banana.
That’s when he told me he wanted to offer me a job. Dangerous or not, I figured I would let him buy me that beer. Even though we were recovering from the Depression, jobs were still pretty scarce around here, even for college graduates living on a trust fund. I took the beer and walked over to a table in the corner.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Third Persion POV
The Windhund Treason
Third Person
Christoph Ernst should have been somewhere else. The United States was still feeling the effect of the Great Depression in 1936, but Ernst had been one of the lucky ones that had made it through with a minimum of sacrifice. His parents, both German immigrants, had both been quite wealthy before their death in a train accident. They had left their son with more than enough money to live off of as well as get a good education. In fact, that is where he was supposed to be now. It was graduation day. Christoph was receiving his Bachelor’s degree from the University of Chicago in International Relations. He just wasn’t there to pick it up.
Instead, Ernst sat in an Irish pub nursing a beer. Being the son of German parents, Christoph had grown up with an appreciation of the drink, and he had found the Irish brews to be flavorful enough to suit him. Chicago seemed to be completely overrun with Irish pubs, so it was always easy for him to find a place to relax. He had chosen not to go to his graduation ceremony a few days earlier. Christoph had no family to attend and very few friends. It wasn’t that he was unlikable. Quite the opposite. He simply felt that he did his best work alone, so he usually kept it that way.
As he took another drink of his pint of beer, he grudgingly admitted to himself that those were not the only reasons he had not gone. He knew that when his name was called he would face the indignity of a few people booing. The rise of the Nazis in Germany had started a new wave of anti-German sentiment in the United States. What made it worse for Ernst was that he didn’t blame them at all for those feelings. He hated the Nazis as well. He was disgusted by what he was sure was being done to the country of his ancestors. If he had been in the shoes of any of the people in the audience, he probably would have booed, too.
The young man was so lost in his own thoughts that he never did notice the other gentleman sit down at the barstool beside until he spoke up. “A little early in the morning to be both drinking beer and looking depressed, isn’t it pal?”
Christoph turned and looked at the new arrival. He was about 35, tall, and pretty muscular. It didn’t take a psychology major to peg him as a military man. “Just in deep thought. Besides, I’m German. It’s never too early for a beer.”
The other man smiled. “Maybe you’ve already drank so much that you got lost. This here’s an Irish pub.”
“Good beer is good beer. Is there something that I can do for you?”
Getting down to business seemed to change the newcomer’s demeanor completely. Whereas before he had seemed like any happy-go-lucky walk-in from the street, he immediately became a man of presence and action. It was obvious that this man had gotten far in military. “Let me get you another beer and let’s grab a table. I have something that I want to discuss with you.”
Christoph grabbed the man’s arm as he reached out to pay the bartender. “I don’t know you, mister. What could you possibly have to discuss with me?”
Without any real effort the man removed Christop’s hand from his arm. “Employment. I have a job to offer that just might interest you.”
Third Person
Christoph Ernst should have been somewhere else. The United States was still feeling the effect of the Great Depression in 1936, but Ernst had been one of the lucky ones that had made it through with a minimum of sacrifice. His parents, both German immigrants, had both been quite wealthy before their death in a train accident. They had left their son with more than enough money to live off of as well as get a good education. In fact, that is where he was supposed to be now. It was graduation day. Christoph was receiving his Bachelor’s degree from the University of Chicago in International Relations. He just wasn’t there to pick it up.
Instead, Ernst sat in an Irish pub nursing a beer. Being the son of German parents, Christoph had grown up with an appreciation of the drink, and he had found the Irish brews to be flavorful enough to suit him. Chicago seemed to be completely overrun with Irish pubs, so it was always easy for him to find a place to relax. He had chosen not to go to his graduation ceremony a few days earlier. Christoph had no family to attend and very few friends. It wasn’t that he was unlikable. Quite the opposite. He simply felt that he did his best work alone, so he usually kept it that way.
As he took another drink of his pint of beer, he grudgingly admitted to himself that those were not the only reasons he had not gone. He knew that when his name was called he would face the indignity of a few people booing. The rise of the Nazis in Germany had started a new wave of anti-German sentiment in the United States. What made it worse for Ernst was that he didn’t blame them at all for those feelings. He hated the Nazis as well. He was disgusted by what he was sure was being done to the country of his ancestors. If he had been in the shoes of any of the people in the audience, he probably would have booed, too.
The young man was so lost in his own thoughts that he never did notice the other gentleman sit down at the barstool beside until he spoke up. “A little early in the morning to be both drinking beer and looking depressed, isn’t it pal?”
Christoph turned and looked at the new arrival. He was about 35, tall, and pretty muscular. It didn’t take a psychology major to peg him as a military man. “Just in deep thought. Besides, I’m German. It’s never too early for a beer.”
The other man smiled. “Maybe you’ve already drank so much that you got lost. This here’s an Irish pub.”
“Good beer is good beer. Is there something that I can do for you?”
Getting down to business seemed to change the newcomer’s demeanor completely. Whereas before he had seemed like any happy-go-lucky walk-in from the street, he immediately became a man of presence and action. It was obvious that this man had gotten far in military. “Let me get you another beer and let’s grab a table. I have something that I want to discuss with you.”
Christoph grabbed the man’s arm as he reached out to pay the bartender. “I don’t know you, mister. What could you possibly have to discuss with me?”
Without any real effort the man removed Christop’s hand from his arm. “Employment. I have a job to offer that just might interest you.”
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