The United States’ Congress has a lot of rules. They have rules on who can talk and when. They have rules on what you can talk about. They have rules about how many people can vote for you to stop talking. The Senate’s rules are different than the House of Representatives. The respective committees in the different houses have different purviews, etc etc.
The rule everyone is talking about currently: Rule 19, a.k.a. Rule XIX (because it just looks cooler in Roman Numerals despite this being ‘AMERICA, PAL!’), is a multi-sectioned page turner that outlines when and how a senator is recognized to have the floor, and what they can or can’t say, along with an admonishment that they not recognize anyone or anything in the galleries. That last section cannot be amended even by unanimous vote of the senate. The people who wrote Rule XIX were damn skippy about section 7.
I say all that to say, this isn’t what I want to talk about. I don’t care about Mitch McConnell’s willy-nilly enforcement of Rule XIX, he learned all the rules, good for him. I want to talk about WHY we need a Rule 19 in the first place. While our current president attempts to return this country to its perceived former greatness, I’d like to address a time before our country could ever be considered great.
In this author’s opinion, that’s pretty much anytime before 1915, and even that year isn’t a hard and fast rule. There are two glaring incidents in Senate history that constitute why we have a Rule 19, The first of which we’ll call “Senator Sumner v. Congressman Brooks-(D-SC)”.
On May 19th, Senator Sumner (R-MA) addressed the Senate during the “Bleeding Kansas” crisis. In a rather lengthy speech he lambasted the Kansas-Nebraska act, as well as it’s authors Senator Butler (D-SC) and Senator Douglas (D-IL). His eloquent exorcism of conscience was considered unreasonably aggressive by many of the Southern Gentlemen in the chamber and galleries. The second cousin of Senator Butler, a member of the House of Representatives from South Carolina took particular umbrage to the things said about his cousin and his state.
He pondered challenging Sumner to a duel, but a fellow South Carolingian assured him that duels were for honorable people of the same social standing and that Sumner warranted no more than the respect that would be shown a common drunkard. So instead of besmirching his honor by challenging Sumner to a duel, Brooks did the next best thing and ganged up on the Senator from Massachusetts. He and two accomplices waited until the Senate chambers were mostly empty and then set upon the Senator with a gold headed cane.
Brooks beat Sumner so badly it took 3 years for the abolitionist Senator to return to his Senate seat. For his part in the assault, Brooks was fined $300 (the equivalent of $8000 today) and served no jail time. He resigned his Congressional seat so that a special election held by his constituents could ratify or damn his actions. He was immediately re-elected to his seat in the special election, and then elected to another term later in the year. He died before the new session could begin.
The second scuffle that leads us to need a Rule XIX occurred on February 22nd, 1902, this time between two South Carolingians, both Democrats. John McLaurin and “Pitchfork” Ben Tillman came to blows on the Senate floor after Pitchfork accused McLaurin (behind his back) of selling his vote to the Republicans because they were the currently ruling party. McLaurin returned to the chamber, having heard the accusation and accused Pitchfork of being a willful and malicious liar.
Pitchfork promptly punched his accuser in the face. The junior senator from South Carolina countered with a punch of his own and the two Senators had to be separated by their peers who suffered bruises of their own in the ensuing fracas. Both senators were censured, and the event served as the straw that broke the camel’s back. Sumner’s contemporary from the state of Massachusetts, George Hoar (R-MA), proposed the following rule: “No senator in debate shall, directly or indirectly, by any form of words impute to another Senator or to other Senators any conduct or motive unworthy or unbecoming a Senator.”
Language that still exists today in Rule XIX. So while it may seem unfair that due process and parliamentary procedure was used to silence a duly elected representative of the people. At least Senator Sessions or one of his cousins’ hasn’t bashed Elizabeth Warren’s brains in. Hey, maybe we ARE great again.
“I Volunteer As Tribute.”
In fiction, a character can quickly promote themself from protagonist to hero by making a sacrifice. In fiction, sacrifices serve to move the story along. They aren’t actual risks because without them, you’re no hero and the story goes nowhere. In real life, there are no guarantees. You may be the hero of a novel, a novella, or a short story. Your sacrifice may be in vain, and your story may never be told at all. When dealing with a true story, it’s hard to fathom the kind of heroic resolve that 19 year old Annemarie Dinah Gottliebova of Brno, Czechoslovakia possessed. When her mother, Johanna Schawl Gottliebova was ordered by the Nazi’s puppet Czech government to report to a Transit camp for Jews, Dina Gottliebova volunteered to accompany her. She returned home from Prague where she was studying art, and joined her mother at Theresienstadt.
Dina had no one else besides her mother and her fiancée, Karel Klinger. Her father had moved on and started a new family having been left by Johanna when Dina was only four months old. Fascism had come to Czechoslovakia in 1938. The Munich pact allowed for the German annexation of the Sudetenland. By 1939 further German incursions into the sovereign nation served to break the last remaining European democracy up into the protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia and the ‘independent’ Slovak republic.
By January of 1942, while the Americans were setting up camps for the internment of their Japanese Citizens, Jews were being gathered together from all corners of the German empire, and forced into ghettos and transit camps. On January 21st, Dina’s 19th birthday, she and her mother reported as directed to the nearby high school that Dina had attended as a student a year before. The high school was now a processing point for Brno’s Jews. Much like modern air travel, the Jews were allowed one suitcase and one carry-on item. All money, jewelry and other portable valuables were seized when processing began.
In these early days of the Holocaust, Jews traveled by rail with a comfort level similar to pre-war standards. The standing-room-only cattle-cars between death camps were still in the future, as were the walled ghettos, but those were popping up all over the expanding Reich, in conquered town after conquered town.
Many towns had neighborhoods where Jews lived, segregated from Christians, generally by a mutual agreement. Just like we have Chinatowns in most major metropolitan cities today. To my knowledge, none of these “Jewish Quarters” were ever named Jewtown, although one town in France comes close. And to be fair in French it doesn’t sound that bad, Villejuif. Oddly enough Villejuif has no actual ties to Judaism or Jews.
Theresienstadt started as a garrison town built around a fortress. By the early 20th century, that fortress was little more than a prison for political and military prisoners. Gavrilo Princip, the man who assassinated the Arch Duke Franz Ferdinand (and his wife, feminists!), was imprisoned there throughout World War I. The German Invasion of Czechoslovakia filled up the prison, processing as many as 32,000 prisoners
The smaller fortress was such a convenient spot for the Gestapo that they annexed the Large Fortress across the river for use as a ghetto. Terezin, as it was known to non-German speakers, conveniently came with walls already built. All they had to do to make it a fine ghetto was to impose rules, curfews, gold stars, and fill it with Jews.
Prior to the Nazis designating it a future ghetto Theresienstadt was just a town of 7000 people. It had a few Jews but it was about to get loads more, trainloads. The evolution of a “Jewish Quarter” to a “Ghetto” was made possible by three ingredients: Walls, Uniforms and Rules. The “Old Reich” or Germany Proper, did not have walled ghettos, but Hitler needed someplace to hold his Jews and so places like Theresienstadt and Lodz, Poland were created.
On November 24, 1941, the first group of 342 Jewish men, known as the Aufbaukommando, were sent to Theresienstadt to build and prepare 10 barracks for future Jews. Men and women were to be separated upon their arrival in Theresienstadt. Three days before Pearl Harbor on December 4th, 1941, another 1000 Jews arrived in Theresienstadt. These Jews arrived in two shipments: Aufbaukommando 1 and Aufbaukommando 2. The Jews of these two shipments, commonly referred to as AK1 and AK2 made up the body of the Jewish “self-government’ for the ghetto.
With adequate housing and government in place, Jews from Prague, Brno and The Old Reich were forcibly ordered to relocate to Theresienstadt. Dina and her mother were among the first 7000 Jews sent to the town turned ghetto. As the population grew, the Nazis made the decision to turn the entire town into a prison camp and notified all the Non-Jews who had called Theresienstadt home prior to the ghetto-fication that they would have to relocate by June of 1942.
The prison camp, Theresienstadt, was a convenient dumping ground for the Jews found to still be living in the Old Reich. Many of these Jews were too old to emigrate or hide as their brethren had done. The camp also became a repository for the Jews who had fought for Germany in the first World War, Artists, Musicians, VIPs as well as a host of unfortunates: the deaf, dumb, blind, and criminally insane. And because the Holocaust isn’t heart wrenching enough, let’s not forget the Orphans.
Because of Theresienstadt’s high profile prisoners, the camp became the face of concentration camps in the German empire. If a camp was to be toured by the Red Cross, or to be featured in a propaganda film, it would be Theresienstadt. Despite its surface look of a “model Jewish settlment”, it was a concentration camp, and it took lives. Over 33,000 lives to be inexact. Causes of death ran from malnutrition, disease, starvation, old age and the catch-all of the SS’s ever deadly “whim”.
Survivors have estimated the camp to have held 75,000 prisoners at one time, although official records peg the peak at 58,491 in September of 1942. That’s a 700%+ increase over the original 7000 Jews within less than 9 months of opening. Despite squeezing 50,000 people into accommodations meant for 7000, the Jews of Theresienstadt did their best to maintain a semblance of everyday life. At the direction of the Gestapo and SS, the camp was self-governed by a “Cultural Council” later more formally named “the Jewish Self-Government for Thereseinstadt.”
The first of these leaders was Jakob Edelstein, a Polish born Jew and the former head of Prague’s Jewish community. In early 1943, he was demoted and made first alternate to Paul Eppstein, a Jew that the SS felt was more prominent in the community. Prominence played a large part in social life in Thereseinstadt. Those determined to be Prominentes were permitted to live in single dwellings appropriate for 1 person or a man and wife. Edelstein served as the underboss of the Cultural Council until he was arrested in November of 1943, when a discrepancy of 55 Jews was discovered and Jakob was accused of helping them escape. He was deported to Auschwitz in December of 1943, where he was imprisoned for six months. In June of 1944, Jakob Edelstein was reunited with his family, just in time to watch them all murdered. First they killed his mother in law then his wife,Miriam, and then, Ariel, his 12-year-old son. When he could shed no more tears, he was shot to death in the crematorium of the gas chamber.
On September 7th, 1943, Dina and her mother were separated. Both were being shipped to Auschwitz along with 5000 others from Theresienstadt. Johanna Schawl was sent in the first transport, Dina in the second. The young girl, now 20 years old, spent the entire three day train ride to Auschwitz worried that her mother might not be alive when she arrived.
Dina’s transport was deboarded as all new arrivals were: Men on the left, Women on the right. Dr. Josef Mengele, known to history as the Angel of Death, personally oversaw the intake lines. With a flick of his finger, he could send an elderly man straight to the gas chamber by pointing left, or point right, and let the harshness of the camp’s lifestyle take its time in ending the unfortunate soul’s existence.
Mengele directed Dina to the right, just as he had for her mother the day before. The two women reunited in the family camp barracks after Dina was processed. Processing, for Auschwitz detainees, was a cute little euphemism for being stripped naked, shaved of all body hair (can’t have lice in a prison camp)meant being shaved of all body hair and relieved of any personal belongings you somehow managed to keep with you up until now.
Camps like Auschwitz were run by the SS, but they were staffed by Funktionshäftlings, a position held by Jewish prisoners. These Funktionshäftlings were also called referred to more commonly as Kapos. The Kapos of Auschwitz were very much like the self-government of Theresienstadt, Jews in charge of other Jews, holding onto their own meager powers at the mercy of the SS. After the war, some kapos like Orli Wald, the Angel of Auschwitz, were lauded for their attempts at saving and protecting as many of their people as they could. Others, like Josef Kramer, were prosecuted as collaborators and war criminals in their own right.
Whilst living at Auschwitz, a kapo named Freddy, brought paints to Dina and asked her to paint a mural in the children’s bunkhouse. He thought such whimsy might brighten the time they had left, and make this time easier on the children. Dina painted a Swiss landscape full of mountains and meadows. The children watched rapt as she worked her magic on their wall. The wall came alive as Dina exercised the passion she had practiced so much as a child, sitting at her grandmother’s table drawing on paper sacks. The older children begged her to draw them Snow White and her Seven Dwarves.
Dina painted the request from memory. When Snow White had been released in 1937, she had seen the film seven times, once for each dwarf. When she was done, she had far exceeded what Freddy had expected of her. Both she and the kapo began to worry that their efforts to brighten the children’s quarters might anger the SS. Such displeasure could be fatal for both. Those Jews who were demoted from their rank of Kapo were returned to the bunks from their private bedrooms, and as retribution, they were often beaten to death their first night back in general population.
Days after her mural went up, Dina was called out of her bunk by a Dr. Lukas. She thought the other shoe had dropped, but the SS man in the Jeep only wanted to verify that she had been the one to paint the mural. Dina affirmed that she had been the artist responsible. At which point, Lukas beckoned her to come with him. He even opened the jeep door for her. Unused to such chivalry, Dina suspected Lukas of mocking her with sarcastic politeness.
Dina sat in the jeep with Lukas, white knuckled, looking out the windows of the jeep. Scanning the horizon, the corners of buildings, the fenced in yards for any sign of her mother. Dina was sure, Lukas’ approval of her work was merely a cruel ruse, and that he was driving her to a gas chamber or some other means of her own doom. Her dread only increased as they left the Jew encampment. Lukas drove Dina to an adjoining part of Auschwitz, to a Romany, a.k.a Gypsy, camp.
There Lukas led her to a man ducked under the black cloth of an old 1940s box camera. The man was Dr. Josef Mengele, the Angel of Death. He asked her brusquely, “Can you do portraits?”
“Yes, I believe so.” Dina replied, she had done a few at art school.
“Can you recreate skin tones, accurately?” He asked.
“Depending on what I have to work with, I can do my best.”
“Very well.” Mengele replied, walking off and leaving Dina once again with Lukas.
Six months went by, and Dina began to believe her encounter with Mengele had just been a bad dream. Dina survived. As hundreds of people from her original transport dropped around her, Dina and her mother survived. Disease and starvation claimed prisoner after prisoner. The survivors of Dina’s transport were shipped off to a quarantine camp, so as not to contaminate the stronger, newer inmates being brought in to camp.
Dina and her mother did not believe that the Quarantine camp was a gateway to a work camp transfer as the SS and Kapos claimed. They had never seen a transfer into their camp and held no such faith that there was a transfer out. On the morning of March 8th, 1944, an SS officer referred to as Bulldog came to the Quarantine camp with a list of names that would not be transferring to the “other” work camp. ‘Bulldog’, or probably more accurately ‘Buldok’ since the prisoners spoke Czech, read off 27 names. Dina’s mother was on the list, along with 10 sets of twins that were being sent off to one of Mengele’s studies. Dina’s name was the last one called. Those that were not on the list were sent off to the next work camp, which was, in fact, a gas chamber.
On March 10th, Dina was given her first assignment from Mengele. She was to go out into the Romani camp and pick out a subject for portraiture. Over the course of the next six weeks, Dina painted Roma after Roma. She believes she painted 11 Roma prisoners in all, as well as two portraits of her fellow prisoners, and several under-the-table assignments of guards and guard’s loved ones. What Mengele got from the portraits was some odd reinforcement of the difference in Aryans and Roma in the shape of their mouths, the width of their hairlines, the hues of their skin tones. What Dina got was a continued existence.
During the time, Dina painted for Mengele she negotiated for the life of her beloved mother as well as herself. She promised that if her mother were not spared, she would walk off into the Roma camp, to the barbed wire and force an SS guard to kill her, denying Mengele his precious portraiture. Dina rushed her first portrait, but grew to take her time with them. Their lives weren’t easy before she chose her subjects, but after they were finished their lives were worth even less. Their purpose was served. So Dina took as much time as she could with each subject.
Her second subject, Celine, was the grieving mother of a 2-month-old. The young mother didn’t consume enough calories to make enough milk for the infant. The food in the Roma camp was lousy with some sort of mold that sickened those who ate it. Dina snuck the young woman some white bread. It made little difference. Celine did not survive the camps. Eventually, all the Roma in camp were exterminated. After the portraits were finished, Dina was commissioned to paint the medical experiments and practices that Mengele performed on his ‘subjects’.
As 1944 became 1945, the war was going poorly for Germany, they were being forced to withdraw from several positions and camps. The Gottliebovas did what so few from their original 5000 had, they survived Auschwitz-Birkenau. The Mother/Daughter pair were marched out of Auschwitz on January 18th, 9 days ahead of the Soviet Forces that would liberate those souls left behind. Dina and her mother were marched for three days back to the cattle cars. Along the route, Dina took most of her sustenance from snow. The water in the snow gave her a case of dysentery which caused her to dehydrate even faster than the calories being burnt on the death march.
As they were waiting to board the trains, the dysentery got the best of her and she soiled herself. It was her 22nd birthday, and instead of celebrating with cake and ice cream, she had polluted snow and feces. Her only present that year were a pair of panties given to her by her mother. Let’s just say, that her mother was the type of person who would give you the ‘shirt off her back’ and leave the panties provenance to that.
Dina’s train ride led her to Ravensbruck, a women’s camp second only in size to Auschwitz-Birkenau. The camp was in Germany, 56 miles north of Berlin. She spent three weeks there before being transferred to a subcamp, Neustadt-Glewe, to work at an airplane factory. On May 5th, 1945, Dina and Johanna were finally liberated by Soviet forces and 4 U.S. G.I.s.
The Gottliebovas spent six weeks bouncing around a floundering Germany, seeking a way to get back to their ancestral home. Finally, they found passage with a large group of repatriates travelling back to Prague via bus. They arrived on June 17th, and attempted to catch their breath and get on with the business of rebuilding their lives. The mother and daughter eventually made their way to Paris, a city that would at least understand what it had been like to live under the Nazi regime.
There Dina found employment as an animation assistant. It soon became clear that she had also found love. Dina married one of the lead animators, Arthur Babbitt, six months later. The beautiful irony is that Babbitt had been one of the animators on the feature film Snow White. Although he was more well known for being the creator of Goofy. In 1948, the pair moved to America. In Los Angeles, Dina animated at MGM, Warner Brothers, and on lots of other lots. The couple had two children and three grandchildren and were married for 14 years. Her ex-husband remarried in 1967. Just as her father had remarried after the breakup of his marriage to her mother.
Remember him? Dina’s father, stepmother and two half-siblings were not as lucky as the Gottliebovas. They did not survive their own internment in the Nazi camps. I wish that’s where Dina’s story ended, that she never heard the words Auschwitz-Birkenau again. But that’s not what happened. In 1963, six portraits that had been signed Dinah 1944 were sold to the Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial museum. They later purchased a seventh from a separate seller in 1977. Ten years after the museum purchased the watercolors they were able to match up the Dina(h) 1944 signature from the paintings to a series of paintings published in a book that Dina had painted regarding the holocaust.
The A-B Museum reached out to Dina to inform her that her paintings had survived and asked her to authenticate them. She did so, borrowing money for her flight to Poland and fully expecting to take the paintings home with her. The Museum had other plans. Multiple agreements had been proffered by the museum international council, most revolved around lending some or all paintings on a rotating schedule to Dina for the term of her life with the understanding that they would be returned upon her death.
Dina found all such offers unacceptable. The paintings were hers. She had done them under threat of death. They were something tangible she could take with her from a place where all had been taken from her. Dina fought the museum for the next 20 years. They offered reproductions, she countered that they could have the reproductions and she would take the originals. She argued that they themselves admitted she had done them when they had her authenticate them, the museum countered that she herself admitted she did them for “Mengele” making the paintings a ‘work for hire’ and thus that if any one had the rights to them it would be the heirs of the Angel of Death and not the artist.
The museum’s entire position is rather infuriating, but if they let decency get in the way of precedent, they might find themselves losing key pieces of history as the survivors or victim’s heirs sought to reclaim what was once their familial property. The Auschwitz-Birkenau museum makes the claim that history and the preservation of history supercedes that of property and ownership. Despite support from animation and comic book insiders like Stan Lee and Neal Adams, and the best efforts and reproachments of US Congress, Dina was unable to secure her paintings from the museum.
She died at age 86 in 2009 of abdominal cancer. The paintings remain on display at the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum, when they’re not traveling as part of a separate exhibit. One can’t help but wonder how much personal property belonging to other survivors is sitting under glass and behind placards describing how important they are to history. The goal of the museum is to make sure we never forget the Holocaust, and they must take that seriously, because they make sure that the people whose property they’ve acquired can never forget what they’ve lost.
An audio reading of this entry along with additional commentary on its relevance to the theft of Jewish riches, art, property and money will be available in February 2017 on Episode 4 of the “White History Month” Podcast.
Atlantic City, NJ was largely founded by the vision of Dr. Jonathan Pitney and the family money and influence of 30-year-old Samuel Richards. The two men worked together to get a railroad to run from Camden, NJ to Absecon Island, NJ (later named Atlantic City). The two men recruited investors and financiers for the railroad and used their money to speculate on land all over the island, buying large portions of it from the children of the island’s largest landholders who had no interest in farming the harsh lands of their fathers.
Pitney and Richards bought so much land in Atlantic City and around the path of the railroad that the state of NJ passed a law forbidding their railroad from purchasing any more land. To work around that, the pair formed a new company that existed to buy land for the railroad. Problem solved.
Prior to the 1854 opening of the railroad line, Pitney had been pumping out letters to the editor in all the Philadelphia papers, raving about the restorative and curative powers of the sea and this Absecon Island in particular. In the 19th century, Medicine was not the path to respect and riches that it is today. Hell in the 20th century, plenty of doctors were capricious enough to lend their 4 out of 5 support to whichever tobacco company was paying the most. Pitney wasn’t much different.
The trip to Atlantic City took two and a half hours by train, there were nine passenger cars with no windows. The coal-fired locomotive sullied many a passenger with its soot and thick clouds of black smoke. The cost of a round trip ticket was $3, with one-way being $2. Several of the officers on the Railroad’s board including Samuel Richards felt that they could attract more passengers by lowering the cost and making it more affordable for the blue-collar workers of Philadelphia to take day-trips to Atlantic City.
The early adopters of Atlantic City weren’t crazy about the idea of sharing their ‘getaway’ with lower-class city workers, nor were most of the railroad’s board. Richards and co. grew so frustrated that they left the railroad and formed another. Richards once again used his family name, wealth and influence to secure a second charter from the state government in Trenton, and began on a smaller gauge railroad.
The slowly growing, not as great as Cape May, community of Atlantic City now had two railroads going to it. The new Philadelphia and Atlantic City Railroad undercut its competition by 50% and brought an influx of Philadelphians who couldn’t afford to stay over in the hotels or rooming houses. These lower-fare riders didn’t care that the benches were hard, the seats were torn, or that the cars were some of the worst on the rails of the day.
The beaches swelled with vacationing city-dwellers and mosquitoes. In 1873 the Pennsylvania Railroad purchased Richards second railroad for $1 million dollars. The first thing the new owners did was expand it to the uniform 4 foot 8-1/2″ gauge. It’s a good thing Atlantic City was never invaded by the Nazis.
The 2006 film, “Let’s Go To Prison” opens with a narration of an astonishing number of prison facts, facts like every year enough children are born behind bars to field 250 little league teams. When the narrator is questioned later in the film about his often off-the-cuff recital of these facts, like 20% of people in American prisons aren’t even citizens, he replies, “I’m on a lot of weird mailing lists.”
That’s what this page is. The Quick Hits of Ishtory. Here you’ll find tons of tidbits to drop in every day conversations. Not quite trivia but not in-depth enough to be considered actually academic.
Here’s your first one:
One half of one percent of the world’s male population is a direct descendant of Genghis Khan; over 16 million men. Such tracking is done through the Y chromosome so there’s no data available on how many women are directly descended from the great Khan of Khans. Another fun one, his real name was Temujin.
During Operation Barbossa, the codename for Nazi Germany’s invasion of The Soviet Union, one of the main hindrances to the invading force was the larger gauge of train track used by the Ruskies. Like Great Britain and America, the majority of Russia’s interior railways were 5ft apart. In the very first Russian railway the gauge was 6 feet, and back in 1841, an American railroad consultant and a Soviet Minister both pitched differing gauges to the Tsar. By Imperial Decree, the Russian gauge was set at 1524mm. The majority of Europe proper was using a 4ft 8-1/2 gauge.
Deciding between 4ft 8-1/2″, 5ft a.k.a 1524mm later shortened to 1520mm, or 6ft sounds very intimidating, and since it involves large pieces of machinery travelling at high rates of speed probably more academic than it is. In reality, the differing of gauges boiled down to personal preference and economic feasibility. As railroads grew, many countries found uniformity within their own borders to be cost effective, but they didn’t necessarily worry about uniformity with their neighbors. No use spending extra money to get to 5′ gauge when you already had 4ft 8-1/2″ in half your country.
And just like that a decision made 100 years prior to the invasion of the Soviet Union, helped decide the outcome of the war. The Nazi invaders were forced to send their engineering teams out ahead of their supply lines to lay down the gauge required, which exposed their men to enemy fire. The bridges and infrastructure of the Soviet Union also weren’t build quite sturdy enough to support the heavier German trains loaded down with supplies and would often creak and crash on their own.
The Germans typical blitzkrieg invasion was slowed to a crawl by multiple circumstances, and their inability to travel farther than they could supply their lines. The Nazis quickly found themselves in a deadly war of attrition, and as they were forced to withdraw in 1944, they did their best to trash the place on the way out. Using a “Schwellenpflug” to destroy the converted rail lines behind them as they went.
December 7th, 1941: As Franklin Delano Roosevelt declared, “a date that will live in infamy.” In America, December 7th is remembered as Pearl Harbor day, but there were many more attacks all over the world that day than just the naval base in Oahu, Hawaii. Over a span of 7 hours, the Japanese military coordinated a series of bombing and strafing runs against US and British interests in the Philippines, Guam, Hong Kong, Wake Island, Malaya and Singapore.
It’s perhaps easiest to imagine the Japanese emperor, Hirohito, as Michael Corleone standing on the church altar denying Satan and all his works, while his henchmen and lieutenants carryout murder after murder, settling family business one attack at a time. In this example, the assault of Pearl Harbor would be nothing more than the Moe Green hit, a shot through the eye, a message.
The Japanese lost 29 aircraft and 5 two-man submarines during the attack. 90% of the submariners died making up almost 14% of the Japanese servicemen killed or wounded. The sole surviving submariner, Kazuo Sakamaki, was captured on an Oahu beach and spent the duration of the war as a prisoner. Our story begins with two of those lost 29 aircraft.
The two aircraft were Mitsubishi A6M fighter jets known as Zeroes, or in Japanese , the “Reisen”. The planes were called Zeroes because zero was the last digit of the Imperial year (2600) they were introduced into the Imperial Navy, and not because of the Rising Sun with white border that adorned most of their wings and cockpit.
These two particular planes had two particular pilots: Airman 1st Class Shigenori Nishikaichi and Airman 2nd Class Saburo Ishii. Nishikaichi was flying escort for a group of bombers from the aircraft carrier, Shokaku, during the second wave of attacks on Pearl Harbor. After a successful run, on their return flight to Shokaku, he and his compatriots were drawn into an air battle with 9 American fighters. The superior maneuverability of the Zero fighter ensured that the sortie was one-sided.
Despite their victory, Nishikaichi and Ishii both came out of the battle with damaged planes. They both quickly fell behind from the rest of their squadrons. A quick survey of the damage led Nishikaichi to believe that his fuel tank had been hit and he did not have enough of a reserve to reach Shokaku or his own carrier, Hiryu. Prior to the invasion, the pilots had been instructed that any crippled aircraft should attempt to make it to the northern shore of the westernmost Hawaiian island, Nii’hau, for extraction by submarine.
Imperial intelligence had believed the island of Nii’hau to be uninhabited but the first aerial pass by Nishikaichi and Ishii proved that their intelligence was outdated if not completely incorrect. In fact, Nii’hau had been occupied and owned outright by the Robinson family since 1864, when it had been purchased for $10,000 in gold from King Kamehameha the Fifth. The pilots began to argue about the correct course of action as they circled the island. Nishikaichi was in favor of landing and making their way to the exfiltration point. Ishii favored a more drastic approach. He broke off from Nishikaichi and informed his superiors back on Shokaku that he would attempt to fly back to Oahu and crash himself into a suitable military target.
Inexplicably, or perhaps very ‘splicably given the Imperial Japanese fondness for suicide, Ishii’s plane banked steeply upwards away from Nii’hau and then plummeted even faster directly into the sea. Exeunt Saburo Ishii. And then there was one. Low on gas and high on hope, Nishikaichi circled the island ever lower looking for an appropriate spot to land. Unlike Oahu, the island of Nii’hau had actually been prepared for a possible attack. Harvard educated, Aylmer Robinson had insured that areas of the island suitable for aerial landings were plowed under or heavily strewn with rock piles.
Nearing desperation, Nishikaichi made due with the best he could find and attempted to land in a field near an adjacent house on the outskirts of the Puu’wai village. Strapped in and bracing for a hard landing, the Zeroes’ landing gear caught on a wire fence, tipping the plane forward and driving the nose of the Zero into the ground. The impact knocked Nishikaichi unconscious.
First on the scene was Hawaiian native and decade long Nii’hau resident, Hawila “Howard” Kaleohano. Hawila had been born on the big island of Hawaii. At 18, he visited his sister on Nii’hau and stayed on the island, marrying into the closed off society. Nishikaichi landed in the pasture next to Kaleohano’s house. The burly Hawaiian helped free the downed pilot from the wreckage while also relieving him of his side arm and a stack of official papers with Japanese writing.
Despite their role as a major Maguffin in the story, the contents of the papers have been lost to history. They most likely contained troop movements, rendezvous points, radio codes, basically information that would be super important in the short-term and largely worthless weeks, months, or years later. The only two-way radio on Nii’hau was down for repair at the time, and so, the residents of the 18 mile by 6 mile island had no idea what was going on at the naval base in Oahu.
The two men spoke briefly to each other in English. Nishikaichi inquired if Kaleohano was Japanese in broken English.
“I am Hawaiian,” Kaleohano replied.
And that was the end of their conversation. Kaleohano welcomed the injured and currently unarmed pilot into his home, where Kaleohano’s wife served the man breakfast. While the pilot ate, Kaleohano sent for and awaited the arrival of Ishimatsu Shintani, a 60-year-old beekeeper, who had emigrated to America at 19. The Japanese-born Shintani was considered an Issei. The only other two Nii’hauans of Japanese dissent were Nisei meaning they were 2nd generation immigrants, 1st generation Americans. Due to the laws of the time, Issei could not become US Citizens.
Shintani was not enthused by Kaleohano’s request to translate for the downed pilot, but he came. After a few quick interactions in Japanese between the beekeeper and the pilot, Shintani’s face paled and he left post haste. He offered very little in the way of explanation other than a desire to be left out of the entire affair. After his failure with Shintani, Howard reached out to the island’s remaining Japanese speaking population: the Haradas. Yoshio and Irene Harada were Hawaiian born and therefore US Citizens by rights. Despite this tie to the land, Yoshio had three brothers in Japan. It is believed that in their conversations Nishikaichi, 16 years Yoshio Harada’s junior, played upon Harada’s nationalism as well as his feelings for his brothers. To Harada, Nishikaichi may have appeared to be just a scared, 22 year old kid, far from home and afraid.
Nishikaichi revealed to the Haradas that Japan had attacked Pearl Harbor earlier that day and that the Emperor would surely win the war as he had won several other skirmishes in the Pacific in the preceding years. The Haradas in turn kept Nishikaichi’s confidence regarding the battles fought in and over Oahu. The young pilot desperately wanted his papers and his pistol back. Yoshio found himself torn between his own values and the fear that his fellow Nii’hauans saw him as more Japanese than Hawaiian. He believed that he would be judged as at fault for the attacks on Pearl Harbor as any pilot or submariner.
With the truth of the pilot’s position held from the rest of the Hawaiians, the Haradas and the Kaleohanos accompanied Nishikaichi to a luau held at the neighboring house of John Kelly. The pilot was not treated as a prisoner so much as an unexpected guest. While at the luau, Nishikaichi favored his hosts with a song in Japanese which he accompanied on a borrowed guitar. The mood of the evening changed when the Hawaiians learned of the attack on Pearl Harbor by a battery operated radio.
Questioning of the pilot began anew and this time, Harada revealed to the others the nature of Nishikaichi’s role in the Imperial attacks on Oahu. The community members decided to keep Nishikaichi under loose guard at John Kelly’s house until the owner of the island,Aylmer Robinson made his weekly visit to Nii’hau from Kauai, the next day, December 8th, 1941. Unfortunately, for all involved, no rescue would be coming via the sea. Neither Aylmer Robinson nor the rescue submarine, I-74, would be reaching the island anytime soon.
The US Navy had restricted all private sea traffic between islands immediately following the assault on Pearl Harbor.As the days wore on, with no visit from the island’s owner. The luau host and erstwhile jail-keeper, John Kelly, was getting tired of having the Japanese Pilot in his home. Yoshio Harada had been acting as Paymaster for the island since the September 1941 death of the former Island superintendent, John Rennie. Given the social status the position afforded Harada and the fact that he was one of three people on the island who could speak with the prisoner inclined all parties involved to sign off on Nishikaichi being more permanently lodged at the Harada home, albeit still under guard.
Throughout his time on the island, Nishikaichi stole moments alone with Yoshio and to some extent, Irene Harada. Much like a young lover, the downed pilot would seize on moments when his guard changed, used the rest room or were otherwise occupied, to chip away at Yoshio’s sense of self and self-identity. The Nisei believed the pilot, who he may have seen as a little brother figure, when Nishikaichi told him about how poor the US’s defense had been at Oahu, and how easily routed their jet fighters had been by the superior Japanese craft. Slowly, Nishikaichi pulled Harada over to his side. With the alliance sealed, the three Japanese reached out to enlist their only other countryman on the island, the old beekeeper, Shintani.
It’s unknown what was said to the old man when he visited the Harada home on Thursday, December 11, but on Friday, December 12th, the elderly Shintani presented himself at Hawila Kaleohano’s house to request the papers that the Hawaiian had seized from the crashed pilot. He offered Kaleohano two hundred dollars for the papers. Kaleohano refused. Shintani plead with the Hawaiian. He was afraid for his life. Nishikaichi had threatened to kill the old man if he could not secure his lost papers. Hawila again refused and suggested perhaps the man should hide from the pilot because he wouldn’t be returning his papers. Shintani did just that and rode out the rest of this story in hiding.
Shintani’s failure and Kaleohano’s stubbornness left the Harada-Nishikaichi connection with few options. In the Japanese tradition of the time, Nishikaichi gave up on rescue and resolved himself to seeking a death with honor. While the guards watched Nishikaichi, Harada stole away to the Robinson family’s house, which was locked and empty awaiting Aylmer Robinson (much like the rest of the island.) As paymaster, Harada had a key to the Robinson homestead; a key that he used to enter the home and steal a shotgun and a pistol.
Harada hid the weapons away in a honey warehouse to which he also had the key. That much history can agree on. From here there are two stories. One implicates Harada’s wife, and one does not. You can guess which one, Irene Harada presents as the truth.
By Friday night, the Niihauan guard on Nishikaichi had fallen to one. Outnumbered, the guard was easily overpowered by Nishikaichi and Yoshio Harada. While the two men subdued the lone guard Irene Harada played loud music to cover the sounds of their kerfuffle.
Through Harada’s interpreting Nishikaichi expressed that he needed to go to the bathroom. On Niihau in 1941, this was accomplished by visiting the outhouse. The guard and Harada accompanied the prisoner to the freestanding restroom. At this point, Harada explained he had some sort of business to attend to at the honey warehouse and was accompanied by the guard and Nishikaichi. Upon reaching, the warehouse, Harada produced the stolen and now loaded weapons and the two Japanese locked the guard in the warehouse.
Regardless of whose story you choose to believe, we are now back on the linear path of the accepted history, “What Happened on Niihau Island the Week of Pearl Harbor, December 1941, (which I’ll admit is a terrible title.)” The now armed and escaped Japanese had one objective, to reclaim the papers taken by Hawila Kaleohano. Coincidentally, the wife of the guard who Harada and Nishikaichi locked in the honey warehouse, passed by them in a horse drawn wagon. The two Japanese wagon-jacked the guard’s wife and forced her to drive to Kaleohano’s house.
When they reached the house, H&N allowed the guard’s wife to flee on horseback, keeping the wagon. Unfortunately, Kaleohano was not at home. The two men then went to the nearby wreckage of Nishikaichi’s plane. The plane was under guard by a 16-year-old Niihauan boy. He was easily overpowered by H&N. At the wreckage, Nishikaichi attempted to work the plane’s radio but due to the language barrier between the 16 year old guard and the Japanese pilot it is unknown to what end Nishikaichi was trying to use the radio.
Harada and Nishikaichi forced the young boy to go with them back to Hawila Kaleohano’s house. The trio returned in time to see Kaleohano sneaking out of his outhouse. Yoshio Harada aimed the shotgun at the fleeing Hawaiian. The Nisei pulled the trigger and missed. Kaleohano did not wait around to give the men another shot. He tore off across the island on foot.The Hawaiian raced back to Pu’uwai village to warn the rest of the town of Nishikaichi’s escape and Harada’s betrayal.
Kaleohano borrowed a horse in town and set out for Mount Painau to build a signal fire on the island’s highest point. Before heading to the mount, Kaleohano swung back to his house to secure the pilot’s papers. After securing the papers, Hawila took them to his mother-in-law’s house and left them in her charge for safekeeping. While Kaleohano locked up the papers, the subdued guard freed himself from the honey warehouse and returned to Pu’uwai village to back up Hawila’s story about Nishikaichi and Harada. Upon the second telling of the Haradas’ betrayal the villagers spread out across the island, joining Shintani in hiding from the Japanese sympathizers.
Upon arrival at Mount Painau, Hawila Kaleohano found that a signal fire had already been lit. Unwilling to trust solely in the signal fire, Kaleohano gathered up five other men and set off rowing a lifeboat to Kauai. The Niihauans launched from Kii landing. A beach near the site of their luau earlier in the week. They began their ten-hour row into the wind shortly after midnight on Saturday, December 13th, 1941. While everyone else scattered, Nishikaichi and Harada marched their lone prisoner down the streets of Pu’uwai village calling for the people to come out of their homes and surrender themselves. Only one man answered their call, Kaahakila Kalimahuluhulu. Seeing that they were bullet rich and prisoner-poor, the two Japanese marched their captives back to the crash site near Kaleohano’s house.
Under Nishikaichi’s direction, Kalimahuluhulu and his fellow prisoner, the 16-year-old boy, helped the treasonous pair remove the 7.7mm machine guns from the downed Zero. The armaments and ammunition were carried to and stored on the now-horseless horse-drawn carriage that Nishikaichi and Harada had jacked from the guard’s wife. While the prisoners loaded the weapons onto the wagon, Nishikaichi and Harada attempted to set the plane’s remains on fire. The blaze didn’t spread past the cockpit.
The two men grew confident in their ability to manage the escalating situation. The islanders lack of opposition to their gun-toting shenanigans only reinforced Nishikaichi’s promises that the Japanese Empire would steamroll the American opposition in the near future. Harada became so emboldened that he released his prisoner, Kalimahuluhulu, with instructions that he should stop by the Harada homestead and inform Irene that her husband would not be coming home that night. Nishikaichi and Harada then released the 16 year old boy, while they tossed Kaleohano’s house looking for the secret papers.
After fruitlessly searching Kaleohano’s house for the missing papers, Kaleohano and Nishikaichi set their second fire of the evening; this time with much better results. Kalimahuluhulu did not go to the Harada’s house, he went to the beach where he knew his wife to be hiding. When he arrived, Kalimahuluhulu found his wife along with the Kanaheles, Benehakaka (Ben) and Kealoha (Ella). Ben Kanahele accompanied Kalimahuluhulu back to the wagon to retrieve and hide the airplane’s machine guns. The two Hawaiians accomplished their mission and secured the 7.7mm guns, while H&K were distracted by the house fire at Kaleohano’s.
The two Hawaiians returned to their wives and hid out. The next morning the two couples attempted a second raid under the Japanese’ radar but were caught as they hunted for food. Harada and Nishikaichi sent the two men out to search for Kaleohano while they kept their wives hostage. Kanahele knew that their quarry had already left the island bound for Kauai, the night before, but he made a show of searching for the rogue Hawaiian.
Hawila “Howard” Kaleohano
By this time, the morning of December 13th, tensions were heightening on Kauai as well. Robinson had spotted the signal fires the night before, and picked up on the signals and flares that had been sent up in the nights before the fire, but was kept from travelling to his island and his people by the Navy’s moratorium on sea travel. Aylmer Robinson was completely shocked to receive a phone call in Waimea from Kaleohano, whom he believed to still be on the island. Using the Hawaiian’s reports, Robinson returned to the Kauai Naval Command and was finally able to sway the Navy to convene a trip to Nii’hau. Robinson, Kaleohano, the other five men who had rowed with him, and a group of officers and seamen arrived on Nii’hau on December 14th, a full week after Pearl Harbor, and six days from Robinson’s intended trip to the island.
Back on the island, December 13th, Kanahele worried about his wife and grew tired of pretending to look for Kaleohano. He returned to Nishikaichi and Harada. The bravado and smiles were gone. The men were growing tired and desperate. With the shotguun in his hands, and the pistol tucked into his boot, Nishikaichi began issuing threats. Through Harada, Nishikaichi informed Kanahele that all the people of Pu’uwai village would be executed if he did not produce Kaleohano. Speaking Hawaiian, Kanahele asked Harada to take the pistol off Nishikaichi.
At that moment, Harada made his choice. He refused Kanahele’s request and instead told Nishikaichi to pass him the shotgun. When, Nishikaichi began the exchange, Kanahele’s six foot frame shot forward and grappled with the smaller Japanese man. Ben’s wife, Ella, immediately joined the scrum but was pulled away by Harada. During their wrestling, Nishikaichi got a hold of his pistol and fired three shots into Kanahele. With the adrenaline from the shots and the wrestling coursing through his veins, Kanahele picked up his opponent and smashed his head against a nearby wall.
Breaking away from Harada, Ella Kanahele grabbed a rock and went upside the head of the fallen Nishikaichi. Her thrice-shot husband, Ben, used his belt knife to finish the downed pilot by slitting his throat. Seeing his partner put past in such a manner, Harada turned the shotgun on himself. Ella ran for help, taking the shotgun and pistol with her. She dropped them along the way. The shotgun was found five years later, the pistol and one of the 7.7mm guns were never recovered.
Kanahele was taken back to Waimea to recover in their hospital when the Navy arrived on December 14th. Kanahele was awarded the Medal of Merit and a Purple Heart by the U.S. Government. His wife’s assistance in the final fight was never officially recognized. Shintani was sent to an internment camp, where he was held throughout the remainder of World War II. Post-war, he returned to his family on Nii’hau and became a US Citizen in 1960. Irene Harada spent 31 months in US Custody before being released. No longer welcome on Nii’hau, the personal domain of the Robinson family, she moved to the island of Kaua’i.
When all the commotion died down, the people of Nii’hau returned to their quiet island ways. The island still exists today much like it did in the days following Pearl Harbor. These days, helicopters can reach Nii’hau much faster than boats. The Robinson family still holds ownership of the island and controls who comes and goes. The population is believed to be around 150.
In the intervening years, the Nii’hau Incident has slowly faded from public memory. It would probably make a fascinating film, but the names would be too hard to remember for the average American moviegoer. Perhaps the event’s greatest legacy is its presence as a heavily cited footnote in the reasons America so quickly interred over a hundred thousand of its own citizens of Japanese descent in 1942.
An audio reading of this entry along with additional commentary on its relevance to Japanese Interment will be available in February 2017 on Episode 2 of the “White History Month” Podcast.