There Are No Memoirs

In the 1920s, Germany was a nation struggling to regain its place and identity in the world. The people of Germany, however, were struggling like the people in all countries, to feed their families. They did not know, and had no way of knowing, what was about to happen.

Our imaginary friend, Hans, had lived through the War To End All Wars. He didn't like the state of affairs on the international political scene, but he was just a bit player. All he really wanted out of life was to go to the factory each day, collect his wages, and play with his little daughter, Jo, when he got off work.

We have no record of his increasing apprehension at the rise to power of a charismatic new political leader. We don't know how he began having trouble sleeping at night when dissenters began to be beaten by the new leader's cohorts. We don't know how he wept and maybe prayed for his beloved Fatherland as the juden were rounded up into ghettos, then herded into box cars, then never heard of again. We don't know what letters of protest and dissent he wrote to the new leader. We don't know how his righteous indignation, and then armed resistance, developed from the heart of that peace-loving husband and father.

Because he was killed, fighting for what he saw as tyranny from his own nation's leader.

There are no memoirs.