The week after the trial

Judge Roland Freisler finally had the April 19, 1943 trial in his rearview mirror. Initially he and his fellow “jurists” — using the term loosely — were geared up for the next White Rose trial on April 20. Notices had gone out. Prisoners had been told to expect a death sentence.

Clara Geyer had traveled to Munich in advance of her husband’s April 20 trial. Josef Rieck, family friend and subversive bookseller, accompanied her. Clara had told him it wasn’t necessary, but Josef insisted. She would not be alone.

When the friends showed up for that trial, they were told it had been postponed. Not cancelled, mind you, just postponed. “It’s the Führer’s birthday,” someone said by way of excuse.

Over the next one-hundred days, Clara would hear other excuses for the postponement. The Gestapo had lost the files for Wilhelm Geyer, Harald Dohrn, Manfred Eickemeyer, and Josef Söhngen. Or, the Gestapo and Freisler feared a public outcry if there were too many death sentences handed out back to back. Because Wilhelm Geyer et al had been bluntly told they would die. And that they should be prepared for that verdict.

Unbeknownst to Clara Geyer and Josef Rieck, the real reason was likely a combination of events. The Gestapo had inadvertently returned the evidence they had against Geyer — Clara’s cigarette coupons and the key to the studio — to Wilhelm Geyer himself. If the files had gone missing as well, then the prosecutor had to regroup and find other reasons to execute Geyer and the other three men. Absent evidence, they would have to rely on Gisela Schertling’s testimony.

Oddly, it was important to have at least a semblance of a reason to execute the four men. The trial couldn’t be a total fraud.

Those who had stood trial on April 19 were unaware of the flurry of activity taking place on their behalf the next day. Gerhard Graf hired his own counsel to begin clemency proceedings on behalf of his son. It had been clear that court-appointed counsel had been worthless. Willi’s cousin Martin Luible asked Willi’s commanding officer to submit a clemency petition.

Gerhard and Anna Graf also called in their markers with Adolf Hitler directly. Gerhard reminded the Führer of his impeccable service on behalf of the NSDAP in the run-up to the Saarland vote. “When we today — on the birthday of our Führer — write down our request, we have the certain hope that we unfortunate parents will not be turned down. Heil Hitler!”

August Deppisch filed clemency petitions on behalf of Alexander Schmorell and Kurt Huber. He was clearly unaware that the Schmorell parents had filed a clemency petition on behalf of their son in advance of the trial. And that Hitler had already denied it, despite Hitler’s close relationship to Mrs. Schmorell’s family.

Deppisch tried a novel approach on behalf of Huber. A relatively new Nazi law decreed that the “whole person” should be taken into account when sentencing a criminal. Deppisch therefore played up Huber’s contribution to Germany’s intellectual status in the world, “the good name he brought Germany in the past.” Deppisch urged the People’s Court to “follow the law.”

These brave — and they were truly brave — defense attorneys who filed clemency petitions on behalf of their clients were unprepared for the immense backlash following the April 19 trial. The events made the reaction to the February 22 trial seem like child’s play.

Where the prosecutors had been nervous about press coverage of the February 22 trial and executions, following the April 19 trial they went all out. Local newspapers carried an article entitled “Just Sentences for Traitors of a Warring Nation.” This resistance nonsense had to stop, and publicizing the death sentences and imprisonment of young, wholesome students would deter others. They thought.

The national Reichsstudentenführer, or head of NSDAP university organizations, started a campaign to encourage people to be on the lookout for fellow students and faculty members who were “defeatists, cowards, and milquetoasts,” and to report all suspicious activity. Additionally students were to report anyone who appeared to be “physically and mentally ill.” This was a direct result of White Rose resistance.

The Gestapo ramped up its efforts and brought even more friends from the wider White Rose circle in for questioning. Wolf Jaeger and Hubert Furtwängler in Munich, Willi Bollinger in Saarbrücken, even the non-activists in Bonn — they were interrogated with renewed energy. Captain Buhl — Hertha Schmorell’s father and C.O. of the Second Student Company — risked his own life by accompanying anyone from his company to their interrogations. Buhl also shipped off anyone known to have been friendly with Hans Scholl, Alexander Schmorell, or Willi Graf to destinations outside the Gestapo’s reach. Otmar Hammerstein would benefit from one such transfer about a month later, to the Netherlands, where he joined Dutch resistance.

Josef Söhngen too found himself sitting across from Agent Beer yet again. This time, Beer concentrated less on his relationship to White Rose and Hans Scholl, and more on Söhngen’s failure to turn in the leaflets (a felony offense) and his other homosexual relationships in addition to Hans Scholl.

The activities of the Gestapo and prosecutors from April 20 to April 27 would have been humorous, had the intent and outcome not been so criminal. Two days after the trial, Bischoff — who had prosecuted the fourteen defendants on April 19 — dictated a memo to the file. The indictment for Katharina Schüddekopf was still pending, he wrote. Her file should be split out from Case No. 6J 24/43. He seemingly forgot that he had bootstrapped an indictment against her in Munich, and that she had already been sentenced.

Bischoff also sent an overdue response to Karl Götz, who had petitioned the court for the right to represent Gisela Schertling. Although Götz had acted timely — date stamp on his letter proves that was the case — Bischoff replied, “Unfortunately, the trial against Gisela Schertling has already taken place.”

Walter Petzl, who had similarly asked to represent Eugen Grimminger, pushed back against Bischoff’s failure to respond timely to his petition. “I hereby request advice regarding why I was not invited to the trial.” Pretty gutsy move.

Over the next few days, Bischoff ignored or denied clemency petitions as fast as he received them. There was to be no mercy.

Prison officials were quite slow to move their prisoners out of Stadelheim to their final destinations. Those with death sentences knew they would stay put, but the remaining eleven expected to be transferred to minimum security prisons or jails to serve their sentences. A week later, transfer orders still had not come through.

April 24, Traute regained her self-composure and footing, returning to the confident young woman who outwitted her interrogators on every hand. In advance of her birthday, she wrote a letter to her parents, a letter she clearly intended the Gestapo to read. “It is none of my business to take a verdict handed down by our highest court lightly,” she wrote. “But there are times when it simply does not fit into my little brain.”

Back to her ‘what, poor little me’ routine that had stood her and Käthe so well during their interrogations. And indeed, her parents fell for it. But the prosecutor did not. Apparently, Bischoff realized that the three women who had gotten such light sentences were dangerous indeed. Despite their light prison sentences, Gisela (!), Käthe, and especially Traute were handled as dastardly felons. The attorney retained by Traute’s parents was not permitted to visit her, an unusual turn of events.

As the first post-trial week drew to a close, Susanne Hirzel gained a delightful cellmate, “a tall, lanky brown-eyed girl who was a Jehovah’s Witness.” This unnamed woman spoke in words fierier than any Susanne had ever heard, more strident and forceful even than Sophie Scholl’s disturbing speech.

The new cellmate advised Susanne that Hitler was indeed the Antichrist. Even as she laughed and smiled, the woman told Susanne that she was willing to be drawn and quartered for her faith. Her utter confidence in the rightness of her resistance stirred Susanne. When she was taken away not long after, Susanne assumed she had been transferred to a concentration camp.

Simultaneously, Schaefer — head of the Munich Gestapo — ordered Wilhelm Geyer, Manfred Eickemeyer, and Harald Dohrn transferred to Neudeck Prison, with Josef Söhngen going to the prison on Cornelius Straβe. Until then, they were technically in investigative custody with the Gestapo. An official arrest warrant was finally issued — those legal niceties had to be followed.

Clara Geyer recalled that her husband’s worry increased after that. He had been able to remain optimistic, especially after their trial was postponed. But now, being ordered to don a prison uniform and hearing from other prisoners that that meant it was real? That he was truly going to die? Wilhelm struggled.

Geyer and Eugen Grimminger realized one day that they were in adjacent cells. They surreptitiously worked out a code that allowed them to communicate via tapping. Clara remembered that this small thing kept her husband sane and grounded over the one-hundred days he would be imprisoned.

The Gestapo also realized that they had overlooked people who were prime suspects in the beginning. As the first week post-trial drew to a close, they prepared subpoenas for Otl Aicher, Anneliese Knoop-Graf, and Theodor Haecker. The subpoenas weren’t executed immediately. Bischoff put a three-week tickler in his files. The net would soon start widening.

As hope for clemency diminished, as prison transfers were contemplated and paperwork started, as the sheer hopelessness of their fates sank in, one prisoner gained support from unlikely sources.

After official and preliminary clemency petitions failed, Gerhard Graf and their new attorney Hans Folz tried a different tack, one that still gets to me twenty-five years after first reading the documents. They contacted Willi’s fellow soldiers, the comrades with whom he’d served on the Russian front. These were “good Germans,” likely good Nazis all. Not one had expressed negative thoughts about Hitler, much less participated in resistance efforts. Willi had felt so terribly alone because he could not talk to them, because they had nothing in common.

But when Hans Folz reached out to them and asked, Would you write a letter of recommendation for Willi Graf’s clemency petition?, they lined up to do so. Even though mere association with a traitor condemned to death could damage their own reputations, put them in personal danger. Willi Graf’s character was so inspiring that they risked everything to stand up for him, to ask for clemency. For a traitor.

Dr. Krone, First Lieutenant, C.O. of an artillery unit: I learned to treasure him as a good soldier. He was reserved and quiet, was always ready to help his comrades, and very friendly. His willingness to do his job was great. Many times he demonstrated his courage. Even under enemy fire, he fulfilled his duties as medic to the complete satisfaction of everyone.

Dr. Gerhard Webel, M.D., Chief Medical Officer: During the 18 months we worked together, during the advances and engagements in Yugoslavia and particularly in Russia, Graf gave me the impression of being an exemplary soldier who felt and acted like a National Socialist. When the Russians bombed our location or when our emplacement was fired upon, Graf repeatedly showed himself to be an intrepid medic who never thought about his own safety. He cared for his patients in sick bay in an exemplary manner, despite the often very difficult circumstances in Russia.

Because of his accomplishments and his demeanor, he was especially well-loved by his commanding officers and his comrades. He was also decorated with the distinguished service medal 2nd class with swords in the Spring of 1942.

Sergeant Major Droner submitted the following on behalf of the entire unit. From the cover letter: The Non-Com Corps of this duty station takes the liberty of submitting the enclosed statement to you with the request that you use it in the criminal case against Willi Graf, Sergeant (med.). Simultaneously we would like to confirm that this statement is being submitted with the approval of the Commanding Officers of this duty station. The Non-Com Corps has been commissioned to advise you that the entire duty station will stand behind this statement if necessary.

The letter:

As Non-Com Noack learned on the occasion of a visit in Munich while he was on leave, Sergeant (Med.) Willi Graf was taken into police custody because he allegedly participated in seditious intrigues.

The undersigned soldiers are members of the duty station to which Graf also belonged (until April 1942) for the campaigns in France, Yugoslavia, and Russia. Graf was known to the undersigned as the best possible comrade. He is unforgettable, since he knew how to combine the duties of his position as a medic with a truly irreproachable National Socialist character in an idealistic manner. The words he spoke in friendly discussions were characterized by knowledge and enthusiasm. In time, serious discussions demonstrated his positive attitude towards a new Germany and his happy, youthful, and strong faith in the future of the Reich. Graf is a very smart, somewhat reserved, modest, and — despite his youth — mature person. Because of his blameless conduct on and off duty, he enjoyed the great respect of his commanding officers. The suspicion that Graf may have been involved in seditious intrigues appears wholly implausible to the undersigned.

Graf corresponds with many of the undersigned. This association and the candid, friendly association from the days of our common battle experiences are inducement for this statement.

This letter was signed by: Sergeant Major Raimund Droner; Non-Com Heinz Schreiner; Non-Com Karl Noack; Non-Com Borghoff; Non-Com Oberender; and, Non-Com Gerd Rüdiger Guldgaster. Plus three illegible names.

In other words, these seven men put their lives on the line for Willi Graf.

According to the attorney Hans Folz, apparently twenty-five letters in all were received. These were the only ones that survived.

Those who had stood before Roland Freisler on April 19, 1943 knew that there was little, if any, hope for a positive outcome. Those condemned to death could only hope it would be quick and painless. Their families faced fears they had not imagined possible in their Germany, in their Fatherland.

Once it becomes illegal to protest, once it becomes illegal to write “seditious” words calling for freedom, once it becomes illegal to call out The Powers That Be for their unconstitutional behavior, there is then no rule of law. There is then no justice.

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