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William D. Bayles  CAESARS IN GOOSE STEP    1940
Portraits of leaders by former corresp. Life-Time personal 

Below normal height (5 feet 5 1/2 inches), awkward in his 
movements; encumbered with an excess of hands which he 
always seems at a loss to dispose of when not in uniform, 
ill at ease when meeting strangers socially or acting his 
part in polite society, Hitler is a typical example of Austrian 
Kleinbuergertum, or low-class bourgeoisie. The famous lip-teaser, 
which has been responsible for the Chaplin style throughout Germany, 
is not black but a faded brown, and deteriorated gradually from a 
walrus mustache before the war through a guardsman, following 
the Armistice to its present abbreviated state. The dank lock is 
also a dead brown with streaks of gray beginning to appear in it. 
Together they might be regarded as relics of the dandified age 
in which Hitler grew up, having their parallels in the plastered-
down hair and waxed mustaches of the American prewar epoch. 
Women have indulged in rhapsodies over his blue eyes and their 
alleged hypnotic power, and Hitler himself seems to have faith 
in the effect of his piercing gaze, because it is a common practice 
of his to place a Balkan diplomat a few feet in front of him on an 
uncomfortable, straight-backed sofa in the Chancellery and then 
to transfix him with his eyes while belaboring him in rasping 
tones with alternate threats and cajolery. As a matter of fact, 
the power of his eyes is another aspect of the cleverly built up 
propaganda system, and numerous objective-minded foreigners 
have failed to notice anything other than faded blue eyes between 
colorless brows and sallow, puffy cheeks engendered  by chronic 
indigestion and biliousness.

 The Fuehrer possesses no aplomb or self-assurance of the type 
common to persons of good background and training, and his 
behavior on certain occasions has considerably embarrassed 
and humiliated his consorts. Particularly noticeable is his 
inability to cope with unexpected situations, this having been 
amusingly revealed when he laid the cornerstone of the House 
of German Arts in Munich. On this occasion he was handed a 
dainty, rococo hammer for delivering the three traditional 
strokes to the cornerstone, but, not realizing the fragility 
of the rococo, be brought the hammer down with such force 
that at the first stroke it broke into hits. Then, instead of 
waiting for another hammer, Hitler completely lost his 
composure, blushed, looked wildly about him in the manner 
of as small boy caught stealing jam, and almost ran from 
the scene, leaving the cornerstone unlaid. His enjoyment of 
the Berlin Olympic Games was completely spoilt when a 
fanatical Dutch woman who had achieved a personal presentation 
suddenly clasped him in two hefty arms and tried to kiss 
him in plain view of 100,000 spectators. Hitler could not 
regain his composure or stand the irreverent guffaws of 
foreign visitors, and left the Stadium.

His movements in public are nervous and jerky, many of 
them having been carefully learned through hours of practice. 
His nearest confidants have revealed that one of his greatest 
difficulties is walking singly through rows of enthusiastic 
adherents or along the front of drawn-up battalions. His gait 
was formerly uneven and quickened almost to a run as he 
approached the end, his feet had a tendency to overlap, 
and his movements were awkward and uncertain. To overcome 
this, he adopted a slow military march step which he executes 
with the greatest precision, counting as he walks. Certain 
persons did not hesitate to declare that the long hall in 
the Chancellery was built merely so that the Fuehrer could 
practice marching in it. When waiting for his turn on the 
speaker's stand, he is invariably nervous and agitated, fingering 
his cap

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and gloves, pressing his lock again into place, and crossing 
and uncrossing his legs. His poses while listening to other 
speakers are unique to say the least, and it is not uncommon 
to see him biting his fingernails or slouched down in his seat 
with his head between his hands. At official dinners he folds 
and refolds his napkin, fiddles with the table service and 
plays absentmindedly with his food rather than eating it.

his private life and diet have excited no end of comment and 
have resulted in a vegetarian cult springing up in Germany. 
It is no secret that he suffers from almost constant indigestion, 
which is not improved by the nervous tension and irregular 
hours characterizing his life. Four years at the front following 
his period of poverty and hunger in Vienna and Munich left his 
stomach practically beyond repair, and by force of necessity he 
became a devotee to vegetarianism, puddings, and nonalcoholic 
drinks. Two constant attendants are now his Austrian cook and 
his medical specialist, their task between them being to keep 
the Hitler mechanism in working order. His avoidance of meat, 
fish, delicacies and choice wines does not mean, as is commonly 
believed in Germany, that he lives frugally, and several persons 
who have attended private dinners at the Chancellery or at his 
mountain home have remarked that with such meals they would 
not mind being vegetarians themselves.

One of his favorite dishes is asparagus tips and artichoke hearts 
with cream sauce, and he is fond of cauliflower prepared in a 
number of ways. Spinach, spaghetti, and green vegetables form 
a staple part of diet, and eggs served in all the hundred and one 
recipes of a Viennese cookbook are an indispensable item. For 
the ethereal Mehlspeisen, which many a visitor will assert are 
worth a return trip to Austria, Hitler has the best cook in the 
Ostmark. His favorite drink is chocolate made in the strong Viennese 
manner and until recent!y he confined himself to mineral waters 
from various German springs, but when presented some time ago 
with a sparkling herb drink which tastes like dealcoholized 
champagne, he immediately adopted it. At the time of his fiftieth 
birthday a Munich brewery sent him cases of special beer 
containing only 1 per cent alcohol, and the reception was 
so favorable that the Chancellery has now become a regular 

        His working day when he is in Berlin begins at about nine 
in the morning and continues until three the next morning with 
only slight interruptions for meals and strolls in the Chancellery 
Park. As the day is usually taken up with conferences and audiences, 
he does not get down to real work until the official life in the 
capital ceases. Then begin hours of dictating, note-taking, and 
perusing of reports. Towards eleven o'clock he takes a solitary 
walk in the Chancellery Park, usually with his hands clasped 
stiffly behind his head, returns, dismisses the S.S. guards at 
his study door with a "good night, boys; go to bed." and continues 
his work through the small hours of the morning.  The insomnia 
with which he has been afflicted for years is attributed by 
physicians to the state of his stomach. He is a confirmed 
hypochondriac, believing perhaps with some justification that 
his digestive trouble is due to cancer, which caused the death 
of his mother. His great fear is that he will be taken off before 
his work is complete, and according to reliable reports, he has 
been engaged for the last several years in composing a sequel 
to Mein Kampf - an elucidation of his ideas and theories with 
directions for carrying them out and warnings against pitfalls, 
which may be encountered. This he intends as the Bible of 
National Socialism, which he has declared is bound to endure 
for a thousand years.

His principal form of relaxation is still music and in addition to 
frequent attendance at the opera he is now finding the radio an 
increasingly satisfactory source of pleasure.

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When in his mountain home, he spends his evenings either 
listening to German or Italian concerts or having his favorite 
films projected by a full-sized apparatus with himself and his 
house personnel as audience. Three films in a row are not 
exceptional, and his preference runs to heroic productions 
such as Lives of a Bengal Lancer, Viva Villa, and Mutiny 
on the Bounty, all of which he has seen many times over. An Austrian
film actor who was once invited to an official reception was speechless
with surprise when Hitler came up to him, called him by name, and thanked
him profusely for coming, telling him in a typical film-fan manner that
he never missed one of his films and greatly admired his dramatic
talent. Then, while the actor was endeavoring to recover his presence of
mind and stammer his thanks, the Fuehrer proceeded to discuss films with
him, revealing a wealth of information and data that far surpassed his own.
Unlike his Italian counterpart, Hitler has not yet found time for
women, but during the past two years has given indications of a late
awakening of interest. He has hitherto regarded women as vital elements
in his political system but as nothing personal that one might enjoy,
desire, or love. Once when he spoke to a group of German girls between
six and fifteen years of age he began his speech, "Future German Mothers!"
You have a mission to perform." Different girls have been mentioned in his
life and both Hostess Goebbels and Hostess Goering have endeavored
from time to time to bring him into feminine company in the hope that
he would react normally. Although his reaction may be regarded as normal
it has always been that of a courteous but shy bachelor aware of his
desirability but determined not to fall into any net set for him.
He has maintained close friendships with a few girls and has evidently 
enjoyed their company to the fullest extent, though always in a
purely platonic manner. Many people affirm that Hitler would gladly
marry the granddaughter of Richard Wagner, twenty-year-old, vivacious
Verena Wagner, who is a frequent visitor and vacation guest at his
mountain snuggery, were he not opposed in principle to marriages between
persons of such unequal ages. She has the reputation of being his most
outspoken critic, telling him in unflattering words simple truths that
 no Cabinet member would dare utter. Then there is legendary Eva Braun,
who is now twenty-eight and buxom but still entertaining the fond hope
that Adolf will marry. her within the next year or two. She is a soul mate
from his earlier days and possesses photographs of herself in a dirndl
dress and Hitler in Bavarian leather shorts, both of them in high spirits
and bound for a picnic. Since 1928 she has sat like the fair Elaine
waiting for her knight to return to her bower in Munich, but she possesses 
one material advantage over the maid of Astolat in that her Lancelot pays 
the rent for her flat.
The best sleuthing that journalists have been capable of has not
revealed anything other than the most highly circumspect and chivalrous 
conduct of Hitler so far as women have been concerned. During the
past few years, however he has stepped out of the monastic role commonly
assigned to him by gossips and German publicists and has evidenced a
strong interest in pretty girls as a group. After throwing a party
for the German film colony in his new Chancellery and having had a genuinely 
good time in the company of vivacious Viennese screen stars, who afterward 
declared enthusiastically that he was "sehr lustig und galant (very amusing 
and gallant), he succumbed in quick succession to the twinkling legs and 
enticing smiles of two American dancers. After paying a cool thousand 
dollars and the cost of sending a private airplane to Cannes just to enjoy 
the additional spirit that nimble Marion Daniels was able to inject 
into a Munich performance of the Merry Widow,

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he became a stage-struck fan of pretty Miriam Verne who was 
dancing at the time, in a Berlin musical comedy. Unable to satisfy 
his appetite for Miss Verne's dancing by attending three performances 
of the show, he invited her to the Chancellery to dance at a private 
party, and when the show closed in April he sent her to Munich to 
do her act in the Merry Widow. His attendance at the Merry Widow 
that year numbered six.

Always awkward when in the company of foreigners, he has avoided 
direct social contact since 1936, confining his associations to 
formal receptions and visits to the opera where he is flanked by 
supporters. The last time that he accepted an invitation from a 
foreigner was in 1935 when he attended a gala dinner given by 
the then pro-German English newspaper king, Lord Rothmere. The 
dinner, which is still recalled with some degree of pain by the 
few persons who were present, took place in the Adlon Hotel, 
where the British host had commanded that the largess of Germany 
and Europe be spread before his guest. Finally Hitler arrived in 
his brown coat, and brushing aside the customary few minutes of 
getting together and chatting before beginning dinner, immediately 
placed himself at the table. Then Lord Rothmere was to learn to his 
astonishment and embarrassment that the Fuehrer is truly a rara 
avis. Not only did he decline to drink, but also refused to eat 
anything. Moreover, Lord Rothmere spoke no German and the table 
had been so disadvantageously arranged that it was only with 
difficulty that an interpreter could operate. The meal was distinctly 
unpleasant for all present and the courses were hurried through 
while Hitler indifferently sipped at his glass of water. Suddenly 
he began to speak, the words pouring forth like a torrent and 
literally engulfing his hapless host, who could not understand a 
word and did not dare interrupt or disturb him by appealing to the 
interpreter. At the end of twenty minutes the whole company was 
obviously uncomfortable and after forty minutes the Fuehrer was 
still going strong while those in the room sat petrified in 
miserable silence. Not until he had spoken in his loudest, harshest 
platform voice for forty-five minutes did Hitler get his message 
out of his system, and then he made abrupt signs of wanting to 
depart. In their haste to get up from the table, the victims of the 
ordeal pushed chairs helter-skelter and one of them inadvertently 
tipped over a large china vase, which fell with a crash. At that 
moment all of the doors leading into the dining room burst open 
and uniformed S.S. guards sprang into the room with drawn pistols.
Members of his entourage report a similar situation when Hitler 
visited Italy for the first time. An outspoken gourmet himself, Benito 
Mussolini believed he would be doing his guest a favor by providing him 
with Italy's best. To the Duce's consternation, Hitler refused both 
Italian wine and food, until his host finally inquired in desperation, 
"Well, what would you like to eat?" And Hitler replied by asking if 
he might have some scrambled eggs.

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That Hitler is aware of a deep cleft between himself and his
nearest followers is evident at any public reception. His 
collaborators that he sees perhaps daily receive the same 
impersonal, unseeing stare, automatic flick of the right hand, 
and loose handshake as the diplomats from the small countries 
of Central America and the provincial Nazi leaders, who are 
probably having the greatest thrill of their lives in meeting 
Der Fuehrer face to face. Once in an unguarded moment he 
revealed that he is aware of a distinction and is prone to 
look down upon his purely human cohorts. "I am different 
from those others," he confided to an astonished woman 
visitor, "I can hold my arm up for an hour without tiring: 
They can't. Time means nothing to me, but they are never 
able to hold out."       p.55

(Munich 1919) Hitler himself was neither vegetarian nor 
nonalcoholic in those days and in the smoke-clouded, pungent 
atmosphere of back street Munich beerhalls he found that 
under the guidance of Rosenberg his fantasy soared to 
delirious heights.       p. 203.

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