Berlin Games (45 page)

Even though Leibbrandt had lost his fight, he would not leave Berlin without some sort of reward, a reward that would come immediately after the Games. Berlin would change him, and in doing so it would see him embark on a foolhardy, almost fantastical, journey to attempt to change the course of his country's history.

 

Robie Leibbrandt was not the only visitor to Berlin that summer who was convinced of the rottenness of the judging. In the three-day event, the Poles were adamant that the Germans were cheating. The Polish team manager was Colonel Tadeusz Komorowski, who had not only competed in the 1924 Olympics but had bravely fought against the Red Army in the last full cavalry battle in Europe just four years earlier. In the Battle of Komarów, Komorowski had commanded the 12th and 8th Uhlans under Juliusz Rómmel's 1st Cavalry Division, and during the battle had suffered a head wound. Komorowski refused to leave the battle, and continued to lead his regiment until Rómmel ordered him to go to hospital in the evening. All this was no doubt good training for dealing with the Germans in 1936.

‘The Germans cheated diabolically,' his wife Irena recalled. ‘My husband had a fearful row at one stage during the cross-country. They had German judges dotted all round the course. Of course there were also international judges from all the other countries taking part, but the majority were Germans.' According to Irena, the German judges awarded some completely fictitious penalty points against the Polish team. ‘It was blatantly untrue,' she said, ‘and my husband had one hell of an argument with them.' Apparently, Komorowski's outbursts had the desired effect, and the judges withdrew the penalty points. Nevertheless, there was still bad feeling between the Poles and the Germans. At the end of the competition, the Germans took gold and the Poles silver, but the Poles were still certain that the Germans had
cheated. ‘If there hadn't been all that business with the cheating,' said Irena, ‘then we would probably have won the gold.'

It is impossible now to verify Komorowski's allegations. Even if they are true, then the Germans must have done an awful amount of cheating, as their margin of victory was comprehensive. They had a superior set of riders, including Lieutenant Freiherr von Wangenheim, who completed the cross-country with a broken collar-bone, an injury that did not stop the German competing in the jumping competition in the stadium, his arm bound tightly in a sling. The Poles were no less hardy. One of their horsemen, Captain Kawecki, broke several ribs on the cross-country, but he too competed in the stadium, his entire upper body bandaged.

Despite the ill feeling, the Poles and Colonel Komorowski still attended the grand reception for the riders and pentathletes held on Friday, 7 August. ‘There was more braid and highly polished boots than you could imagine,' said Charles Leonard of the occasion. Both Hitler and Goebbels were at the reception; Komorowski had the dubious honour of being presented to the former, and the two men exchanged a few words. ‘My husband said there was something about him,' Irena recalled. ‘He had terribly penetrating eyes and when he looked you in the eye it felt as though they were boring right into your soul […] It was obvious that this was not your average human being.' While the two men were talking, a photographer took their picture, a picture that the Germans would find of immense value just eight years later.

As well as the Poles, the Peruvians also suspected the impartiality of the judges, and their complaints caused a diplomatic incident that would have been more serious if it had not seemed like something out of a comic opera. The trouble began on the afternoon of Saturday, 8 August in the football match between Austria and Peru. At half-time, the score was 2–0 to Austria, but the Peruvians scored two goals in the second half and the game went into extra time. The first half was goalless, but towards the end of the second half the overly excited Peruvian fans stormed the pitch and started helping their players. One Austrian player later reported that he had even been kicked by a demented fan. In the ensuing chaos, the Peruvians scored two goals in the last five minutes. Unsurprisingly, the Austrians complained, and a jury of FIFA members declared that the match should be replayed two days later.

The Peruvians did not react well to the decision, to put it mildly. In the Peruvian capital Lima, and Port Callao, protesters took to the streets. The Olympic flag was ripped down from an office building used by the Austrian consul, and it was thanks only to the intervention of the police that the building was not ransacked. Undeterred, the mob then marched on the German consulate, whose windows were stoned before the police once more arrived. Stevedores in Callao refused to unload a German ship, the
Ammon
, as well as, bizarrely, a Norwegian ship, the
Remulus
. Presumably those assigned to the Scandinavian vessel wanted the afternoon off as well. President Oscar Benavides–who, needless to say, had come to power through a military coup–summoned members of the Peruvian Olympic Committee to the palace, and ordered them to withdraw the Olympic team from Berlin. Cables were sent out to every other participating country, including the United States. This cable found its way to Avery Brundage staying at the Adlon Hotel.

The United States did not withdraw, but President Benavides declared that he had received messages of support from Argentina, Chile, Mexico and Uruguay.

At 5.30 on Monday, 10 August, the only spectators to appear at the football stadium were Berlin policemen. The jury had ruled that no fans could watch the rematch, for fear of another pitch invasion. It promised to be a violent scrap, and the Italian referee, Barlassina, knew that he would have to exert every pound of his authority to keep the game under control. When the whistle blew, however, nothing happened. The Austrians stood and looked around, waiting for their opposition to appear. For the regulation fifteen minutes, they waited patiently in the quiet empty stadium, while the policemen wondered whether it was time to go. At 5.45, Barlassina blew his whistle, and gave the game to the Austrians.

On the morning of Wednesday 12th, the Peruvians left town for
Paris, taking with them the Colombian team (total strength–seven), which had withdrawn in sympathy. The Germans repeatedly stressed to the Peruvians that the decision was not theirs, but FIFA's, but the teams insisted that they were off. Back in Lima, President Benavides, in an attempt to cool the diplomatic temperature over what Goebbels described as an ‘embarrassing sports incident', blamed the demonstrations in his cities on ‘communists'. Naturally. The only comfort the Peruvians received was the fact that Austria lost 2–1 to Italy in the final.

 

One of the more unassuming gold medallists of the Games was Endre Kabos, a twenty-nine-year-old Jewish Hungarian fencer. Kabos's sporting career had started when he was given a fencing outfit as a birthday present. Initially, the shy Kabos hid it in a wardrobe, but when a friend discovered it and teased him about it, Kabos went and joined the local fencing club the following day just to spite his tormentor. The Hungarians had a lot to thank Kabos's bully for. At Los Angeles, Kabos won bronze in the individual men's sabre, and also played a vital role in helping the Hungarians to win gold in that year's team event. Tall, dark, good looking and witty, Kabos became quite a hero in his homeland, but he was too modest to bathe in the limelight. Neither would he have been allowed to. Anti-Semitism was widespread in Hungary, and nowhere more so than in the fencing world, which was dominated by army officers with bigoted and antique views. Kabos felt stymied by them, and unable to secure himself flexible employment to allow him to continue fencing, he gave his sabre away and opened a grocery shop. A benefactor noticed his plight, however, and offered him a more suitable position, which enabled Kabos to go on to dominate the European Championships in the years before 1936.

At Berlin, his form was similarly impressive, despite his concerns about German anti-Semitism. Once again, Kabos was the key member of the sabre team. The finals, which were held on the evening of Thursday, 13 August, saw Hungary, Germany, Italy and Poland all face each other. In their match against the host nation, the Hungarians won by a commanding 13–3, which was close compared to their annihilation of the Poles by 10–1. In their final match they faced the Italians, who were also unbeaten–whoever won this match would win gold. In the first bout, Kabos faced Vincenzo Pinton, and
he suffered five hits to the Italian's two. It was a bad blow for Kabos, but he was not invincible. Kabos's next bout was the fifth, by which time the teams were level at 2–2. In his duel against Giulio Gaudini, Kabos again lost by the same margin. It looked as though the Hungarian had lost his form. After three more bouts, the Italians enjoyed a lead of 4–3. Kabos now fenced against Aldo Masciotta, and he trounced him 5–1, bringing the two teams level. At last, it looked as if Kabos was back to his winning ways. His victory spurred the team on, and after eleven rounds the Hungarians were beating the Italians by seven bouts to four. There were three round left, and if the Italians managed to draw level, then they might be awarded gold, as they would have received fewer hits.

Kabos's fourth and final bout was against Gustave Marzi, who was Italy's strongest competitor. In fact he was almost flawless, and soon he was beating Kabos 4–1. The situation looked hopeless. Kabos was never one to admit defeat, however, and he counter-attacked with an astonishing display of lunges that thrilled the crowd. By the time the two men were level on 4–4, there was no doubt which man was now the favourite, and when Kabos scored his final touché to bring the score to 5–4, the crowd erupted. Hungary went on to win the match 9–6, and took a well-earned gold. Italy took silver, and the Germans took bronze.

There was more glory for Kabos at Berlin. In the men's individual sabre, the Hungarian fenced his way with ease into the finals, where he faced Gustave Marzi. The Italian was determined take to his revenge on Kabos for his humiliating defeat, and he beat him 5–2. Marzi then went on to face Kabos's fellow Hungarian, Aladár Gerey, but he lost by 5–4. The Italian then fought Sobik of Poland, a match which he should have won with ease, but instead he lost 1–5. This opened a way to gold for Kabos. If he could win all seven of his remaining matches, then he would beat Marzi, who had now lost two matches. Kabos kept his cool, and he saw off all his opponents, including Gerey. By the end of the competition, he had won seven bouts and had received twenty hits. Marzi and Gerey tied with six wins apiece, but the Italian won silver because he received twenty-two hits to the Hungarian's twenty-six. After the match, Kabos found himself mobbed by his fans–many of whom were female–and he happily signed their autograph books. His
time in Germany had been good to him, and he suffered little or no anti-Semitism. Although he was never to return to Germany, the Germans would come for him, and many like him.

 

One of the most exciting sports to watch at Berlin was the hockey, partly because the game was dominated by the Indians, whose skill was vastly superior to that of the other teams. Their speed, power and awesome control of the ball were outstanding. ‘They were something else,' recalled Lorna Frampton. ‘I remember watching them play, and thinking, this isn't the hockey we played at school–it was so fast and so strong.' The team, which was led by Dhyan Chand, was expected to win gold with no problems whatsoever. On 17 July, however, just two weeks before the Games, the Indians played a friendly against the Germans, and the result did not go the way the Indians had anticipated.

‘The match was an eye-opener to most of us,' wrote M. N. Masood, ‘for the Germans showed us that they had improved appreciably on their last Olympic form.' What the Indians had not prepared for was a difference in style. The Germans hit hard, made fast runs and thwacked first-time clearances, whereas the Indians were more accustomed to a game that involved short passes, a lot of dribbling and well-planned play. The visitors, who were also unfit after their long journey from the subcontinent, lost 1–4. The Germans were understandably delighted to have beaten the ‘wonder boys from the Ganges'. ‘After this,' said the German right back, Alfred Gerdes, ‘we thought we might have a good result in the Games. It was clear that the Indians were very nervous after the match.'

Gerdes was right. ‘As long as I live, I shall never forget this match or get over the shock of defeat which still rankles in me,' wrote Dhyan Chand, who was widely considered the world's best forward. ‘Hitler's Germany had made great strides in their game […] The result of the play shocked us so much that we could not sleep that night. Some of us even did not have our dinner.' Instead, a crisis conference was held, and it was decided to call on reinforcements from India. A cable was sent from Berlin to Kunwar Sir Jagdish Prasad, president of the International Hockey Federation, requesting him to send out more players, although they were not to arrive until late into the competition.

If the Indians had been complacent, then they were not now. The game against Germany had woken them up, and in the tournament their progress was spectacular. They beat Hungary 4–0, the United States 7–0, Japan 9–0–‘Be it said to the credit of Japan that it took twenty minutes for the world's champions to score a goal,' wrote Masood magnanimously–and France 10–0, after which they reached the final. Their opponents were the Germans, who still worried the Indians. ‘The impact of the defeat that Germany inflicted on us in the practice match still lingered in us,' wrote Chand.

Another problem was the weather. The final had been scheduled for Friday, 14 August, but the rain was torrential, and the pitch waterlogged. The game was postponed until the following morning, a delay that only exacerbated the Indians' nerves. ‘All of us were wondering as to what would be the result of the day,' Chand wrote. ‘Never before had we ever doubted the issue of a game.' Just before the final, one of the players produced a Congress tricolour, which apparently helped to give the players some mental strength. ‘Reverently we saluted and prayed and marched on to the field,' wrote Chand.